In the last days of May 1793, one of the Parisian battalions sent to Brittany under the command of Santerra, Santerre Antoine-Joseph (1752-1809) - a leader of the French Revolution, a Jacobin who was very popular in the Saint-Antoine suburb, took an active part in the struggle against the Vendée rebels. conducted reconnaissance in the formidable Sodrey forest near Astilla. About three hundred people now totaled this detachment, more than half melted in the crucible of a harsh war. That was after the battles near Argonne, Zhemapo, Jemap is a Belgian city; in the Battle of Jemap on November 6, 1792, the French republican troops won a brilliant victory over the Austrian troops, which resulted in the occupation of the whole of Belgium by the French troops. and Valmy Valmy is a French village; in the battle of Valmy on September 20, 1792, the Austro-Prussian troops, marching on Paris in order to strangle the revolution, were driven back by the French revolutionary troops and were forced to begin a retreat. The Battle of Valmy marked a turning point in the war between revolutionary France and a coalition of European monarchs. when only twenty-seven men remained in the first Parisian battalion of six hundred volunteers, thirty-three in the second, and fifty-seven in the third. Memorable year of heroic battles.
In all the battalions sent from Paris to the Vendée, there were nine hundred and twelve men. Each battalion was given three guns. Formed them in a hurry. April 25, when Goya was Goyer Louis-Jerome (1746-1830) - French politician and lawyer, member of the Legislative Assembly, member of the government of the Directory, after the coup of 18 Brumaire retired from political activity. Minister of Justice and Bushott Bouchotte Jean-Baptiste-Noel (1754-1840) - leader of the French Revolution, Jacobin, Minister of War in 1793-1794. He showed great energy in organizing the supply of revolutionary troops with food and ammunition. Minister of War, the Bon-Conseil section proposed sending several battalions of volunteers to the Vendée; a member of the commune of Lüben made a corresponding presentation; On the first of May, Santerra was able to send twelve thousand soldiers, thirty field guns and a battalion of gunners to their destination. The construction of these battalions, which arose at lightning speed, turned out to be so reasonable that even today it still serves as a model in determining the composition of linear companies; it was then that the traditional ratio between the number of soldiers and the number of non-commissioned officers changed for the first time.
On April 28, the Commune of the city of Paris gave its volunteers a short order: "No mercy, no indulgence!" By the end of May, of the twelve thousand men who had left Paris, eight thousand had fallen in battle.
The battalion, deepening into the Sodrey forest, was ready for any surprises. They moved without haste. Vigilantly looked around to the right and to the left, forward and backward; No wonder Kleber Kleber Jean-Baptiste (1753-1800) - French general, participant in the wars of the late 18th century; participated in the fight against the Vendeans. He was killed in Egypt while negotiating the evacuation of French troops from there. said: "A soldier has eyes in the back of his head." Have been going for a long time. How long could it be? Is it day or night? It is not known, for in such deaf thickets the evening mist reigns supreme and in the Sodreyan forest the twilight is eternally poured.
The Sodreyan forest acquired a tragic glory. Here, among the forest thickets, in November 1792, the first atrocity took place. civil war. From the disastrous wilds of Sodrey emerged the fierce lame Musketon; a long list of murders committed in the local forests and copses, causes involuntary shivers. There is no scarier place in the world. Going deeper into the thicket, the soldiers kept their guard. Everything around was in bloom; I had to make my way through a quivering curtain of branches that poured out the sweet freshness of young leaves; the sun's rays barely made their way through the green haze; under the foot of a skewer, iris, field daffodils, spring saffron, nameless flowers - harbingers of warmth, as if they were blooming with silk threads and a braid lush carpet herbs, where moss was woven in a variety of patterns; here he scattered his stars, there he wriggled like green worms. The soldiers walked slowly in complete silence, cautiously parting the bushes. Birds chirped above bayonets.
In the midst of the Sodrai forest, once, in peaceful times, hunting for birds was organized, now there was a hunt for people.
Birches, elms and oaks stood like a wall; flat ground spread under the foot; dense grass and moss absorbed the noise of human steps; no path, and if there was a random path, it immediately disappeared; thickets of holly, thorns, ferns, trellises of thorny bushes, and ten paces away it is impossible to see a person. A heron or a water hen sometimes flying over a tent of branches indicated the proximity of a swamp.
