Easter night everyone left home. Take note of the great nights. Other Great Notes

This great day attracts hundreds of thousands of people from the Kremlin. Near the fires of Zamoskvoritcha, and a light, serpanok-like, dark-colored glimmer of unfathomably white walls of the Kremlin cathedrals. An invisible hand sets fire to Ivan the Great. Under the Dormition Blessed Virgin Mary, a cross made of white lamps is burned.

Let the people calm down. I laughed a little bit. All the great fires are set on fire. The pilgrims grab spare candles.
Check. Soon they will hit Ivan, and after another call the moustache of forties and forties will begin to hum. And a feeling of intense tension builds up.
- They hit me, here... Far away.
Let's listen:
- No... Everything is quiet...
I call to check again. I once again listen to the vague remnant of the thousand-thousandth oncoming.
Lost and wandering along the white cathedral walls are lost, unclear shadows under the great fires. Rozhet below, white fires, borders of the Ivanivsky Stovpa. And this picture seems to be Kaskov.
- Hit now!
- No, not ten minutes yet.
At the Ivanivka Dzvinitsa, drivers are running around - getting ready for the good news.

Rozanov V.S. - View from the Kremlin on the title of Ivan the Great at the hour of illumination on the occasion of the coronation of Emperor Mikoly II

One of the most sacred Moscow traditions:
The first blow of the holy night moons from Ivan the Great.
He gives Moscow a good news.
As soon as the rings are recognized, it is time to wash.
This was established by the sovereign order of Filaret.
— Ring in churches for another blow from Ivan the Great.
All of Moscow felt the first “oxamite” blow of the Yuletide ringing.
For the lack of attention there was a penalty of contraction.
When the “first blow of Ivan the Great” was sold by bell ringers at auction.
“Western amateurs” were recruited from ambitious merchants at the Ivanivka Palace.
І traded:
- For the first blow.
The price reached 1000 rubles. Never fell lower in two hundred.
The pennies went to the profit of the bell ringers.
The “amateur” takes hold of one of the four “tails” of the rope.
I hit the “first blow”.
Having begun a great day of blasphemy in Moscow.
The whole river was a hero among his stake:
“Whose fate is the first to ring all over Moscow!”

It’s still quiet on the Ivanivsky Dzvinitsa.
Charming look.
Bengal fires illuminate the white austere walls of old cathedrals with a crooked light. And the flames tremble and dance below, by the mirror of the river.

Bogolyubov A.P. - Illumination of the Kremlin

Zamoskvoritcha is filled with fire.
No matter where you look, the sky is filled with colorful flames. Surf yogo rockets. Roman candles are flying. And below is a vast sea of heads. Collapse, collapse, leak.
Downstairs there is a loud voice, shouting, screaming, homining - but all the noise from here can only be heard like an uninterrupted rush of noise.
The night is approaching.
Calls will begin to work.
An army of Ivaniv bell ringers was spreading around the city.
When the great ringing rings, the head of the ringing ringers is in his village.
An old one with a gold medal on the neck, medals on the chest, a red captana with braid, and a moiré red belt.
Many people take hold of the ends of the long rope wrapped around the “movie” and rhythmically lead the “movie” to the right.
The language grows stronger, stronger, and rushes through the wind with an important whistle.
The creaking of heavy weights, on which the jingle-hulk of 6,000 pounds is suspended.
They waved a lighter in front of the Assumption Cathedral.
- By God!
The bell ringers opened the company. Call here with your mouth open. Otherwise you will go deaf.
Four bell ringers ran from the rope, and their tongues hit the bell.
The whole jingle froze. The thunderous gurkot felt like everything. The wind whistled sharply.
The chime hangs an arshin on the repeater from the supports, the whole sound rushes down to the bottom and, beaten by the stone support, flies in wisps to the wind.
There is an excuse to shake under your feet.
Golden rivers of fire and brocade flowed through the cathedrals. Wide stitches line the temples.
Amazingly, they sing “Christ is Risen.” There's almost nothing here.
- Christ is Risen! - I wanted to scream in my ear.
I turn around: the old “cardinal” is grinning.
Vіn shout to me again in the warehouses:
- Thirty-quarters of the Great Day is here!
The Christian walks went to the temples.

Roerich N. - Russian Great Day

Dzvin gets stuck on Khvilina.
- Go with the party! - to please me, - let's immediately hit the bell!
It’s miraculous that all the Ivanian bells, regardless of the difference between the vase and the hour of dialing, always formed one chord, and always sounded in one common tone. Which has “the incomparable beauty of Ivan’s ringing.”
- Go! Go!
Instructions to ring all 15 times.
Along the twisting dark descents, straying at the passages, along the stone “bears” I run down.
And everything started shaking again.
-Another jingle.
Zagudiv the Great.
Having washed the “shistok” with a raspberry stack, it hits six small rings at once.
We slept through the “Korsun” bells.
At the “flash”, the Great, the Assumption, the Weekly and Reut struck again.
Yakbi man, yak sank first, ask:
- What is it?
Without even saying what it is:
- Dzvin.
Ceremony.
Otherwise the earth will tear.
Such a symphony could have been created by Beethoven alone - the people.
And why should we have fun on this terrible aphid, we are glad to hear about the ringing of the nearest calls.
Below us, an orchestra plays like Moscow, a symphony like nothing.
There is nothing bright and a terrible wonder.

And the lights are burning, because the lights are in front of the myriads of consoles of the invisible great musicians.
The Earth was shaking with mirrors.
And the sky came to life.
The entire sky over Moscow is constantly filled with golden and falling stars of different colors.
Like a charming night.

..” Then we, the children (“so weaned?” - no, so they felt! that no one asked for anything), vaguely and greedily dreamed about those that would be given to us, and this happiness was more precious, lower than those happinesses of Volodya, like, lost, like a yalinka thread in the threads of a wood-burning “board”, in a tangled mess, in the rubbish of irritability, in an icebreaker, disenchantment ensued at the heart of the saint. The lack of control, unknown to anyone, caused malt.

The anniversary of this day clicked so loudly... The anniversary and the anniversary of the day were pulled out one way, like on gum. How greedily it didn’t pimp for a long time! The mouth appeared to be there. Everyone felt it, like milk that had boiled, pouring over the edges - into their ears. It was all over. And if I didn’t want anything anymore than the terrible darkness of the doomsday, when I, a young man, already thought I was sleeping, - from below, where we had been at the factory before, the stars had been driven out all day, - a moonlit, enchanting sound - a jingle!

