What stories do Kuprin have for children. The world of animals by A.I Kuprin

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- Dad, tell me some fairy tale ... But listen to what I am telling you, daddy-aa ...

At the same time, the seven-year-old Kitty (his name was Konstantin), sitting on Kholshchevnikov's lap, tried to turn his father's head towards him with both hands. The boy was surprised and even a little worried why dad had been looking at the lamp fire for five whole minutes with such strange eyes, motionless, as if smiling and wet.

- Yes, pa-pa same-e, - the Kitty drawled tearfully. - Well, why aren't you talking to me?

Ivan Timofeevich heard the impatient words of his son, but he could not shake off that terrible charm that possesses a man who gazed at a brilliant object. In addition to the bright light of the lamp, this charm was mixed with the charm of a quiet, warm summer evening, and the coziness of a small but pretty country terrace, woven with wild grapes, the motionless greenery of which, under artificial lighting, acquired a fantastic, pale and harsh shade.

A lamp under a green matte lampshade threw a bright, even circle on the tablecloth ... Ivan Timofeevich saw in this circle two closely bowed heads: one - female, blond, with delicate and delicate features, the other - the proud and beautiful head of a young man with black wavy hair they fell casually on their shoulders, on their swarthy bold forehead and on their big black eyes, such hot, expressive, truthful eyes. On his cheeks and on his neck, Kholshchevnikov felt the touch of the gentle hands of the Kitty and his warm breath, he even heard the smell of his hair, which had slightly burnt out in the sun over the summer and resembled the smell of the feathers of a small bird. All this merged together into such a harmonious, such joyful and light impression that Kholshchevnikov's eyes involuntarily began to pinch grateful tears.

Two heads, bent over the lamp and almost touching the hair, belonged to Kholshchevnikov's wife and Grigory Bakhanin, his best friend and student. Ivan Timofeevich treated this ardent and disorderly young man with sincere, ardent and caring love, in whose paintings the teacher's experienced eye had long since seen the gift of a wide and daring brush of enormous talent. In the soul of Kholshchevnikov there was absolutely no envy, so characteristic of the stormy and vulgar environment of artists. On the contrary, he was proud that the future celebrity - Bakhanin - took his first lessons from him and that his wife, Lydia, recognized and appreciated his student before anyone else.

Bakhanin, silently and without looking up, drew with a pencil on a sheet of Bristol paper lying in front of him, and from under his hand came caricatures, vignettes, animals in human suits, gracefully woven initials, parodies of paintings exhibited at the Academy of Arts, thin female profiles ... These careless sketches, on which every stroke struck with courage and talent, quickly replaced one after another, causing on the face of Lydia Lvovna, who was closely following the artist's pencil, then increased attention then a cheerful smile.

- Well, that's what you are, dad. You yourself promise, but now you are silent, - drawled the Kitty touchingly. At the same time, he pouted his lips, lowered his head and, fingering his fingers, shook his legs.

Kholshchevnikov turned to him and, in order to make amends, hugged him.

- Well, good, good, Kitty. I'll tell you a story now. Don't be angry ... Just ... What can I tell you? ..

He thought about it.

- About a bear whose paw was cut off? - said the Kitty, sighing with relief. - Only I already know that.

Suddenly, an inspired thought flashed in Kholshchevnikov's head. Can't his life serve as a theme for a good, touching fairy tale? How long has it been? - only twelve years ago - when he, poor, Unknown artist Overwhelmed by his superiors, offended by self-adoration, ignorance and advertising of mediocrity, he weakened more than once, lost his head in a fierce struggle with life and cursed the hour when he took up his brush. During this difficult time, Lydia met on his way. She was much younger than him, she was dazzlingly beautiful, intelligent, surrounded by admirers. He, poor, nondescript, sickly, frightened by life, did not dare to dream of the love of this supreme charming creature. But she was the first to believe in him, the first to hold out her hand to him. When, tired of failures and poverty, having lost strength and hope, he lost heart, she encouraged him with affection, tender care, a cheerful joke. And her love triumphed ... Now the name of Kholshchevnikov is known to every literate person, his paintings are adorned with galleries of crowned heads, - he is the only academician who is adored by the disbelieving milieu of young artists ... There is nothing to say about material success ... And he and Lydia in abundance rewarded for long humiliating years of ferocious economy, almost begging.

At that disastrous time, Ivan Timofeevich could not have imagined all this quiet charm, this contented life, warmed by the invariable affection of his beautiful wife and the tender love of the dear Kitty, this joyful consciousness of family life, to which strong friendship with Bakhanin gave even greater depth and significance. The theme of the fairy tale quickly formed in his head.

“Well, okay, listen, Kitty,” he began, stroking his son's soft, thin hair. In a certain kingdom, in a certain state, there lived a king with a queen.

- And they did not have children? .. - asked the Kitty in a thin voice.

- No, Kitty, they had children ... Don't interrupt, please ... On the contrary, they had a lot of children. There were so many children that when the king divided his wealth to all his sons, the youngest son got nothing. As there was nothing, no clothes, no horses, no houses, no servants ... Nothing ... Yes ... Well, when the king felt that his end was near, he called his sons and said to them: “Dear children, maybe I I will die soon and therefore I want to choose an heir from you ... but certainly the most worthy ... You know that on the border of my kingdom there is a large, large dense forest ... And in the very middle of the forest there is a marble palace. Only it is very difficult to get there. Many have tried to do this, but never came back. They were devoured wild animals, tickled to death by mermaids, bitten by poisonous snakes ... But you go boldly forward ... Let neither fear, nor the prudent advice of loved ones, nor the temptation of safety stop you ... At the gates of the marble palace you will see three lions chained on chains: one name is Envy, to the other - Poverty, to the third - Doubt. The lions will rush at you with a deafening roar. But you go all straight and straight. In the palace, in a silver room, on a golden tripod strewn with stars, an eternal sacred fire burns. So, mark my words: whoever of you lights a lamp from this fire and returns home with it, he will be the heir of my kingdom. "

Ivan Timofeevich, not letting go of Kitty from his embrace, lit a cigarette. Bakhanin and Lydia, apparently, listened with interest to his tale; Bakhanin even put his palm to his eyes with an umbrella, trying to make out from the light Kholshchevnikov, who was sitting in a dark corner in a rocking chair. - Well, well, - continued Kholshchevnikov, - the royal sons set off on their way. The younger prince also went. The courtiers dissuaded him, dissuaded him: you are young, and weak, and sickly, where should you go for your elders? But he answered them: "No, and I want to be in the marble palace and light my lamp at the sacred fire."