And people kept walking. They walked towards the unknown, fearing and anxiously waiting for the appearance of the one they were looking for themselves.
From time to time, traces of a halt came across - scorched earth, crushed grass, a cross hastily knocked down from sticks, a pile of bloodied branches. Dinner was prepared there, Mass was celebrated there, the wounded were bandaged there. But the people who visited here disappeared without a trace. Where are they now? Maybe already far? Maybe very close, lying in ambush with a gun in his hand? The forest seemed to be dead. The battalion moved forward with redoubled caution. deserted - sure sign danger. No one is visible, the more reason to beware. No wonder the Sodreyan forest was notorious.
In such places, an ambush is always possible.
Thirty grenadiers, assigned to reconnaissance under the command of a sergeant, went far from the main part of the detachment. The battalion canteen went with them. Canteen girls generally follow the lead detachment willingly. Let there be danger at every step, but what can you not see enough of ... Curiosity is one of the manifestations of female courage.
Suddenly, the soldiers of the small forward detachment felt that trembling familiar to the hunter, which warns him of the proximity of the animal lair. It was as if a faint breeze swept through the branches of the bushes, and something seemed to move in the foliage. Those in front signaled to the others.
The officer has no reason to command the actions of a scout, in which tracking is combined with search; what needs to be done is done by itself.
In the blink of an eye, the suspicious place was surrounded and closed in a ring of thrown up guns: the black depth of the thicket was taken at gunpoint from all four sides, and the soldiers, holding their finger on the trigger, without taking their eyes off the target, were waiting only for the sergeant's command.
But the waitress bravely looked under the tent of branches, and when the sergeant was about to give the command: “Blow!” Her cry was heard: “Stop!”
She ran into the bushes. The soldiers followed her.
And there was someone there.
In the very thick of the bushes, on the edge of a round pit, where the lumberjacks, as if in a furnace, burn old rhizomes to charcoal, in the gap of the parted branches, as if in a green chamber, half-hidden, like an alcove, by a curtain of foliage, a woman was sitting on the moss; a baby crouched on her bare chest, and on her lap rested two blond heads of sleeping older children.
This was the ambush!
- What are you doing here? exclaimed the clerk.
The woman silently raised her head.
“Yes, you must be out of your mind for coming here! added the clerk.
And concluded:
“Another minute and you would have been killed on the spot!”
Turning to the soldiers, she explained:
- This is a woman!
“It’s like we don’t see it! said one of the grenadiers.
“To go like this into the woods, so that they would kill you right there,” the canteen girl did not let up, “you must come up with such stupidity!”
The woman, numb with fear, looked with amazement, as if awake, at the guns, sabers, bayonets, at the terrible faces.
The children woke up and whimpered.
"I'm hungry," said one.
"I'm scared," said the second.
Only the baby continued to calmly suck on the mother's breast.
Looking at him, the clerk said:
"You're the only one who didn't get lost."
The mother was dumbfounded with horror.
“Don’t be afraid,” the sergeant shouted to her, “we are from the Red Cap Battalion!”
The woman trembled all over. She glanced timidly at the sergeant and saw nothing on his weather-beaten face but a thick mustache, thick eyebrows, and eyes that burned like coals.
“Former Red Cross battalion,” explained the candienne.
- Who are you, madam, will you be?
The woman, frozen in horror, did not take her eyes off him. She was thin, pale, still young, in miserable rags; like all Breton peasant women, she threw a huge hood over her head, and a woolen blanket tied around her neck with a rope around her shoulders. With the indifference of a savage, she did not even bother to cover bare chest. There were no stockings or shoes on the legs, beaten to the blood.
- A beggar, or what? the sergeant asked.
The clerk intervened again:
- What's your name?
The question sounded like a soldier's rude, but there was a purely feminine softness in it.
The woman murmured indistinctly:
— Michel Flechard.
Meanwhile, the canteen girl was affectionately stroking the baby's head with her rough hand.
- How much time do we have? she asked.
The mother did not understand the question. The clerk repeated:
I ask how old is he?
“Ah,” replied the mother. - A year and a half.