Like this, and like two, and still far away, even further away, since nothing has happened yet, - the jingle that calls us, only us! All we need down there is to watch for us!

Swedes are gathering up the mountain, soon the fraulein, our gentle hand, will come in before us, again and again getting better from the least living humors, looking at the hands, combing the hair that has already become tangled, the snowstorms of the streak that are shining on the poppies - and it’s getting dull and fly and stumble downwards As we exit, we immediately see high double-barreled doors... And across this entire wide breadth, across the entire height of the hall that rushes up the hill, to the very stele that never sleeps - there you go! The one, like burdens, hacked, cunningly, placed on the cross, grieving him with green skies with golden paper angels and mirrors. They hated us with exactly the same passion that they wanted to treat us with.

How grateful I am to the elders for those who, knowing a child’s heart, the stench did not merge two tracts into one, but bestowed them shamefully: with the glare of a painted unburnt straw, I’ll erase what was already falling asleep. And then - there is a secret transformation on that document, all in candles that are burning, burned out in a damp light, for which there was no longer a voice, no breathing, and about which there are no words.

...Vona was burning out. The banquet is over. The surface around her was so thick, so rich, that it tasted like either an orange or chocolate: there were also pistachios, and the taste of hairy peas, and... with the lined, shiny korovkas, konjachkas, vines, and the lotto of the older children.

Golden edges of important books, with a golden palette, with pictures, the kind that hurt your heart; colorful sheep, winding wheels, over which Andriy worked, burshtiny and piece turquoise namist. Lyalki! This is the scourge of Musin and me - the dolls in which we were not allowed to play and which were given pedagogically, with a smile.

With a new book close to her short-sighted eyes, Musya was already reading it, in the forgetfulness of all the unnecessary things, like muddy peas, when the blue sack fell from the yalinka, which had burned the fiery death of the thread!

This light scarlet, which shines with a bright glitter, fell apart into pieces in such a silvery cascade, before it was never blue and never was - kulya.

Our desperate cry echoed the cry of the elders, who rushed to pull us away from the streets, candles were dripping, and they were burning out. Warm wax, heads of yalinka leaves that were smoldering.

I marveled at the mountain. There, on a twisting golden thread, a little dancer walked in the wind of a candle, and Papa’s masha’s sweet candle was as gentle as swan feathers. The gigantic shadow of a raspberry, falling onto the wall and cracking against the stele, where the darkly burning Star of Bethlehem, illuminated the dark hall over the merekhtinny lansugs and kuls that hid under the necks of the necks. On the last burnt-out raspberry night, a spark of raspberry couli burned, under the darkness knocking out the flame of the remaining candle.

Once upon a time, more has come, and now comes: the bliss of waking up on the first day of Christmas! Having left the gathering, go back to her - already dressed, yours, for so many more days until the day of separation! Marvel at her with wounded, all-seeing eyes, knead her all over, crawl from behind, hug her, sniff her breasts, soak up everything that was captured yesterday in the candle fire, marvel at her without interfering with the presence of adults, without Enjoying gifts you haven’t yet looked at, relishing them everything in the world at the company. Not black, like uchora, in the gaps, but flooded through the window with the density of frosty growths of the dead sunny changes, there it checks for us, the crystal having transformed all its yesterday’s silver and foil. Burned by the wound sparks of all the different varieties, only now in a proper way grief with all the variety of fruits - the greenness of those damned pears (they don’t fall when they fall!), red burning apples, ore of living tangerines (there are a lot of them, so they don’t stink, you can eat them...). Sprinkle a little bit of two-piece, maybe even inhospitable sacks - the most valuable, the most valuable!

Near the boxes stood Auntie's little dolls in Swiss suits; We loved such little ones because they were so charming and we didn’t need to sew them, or iron them, or put them to bed. The girl's doll was inspired by the utilitarianism of hoarding. These little dolls wanted one thing: mercy. The same one that we were so fond of... The books lay open, and I was amazed at the sound of Musya, who, having called to the chosen one, read passionately, while tormenting me at the confession. And the cracks were chewing peas.

And in the evening, on the first or second day of Christmas, my mother showed us the panorama, and we fell asleep, no longer remembering, where we were, after what happened... The whole day was asleep.

Having lowered her thin hand with a hoop onto the seam of her black jacket, her lock of hair and tender cheek glowing darkly in the dark bedroom, the young granny gazed at her daughter and at us with a crazy smile of dark eyes with important eyelids, otherwise with logs.

A week later, Yalinka’s prosperity came to the river of sleep in the depths of the widest “grandfather’s shafi.”

The first winter lasted - until Vodokhreshche, until Maslyana, until Lent. The ghouls praised the ringing. The days were long. They baked pies with mushrooms.

Maslyana! It was winter that the days were long, the sun was setting late, the snowbirds were calling the houses and old Moscow little houses. Boroshnyana lava, and from the apartments the smell of milk; the smell of skids in the markets - they never bought them for us, it was someone else’s charming hedgehog (as well as a whipping, which in all my childhood I have not tried and a recipe for which - no matter how much I later got it from old people - so I lost my place in the prison). As the millins were baking, and then in places, from the kitchen to the house, having thrown on a shawl, a room with a mountain of millets hurried, which, battered and oily, clung to the table one after the other. We were interested in how many pieces we borrowed, who had more.

Roztoplěne vershkov oil u sudtsi, sour cream, oseledets, caviar. They poured us a little wine and some water.

And over the centuries, sleigh after sleigh raced, Rus' rolled through the snow, like the Kazaks, the horses’ hoards with buboes clicked, and the snatches of songs that disappeared after the trio around the turn of the Broadsword, were thrown into Musya and me - tightly...

We told fortunes to Oka. “Wonderful month”, songs this Maslyany said one to another: “Do you remember?”

Moscow of our childhood: trams like a miracle; peaceful, quiet horses; blue cotton robes of graduates, flyovers, even without rubber tires. The abundance of street chaos. Walk between the horses' heads. Little budins of quiet, quiet streets. Whiskey, pretzels, rolls. Retailers. Gasovy ligtars.

The sky turned blue, and round clouds floated in the new sky.