And he drove off. Well, good. Long or short, but only the brothers reached the forest. Here are the elders and say:

“It’s scary, and difficult, and far away to go through the forest, let's go around, maybe we’ll find another road.” And the younger one says: "You, brothers, as you want, and I will go straight, because there is no other road through the forest." The brothers answer him: “You, we know, Ivanushka the fool, there is nothing to talk to you about; wild animals will eat you in the forest, or you yourself will die of hunger. " Yes. Well, the youngest son goes, goes one day, goes another, goes the third. And the forest is getting thicker and thicker. Thorny bushes whip branches in his face, tear his clothes on him, wolves howl after him, ghouls chase after him, and he keeps going. Mermaids with green hair sway in the trees and beckon him: “Come to us. Where are you driving? And there is no marble palace. All these are tales alone, the inventions of fools and dreamers. Come to us. You will live merrily and carefree, we will delight the ear with your music and singing. Come to us". But he doesn't listen and goes further and further. Finally his horse fell ... And the forest is getting thicker and thicker; at every step impassable swamps, steep ravines, thicket of forest ... The prince did not have enough strength ... He fell on the damp ground and already thinks that the end is coming to him. “It’s true, he thinks, there really is no marble palace, it would be better if I didn’t go here at all or stay on the road with the mermaids. And now I will die for nothing, and there is no one even to bury me ... ”Only this he thought, when suddenly, out of nowhere, a fairy in snow-white clothes appears in front of him and says to him:“ Why are you, prince, despairing and murmuring? Take my hand and walk. " And as soon as he touched her hand, he immediately felt relief, got up and walked along with the beautiful fairy. And when on the way he weakened and was ready to fall from fatigue, the fairy squeezed his hand more and more tightly. And he braced himself and walked, overcoming fatigue. Kholshchevnikov stopped.

- The prince came to the palace. He was not afraid of the terrible lions: Doubt, Poverty and Envy, sitting on chains at the gate, because with him was a beautiful fairy. He lit a sacred fire from a golden altar studded with diamond stars and went home with it to his kingdom. And when he returned from the palace, the lions lay at the gate, like tame dogs, and licked the tracks of his feet, the forest parted to the sides, forming a wide smooth road, and the beautiful fairy turned into a princess (she was previously bewitched by an evil sorceress) and since then never left the prince again. As for the rest of the brothers, some were afraid of the difficult road and stopped in the middle, while others returned home, and the whole state laughed at them. And the younger prince with his beautiful princess began to live, and live, and make good money. That's it, my Kitty.

- Everything, my boy. Better go now, my little prince, to sleep. Say goodbye to Mom and Grisha.

“Not a good tale,” the boy said, but obediently got up, kissed Lydia Lvovna, who carefully and carefully baptized him, then kissed Bakhanin and, taking his father's hand, went into the nursery.

With the help of a nanny, he undressed Kitty and put him to bed. It was half dark in the nursery. Faintly flickered a pink lamp near the image, reflecting with trembling naive sparks on the golden robe of the dark-faced saint. The cat lay down on his right side, putting folded palms under his cheek, and asked:

- You, dad, told this whole tale? To end?

- Everything, Kitty. And what?

- Yes, so. Where is this son now?

- A son? The son has not yet become a king, but he married a fairy, and they have a little son, like my Kitty ... Only Kitty does not like to write under dictation, but the prince's son writes with pleasure.

- And why, dad, did they call him Ivanushka the Fool?

- Because, my dear fellow, he was very simple and poor. Yes, he really would have been a fool if he had not met a beautiful fairy. He would get lost, his wild animals would ...

The deep and even breathing of the Kitty said that he fell asleep without hearing the answer to his question. With a tender and moved heart, Kholshchevnikov made the sign of the cross over his son and, stepping quietly with his kid shoes, went out of the nursery onto the terrace. Neither Lydia nor Bakhanin heard his steps. She lay on his shoulder and, throwing her head back, with half-open, laughing wet lips, avoided his kisses. Black curls and ashy curls mixed ... It was evident that Lydia's resistance worried both: she turned pale, and Bakhanin's swarthy face became covered with pink spots and assumed a pleading expression. Finally, as if exhausted, with a passionate sigh similar to a moan, she pressed her lips to his lips and impulsively wrapped her beautiful half-naked hand around his neck ...

The tale is over ...

Animal world

A. I. Kuprina

Teacher n \ kl

MKOU SOSH No. 2, Alagir

Cheldieva M.K.

The world of animals in the works of Alexander Ivanovich Kuprin is amazing, extraordinary and original. Few of the artists have so excellently recreated their morals and characters, habits and loyalty to man.

Having gone through a series of various tests in childhood, forced to adapt to the cruel environment of the Orphan School, cadet corps, cadet school, Kuprin preserved in his soul the ability not to hurt, retained the ability to sympathize, sympathize.

One of the writer's friends recalled that he had never seen Kuprin walk past the dog on the street and did not stop so as not to stroke him. Kuprin created a whole series of stories about dogs: "White Poodle", "Pirate", "Dog Happiness", "Watchdog and Zhulka", "Zaviraika", "Barry", "Balt", "Ralph" and others.

While in exile in France, the writer often turns to the purest and most honest creatures in this world - children and animals. A.I. Kuprin once noticed that children generally stand much closer to animals than adults think. Therefore, I recommend for studying at school all these sad and funny stories about animals, which are perceived with special interest and sympathy by students. Kuprin's stories about animals are high, human, kind ...

Lesson objectives

1. Fostering a kind and attentive attitude towards the animal world.

2. Formation of skills to navigate in the text, draw conclusions and generalizations.

3. Development of children's abilities to treat the artistic word attentively and thoughtfully.

Lesson equipment

1. Portrait of A.I. Kuprin.

2. Exhibition of books.

3. Illustrations for the writer's works.

4. Electronic presentation.

5. Film based on the story of A.I. Kuprin "Balt".

Preliminary preparation

1. Reading Kuprin's stories about animals.

2. Individual task for students: oral communication about the writer.

3. Drawing up an electronic presentation.

During the classes:

1 teacher's introduction

At the beginning of the lesson, a melody from the TV show "In the world of animals" sounds.

– Why did this particular melody sound? (Answers of children)

– Alexander Ivanovich Kuprin has more than 30 stories about animals. These stories, scattered in different editions, could make up a whole book. And today in the lesson we will talk about the originality of A.I. Kuprin dedicated to the animal world.

2.Messaging the student about the writer

Many stories by A. I. Kuprin are devoted to the depiction of animals (mainly domestic ones).