“Look how grown-up we are,” exclaimed the canteen girl. - It's a shame to suck like that. Apparently, I'll have to wean him off my chest. We'll give him soup.
The mother calmed down a little. The two older children, who in the meantime had already completely woken up, looked around with curiosity and did not even seem to be frightened. The plumes of the grenadiers were very magnificent.
“Ah,” sighed the mother, “they are quite hungry.
- My milk is gone.
“They’ll be given food now,” the sergeant shouted, “and you too.” That's not what it's about. Can you tell us what your political beliefs are?
The woman silently looked at the sergeant.
- You don't hear, do you?
She muttered:
- I was sent to a monastery quite young, and then I got married, I'm not a nun. The holy sisters taught me to speak French. Our village was burned down. So we ran away in what we were, I didn’t even have time to put on my shoes.
- I'm asking you, what are your political beliefs?
- Don't know.
But the sergeant did not let up:
- You understand, now a lot of spies divorced. And spies, brother, are shot. Understood? Therefore answer. Are you a gypsy? Where is your homeland?
The woman looked at the sergeant as if she did not understand his words. The sergeant repeated:
- Where is your homeland?
“I don't know,” the woman replied.
- How do you not know! Don't know where you're from?
- Where was she born? I know.
- Well, tell me where you were born.
The woman replied:
“At the Siscuanyar farm in Azay parish.
Then it was the sergeant's turn to be surprised. He thought for a moment. Then he asked again:
- How did you say?
- Siscuanyar.
“So is your Siscuanyar your homeland?”
Yes, this is my area.
She furrowed her brows and said:
“Now I understand, sir. You are from France and I am from Brittany.
- So what?
“These are different regions.
“But we have one homeland,” the sergeant shouted.
The woman stubbornly repeated:
“We are Siscuanyars.
- Well, okay, Siskuanyar so Siskuanyar! Is your family from there?
- And what do your relatives do?
- Everyone died! I do not have anyone.
The sergeant, an eloquent man who loved to talk, continued the interrogation:
“Everyone has relatives or had them, damn it. Who are you? Well, speak quickly.
The woman listened, numb, to these cries, which sounded more like animal growls than human speech.
The canteen girl realized that it was time to intervene again. She stroked the baby's head and gently patted the cheeks of the two older ones.
- What's the little one's name? she asked. - I think she's a girl.
Mother replied:
- Georgette.
- And the older one? This tomboy, you see, is a gentleman.
- Rene-Jean.
- And the younger one? After all, he is also a real man, look how cheeky.
“Gros-Alain,” said the mother.
“Pretty kids,” the canteen girl approved, “just look, they’re just grown-ups.
But the sergeant did not let up:
“Answer me, ma'am. Do you have a house?
- There was a house.
- Where was it?
- Why aren't you at home?
Because it was burned.
- Who burned it?
- Don't know. The war burned.
- Where are you going from now?
- From there.
– Where are you going?
- Don't know.
- Speak loudly. Who are you?
- Don't know.
- Don't know who you are?
- Yes, we just run, we are saved.
What party do you sympathize with?
- Don't know.
- Are you blue? White? With whom you are?
- With kids.
There was silence. It was broken by a canteen.
“But I don’t have children,” she sighed. - There was no time.
The sergeant resumed his interrogation.
- What about your parents? Come on, ma'am, tell us about your parents. For example, my name is Radub, I myself am a sergeant, I am from Shersh-Midi Street, I had a mother and a father, I can tell who my parents are. And you tell me about yours. Tell me, who were your parents?
- Flashers. Just Flashers.
- Flashers are Flashers, and Radubs are Radubs. But after all, a person has not only a surname. What did they do, your parents? What they were doing? What are they doing now? What did they flash your Flashers for?
- They are plowmen. The father was a cripple, he could not work, after the lord ordered to beat him with sticks; so ordered his lord, our lord; he, señor, is kind with us, ordered to beat my father because my father shot a rabbit, and after all, death is supposed for this, but our seigneur pardoned my father, he said: “A hundred sticks are enough for him,” and my father has since became a cripple.
- Well, what else?
“My grandfather was a Huguenot. The curé exiled him to the galleys. I was still quite small then.