Easter night! all came at home, the children were left alone with a nanny and governess. The night was like a stove: empty, but full of fresh water, when the first blow of the bell rolled over Moscow and the Moskva River, from the ringing of Ivan the Great, - and, throwing from his voice to three thousand of their voices, all the bells Moscow and all Moscow outskirts to shout, to rejoice with an insensible choral ringing, letting into the black, like a dull cloth, there is no such quantity of sounds that, overwhelming all the fingers of children's games and all the symphonic concerts of elders, ringing with the chirping of all the little ones Russian roads and all the spring lands, sounds, sounds come out of their own kingdoms - and then fly over the Moskva River to them to help the army of the present kingdom - sticky wood, gold, tin, copper, that were angry, the heat of all the Firebirds of all Russian Cossacks, and, flying up the mountain, under x Marie, let us in to the cold spring water, coated with vogniks, a mixture of all colors and a mixture of all artistic palettes.

In Moscow it was called “missiles”. And near Tsar-Garmati, all the Garmatians are panicking, unable to endure, releasing their nuclei from the mouths of their Suvorov and Kutuzov Gurkots - and nothing will be possible to understand, not to understand, not even a little...

Having fallen to the windows with shabby apartments and the chilly cold, we, with good permission, got up from our beds and checked the darkness over the roads of Palashevsky Provulok, sleeping under the Kremlin fence. Our neighboring church will also have its voice.

The hall is gleaming with the gold of the flower exchanges, the ceremoniously covered table, the knitted vest (like Yalinka!) of the orchard Easter, the boyars' hats (Beaver Hutra!) Easter eggs, the pots of hyacinths, which smell thickly, like only a bunch of bushes in the world, and such a neumovir but the violetness, the blueness - was fulfilled. It stinks to stand on the table! The fair color of the prepared eggs, and the magnificent, carnelian (raspberry) rind.

How your foreheads burned (sweat, bending down under the table, there are hard-boiled eggs about them that are cracking - Andryusha’s inheritance), how the Easter cakes smelled spicy, how the shaved moles and candied fingers and the like, unpleasant mountain smelt , the peresichennya piled up, if I cut mouth! There are specks of burshtin and ruby in the surplus wines in the glasses on display! And the insatiable happiness of undivided volition: new books, new colored olives, new folded knives, screens, albums, new eggs: flasks, stones, portlets - the cream of the softness of chocolate, pulp.

“And Musya has already fallen into the book,” one can hear Mama’s voice.

And if she, like Ondina in the Red Danube, plunged headlong into the well of legends, I, having become one of them, having laid the hidden egg to the other eye, forged it empty, behind which, at the end of its blind end, it shone as enchanting image. .

We were also given thin colored olives. beast colors), and this color is varied: enchanting blues, enchanting greens, rye, sparkles, like only gold and silver shine in alinka decorations. They wrote stinks in black color. And also: similar to those eggs - it looks like an olive - shaggy, in a frame. You will turn its tip to the eye, and there, at the tightly inserted skeleton, a distant, crimson place will glow, or the ice will be visible to the eyes of pictures from biblical accounts that shine through. And it seemed like this view was like the end of a long corridor. in the middle olive; But in reality, the entire craziness of the panorama that shone was located in the visible ice. These sheep lived among others, like sorceresses among superior people.

I raptom thought: no maybe there will be other fathers and mothers besides ours!.. I felt like: other children? They have different fathers and mothers, and children - so how can they live?.. With another father - for example, a young father, with a different mother? There is a deaf place of understanding here.

Ale in Svidomosti there were other nooks: how can you live in other rooms? Don’t know about the tattoo museum, about my mother’s Yasenki... mother otherwise individual? Non-separateness was felt at all - through. The elders could not help here, just as they could not help the darkness’s fear. It was possible to lead out of the darkness, but to escape from it - no. And the fragments of this, in thoughts, powerless elders above your deceased lay there, in her dark place, then the child got out of it as best she could. With whom lived one of the dungeons of childhood.

Hanging (clung with my nails!) on Andryusha’s belt, I squealed most heartily, not allowing him to flow with my red cursed egg.

The days dragged on until spring, the halls grew warmer: woven from mothballs, familiar and forgotten, funny and sweet, dressed in drape coats with capes and flat sailor berets. New galoshes with shiny humped soles were buried in the new Kaluzh yard.

The governesses changed their minds - now, out of necessity, they speak in my other way, now in some dungeon, for us, their behavior, - instead of Mademoiselle Marie - Fraulein so-and-so, and die stille Strasse(Was it Spiridonivka? Mala Nikitska? Granatniy?) – it was still the same, and it was still spring. And these were the “other children”, whom no one knew, but whom we were always put in the crosshairs. The fact that they didn’t know us and everything about us, but we didn’t know them, had a kind of fascination. These were the same ones who had other fathers and mothers, and the same pigeons were burbling in all yards under similar sounds.

The axis of life once led us to many other children. Our escort needed to be seen at someone else’s door of a tall new booth. We, perhaps, have never seen such a thing in the yard. The stone quality of the surface walls, their gray color(Our booth was chocolate-colored, and the neighbors were the same colorful, quiet, wooden, like most booths on the quiet streets of Moscow). Between the stone walls, the Maidans are filled with sun, empty, like in dreams. And there, like I, I picked a hawker of pears and grapes. While the fraulein was talking about this, everything became like a continuation of a dream: the boy and the girl of our fates ran up to the tray, or rather for us, horribly chilled, and bought, choosing leather, whatever they wanted: the boy - pears, the girl - grapes. Arrived late, and with some kind of condemnation, we marveled at how the seller handed them paper bags - a pound each - and how stinky, without giving us away, why don’t we bother with our purchase, we went, looking into the fluff, still cold that myshechkov , talking about their own... We marveled at his satisfaction. We were talking. They didn’t want to tell us alone. We, I think, let the time fly by - this bird was a stranger to us. Ale thought so sweetly in both of us, looking at someone else’s bliss of another life, that, perhaps, our entire future of ignorance before comfort, before the acquisition of wealth, had already arisen in us. "Where are the children?" – the governess called us angrily.

I remember inquire grief: having arrived home, we discovered that during our absence our mother had given away from the wagon for the poor children - our adoring horses: the crow - Andryushin, the nest - Musin and an unnamed color, white, if he had light-yellow hair, tall less for the belt - my Pallas.

Every day's advice didn't help. Everyday “poor children”, “they have absolutely no toys in them, and your horses are already old, they have already been taken from the mountain...”.

Mati Bula is enraged by our grief. Try to clutter us, torture us in greed - they didn’t help: we were roared at three speeds. We ran around in the hills, blew saws in the dusty herds, said goodbye forever - in absentia. How can you fall in love with our horses, those strangers, poor little children, in order to overcome our grief!

And my mother has another migraine.

