By Mikhail Sholokhov
And Quiet Flows the Don or Quietly Flows the Don (Тихий Дон, lit. "The Quiet Don") is 4-volume epic novel through Russian author Mikhail Aleksandrovich Sholokhov. the first 3 volumes have been written from 1925 to '32 & released within the Soviet journal October in 1928–32. The 4th quantity used to be comprehensive in 1940. The English translation of the first 3 volumes seemed less than this identify in 1934. the radical is taken into account probably the most major works of Russian literature within the twentieth century. It depicts the lives & struggles of Don Cossacks in the course of WWI, the Russian Revolution & Russian Civil warfare. In 1965, Sholokhov used to be offered the Nobel Prize for Literature for this novel. The authorship of the unconventional is contested through a few literary critics & historians, who think it wasn't fullyyt written through Sholokhov.
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Extra resources for And Quiet Flows the Don (Tikhii Don, Book 1)
You might get warm in side it,' he suggested. ' Gregor turned back the top of the cock and dug out a hole. The long-lying hay smelt warm and rotten. 'Crawl into the middle. It's like a stove here,' he told her. She threw down the sack and buried herseH up to the neck in hay. Shivering with cold, Gregor lay down at her side. A tender, agitating scent came from her damp hair� She lay with head thrown back, breathing regularly through her haH-open mouth. 'Your hair smells like henbane : you 'know, the white flower,' Gregor whispered, bending towards her.
Stepan turned his smiling glance towards Piotra, and Piotra added his voice. Opening wide his heavily-bearded jaws, Chris tonia roared in a voice that shook the tarpaulin cover. ' Christonia set his bare foot against the cross-tree and waited for Piotra to begin again. Closing his eyes, his perspiring face in shadow, Stepan affably sang on, now dropping his voice to a whisper, then causing it to ring out metallically. 'Let me, let me, little woman, Water my mare in the stream. ' And again Christonia joined in with his alarming howl.
Gregor went to him, treading down the grass, and leaving an undulating track behind him. Pantaleimon faced towards the distant bell-tower and crossed himself. His hook-nose shone as though freshly varnished, the sweat lingered in the hollows of his swarthy cheeks. He smiled, baring his white, gleaming teeth in his raven beard, and, with his wrinkled neck bent to the right, swept the scythe through the grass. A seven-foot hili-circle of mown grass lay at his feet. Gregor followed in his steps, laying the grass low with the scythe.
And Quiet Flows the Don (Tikhii Don, Book 1) by Mikhail Sholokhov