- My father-in-law was engaged in smuggling - he sold salt. The king ordered him to be hanged.
- And what did your husband do?
- Fought.
- For whom?
- For the king.
- And for whom?
“Of course, for my lord.
- And for whom?
“Of course, for Monsieur Curé.
- To thunder all of you! one of the grenadiers suddenly yelled.
The woman jumped in fear.
"You see, madame, we are Parisians," the candienne explained kindly.
The woman folded her arms in fright and exclaimed:
- Oh Lord Jesus!
- Well, well, without superstitions! shouted the sergeant.
The canteen girl sat down next to the woman on the grass and seated the older children on her knees, who willingly went to her. In a child, the transition from fear to complete trust occurs in the blink of an eye and for no apparent reason. There is some infallible instinct at work here.
“You are my poor little Breton, your children are so cute, just lovely. Now let me tell you how old they are. The bigger one is four years old, and the youngest is three. And this girl, look how she sucks, you can immediately see - a noble glutton. Oh, you monster! You're eating your mother like that. That's what, ma'am, you're not afraid of anything. Join our battalion. You will be like me. My name is Gusarsha. This is my nickname. But for me it’s better to call Hussar than Mamzel Two-horned, like my mother. I am a scribbler, and our job as a scribbler is to carry water for yourself, let them shoot and kill around. Turn everything upside down here. You and I have the same foot, I'll give you my shoes. On the tenth of August I was in Paris and gave Westerman himself a drink. Westerman is a French general, a participant in the wars against the European coalition and the struggle against the Vendean rebels. Well, let me tell you, it was! I saw with my own eyes how they guillotined Louis the Sixteenth, Louis Capet, they call him that now. Wow, he didn't want to die! Yes, listen to me, damn it! Just think, on the thirteenth of January they roasted chestnuts for him, and he sat with his family and laughed! When they forcibly laid him “on the board,” as we say in Paris, he was without a frock coat and shoes, only in a shirt, in a pique waistcoat, in gray woolen trousers and gray silk stockings. I saw with my own eyes ... The carriage in which they carried him was painted in green color. Listen to me, come with us. We have all the nice guys in the battalion, you will be the number two sutler, I will quickly teach you the business. There is nothing simpler - they will give you a large flask and a bell, and you walk around calmly, go into the very heat. Bullets fly, guns hoot, the noise is infernal, and you know how to shout: “Well, sons, who wants to drink, huh?” I tell you, it's no wonder. For example, I serve everyone a drink. Oh my god, really. And blue and white, although I myself am blue. And the real blue. And I serve everyone a drink. After all, every wounded man wants to drink. Everyone dies, both blue and white, without distinction of beliefs. Before death, people should be reconciled. It's ridiculous to fight. Come with us. If they kill me, the case will go to you. You don’t see that I have such a look, I’m not an evil woman, and a soldier would make a good soldier out of me. Don't be afraid of anything.
When the canteen finished her speech, the woman muttered:
“Our neighbor's name was Marie-Jeanne, and our maid's name was Marie-Claude.
Meanwhile, Sergeant Radub scolded the grenadier:
– Would you be silent! You see, the lady was quite frightened. Is it possible to swear in front of the ladies?
“But it’s easier for an honest person to listen to such words - it’s a knife in the heart,” the grenadier justified himself, “it’s easier to die on the spot than to look at these very monsters overseas: the seigneur crippled his father, the grandfather was exiled to the galleys because of the priest, the king hanged his father-in-law, and they, stupid heads, fight, organize rebellions, are ready to let themselves be laid down for the sake of their seigneur, curate and king!
The sergeant ordered:
- Do not talk in the ranks!
“We don’t talk anyway, sergeant,” answered the grenadier, “but it’s still heartbreaking to watch such a pretty woman herself crawl under bullets for the sake of some priest!”
“Grenadier,” the sergeant cut him off, “we're not here at the Peak Section Club. Don't rant.
He turned back to the woman.
“Where is your husband, madame?” What is he doing? What happened to him?
Nothing happened because he was killed.
- Where were they killed?
- In the forest.
- When was it killed?
- Third day.
- Who killed?
- Don't know.
Do you know who killed your husband?
- No, I do not know.
Did the Blues kill you? Whites killed?