Spring. Zustrich iz Okoju. Tyo. Torik ball. Pretorius. A naughty dog and whips. Dosh. Autumn

In the spring of 1901, we went especially early to the old Taruska dacha. Buv kviten. The trees of haivs, forests and hillocks stood in a light green blur (in the distance), studded with green beads (nearby). And the chirping of the birds was the voice of these birds, scattering on their green arms, permeated with sun.

The tarantasis, singing from track to track, from battle to battle, according to the sung skhila, generously sang the trill of buboes, which breaks, roaring around the happy way, recovery, arrival.

“Let’s go, let’s go!” - the stinks often roared through the bay, getting closer and closer to the sacred place, and the spirit began to snort at the edge of a distant bend, behind which one would emerge - one axle at a time, an axle at a time! – a familiar Omrian landscape. The eyes drank. The voice sank. The legs were eager to run, to overtake the root and the rope, the heart was beating like a bird here under the throat - and the memory of those who were like that, and two, and a long time ago, gave happiness to such mites, like trees that had grown into the ground, that nodded to us from all the mountains that our green cherry hands weighed down on us.

Alas, I was surprised by the peculiarity of Musin’s statue, which was not mine! The thirst for alienation and the joy of others, the powerful greed to gnaw and love everything - one: the sweetest knowledge that everything must be the same nights before the other (especially me, I’m similar to her) . loving bi trees - bows - paths - spring - just like that. The shadow of divination fell from her life - books, music, nature - on those who seem to sense it. The flow will be extinguished, quenched, filled inseparably, not shared with anyone... being one and the first - for everyone!

Mom laughs. She has laughter and complaints and inveterateness. Lera nods at us in a friendly manner. Andriyko - in another tarantass, with a new fraulein - summer; She has square cheeks and a wonderful name - Pretorius. The wheels squeal importantly along the bright river sand; The mountains died down, the river bushes stretched, and it became warm. There is with us, invisible yet, but still remembers everything, and if the foxes and humps have already forgotten us, have welcomed them, have inseparably surrendered to them - when in the rapt cold, in the water wind, which tears up hair, droplets - from the heads, about lichya p “I’m pouring on her, - then, raptom (about a wonderful word, banished by writers), like don’t wait, like don’t die, like don’t sniff, - the raptom flashed in the distance with a narrow, narrow dark, enormous, between the earth and the winds, close , i They began to squelch - and there, behind the bushes, and there... And in wild voices from the burying we shouted: “Oka! Oka..."

And then - on another, Kaluz birch, the outlines of Tarusya appeared: little houses, and gardens, and two churches: the right hand - low, right above the river - the cathedral; steeply uphill, on the hillside, left hand - Church of the Resurrection. But they didn’t bother them anymore, because they threw themselves into the super river of the elders, as they went – from the bottom (on the humps, above the Oka, to the left) and the top (to the right, through the Cathedral Square, uphill along the mountain, passing to Dobrotvorsky, bypassing the town, by the way , the field and the pea ravine, “the great road”, approaching the dacha - from behind, and not from the river). It was easy for older people to understand: with vantage, it is easier for luggage to pass through. Ale to us! Vibrati! From two disadvantages! And if for a long time the horses already ran, rattling buboes about us, along the upper and lower roads, and without hearing anyone, we still scolded out loud about the paths that we don’t take, so that the heart contained resentment, it didn’t give up!

Through the old garden, from the wilderness of the meadow villages - a Kazkov sound: Zozulya! Like this - and like two - like a long time ago, like forever... I respect. It’s not a bird’s sound, it’s a completely different sound! The hammer easily misses it - lightly and forever farewell, with a subdued light knocking - in the wind, blue, and warm, which has no fate.

Swarming under the lower balcony, I, incredulously, found my lost ball (not too great, gray). About Nyogo Bulo insoles tears! The poker was running for a long time under the booth, near the vent... it didn’t stop! Having become deprived there! I don’t believe in happiness: vin here! Pieces of Syrian, ale whole, round, tight, my! Chi without bursting! Wet, cold, alone, all winter long!.. Hiccupping yourself? I squeezed and stroked it, sniffed it (I look around - is there anyone I can smell?), I taste bits on my tongue... I can’t help but more happy? We can’t!.. “De-ti, de vie? – Lerin’s voice from the window. - Supper! On the buttons, moving one by one, mother’s hands. Mom is playing! The legs run uphill in balcony descents - by themselves.

Having arrived from Moscow, he was embarrassed and told his mother that an hour to go, and the Marmur still lies near the Ural Mountains, and no telegrams to the Museum destroy its age-old bed, there is insufficient knowledge of the local minds, the marriage of the methods of transportation has appeared as a new defect. Turning around in front of my mother, I heard these not entirely understandable words, but did not dare to sleep. Then the friend of my mother’s childhood friend Tonya, the artist Yukhnevich, came to decorate our beloved dacha in its thick greenery. You wrote it in oil, on the side, on the aphids of the tree. I was tired of standing in the distance, by the red cloth.

Summer, unsettled because of work, all as square, Fraulein Pretorius did not follow us and was white for us - one solitary life, but in the depths of insecurity it was indicated by unsatisfied courage. Right on top of her, who was strutting with us on a hump under the birches, the big star did not bother with the naughty dog: a white mouth, a drooping tail - the ale mitzvah hand of Pretorius gave her a blow to the head with a peaceful, concise vocabulary, - and the dog - in Id nespovanki, why? ? - ran away. The fraulein saw this before our eyes. Alas, the dog was Skoda: they beat it, it’s crazy!

I think that given the unusual “dacha” nature of the Tarussian, the table is rich in humps and humps, and we, children, do not relish the German concepts about children, Pretorius believed, regardless of the distant hump way, - only at Titka’s.

Conversations with the lady of the land, the eldest for her, a foreigner, like her, in this land (if, like her, a governess, a lady), the calm of thoughts about the past - everything filled the soul of the fraulein with a relish and, finally, like a folding grain of our homeland.

Alas, it’s still calm, like the old ones, the old signs, the once-established comfortable life, the decorous, even the Yuletide-like, the Yuletide-like, unimportant for an hour, I give us, the children, the order. there is no calm, why are children so happy (like guts) - they bought all the fences and all the respect that fell on us, as if from the horn of prosperity. There is only one leitmotif: “Munechka, ne sois pas violente", "Anechka, ne sois pas agacante" Musya's wrath of Swaville, as well as my ability to climb here, all the food and swearing at the rudeness of my older children - has gone up to the order. She didn’t praise her much in our marriage, respecting his greatness, but lovingly loving her mother and the ease of her life, she praised her.