The world of animals in the works of Alexander Ivanovich Kuprin is amazing, extraordinary and original. Few of the artists have so excellently recreated their peculiar morals and characters, habits and loyalty to man. The writer loved and knew the habits of many animals well. According to L. V. Krutikova, A. I. Kuprin was a great "animal lover".

Kuprin did not invent his stories about animals. All the animals he wrote about actually lived: many of them in Kuprin's house, others with friends, he learned about the fate of some from the newspapers. With those animals that lived with him, Kuprin did a lot: he trained, healed if they were sick, saved when they were in mortal danger. The famous tamer Anatoly Durov even wrote in his posters dedicated to animals:

Kuprin himself is a writer
We had a friend with us .

“All our animals - dogs, horses, cats, goats, monkeys, bears and other animals - were our family members,” Kuprin's daughter recalled. "My father watched their life and customs with tender and close attention." Kuprin loved animals so much that he expressed regret that the artists of the word began to pay less attention to the depiction of their lives.

“In 1930, - writes O.M. Mikhailov, - the writer said with sorrow to one of the journalists: "Have you noticed that now there are almost no dogs or horses left in literature."

As if wishing to fill the gap, Kuprin, already seriously ill, in last years life conceived to write a whole book about animals "Friends of Man". But the writer did not have time to implement his plan. He created only one story from the planned cycle - "Ralph" (1934).

His stories about animals, scattered in different editions, really could make up a whole book.

3. Working with illustrations drawn (hand-picked) by children

Students take turns showing the illustrations to the entire class. It is necessary to determine for which story the drawing is made, which moment is displayed. Then confirm your assumption by citing. If one of the children illustrates the story "Balth", then it will be possible to watch an excerpt from the film "A Dangerous Arctic Adventure".

4. Ideological and artistic analysis of the story "Zaviraika"

AI Kuprin was convinced that animals are distinguished by their memory, the ability to distinguish time, space, sounds and even colors. They, in his opinion, have attachments and disgust, love and hate, gratitude and appreciation, anger and humility, joy and sorrow. It is no coincidence that next to the title of the story "Zaviraik" he gave a subtitle: "Dog's soul".

Conversation on questions:

– Tell us about the first meeting of the narrator with Zaviraika. (Answers of children)

– What are the leading traits of his character already outlined? (Response to kindness, firmness, gullibility, discernment)

– What portrait detail confirms this? (Eyes: "They did not run, did not blink, did not hide ... persistently asked me ...")

– What are the epithets used by the author to describe the appearance of the dog? (“Brilliantly black, with deep red tan marks, broad-chested, etc.)

– To what evaluative epithet do the marked means of expressiveness lead? ("Great Hound Dog")

– What epithets are used to express a generalizing characteristic? ("Smart and Courageous")

– Is there any reason to assert that the author also has human relationships in mind when he writes about a dog? (Yes. In the story "Zaviraika" Kuprin enthusiastically writes about the meekness and purity of the character of a hunting dog, who "showed such loyal friendship, such strength of goodwill and such ingenuity that would do a great honor to an average person."Kuprin believes that it was not a dark instinct, but a conscious mind that made Zaviraika go in search of his "friend" (who was trapped by Patrashka).)

5. Viewing the electronic presentation "Kuprin's Animal World"

6. Summing up

– What do the stories of Alexander Ivanovich Kuprin teach? (Alexander Ivanovich Kuprin calls for his stories to the unity between man and the animal world. His works foster feelings of respectful attitude of man to nature).

7. Homework

Essay on the topic "The story that I liked the most."

The watchdog was small in stature, but squat and broad-chested. Thanks to its long, slightly curly coat, it showed a distant resemblance to a white poodle, but only to a poodle that had never been touched by soap, not a comb, or scissors. In the summer, he was constantly strewn with thorny "burrs" from head to end of the tail, while in the fall the clumps of wool on his legs, belly, rolled in the mud and then dried out, turned into hundreds of brown, dangling stalactites. Watchdog's ears always bore the traces of "combat fights", and in especially hot periods of dog flirting they turned into fancy festoons. Dogs like him are from time immemorial and everywhere called Barbos. Occasionally only, and even then as an exception, they are called Friends. These dogs, if I am not mistaken, descend from simple mongrels and shepherds. They are distinguished by their loyalty, independent character and subtle hearing.

The crook also belonged to a very common breed of small dogs, those thin-legged dogs with smooth black fur and yellow markings above the eyebrows and on the chest, which retired officials are so fond of. Her main character trait was delicate, almost shy politeness. This does not mean that she immediately rolls over onto her back, begins to smile or crawls humbly on her stomach as soon as a person speaks to her (this is what all hypocritical, flattering and cowardly dogs do). No, to kind person she approached with her characteristic bold trustfulness, leaning her forepaws on his knee and tenderly stretching her muzzle, demanding affection. Its delicacy was expressed mainly in the manner of eating. She never begged, on the contrary, she always had to be begged to take the bone. If another dog or people approached her while eating, Zhulka modestly stepped aside with an air that seemed to say: "Eat, eat, please ... I am already completely full ..."

Indeed, in those moments there was much less doggy in her than in other respectable human faces during a good dinner. Of course, Zhulka was unanimously recognized as a room dog.

As for Barbosa, we, children, very often had to defend him from the fair anger of elders and lifelong exile to the courtyard. Firstly, he had a very vague idea of ​​ownership (especially when it came to food), and secondly, he did not differ in accuracy in the toilet. This robber didn’t have to do anything in one sitting, a good half of a roasted Easter turkey, raised with special love and fed only nuts, or lie down, having just jumped out of a deep and dirty puddle, on a festive, white as snow, cover of mother’s bed. In the summer they treated him condescendingly, and he usually lay on the windowsill of an open window in the pose of a sleeping lion, burying his muzzle between his outstretched forepaws. However, he did not sleep: this was noticed by his eyebrows, which did not stop moving all the time. The watchdog was waiting ... As soon as a dog figure appeared in the street opposite our house. The watchdog was rapidly rolling down the window, slipping on its belly into the gateway and rushing with a full career towards the impudent violator of territorial laws. He firmly remembered the great law of all martial arts and battles: hit first, if you do not want to be beaten, and therefore flatly refused all diplomatic methods accepted in the canine world, such as preliminary mutual sniffing, threatening growls, curling the tail in a ring, and so on. Watchdog, like lightning, overtook the opponent, knocked him off his feet with his chest and began to bicker. For several minutes, among the thick column of brown dust, two dog bodies floundered, intertwining in a ball. Finally, Watchdog won the victory. At a time when the enemy turned to flight, tucking his tail between his legs, squealing and looking back cowardly. The watchdog proudly returned to his post on the windowsill. It is true that sometimes during this triumphal procession he limped greatly, and his ears were adorned with unnecessary scallops, but, probably, the victorious laurels seemed to him all the sweeter. Between him and Zhulka, a rare harmony and the most tender love reigned.