- The gun killed.
“Third day, you say?
- Near Erne. My husband fell. That's all.
- And when your husband was killed, what did you do?
- Went with the kids.
- Where do the eyes look?
- Where do you sleep?
- On the ground.
- What are you eating?
- Nothing.
The sergeant made an indescribably ferocious grimace, pulling his lush mustache up to his nose.
“Nothing at all?”
- Blackberries were torn, last year's blackthorn, it still survived in some places on the bushes, they ate blueberries, fern shoots.
- Yes, it's like nothing.
The older boy, having obviously understood what was at stake, repeated: "I want to eat."
The sergeant pulled a loaf of bread from his pocket—his daily allowance—and handed it to the woman. She broke the loaf in half and gave a piece to the older children. They greedily began to eat bread.
“I didn’t keep it for myself,” the sergeant grumbled.
"Because she's not hungry," said the soldier.
“Because mother,” said the sergeant.
The boys stopped eating.
- I am thirsty! one said.
- I am thirsty! another said.
The canteen girl took off the copper cup that hung on her belt next to the bell, unscrewed the lid of the jar she carried over her shoulder, poured out a few drops and raised the cup to the child's lips.
The elder drank and grimaced.
The younger drank and spat.
“But what a delicious one,” said the canteen.
- What did you treat them to, vodka, or what? the sergeant inquired.
- And what, the best! Do the villagers understand?
And she angrily wiped her cup.
The sergeant got back to work.
“So, madame, are you saving yourself?”
- I had to.
“Running, then, straight through the fields?”
“At first I ran as far as I could, then I walked, and then I fell down.
“Oh, you poor thing,” sighed the canteen girl.
“People keep fighting,” the woman muttered. “All around, wherever you look, they are shooting everywhere. And I don't know what anyone wants. Now my husband has been killed. I don't understand anything.
The sergeant thumped the ground with a loud butt and shouted angrily:
“Damn it, this war!
“Last night we slept in a hollow.
- All four?
- All four.
- Standing, so you slept?
“Yes,” repeated the sergeant, “we slept standing up…”
And turned to the soldiers.
- Comrades, the local savages call a hollow tree such a large hollow, where a person can squeeze himself, as if into a sheath. Yes, they are in demand. It's not the Parisians.
“Sleep in a hollow,” repeated the canteen girl, “and with three other children!”
“Yes,” said the sergeant, “when the kids raised a roar, the passers-by must have been amazed, they couldn’t understand anything, a tree stands and shouts: “Daddy, mommy.”
“Thank God it’s summer now,” the woman said.
She lowered her resigned glance, and her eyes reflected great surprise at the incomprehensible burden of troubles.
The soldiers stood silently around the candienne.
An unfortunate widow, three little orphans, flight, confusion, loneliness, war, with a formidable roar, overlaid the entire horizon, hunger, thirst, the only food is grass, the only shelter is the sky!
The sergeant moved closer to the woman and looked at the girl, pressed against her mother's breast. The little girl released a nipple from her mouth, turned her head, stared with her beautiful blue eyes at the terrible furry face bent over her, and suddenly smiled.
The sergeant quickly straightened up, a large tear crawled down his cheek and, like a pearl, hung on the tip of his mustache.
“Comrades,” he said loudly, “it follows from all of the above that the battalion cannot avoid becoming a father. How are we going to do it? Let's take and adopt three kids.
Long live the Republic! shouted the grenadiers.
"It's decided," said the sergeant.
And he stretched out both hands over the mother and children.
“So,” he said, “from now on, these are the children of the Red Cap Battalion.
The maid even jumped for joy.
“There are three heads under one cap,” she shouted.
- And the little one is already now, you see, a minx!
Long live the Republic! the grenadiers shouted again.
The sergeant turned to his mother.
Come on, citizen.
Once a young guy came to a shoemaker to be hired as an apprentice.
There are many of you walking around here, - says the master. - In words, shoemakers anywhere, but when it comes down to it, you don’t know how.
Test me, - asks the guy.
All right, - the shoemaker agreed, - let's see if you know how to sew boots.
The guy sewed boots - a feast for the eyes. The master rejoiced and said:
Your work is arguing.