On the sofa under my grandfather’s portrait there is a gray ghost of him, with his thin, already fading faces, with a cigar in his hand, walking in the darkness of the dark room, which was thickening - That’s what Pretorius told us about the mines ule. At this hour, Musya’s eyes became completely different - bright, wide open; the stench was dark and quiet, and I knew the word that was the name of those who lived and needed in them: the word “tight”... like a gloom, it enveloped us, and there was no silence - for the distance was dull, when childhood had passed. Aunts, from the blue lake of Neuchatel, and a friend of her youth, Loor, and my mother’s childhood, and my grandfather, and in yak will this and when we...

And when the elders came for us, who went to Dobrotvorsky, and we had to go home, we had to earn zusilla to turn around before the day. The young people came to see us off - the proud elder Nadya, the good-natured, sly, young Lyuda, the wild-haired, sarcastically laughing Sanya. We grabbed stones from the road that shone like stars. The caramels melted away from the mouth.

And there will be another Taruska light, which, having turned the summer green, will be more special; garden on the Resurrection Mountain, where “Kirilivny” lived. There were only two of them: Maria, the great one, and Ksenia, the dear one. Aside from them, there lived a lot of wives in calico cloths and big houses, and the people called them “Khlistivki.” The stinks lived in a dense berry garden and were cheerfully welcoming: they treated them with berries, took them in their arms, pestered them, were melodious and merry, and life immediately became melodious, like their voices, cheerful, like a round dance, and a trifle intoxicated, I if it's sacred to give . a drop of wine from Chartsi.

It’s unbelievable that we felt that the whips were supposed to be especially trusted by God, but if once, having come from Tarussia to entrust us with the “old garden”, the stench there had trembled with the faceless wild apples, - in our craving for whips, so affectionate, Marina was confused - almost arousing interest, I have an incredible debt. The stench was old-fashioned, state-like, from the living rooms. The stinks mocked Musya for her intelligence and her cool talent; Young Masha, Negarna, Balakucha especially loved her. And it was near them - chaklunstvo.

But it’s all the same - the welcoming, cheerful home of the Dobrotvorskys, and the little world of the lakes, the Alps, and the sacred wishes, and the whips, their fusty sweat, the little bits of a motor, - everything sank in happiness to return home, to our forest nest, as it was so wonderfully called . dacha”, in music, singing, buzok and jasmine, in poplars, willows, birches, in the sparkles that have already blossomed above them.

Vranci Musya played the piano. Vona was timid great success. Mom wrote to her. But in the reading the stench came out as unpleasant. Musya stopped reading adult books, which her mother protected her from. She was not blamed for fate.

In the evenings, they sang at the piano. Mom’s voice was clear, and was in the new, in Russian songs, - youth and turmoil. At Llorinu's - there were sounds of other, graceful, cheerful people who lived in the little house before us, after our first friends, our mother. Reading Marinino’s “Mother and Music,” I can’t help but point out what he writes about Lera over there: Marina even more I loved Lera both in childhood and in childhood. Having separated from Llora, later, she disliked everything about Llora and, not caring about action, transferred her life to what seemed like childishness, thereby creating bourgeoisie. Such was Marina’s power over her Svaville - she did not respect the bull, creating her own. (Mom in her writings also seems more simplified and sketchy.)

That summer was forgotten, besides repeated long walks near Pachovo, our frequent short walks “on the stumps”, with a stitch, a young leaf, between clearings of felled trees, before entering the meadow. Mom and I lay down on the grass and said great things. It was similar to the winter “buzzard”.

Flesh was poured across Otsi. In the evenings fires burned on them. Rafters appeared on the birch every hour; the quiet fishermen who lived on the birch tree on the road to Tarusa, who were rich in Tarusa, did not like them, they were afraid; they drank the bitter drink and, when they were hungry, could bite the empty industriousness of peaceful people.

This summer, a new steamboat appeared to supply the old ones - “Lastivka” and “Katerina” - “Ivan Tsypulin”.

It hums differently, beating the water with its wheels faster. Out of fear of missing out, we called our mother to run out of the mountains to swim, aware of the turn of Aleksin and Velegov - his beep. Great things have come from here. Musya learned to swim quickly and was not afraid of water; Mom, who swam miraculously, pleased her with her courage. Their names – Marina – goiter. We knew what Marina meant – Morska, like those who my mother called Asya (Anastasia – Resurrected) through Turgenev’s “Asi” – “Read the song!”

Just once I showed up. "Plivi!" - Said the mother, touching me, six-fold, on her stretched arms. I didn’t understand; following her, she threw herself from her hands into the water; kalamutna greens - in the eyes of power; I became choked up and tired. Mati, gasping, rushed forward, behind me, and caught me by the heel. From that hour I began fear of driving?

Inodi long liv. A new life was coming: we began bachiti hut. Just yesterday it was dripping, it was open at the fishpond and at the door, it was its part. Now all the little bits came to life. The rapt waste of all the beauty of the cake, leaves, and flowers in the wild was quiet. We peacefully inhabited the entire hut, filled with groves and markets of field and garden flower beds, the lower rooms, where the stoves crackled unsatisfied, dimly, and flooded stoves. Only now we noticed that, having risen to the booth from the blue, that we went to the check-in without getting off, we found ourselves in the distant, high elevations above the garden, where we went steeply, we can see from the window (our booth standing on a mow pagorba). Everyone noticed how the wood had darkened on the silver rings, how the low, deep country buffet lined the balcony doors, how the piano was brown, how the sofa was shabby. What hung from the yellow hard palm leaf - chop it up. We wandered into the bedroom, which looked out onto a thick bush and - under the bush - onto an overgrown croquet square. Raptom came to life, glimmering under the rock, my mother’s Beklin’s “Villa of the Sea” - rocks, stones, and shards of wood that had been knocked out of them, so that they could go down to the hills, the women stood, and the pine needles would tear in the wind. In the kitchen it was necessary to run through the dark blue - low in the dark, with small, country-style ends and such heat, otherwise everything would be hot; there was a smell of bread cakes, like the Dobrotvorskys’ kitchen, stewed cowhide with potatoes browned in juice. The cook greeted us pleasantly and treated us to delicious pies that came out of the oven. We ran up the mountain, in our two lights under the road, as the sound of boards sounded, left-handed Musina and mine, right-handed Andryushina.

Now all those things that we didn’t notice behind the most basic upholstery and upholstery came to life: ornate woven carpets on folding linen beds, rough stools with clay basins; The wind was clinking.