It may be that Zhulka secretly condemned her friend for his violent disposition and bad manners, but in any case, she clearly never expressed this. She even then restrained her displeasure when Watchdog, having swallowed his breakfast in several doses, licking his lips insolently, approached Zhulka's bowl and thrust his wet furry muzzle into it.

In the evening, when the sun did not burn so much, both dogs loved to play and tinker in the yard. They ran from one to the other, then set up ambushes, then, with feigned angry growls, pretended to be fiercely squabbling among themselves. Once a mad dog ran into our yard. Watchdog saw her from his windowsill, but instead of, as usual, rushing into battle, he only trembled all over and squealed pitifully. The dog rushed around the yard from corner to corner, catching up with one kind of panic horror both on people and on animals. People hid behind the doors and looked out fearfully from behind them, Everyone shouted, gave orders, gave stupid advice and provoked each other. The mad dog, meanwhile, had already managed to bite two pigs and tear off several ducks. Suddenly everyone gasped in fright and surprise. From somewhere from behind the barn a little Zhulka jumped out and at full speed of her slender legs rushed across to the mad dog. The distance between them diminished with astonishing rapidity. Then they collided ...
This all happened so quickly that no one even had time to recall Zhulka back. From a strong jolt, she fell and rolled on the ground, and the mad dog immediately turned to the gate and jumped out into the street. When Zhulka was examined, not a single trace of teeth was found on her. Probably, the dog did not even have time to bite her. But the tension of the heroic impulse and the horror of the moments experienced were not in vain for poor Zhulka ... Something strange, inexplicable happened to her.
If dogs had the ability to go crazy, I would say that she is mad. One day she was emaciated beyond recognition; then she lay for hours in some dark corner; then she ran around the yard, spinning and bouncing. She refused food and did not turn around when her name was called. On the third day, she was so weak that she could not get up from the ground. Her eyes, as bright and intelligent as before, expressed a deep inner anguish. By order of her father, she was taken to an empty wood shed so that she could die there in peace. (After all, it is known that only man surrounds his death so solemnly. But all animals, sensing the approach of this disgusting act, seek solitude.)
An hour after Zhulka was locked up, Watchdog ran to the barn. He was very excited and began to scream at first, and then howl, lifting his head up. Sometimes he paused for a minute to sniff with an anxious look and watchful ears the crack of the shed door, and then again he whined long and pitifully. They tried to pull him away from the barn, but this did not help. They chased him and even hit him with a rope several times; he ran away, but immediately stubbornly returned to his place and continued to howl. Since children in general are much closer to animals than adults think, we were the first to guess what Watchdog wants.
- Dad, let Barbosa into the barn. He wants to say goodbye to Zhulka. Please let me go, dad, - we stuck to my father. At first he said: "Nonsense!" But we climbed up to him so much and whimpered so much that he had to give in.
And we were right. As soon as the barn door was opened, Watchdog rushed headlong to Zhulka, who was lying powerlessly on the ground, sniffed at her and, with a quiet squeal, began to lick her in the eyes, in the face, in the ears. Zhulka weakly wagged her tail and tried to raise her head - she did not succeed. There was something touching about the dogs' farewell. Even the servants who stared at the scene seemed moved. When Barbosa was called, he obeyed and, leaving the barn, lay down near the door on the ground. He already, no longer worried and did not howl, but only occasionally raised his head and seemed to listen to what was happening in the barn. Two hours later he howled again, but so loudly and so expressively that the coachman had to get the keys and open the doors. The crook lay motionless on its side. She died ...
1897

Peregrine Falcon's thoughts about people, animals, objects and events

V.P. Priklonsky

I am a Peregrine Falcon, a large and strong dog of a rare breed, red-sand color, four years old, and weigh about six and a half pounds. Last spring, in a strange huge barn, where there were a little more than seven of us dogs (I can't count further), they hung a heavy yellow cake around my neck, and everyone praised me. However, the cake did not smell at all.

I'm medelyan! The Master's friend assures that this name is spoiled. We must say "weeks". In ancient times, once a week, fun was arranged for the people: they pitched bears with dogs. Hence the word. My great-great-grandfather Sapsan I, in the presence of the formidable Tsar John IV, took the vulture bear "in place" by the throat, threw him on the ground, where he was pinned by the trough. In honor and memory of him, the best of my ancestors bore the name of Sapsan. Few of the earned earners can boast of such a pedigree. What brings me closer to representatives of ancient human surnames is that our blood, in the opinion knowledgeable people, blue. The name Sapsan is Kyrgyz, which means it is a hawk.

The first creature in the whole world is the Master. I am not his slave at all, not even a servant and not a watchman, as others think, but a friend and patron. People, these walking on their hind legs, naked, wearing other people's skins, animals are ridiculously unstable, weak, awkward and defenseless, but they have some kind of incomprehensible to us, wonderful and a little terrible power, and most of all - the Master. I love this strange power in him, and he appreciates strength, dexterity, courage and intelligence in me. This is how we live.

The owner is ambitious. When we walk along the street with him - I am at his right foot - behind us are always heard flattering remarks: "This is a dog ... a whole lion ... what a wonderful face" and so on. Not with a single movement do I let the Master understand that I hear these praises and that I know who they refer to. But I feel how his funny, naive, proud joy is transmitted to me along invisible threads. Freak. Let her amuse herself. He is even nicer to me with his little weaknesses.

I am strong. I am stronger than all dogs in the world. They recognize it even from a distance, by my smell, by sight, by sight. At a distance, I see their souls lying in front of me on their backs, with their paws raised up. The strict rules of canine combat prevent me from the beautiful, noble joy of fighting. And how sometimes you want! .. However, the big tiger dog from the next street completely stopped leaving the house after I taught him a lesson for being impolite. And I, passing by the fence behind which he lived, no longer smell his smell.

People are not that. They always crush the weak. Even the Master, the kindest of people, sometimes beats so - not at all loud, but cruel - with the words of others, small and weak, that I feel ashamed and sorry. I gently poke him in the hand with my nose, but he does not understand and waves it off.