They shook hands, and the shoemaker hired the guy as an apprentice.
In the evening, the master showed him a closet under the very roof, where he would live. The apprentice entered the closet and locked the door behind him. Curiosity disassembled the shoemaker, he began to peep through the keyhole. And he sees - the guy fell on his knees, bowed and said:
Well, Lord, tell me, finally, how much more should I pray? I pray, I pray, but it's all to no avail. There's no way I can get ninety-nine guilders from you!
He said he got up off the floor and went to bed. The master went to himself.
The next evening, the shoemaker again saw the apprentice on his knees, bowing, conversing with God.
Well, Lord, will you finally tell me when I will get a hundred guilders from you?!
The shoemaker decided to play a joke with the guy. The next day he climbed onto the roof and punched a hole right into the closet where the apprentice lived. In the evening, he again hears how the apprentice asks God for money. Then the master took a purse embroidered with pearls, put ninety-nine guilders in it, and lowered it into the hole. The purse fell to the floor, and the apprentice said:
Let's see what fell. Maybe it's the Lord God was generous?
He took his wallet, opened it, began to count money. He counted ninety-nine guilders and grumbles:
Eh! Even though you are God, you are dishonest. I asked you for a hundred guilders, and you only sent me ninety-nine. However, the purse is worth a guilder, so we are even.
The shoemaker did not sleep all night: his curiosity was making out - how would the apprentice behave?
The apprentice sat down to work in the morning, sewing boots, singing, whistling. He doesn't mention money. The master became annoyed, he could not stand it and said:
Did you get ninety-nine guilders last night? And a purse embroidered with pearls?
Right! - answers the apprentice.
Do you know where this money comes from?
I know from God!
Not at all! says the shoemaker. - This money is from me. Give them back now.
What more! the apprentice grinned. - I prayed to God, begged for money, so they fell on me from the sky.
Give me money! - the master boils.
Never! - the guy smirks.
I'll sue you! the owner threatens.
Well, scared! - the apprentice laughs. The master really went to court and conspired with the judge's apprentice to ruin his.
They took the guy to court. He went up to the lawyer and asked:
Maybe you know what means to keep my wallet?
Share with me ladies good advice! - answers the lawyer.
OK! the guy promises.
The solicitor was a cunning fellow. He knew that the master was in collusion with the judges, and decided to laugh at the guy.
The judge will start asking you questions, - he tells him, - and you know yourself, whistle yes right hand stroke your mustache!
The apprentice remembered the advice. They called the guy into the hall, and the judge asked him:
Did you get a purse embroidered with pearls and ninety-nine guilders?
The guy in response only whistles and strokes his mustache with his right hand.
The judge fought with him, fought, but all in vain. He is tired and says:
You see, this apprentice is touched. You can't do anything with him.
And how to shout at him:
Get out of here!
I did not force the apprentice to repeat these words twice and ran out of the hall. And behind the door, the rogue-solicitor is catching up with him. He himself did not expect that the worker would be lucky, but he decided to get money for advice.
You have half!
The apprentice in response only whistles and strokes his mustache with his right hand.
Oh, you're a rogue! - shouted in the hearts of the lawyer. - I'll show you!
But the guy was already gone. Goes happy. Deftly he circled two rogues around his finger!
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Brontë McAlister struggles to counter efforts young entrepreneur Stephen Randolph to turn her grandmother Gilly's land into a modern tourist destination. Steven insists that he is in love with Bronte, and she believes that all this is a distraction. This is the storyline of the first part of this novel. In the second book, "Passion in an Old Manor," which comes out as No. 1203 at the same time as the first (No. 1202), passions flare up to a truly detective level. Bronte has a rival, her brother is pursued by a maniac father, it comes ...
How to read books. A Guide to Reading the Greats... Mortimer Adler
Why do some find any book very deep, others - empty, others - abstruse? Why, when you re-read a book, do you discover something you didn't notice before? Why does someone understand all shades of meaning, see the hidden between the lines, hear the music of words, feel their taste, color and smell, and someone remains deaf to them? Why does someone perceive the contents of the textbook the first time, while someone needs to explain it many times? To tune in to the “wave” of the author and understand more, you need the ability to read actively. That's why I wrote my...