Ours and Musya always marveled at the place below us - the everlasting bedroom: the city sunk deep behind the croquet square and the raspberry bushes, lined with the density of tall trees, which were holding out to us the "guard's brisket" from the filthy guardhouse. Master's God. From Andryushin's end one could see from the piano window the distance below him - a stitch into the "old garden" with majestic ash trees and low crowns of apple trees.

But most of all we appreciated the upper balcony, where in the quiet cell we heard the rain, the wind, the rain, the squealing of the jets flying through the gutters, marveled at the rustling light strings and drove the sticks leaves along the gutters of fresh, echoing trees.

The heat that rushed from the sky, scorched my neck, exposed my forehead. Bare feet were spat on the baked earth. How about you forget to happily reach the edge of the ladle, scooped up from the middle of the old majestic barrel in the barn, darkened, hidden in the sun at that hour? Why did the water in the barrel become cold? There was a bula maizhe yak strumok, dzherelna, on the way to the place behind the stone. I was later, I had more time in life, but that’s not the same!

On the sides of the rutted road appeared my mother’s “immortals” (not the later known ones, but the straw-grained ones, the strings - the sunflowers - the immortelles) - the little gray-poplars, succumbing to the cat’s paws, light egg-like bags. Mom and I chatted about them like friends! We knew what it was in French immortel” means “immortal.” The stench did not fade away like a mustache. And then the summer began to work, everything changed – the gloom, the trees, other sounds and smells appeared, and we, in the mountains, were already thinking that summer was ending, especially the blue sky, the spiderwebs in the old garden,” the smell of mushrooms and damp straw - we were also aware of a new joy: it’s not “summer is coming”, but “ autumn has come»!

Zradniki! We traded the frozen turmoil for new happiness, mindlessly bathing in the luxury of the heather trees that flow generously!

Read a fragment of the review posted on the website of the text you read, in which the specific features of the text are analyzed. Some terms, vikoristan reviews, missing. Insert numbers in the spaces that correspond to the number of the term in the list.

(1) Great day! (2) Everyone left home, the children were left alone with a nanny or governess. (3) The night was like a furnace: empty, but full of fresh water, when the first blow of the bell rang over Moscow and the Moskva River, with the ringing of Ivan the Great. (4). oh, turning over all the fingers of the children's igors The symphonic concerts of the elders, the ringing chirping of all the little bells of Russian roads and all the spring roads, the sounds, choking on themselves, will rush out of their kingdom. (5) And then fly over the Moskva River to them to help the entire kingdom of this world - sticky wood, gold, tin, copper, the heat of all the Firebirds of all Russian fairy tales, and, gliding up the mountain, in the gloom, let into cold spring waters, embellished with vogniks, from all colors and from all artistic palettes.

(6) In Moscow it was called “missiles”. (7) And near Tsar-Harmati, all the Harmats reign, unable to endure, releasing their Suvorov and Kutuzov gurkot kernels from the poles, and nothing will be understood, not gained, not even a little...

(For A. Tsvetaeva)

Text by A. Tsvetaeva dedicated to children's riddles about the Holy Day of the Great Holy Day in pre-revolutionary Moscow. The author vividly and figuratively describes the unexpected emotions of the great night. Cob text

formalized for the help of ______ (proposition 1), and this method is important, but briefly introduce the reader to the topic. The description of the ringing bell becomes significant because of the vicoristic reception of ______ (propositions 3-5), which lies at its basis, which is assumed to be ______ (divisional reinforcement fragment of proposition 4). The metaphorical nature of the language is emphasized for help (propositions 3, 4). The remaining paragraph becomes figurative through the vikoristannya ______ (reigns) and ______ (Suvorov and Kutuzov Gurkots).

List of terms:

2) nicknamed by those

3) metaphor

4) hyperbole

5) occasionalism

6) paraphrase

7) isolation

9) leveling

10) phraseology

(1) In the material world, great things cannot be placed in small things. (2) The sphere of spiritual values is not in abundance: a small one can accommodate much more, and if a great one tries to accommodate a little, then the great one simply stops sleeping.

(3) Since there is a great meta in a person, then she is obliged to appear in everyone - in the most insignificant things. (4) It is necessary to be honest with the unforgettable and the weak: then only you will be honest and with the victor of your great obligation. (5) The great meta devolves upon every person, it is known to every person, and it is impossible to think that through evil means one can reach the good meta.

(6) The commandment “meta truthful cats” is disastrous and immoral. (7) Dostoevsky showed this well in “Evil and Punishment.” (8) The head of this work - Rodion Raskolnikov, thinking that, having killed the old old fever cooker, he would get money, so that he could then achieve great goals and benefit humanity, rather than suffer an internal accident .

(9) The meta is distant and unreal, but the evil is real; It’s greedy and there’s nothing we can do to justify it.

(10) It is impossible to hit a high mark with low strokes. (11) We must, however, be honorable to both the great and the small.

(12) Zagalne rule: to achieve the great in the small is necessary, carefully, and in science (13) Scientific truth is the most expensive, and it is required to follow all the details of scientific research and in the life of the eternal. (14) If science is pursued to “fragile” goals - to proof “by force”, above the facts, to the “worthiness” of concepts, their effectiveness or any form of self-inflation, then the doctrine will inevitably lead to failure. (15) Possibly, not right away, but by all means! (16) When the results of investigations begin to be rejected and further manipulation of facts begins, and scientific truth is pushed onto another plane, science ceases to exist; And the anniversary itself sooner and later ceases to be a celebration.

(17) It is important for everyone to fulfill the great need. (18) Everything is easy and simple.

(D.S. Likhachov)

Text by academician Dmitr Sergiyovich Likhachov dedicated to the important problem of moral ambushes of human activity and scientific activity of the world. The author formulates the main idea

develops for the help of such a technique as ______ (propositions 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 9, 10, 11, 12, 15). Features of assessment D.S. Likhachov sends ______ for help

(Great meta, good, goal, low goals, up to “different” goals). Describing the inner frame of the hero in the novel “Evil and Punishment”, the author,

Zastosova ______ (proposition 8). ______ (proposition 5, 13) strengthens the reader’s hostility and shows the importance of the author’s problem.

List of terms:

2) metonymy

3) metaphor

4) hyperbole

5) occasionalism

6) paraphrase

7) antithesis

9) leveling

10) phraseology

Read a fragment of the review based on the text you read. In this case, all fragments are analyzed according to the specific features of the text. Some terms, vikoristan reviews, missing. Insert numbers in the spaces that correspond to the number of the term in the list.