We, dogs, in the sense of nervous susceptibility, are seven and many times more subtle than humans. To understand each other, people need external differences, words, voice changes, looks and touch. I get to know their souls simply, with one inner instinct. I feel in secret, unknown, trembling ways, how their souls blush, turn pale, tremble, envy, love, hate. When the Master is not at home, I know from afar: happiness or misfortune befell him. And I am happy or sad.

They say about us: such and such a dog is good or such and such an evil. No. Evil or kind, brave or cowardly, generous or stingy, trusting or secretive is only a person. And according to him and the dogs living with him under the same roof.

I let people stroke me. But I prefer it if they give me an open hand first. I don't like paw with claws up. Years of doggy experience teaches that a stone can lurk in it. (The Boss's younger daughter, my favorite, does not know how to pronounce “stone”, but says “cabins.”) A stone is a thing that flies far, hits accurately and strikes painfully. I've seen this on other dogs. Obviously, no one dares to throw a stone at me!

What nonsense people say, as if dogs could not stand the human gaze. I can look into the eyes of the Master even for the whole evening without looking up. But we avert our eyes out of a sense of disgust. Most people, even young people, look tired, dull and angry, like old, sick, nervous, spoiled, wheezing pies. But the eyes of children are clean, clear and trusting. When the children caress me, I can hardly resist not to lick one of them right in the pink muzzle. But the Master does not allow, and sometimes he even threatens with a whip. Why? I do not understand. Even it has its own oddities.

About the bone. Who does not know that this is the most fascinating thing in the world. Veins, cartilages, spongy inside, tasty, soaked in the brain. You can willingly work on another entertaining grind from breakfast to lunch. And I think so: a bone is always a bone, at least the most used one, and therefore, it is always not too late to have fun with it. And so I bury it in the ground in the garden or in the garden. Besides, I think: there was meat on it and there is none; why, if he is not there, he will not be again?

And if someone - a person, a cat or a dog - walks past the place where she is buried, I get angry and growl. What if they guess? But more often I myself forget the place, and then I am out of sorts for a long time.

The Boss tells me to respect the Hostess. And I respect. But I don’t. She has the soul of a pretender and a liar, small, small. And her face, when viewed from the side, is very similar to that of a chicken. The same preoccupied, anxious and cruel, with a round, incredulous eye. In addition, she always smells badly of something pungent, spicy, pungent, suffocating, sweet - seven times worse than from the most fragrant flowers. When I sniff it a lot, I lose the ability to understand other smells for a long time. And I keep sneezing.

The only one that smells worse than her is Serge. The owner calls him a friend and loves him. My master, so smart, is often a big fool. I know that Serge hates the Boss, is afraid of him and envies him. And in me Serge fawns. When he stretches out his hand to me from a distance, I can feel a sticky, hostile, cowardly tremor coming from his fingers. I will growl and turn away. I will never accept bone or sugar from him. While the Boss is not at home, and Serge and the Hostess are hugging each other with their front paws, I lie on the carpet and look at them, intently, without blinking. He laughs tightly and says: "The peregrine falcon is looking at us like that, as if he understands everything." You're lying, I don't understand everything about human meanness. But I anticipate all the sweetness of the moment when the will of the Master pushes me and I grab all my teeth into your fatty caviar. Arrgrra ... ghrr ...

After the Master of all is closer to mine to a dog's heart“Little” - that's how I call His daughter. I would not forgive anyone but her if they decided to drag me by the tail and by the ears, mount me on horseback or harness me to a cart. But I endure everything and squeal like a three-month-old puppy. And it is joyful for me to lie motionless in the evenings, when she, having run for the day, suddenly falls asleep on the carpet, nesting her head on my side. And she, when we play, also does not take offense if I sometimes wave my tail and dump her on the floor.

Sometimes we mess with her, and she starts to laugh. I love it very much, but I can’t do it myself. Then I jump up with all four paws and bark as loudly as I can. And they usually drag me out into the street by the collar. Why?

In the summer there was such a case at the dacha. The "little one" could barely walk and was pretentious. We walked three together. She, me and the nanny. Suddenly everyone was rushing about - people and animals. In the middle of the street a dog was racing, black in white spots, with its head down, with a hanging tail, covered in dust and foam. The nanny ran away with a squeal. The "little one" sat down on the ground and squeaked. The dog was rushing straight at us. And from this dog immediately breathed on me a pungent smell of madness and infinite frenzied anger. I trembled with horror, but overcame myself and blocked the body of "Little".

This was not a single combat, but the death of one of us. I shrank into a ball, waited for a short, precise moment and with one push knocked the motley down to the ground. Then he lifted it by the collar and shook it. She lay down on the ground motionless, so flat and not at all scary now.

I do not like moonlit nights, and I intolerably want to howl when I look at the sky. It seems to me that someone very big is guarding from there, more than the Master himself, the one whom the Master so incomprehensibly calls "Eternity" or otherwise. Then I have a vague presentiment that my life will one day end, as the life of dogs, beetles and plants ends. Will the Master come to me then, before the end? - I do not know. I would really like that. But even if he doesn't come, my last thought will still be about him.

Starlings

It was mid-March. Spring this year stood out smooth and friendly. Abundant but short rains fell occasionally. We have already traveled on wheels on roads covered with thick mud. The snow still lay in snowdrifts in deep forests and in shady ravines, but in the fields the donkey became loose and dark, and from under it, in some places, large bald patches appeared black, fat, steaming in the sun. The birch buds are swollen. Lamb on willows turned from white to yellow, fluffy and huge. The willow blossomed. Bees flew out of the hives for the first bribe. The first snowdrops appeared timidly in the forest glades.

We were impatiently waiting for old acquaintances - starlings, these cute, funny, sociable birds, the first migrant guests, the joyful heralds of spring - to fly to our garden again. They need to fly many hundreds of miles from their winter camps, from the south of Europe, from Asia Minor, from northern regions Africa. Others will have to make more than three thousand miles. Many will fly over the seas: Mediterranean or Black.

How many adventures and dangers along the way: rains, storms, dense fogs, hail clouds, birds of prey, shots of greedy hunters. How many incredible efforts a small creature weighing about twenty to twenty-five spools should use for such a flight. Indeed, the arrows do not have a heart, destroying a bird during a difficult journey, when, obeying the mighty call of nature, it strives to the place where it first hatched from an egg and saw sunlight and greens.