Daniel Galitsky. The first Russian king Natalya Pavlishcheva
He is raised on a shield by the Ukrainian Nazis and glorified by the “Westerners”, who call DANIL OF GALITSK the only prince who did not submit to the Mongol invaders, and the first Russian king. He is cursed by the “patriots”, who declared Daniil Romanovich a European henchman and a traitor to his own people, who fled from the Batu invasion to the Ugrians and Poles. Indeed, in history Ancient Rus' it is difficult to find a more controversial, controversial and ambiguous figure. Daniil Galitsky accepted the crown from the Pope - but never became a Catholic. He is the first of…
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Hoaxer: Mezhiritsky's book, although titled "Reading Marshal Zhukov," however, does not focus solely on the marshal's personality (and therefore it is in "Research" and not "Biographies"). I do not agree with some of the author's conclusions, but I will make a reservation: I fully agree with only one author, his name is Hoaxer. Hoaxer (9.04.2002): The book is finally updated (the first publication, according to the author, needed additions). In my opinion, today's version can be considered already the 3rd edition, corrected, as they say, and supplemented. From the point of view of an offline publisher,…
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The publication includes stories by Henry Lawson: "Father's Companion", "Bill and Arvey from the Grinder Brothers Factory", "The Packer's Wife", "On the Edge of the Plain", "Into the Drought", "The Parcel", "The Eucalyptus Chip" and many others. etc., as well as the novel by Katharina Susanna Pritchard "The Nineties" (1944) - the first part of a trilogy about the Western Australian gold mines, over which K.-S. Pritchard worked for ten years (from 1940 to 1950).
First sip of beer... Philippe Delerme
A collection of short stories by Philippe Delerme, one of the most brilliant modern writers in France. The author writes about the joy of being, about the happiness of recognizing the world in childhood, gives the reader the opportunity to feel the beauty of life's little things, recreates the taste, color, smell of France. One has only to look at the name of any of the miniatures - and you want to read it: "Apple spirit", "Warm croissant on the street", "Almost summer - you could eat in the garden", "First sip of beer", "Lukum in an Arab shop" , "Sweater for autumn", "News heard on the road" ... Such books would be nice ...
Cyrus the Great. First Monarch Harold Lamb
The original fictionalized biography of the most mysterious historical character, the first monarch on Earth, the founder of the Achaemenid Empire. The book reflects all the main historical events of a distant era, masterfully recreates the atmosphere of the 6th century BC, when the mysterious tribe of Persians, isolated in the highlands of southern Iran, achieved superiority over the entire civilized world, spending a little more than 30 years on it.
Abarat: The First Book of Hours by Clive Barker
Here the ordinary intertwines with the unseen. Here words take on flesh, here time has its own laws, here in the depths of the waters sinister monsters wait in the wings, here outlandish creatures live on equal terms with people. Here the waters of the Isabella Sea are washed by twenty-five islands, none of which is similar to the other. There are so many miracles here that even the locals do not know the answers to all the riddles. This is Abarat. It's a magical world whose fate depends on young Candy Quackenbush from the boring town of Zyptoun, Minnesota. To escape from the daily routine...
Victory. Volume One Alexander Chakovsky
The new novel by the writer A. Chakovsky "Victory" links together two great historical milestones - the summer of 1945, when the political battle for securing a lasting peace after the end of the war broke out in Potsdam, and the summer of 1975, when the leaders of 33 European countries, as well as the United States, were in Helsinki and Canada signed the Final Act of the Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe. The action of the novel begins in Helsinki, where the Soviet journalist Voronov arrives; The basis of the first book is the story of the preparations for the meeting in Potsdam and its first ...
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The First Wives Club is Olivia Goldsmith's stunning literary debut. This sexy and at the same time funny book tells about three women who decided to take revenge on the men who left them, about the sweetness of revenge they experienced, about the new love they discovered. The sincerity and confidence of the author's manner give the novel a special appeal.
========== Prologue ==========
From CNN posts
... The experiment that has caused so much controversy in scientific and public circles officially began this morning. A hundred prisoners are placed in a colony of the newest type.
... Millions of citizens clung to the screens, watching the global experiment. One hundred criminals of different sex, age and nationality are placed in an autonomous prison, which is completely self-supporting.