(1) I never went “for the material” or “for the plots”. (2) Alive, having paid for life, having learned new things. (3) The method of “arriving - having gone to bed - having gone to sleep” does not deserve serious consideration...

(4) The word is popularized between the mind and the heart. (5) The writer is the “losing phase” of the exposed high-voltage wire: the smallest contact with something is enough - and the arc burns out. (6) And the voltage is good and the cod, it’s not there – it won’t help and it’s a mountain, one spritz will come out. (7) And the external ideas can serve only as a guide - but not at all as the basis of this colossus of ideas and feelings, which is the essence of creation. (8) In addition, with physical work, the intellect of important minds seems to become cold, sensitivity dulls, and they hesitate to go, compromising the place of action.

(9) Once an idea, an inner impulse has been generated, then you look for adequate material to instill the idea into the form. (10) Here the evidence adds: among the known realities and you find the promised land, which becomes a fatherland for your faith

(M. Weller)

The famous current writer Mikhailo Weller, analyzing the powerful evidence, discusses the nature of writing. Believing that “the truth is popularized between the mind and the heart,” the curtains are drawn ______ (proposition 4). The same stitch is at the center of proposition 10. The role of the writer M. Weller explains with the help of _____ (propositions 5, 6, 7). The originality of the author's language is given by the vikoristanny ______ (filled) and ______ (promised land).

List of terms:

2) nicknamed by those

3) metaphor

4) hyperbole

5) occasionalism

6) paraphrase

7) isolation

8) ignite the flame Sh|

9) leveling

10) phraseology

Read a fragment of the review, summarizing the text you read. In this case, all fragments are analyzed according to the specific features of the text. Some terms, vikoristan reviews, missing. Insert numbers in the spaces that correspond to the number of the term in the list.

(1) The current situation is that scientific and technological progress is one of the main steps in social progress. (2) The wisdom of our era is richly reflected in the marvelous, unique (for the life of us human beings!) achievements of science and technology (electronic, laser, computing, etc.), which I undoubtedly reveal there are new prospects for the development of production, Raising the level of living standards of the people, refining the minds of the people, education and illumination.

(3) The emergence of global problems, as well as social problems, is largely due to technological progress. (4) Today's world- a grandiose technocenosis, and the legacies of technical progress, relying on its universality, all-consuming nature, are of significance that go far beyond the boundaries of the technical series.

(5) It’s far from anyone’s mind to rely on technology, to rely on it, to rely on it, despite the evil spirits. (6) Evil enters the world only through people, their principles, will (just as goodness is established in the world invariably). (7) And we may not have the same characteristics as humans. (8) Those who have every piece of technology take social responsibility from people and hide their demoralization (like guilt, because you are innocent, innocent!). (9) Moreover, it is necessary to clearly understand that many of the problems facing humanity can be considered as a path to scientific and technological progress. (10) It is impossible not only to be surprised, but also to be convinced. (11) The current world does not provide alternatives. The flow from technology, as well as freedom, is an illusion, and even more so, it is not safe (as is its endless trust). (12) Why do we lack freedom of choice, but the will is manifest.

(A. Rubenis)

The journalistic text by A. Rubenis is dedicated to the current problem of scientific and technological progress. The author’s thoughts are supported by special syntactic models, including those with the highest frequency _____ (propositions 2, 5, 6, 8, 11), and their actions (propositions 2, 8) are simultaneously and _____. Propositions 2, 6 are repeated again and again, since the author vikors some _______. Among the features of lexical diversity, chosen by the author, can be called ______ (propositions 6, 7, 8) and ______ (amazing, unique, even dangerous, universality, all-pleasing character, etc.).

List of terms:

1) row same members

3) plug-in design

4) value vocabulary

5) more rhetorical viguk

6) expressive vocabulary

7) nutritional unit

8) phraseology

9) synecdoche

10) metaphor is ignited

(1) Language and, it seems, literature are old, inevitable, timeless speeches, even a form of a huge organization. (2) The turbulence, irony or reality that is expressed in the literature in relation to the state is, in essence, the reaction of a steady, or, in other words, unstoppable, in relation to the hourly, surrounded. (3) Please understand that while a power allows itself to be handed over to the government of literature, literature has the right to be handed over to the government of the power. (4) The political system, the form of the future dispensation, as the system has come, and, after all, the form of the past hour, which is trying to impose itself on the present (and, most often, the future), and the person whose profession is the language, the rest , who can forget about it. (5) The real concern for the writer is not only the possibility (often the reality) of re-examining the side of the power, how much the possibility of appearing hypnotized by this, the power, monstrous or having recognized a change for the better - or ever more timely - outlines.

(6) The philosophy of the state, its ethics, without seeming to be about its aesthetics, is “yesterday”; language, literature – always “today” and often – especially in different orthodoxies and other systems, say “tomorrow”. (7) One of the merits of literature lies in the fact that it helps people to clarify the hour of their sleep, to distinguish themselves among their predecessors and others like them, to avoid tautologies, so that the shares known to them I will honorably call them “victims of history.” (8) Mystery has flared up and literature is dying out and miraculously, and thus the life is growing, so that it will be repeated in the future. (9) In everyday life, you can recognize that very anecdote of trichy and trichy, which evokes laughter, will appear as the soul of marriage. (10) In mystique, this form of behavior is called “cliché.” (11) Art is a hopeless project, and its development is determined not by the individuality of the artist, but by the dynamics and logic of the material itself, the recent history of the techniques that you can find out (or suggest t) it is clearly a new aesthetic solution. (12) Volodya with its powerful genealogy, dynamics, logic and future, mysticism is not synonymous, but, in short, parallel to history, and the way of its creation is the creation of a new aesthetic. reality. (13) Why does it often appear “before progress”, before history...

(I. Brodsky)

Nobel laureate Josip Brodsky speaks about the advancements of power and literature at the award ceremony. The basis of peace is to stand _____ (proposition 6). To convey the powerful attitude, the author masterfully stasis _______ (the speeches are old, inevitable,

Dovgovichny; storminess, irony and curiosity). Vislovity power to the succession of the handing over of the power to literature I. Brodsky uses an additional lexical feature such as ______ (proposition 5). The text is stylistically consistent with the text in the new______ ( political system, form of huge organization, cliché, irony, genealogy), ______ (orthodoxy, monstrous, who has recognized change) and ______ (often, soul of marriage, hopeless, etc.).