Animals have a lot of their own wisdom, incomprehensible to people. Birds are especially sensitive to weather changes and anticipate them for a long time, but it often happens that migratory wanderers in the middle of the endless sea are suddenly caught by a sudden hurricane, often with snow. It is far to the shores, the forces are weakened by long-range flight ... Then the whole flock perishes, with the exception of a small particle of the strongest. It is happiness for the birds if they encounter a sea vessel in these terrible moments. In a whole cloud they descend on the deck, on the wheelhouse, on the tackle, on the sides, as if entrusting their little life in danger to the eternal enemy - man. And the harsh sailors will never offend them, they will not offend their quivering credulity. The beautiful sea belief even says that an inevitable misfortune threatens the ship on which the bird that asked for shelter was killed.

Coastal lighthouses are sometimes disastrous. Lighthouse keepers sometimes find in the mornings, after foggy nights, hundreds and even thousands of bird corpses in the galleries surrounding the lantern and on the ground around the building. Exhausted by the flight, heavy from the sea moisture, the birds, reaching the shore in the evening, unconsciously strive to where they are deceivingly attracted by light and warmth, and in their swift flight they break with their breasts on thick glass, on iron and stone. But an experienced, old leader will always save his flock from this trouble, taking a different direction in advance. Birds also hit the telegraph wires if for some reason they fly low, especially at night and in fog.

Having made a dangerous crossing over the sea plain, starlings rest all day and always in a certain place, favorite from year to year. One such place I had to see somehow in Odessa, in the spring. This is a house on the corner of Preobrazhenskaya Street and Cathedral Square, opposite the Cathedral Garden. This house was then completely black and as if the whole thing was stirring from the great multitude of starlings who sowed it everywhere: on the roof, on balconies, cornices, window sills, platbands, window canopies and on stucco decorations. And the sagging telegraph and telephone wires were closely riddled with them, like large black rosary beads. My God, how many deafening screams, squeaks, whistles, rattles, chirps and all sorts of curl fuss, chatter and quarrels were there. Despite their recent fatigue, they certainly could not sit still for a minute. Every now and then they pushed each other up and down, whirled, flew away and returned again. Only old, experienced, wise starlings sat in important solitude and gravely cleaned their feathers with their beaks. The entire sidewalk along the house turned white, and if an unwary pedestrian happened to gape, then trouble threatened his coat and hat. The starlings make their flights very quickly, sometimes up to eighty miles per hour. They will arrive at a familiar place early in the evening, feed themselves, take a nap at night, in the morning - even before dawn - a light breakfast, and again on the road, with two or three stops in the middle of the day.

So, we were waiting for the starlings. We fixed the old birdhouses, twisted from the winter winds, hung new ones. We had only two of them three years ago, last year five, and now we have twelve. It was a little annoying that the sparrows imagined that this courtesy was being done for them, and immediately, at the first warmth, the birdhouses occupied. This sparrow is an amazing bird, and everywhere it is the same - in the north of Norway and in the Azores: nimble, rogue, thief, bully, fighter, gossip and the first insolent. He will spend the whole winter cackling under a jam or in the depths of a thick spruce, eating what he finds on the road, and a little spring - he crawls into someone else's nest, which is closer to home - in a birdhouse or a swallow's house. And they will kick him out, as if nothing had happened ... Eroshitsya, jumps, glitters with little eyes and shouts to the whole universe: “Alive, alive, alive! Alive, alive, alive! "

Please tell me what good news for the world!

Finally on the nineteenth, in the evening (it was still light), someone shouted: "Look - starlings!"

Indeed, they sat high on the branches of poplars and, after the sparrows, seemed unusually large and too black. We began to count them: one, two, five, ten, fifteen ... And next to our neighbors, among the transparent, spring-like trees, these dark motionless lumps easily swayed on flexible branches. That evening, the starlings did not have any noise or fuss. This is always the case when you return home after a long difficult journey. On the road you are in a hurry, in a hurry, worried, and when you arrive, all at once you seem to be softening from the old fatigue: you are sitting and you do not want to move.

For two days, the starlings were definitely gaining strength and they all visited and examined last year's familiar places. And then the eviction of the sparrows began. I did not notice especially violent clashes between starlings and sparrows. As a rule, starlings sit high above the birdhouses, two by two, and, apparently, blithely talk about something among themselves, while they themselves, with one eye, askew, gaze intently downward. It is creepy and difficult for a sparrow. No, no - he will stick his sharp sly nose out of the round hole - and back. Finally, hunger, frivolity, and perhaps timidity make themselves felt. “I'm flying off,” he thinks, “for a minute and now back. Perhaps I will outwit. Maybe they won't notice. " And only has time to fly off a fathom, like a starling stone down and already at home. And now the end of the temporary sparrow economy has come. Starlings guard the nest one by one: one sits - the other flies on business. Sparrows will never think of such a trick: a windy, empty, frivolous bird. And so, with grief, great battles begin between the sparrows, during which down and feathers fly into the air.

And the starlings sit high in the trees, and even provoke: “Hey you, black-headed. You won't master that yellow-breasted one for ever and ever. " - "How? To me? Yes, I have him now! " - "Come on, come on ..." And the dump will go. However, in spring all animals and birds and even boys fight much more than in winter. Having settled in the nest, the starling begins to carry all kinds of construction nonsense there: moss, cotton wool, feathers, down, rags, straw, dry grass. He arranges the nest very deeply so that the cat does not crawl through with its paw or stick its long predatory raven beak. They cannot penetrate further: the entrance hole is rather small, no more than five centimeters in diameter. And then the earth soon dried up, fragrant birch buds blossomed. Fields are plowed, vegetable gardens are dug up and loosened. How many different worms, caterpillars, slugs, bugs and larvae creep out into the world! That is the expanse! The starling never looks for its food in the spring, either in the air on the fly, like swallows, or on a tree, like a nuthatch or a woodpecker. His food is on the ground and in the ground. And do you know how many insects harmful to the garden and vegetable garden he exterminates during the summer, if you count by weight? A thousand times its own weight! But he spends all his day in continuous movement.

It is interesting to watch when he, walking between the beds or along the path, hunts for his prey. His gait is very fast and a little awkward, with a transfer from side to side. Suddenly he stops, turns to one side, to the other, bows his head first to the left and then to the right. He will quickly bite and run on. And again, and again ... His black back casts a metallic green or purple color in the sun, his chest is speckled with brown, And there is so much business, fussy and funny in him during this craft that you look at him for a long time and involuntarily smile ...