... The main disputes of human rights defenders boil down to two nuances of the experiment: is it reasonable to set the same term of imprisonment for all offenders and can even one out of a hundred survive in the absence of protection or other control measures?
...Today, the first death in the "Hundred" colony was officially announced. The broadcast was immediately interrupted, but the video of the brutal murder was leaked to the network. A picket began outside the White House building: people are in favor of closing the experiment.
5 years later.
At the appointed hour, all the prisoners gathered in the main hall in front of a huge screen. They stood in groups: those who were called enlightened, settled down on the floor, sitting in a Turkish circle, the pacifists stood close to each other, casting wary glances at the militarists. Another, the smallest group, consisted of singles - those who did not like any of the proposed directions.
Do you think they'll keep their word and let us out of here? asked Octavia, one of the last group. - Five years expire in a few minutes.
I hope they get out,” Jake replied grimly. - I got tired of fighting every day just to survive.
Hey, bunnies, create silence, - one of the militarists mockingly shouted, shaking homemade sharpening. - Because of your snot, we may not notice the start of the broadcast.
He was worried in vain: as soon as the clock on the wall struck noon, the screensaver “Hundreds” appeared on the screen, followed by the face of the head jailer, whom all the prisoners called Teluserus among themselves without exception.
His real name was Thelonious, but Thelooserus sounded better, and in the end, this "Teluzeras" turned into an even more biting Teluserus.
Greetings prisoners!
How tired they are of this mug over the past five years! He got in touch five to seven times a day: lectured, preached, urged to be kinder to each other. His dark-skinned face, on which the seal of wisdom was forever glued, infuriated everyone without exception. In the end, the militarists found a way out: in the second year of their imprisonment, they covered the screen with a sheet. Unfortunately, there was nothing that could be done about the sound, but at least they didn't have to see that face again.
Today is a big day. Today you will be released as new people.
Get to the point! someone shouted. - Zadolbal with their sermons!
We've decided to call today the Exodus,” Teluser continued. - As you know, the roots of this word go back far into the past, when the Israelites left Egypt by the will of God...
Yes, as much as possible!
Heard a hundred times!
Let us out of here, you bastard! We've served our time, enough already! Open doors!
A group of militarists rushed to the wall. There, as if in mockery of them, for five years there was a huge door with an engraved inscription: "An nescis, mi fili, quantilla prudentia mundus regatur" *?
What have they not tried to do with this door in the past five years. They tried to break it down, set it on fire, invented more and more battering rams, but the door held on tightly and the inscription stuck into the eyes with mockery every time someone passed by.
Dozens of hands pounded on the door, drowning out Teluser's continued broadcast from the screen. Octavia and Jake looked at each other.
Why do I feel like this won't end well? - he asked.
You don't have one.
And suddenly something happened. The screen went blank, but no one noticed this, because the door began to open under frantic blows.
She and Jake obediently stepped back, watching intently as the door opened to let a streak of light into the bunker. Then the strip became wider, even wider, still, and when the gap became wide enough to let people through, the military guys, pushing each other away, began to break out. Following them, with cries of "The Exodus has begun," the enlighteners climbed up.
A few minutes later, there was no one left in the hall except for a few peacekeepers and loners. They hesitated, each with their own reasons for not rushing out, but a second passed and another appeared.
Screams were heard outside.
No, not even screams, but rather furious cries, partly warlike, partly desperate.
What is happening there? - with horror asked Jake.
Maybe they were met by government troops? Octavia suggested. - Maybe all this pardon is just a fiction and they are shot there?
But there were no gunshots, only the sounds of fighting and screams getting louder.
Well, I do not! - said Jake and stepped towards the exit. - We didn't wait so long just to stay here for who knows how long! I'll go there and see what's going on.
Jake, stop!
He made his way to the half-open door in a few jumps and jumped out. Octavia was about to follow him, but she didn't have time: just a second later, a heart-rending scream was heard, and then Jake tumbled back into the bunker, not stopping squealing for a second.
Lord, what happened there?
He fell to the floor and only then it became clear that blood was flowing from numerous wounds on his body.
Be that as it may, one thing was clear: the exodus took place, but it did not bring anything good.