List of terms: A

1) series of similar members *

2) basic vocabulary

3) gradation

4) valuable book vocabulary

6) antithesis

7) nutritional unit

8) phraseology

9) synecdoche

10) metaphor is ignited

I’m reading the shanovny, I want to say hello to you from the Great One! Christ is Risen! The Great One, the main Orthodox saint, has long been associated with impersonal signs. Even a week before the Holy Day, in Palm Week, having brought the consecrated willow leaves from the temple, it was necessary to splash them with thinness and all members of the family, seemingly with the words: The vine, not I, a week before the Holy Day.

This was done so that other people’s evil people, illnesses, death would not “beat” them... From this hour, preparations for the Holy Great Day began: They painted and cooked eggs, they began to prepare cowbass. On Maundy Thursday it was necessary to tidy up the cabins and don’t forget to cook Quadruple strength, This is how they began to worship on Great Day, and then the whole river.

!

Also, the passionate four from the church brought a lit “passionate” candle. It was used to scorch crossbones on the stele and doors. For this purpose, candles were used to cure fever and were given into the hands of the dying to ease their death throes. So, according to popular belief, a candle that burned in bad weather could save the storm and fire that occurred due to the flash.

On this great day, Orthodox Christians pretended to be careful (and even, at this hour, they themselves risked being extremely angry). Who knows, afraid to go out into the open after the sun sets: the devil can pretend to be his own creatures in order to lure an unfortunate person to himself.

And closer to the morning, it was necessary to respectfully look after your dog. As soon as the Easter morning arrives, it means there will be fire, and as soon as it sets, there will be misfortunes.

Ale bouli such smilivtsi, like everyone else. Only on Holy Day can you slay the witch! Why do you need to kiss the castle and the church, and then I will bite your sister in her proper guise!

And if you go to an intersection and roll a great-day egg along the road, then the devil will immediately jump out and for those who take the egg, they will kick off like your bajan.

By rising at night on Sunday or on the hill with a candle that was burning in the morning, you can help the house-elf. According to legend, the dead appear on earth on great nights. And when, at the hour of the Holy Walk, you gather together in church, you can be careful how the angels pray and make Christ among themselves. However, the people, who saw their presence, could pay for it with their lives...

On Easter Day, the summer people combed their hair and wore it so that they had as much hair in them as there was hair on their heads. And at the hour of the Easter service, the young girls were required to quietly whisper: “God grant that the named Garny, in boots and galoshes, is not on a cow, but on a horse!” or “Resurrection of Christ! Send me the betrothed single man, in panchokhs and brocades!” And the fruit will inevitably come.

The whole great day they watched for signs: if a girl forgets her lip - this means that having guessed her dear, if you can catch a fly or a targan in a hedgehog - this means itching, itching your lip - this means kissing, itching your eyebrows - flirting you and the ignorant stranger!

At the Great Day service, the prayer service was performed with towels, and at that moment all of them were sleeping. Christ is Risen“First, they ran out of the church and shot into the wind, hoping to kill the rice and protect themselves from the water in the distance. The fishermen would always say: “I have a fish!”

The villains and robbers tried to steal from those who pray in the temple, I say, believing that if the trick succeeds, then the whole river will catch them by the hand.

You can’t sleep on Easter Sunday, otherwise you’ll sleep through everything in the world. If you wanted to sleep through everything holy, you need to soak it in water.

After the end of the morning, it was necessary to turn home as quickly as possible in order to push forward the fate of everyone on the right.

And they began to break the fast immediately from Velikodnya. whatever was on the table. Before these girls had to soak themselves in water, on such a great day to lie down in order to be as beautiful.

It was not customary to invite guests on the first day of the Great Day. A great meal was obtained from the high school family.

After the Great Day or an egg, they divided it among themselves among a number of household members. After breaking the fast, all the cries, scabs, and brushes were carefully collected at the table. In every case, nothing could be taken away from anyone. This “holy smithery”, buried on the edge of the hill, was believed to be capable of causing hail.

So they saved the entire river and kept it in the paska - like a talisman that brings happiness.

And the Easter egg, which is kept behind the icon, could have been burned if they were thrown at the fire, having first walked around the burning place in their hands three times.

Considering the happiness of the one who dies on the Great Day, for the gates of paradise on that day are opened, and the soul goes there without judgment.

And on great nights all the sorrows of the earth are revealed. On the ground, the stench glows with various vodkas, so that only the youngest child in the family, and especially in the case of purity, can accumulate treasures.

In different ways, one can look to the signs and beliefs behind which our grandfathers and ancestors lived. Our hour has a lot of them to sound naive. However, just like that, the clock was set until the Great Holy Day. And much of what is written in this article is our history with you, the history of Easter, the history of Christianity. I cherish everything with the saint, Christ is Risen!

Holy Holy Day is a great day for all Orthodox people and is the brightest and most important thing in the family. We are preparing ourselves for the future, bringing cleanliness and order not only to our everyday life, but also to our souls. Whose people believe in the sight of a great night and look for the symbols associated with this great church saint. Before the great night, some robots were harrowed, in addition to preparing eggs and preparing eggs. On this day, people invite you to pray in the sunshine on Christ’s Resurrection.

Note that it sounds on the night before the Great Day

Just before the Great Day there are signs that will bring peace and tranquility to your home. So, for example, you can’t stop everyday work: laundry, cleaning, handicrafts are also prohibited. This means that everyone is also respected by the filthy sign of the Holy Majesty in advance.

Another unpleasant sign is to bark and cook in front of the great saint. Another belief is that if the Saturday before the Great Day is sunny, then the summer will be warm. And if the weather is gloomy, summer will be cold and rainy.

On Saturday, you can eat only vegetables, fruits and fruits. The day of the day on this day gives way to the festivities of Great Night. As a rule, on Saturday there is clarification of high-quality products: beans, eggs, malt.

Why can’t you work for nothing on Holy Day?

Food about those who cannot work on the night before the Great Day, praises rich believing people. This is often the case that people tend to forget ancient traditions. But on this great day I want to follow the rules, so that You can get closer to Jesus in this holy place.

Well, you can’t throw out a peeled egg that looks like a peeled hard-boiled egg on top of the eyelid. It is important that Christ and the apostles walk the streets and can be consumed in a new way. It is not possible to enter or speak with the dead on the night of the Great Day. For whom is the day of Chervona Hirka in the period after the Great Day?

For girls, take your notes: since the month has begun on Easter night, it is not recommended to enter the temple. You can ask someone to come in and light a candle for you, or just stand outside the temple. As a rule, the clarification of great products takes place not in the church itself, but on the street. Here you can stay on critical days.