It is best to observe a starling early in the morning, before sunrise, and for this you need to get up early. However, an old clever proverb says: "He who got up early did not lose." If in the morning, every day, you sit quietly, without sudden movements somewhere in the garden or in the garden, then the starlings will soon get used to you and will come very close. Try throwing worms or bread crumbs to the bird first from afar, then decreasing the distance. You will ensure that after a while the starling will take food from your hands and sit on your shoulder. And having arrived next year, he will very soon renew and conclude his old friendship with you. Just don't be fooled by his trust. The only difference between the two of you is that he is small and you are big. The bird, on the other hand, is a very intelligent, observant creature: it is extremely memorable and grateful for all kindness.

And the real song of the starling should be listened to only in the early morning, when the first pink light of dawn will color the trees and with them the birdhouses, which are always located with a hole to the east. The air warmed up a little, and the starlings had already scattered on the high branches and began their concert. I don’t know, really, if the starling has its own motives, but you will hear enough in his song of anything foreign. Here are pieces of nightingale trills, and the sharp meow of an oriole, and the sweet voice of a robin, and the musical babble of a warbler, and a subtle whistle of a titmouse, and among these melodies such sounds are suddenly heard that, sitting alone, you cannot resist and laugh: a chicken cackles on a tree , the grinder's knife hisses, the door creaks, the children's military pipe will bite. And, having made this unexpected musical digression, the starling, as if nothing had happened, without a break, continues its cheerful, sweet humorous song. One starling I know (and only one, because I always heard it in a certain place) amazingly faithfully imitated a stork. This is how I imagined this respectable white black-tailed bird when it stands on one leg at the edge of its round nest, on the roof of a little Russian hut, and beats out a ringing sound with its long red beak. Other starlings did not know how to do this.

In mid-May, the mother starling lays four to five small, bluish, glossy eggs and sits on them. Now the daddy starling has a new duty - to entertain the female in the mornings and evenings with his singing during the entire incubation period, which lasts about two weeks. And, I must say, during this period he no longer mocks and teases no one. Now his song is gentle, simple and extremely melodic. Maybe this is the real, the only nasty song?

By the beginning of June, the chicks have already hatched. The nestling of a starling is a true monster, which consists entirely of the head, the head only of a huge, yellow at the edges, unusually gluttonous mouth. The most troublesome time has come for caring parents. No matter how small you feed, they are always hungry. And then there's the constant fear of cats and jackdaws; it is scary to be absent from the birdhouse.

But starlings are good companions. As soon as jackdaws or crows got into the habit of circling around the nest, a watchman is immediately appointed. The duty starling sits on the top of the tallest tree and, whistling softly, looks vigilantly in all directions. The predators appeared a little close, the watchman gives a signal, and the whole bird-bird tribe flies to the defense of the younger generation.

Once I saw how all the starlings who stayed with me drove at least three jackdaws a mile away. What an ardent persecution it was! The starlings soared easily and quickly over the jackdaws, fell on them from a height, scattered to the sides, again closed up and, catching up with the jackdaws, again climbed up for a new blow. Jackdaws seemed cowardly, clumsy, rude and helpless in their heavy flight, and starlings were like some kind of sparkling, transparent spindles flashing in the air. But now it is already the end of July. One day you go out into the garden and listen. There are no starlings. You didn't even notice how the little ones grew up and how they learned to fly. Now they have left their homes and are leading new life in forests, in winter fields, near distant swamps. There they huddle in small flocks and learn to fly for a long time, preparing for the autumn flight. Soon the young people will have their first, great exam, from which some will not emerge alive. Occasionally, however, starlings return for a moment to their abandoned stepfather's homes. They will fly in, circle in the air, sit on a branch near the birdhouses, frivolously whine some newly picked up motive and fly away, flashing with light wings.

But now the first cold weather has already turned. It's time to go. By some mysterious, unknown to us dictates of mighty nature, the leader gives a sign one morning, and the air cavalry, squadron after squadron, soars into the air and rushes swiftly south. Goodbye, lovely starlings! Arrive in the spring. The nests are waiting for you ...

Elephant

The little girl is not well. Every day, Dr. Mikhail Petrovich, whom she has known for a long, long time, visits her. And sometimes he brings with him two more doctors, strangers. They turn the girl onto her back and stomach, listen to something, putting her ear to her body, pull down her eyelids and look. At the same time, they somehow importantly snore, their faces are stern, and they speak to each other in an incomprehensible language.

Then they move from the nursery to the living room, where their mother is waiting for them. The most important doctor - tall, gray-haired, in gold glasses - tells her about something seriously and for a long time. The door is not closed, and the girl from her bed can see and hear everything. There are many things she does not understand, but she knows that this is about her. Mom looks at the doctor with big, tired, tear-stained eyes.

Saying goodbye, the head doctor speaks loudly:

The main thing is not to let her get bored. Perform all her whims.

Ah, doctor, but she doesn't want anything!

Well, I don't know ... remember what she liked before, before her illness. Toys ... some goodies. ..

No doctor, she doesn't want anything ...

Well, try to entertain her somehow ... Well, at least something ... I give you my word of honor that if you manage to make her laugh, cheer her up, it will be the best medicine. Understand that your daughter is sick with indifference to life, and nothing else. Good-bye, madam!

My dear Nadia, my dear girl, - says my mother, - would you like something?

No, mom, I don't want anything.

Do you want me to put all your dolls on your bed? We will supply an armchair, a sofa, a table and a tea set. The dolls will drink tea and talk about the weather and the health of their children.

Thank you Mom ... I don't feel like it ... I'm bored ...

Okay, my girl, no dolls are needed. Or maybe call Katya or Zhenechka to you? You love them so much.

Don't, Mom. However, it is not necessary. I want nothing, nothing. I am so bored!

Do you want me to bring you a chocolate bar?

But the girl does not answer and looks at the ceiling with motionless, gloomy eyes. She doesn't have any pain and doesn't even have a fever. But she grows thinner and weaker every day. Whatever they do to her, she doesn't care, and she doesn't need anything. She lies like this for whole days and whole nights, quiet, sad. Sometimes she will doze for half an hour, but even in her dreams she sees something gray, long, boring, like an autumn rain.

When the door to the living room is open from the nursery, and from the living room further to the study, the girl sees her dad. Dad walks quickly from corner to corner and smokes everything, smokes. Sometimes he comes to the nursery, sits on the edge of the bed and quietly strokes Nadya's feet. Then he suddenly gets up and walks to the window. He whistles something as he looks outside, but his shoulders are shaking. Then he hastily puts a handkerchief to one eye, to the other and, as if angry, goes to his study. Then he again runs from corner to corner and smokes, smokes, smokes ... And the study turns blue from the tobacco smoke.

But one morning the girl wakes up a little more cheerful than usual. She saw something in a dream, but she just can't remember what it was, and looks for a long time and attentively into the eyes of her mother.

Do you need something? Mom asks.

But the girl suddenly remembers her dream and speaks in a whisper, as if in secret:

Mom ... can I ... an elephant? Just not the one in the picture ... Can I?

Of course, my girl, of course you can.

She goes to the office and tells her dad that the girl wants an elephant. Daddy immediately puts on his coat and hat and leaves somewhere. Half an hour later, he returns with an expensive beautiful toy. It is a large gray elephant, which itself shakes its head and wags its tail; there is a red saddle on an elephant, and a golden tent on the saddle, and three little men are sitting in it. But the girl looks at the toy as indifferently as at the ceiling and at the walls, and says listlessly:

No, that's not it at all. I wanted a real, live elephant, and this one was dead.

Just look, Nadya, - says dad. - We will start it now, and it will be absolutely, just like alive.

They lead the elephant with a key, and, shaking its head and wagging its tail, begins to step over its legs and slowly walks along the table. The girl is not at all interested and even bored, but in order not to upset her father, she whispers meekly:

I thank you very, very much, dear dad. I think no one has such an interesting toy ... Just ... remember ... after all, you promised long ago to take me to the menagerie, to look at a real elephant ... And you never took me.

But listen, my dear girl, understand that this is impossible. The elephant is very large, it is up to the ceiling, it will not fit in our rooms ... And then, where can I get it?

Dad, I don’t need such a big one ... You bring me at least a small one, only alive. Well, at least just about this ... At least a baby elephant.

Sweet girl, I'm glad to do anything for you, but I can't. After all, it's the same as if you suddenly told me: dad, get me the sun from the sky.

The girl smiles sadly:

How stupid you are, dad. Don't I know that the sun cannot be reached because it burns! And the moon is also not allowed. But, I would have an elephant ... real.

And she quietly closes her eyes and whispers:

I'm tired ... Excuse me, dad ...

Dad grabs his hair and runs into the office. There he flickers from corner to corner for a while. Then he decisively throws a half-smoked cigarette on the floor (for which he always gets it from his mother) and shouts loudly to the maid:

Olga! Coat and hat!

The wife comes out into the hall.

Where are you going, Sasha? she asks.

He breathes heavily, buttoning his coat.

I myself, Mashenka, do not know where ... Only, it seems, this evening, I really will bring here, to us, a real elephant.

The wife looks at him anxiously.

Honey, are you healthy? Does your head hurt? Maybe you didn't sleep well today?

I haven't slept at all, ”he replies angrily. “I see you want to ask if I'm out of my mind. Not yet. Goodbye! In the evening everything will be visible.

And he disappears, loudly slamming the front door.

Two hours later, he sits in the menagerie, in the first row, and watches how the learned animals, on the orders of the owner, make different things. Clever dogs jump, tumble, dance, sing to music, put words out of large cardboard letters. Monkeys - some in red skirts, others in blue pants - walk the tightrope and ride a large poodle. Huge red lions gallop through burning hoops.

A clumsy seal shoots a pistol. At the end, the elephants are brought out. There are three of them: one large, two very small, dwarfs, but still much larger than a horse. It is strange to see how these huge animals, seemingly so clumsy and heavy, perform the most difficult tricks that are beyond the power of a very clever person. The largest elephant is especially distinguished. First he stands on his hind legs, sits down, stands on his head, with his feet up, walks on wooden bottles, walks on a rolling barrel, turns the pages of a large cardboard book with his trunk, and finally sits down at the table and, having tied a napkin, dines, just like a well-bred boy ...

The show ends. The spectators disperse. Nadine's father approaches the fat German, the owner of the menagerie. The owner stands behind a boardwalk and holds a large black cigar in his mouth.

Excuse me, please, says Nadine's father. - Can't you let your elephant go to my house for a while?

The German opens his eyes wide in surprise and even his mouth, causing the cigar to fall to the ground. Grunting, he bends down, picks up the cigar, inserts it into his mouth again and only then says:

Let go? An elephant? Home? I do not understand.

The German's eyes show that he also wants to ask if Nadya's father has a headache ... But the father hastily explains what the matter is: his only daughter Nadya is sick with some strange disease, which even doctors do not understand properly. She has been lying in the crib for a month now, losing weight, getting weaker every day, taking no interest in anything, bored and slowly dying out. The doctors tell her to be entertained, but she doesn't like anything; ordered to fulfill all her desires, but she has no desires. Today she wanted to see a live elephant. Is it really impossible to do it?

Well, here ... I certainly hope that my girl gets well. But ... but ... what if her illness ends badly ... what if the girl dies? .. Just think: after all, the thought that I have not fulfilled her last, very last wish will torment me all my life! ..

The German frowns and scratches his left eyebrow with his little finger in thought. Finally he asks:

Um ... How old is your girl?

Six.

Um ... My Lisa is six too. But, you know, it will cost you dearly. We'll have to bring the elephant at night and only take it back the next night. During the day it is impossible. The public will gather, and there will be one scandal ... Thus, it turns out that I am losing the whole day, and you must return the loss to me.

Oh, of course, of course ... don't worry about it ...

Then: will the police allow one elephant to enter one house?

I'll arrange it. Will allow.

Another question: will the owner of your house allow one elephant to be introduced into his house?

Will allow. I am the owner of this house myself.

Aha! This is even better. And then one more question: what floor do you live on?

In the second.

Um ... This is not so good ... Do you have a wide staircase, a high ceiling, a large room, wide doors and a very solid floor in your house? Because my Tommy is three arshins and four vershoks high, and five and a half arshins in length *. In addition, it weighs one hundred and twelve pounds.

Nadine's father thinks for a minute.

Do you know what? he says. - Let's go now to me and consider everything on the spot. If necessary, I will order to widen the passage in the walls.

Very good! - agrees the owner of the menagerie.

At night, the elephant is taken to visit a sick girl. In a white blanket, he walks importantly along the very middle of the street, shakes his head and now twists, then develops a trunk. Around him, despite the late hour, a large crowd. But the elephant pays no attention to her: every day he sees hundreds of people in the menagerie. Only once did he get a little angry. A street boy ran up to his very feet and began to grimace for the amusement of onlookers.

Then the elephant calmly took off his hat with his trunk and threw it over the neighboring fence, studded with nails. The policeman walks among the crowd and persuades her:

Gentlemen, please disperse. And what do you find so extraordinary here? I'm surprised! We have never seen a living elephant on the street.

Come up to the house. On the stairs, as well as along the entire path of the elephant, all the way to the dining room, all the doors were wide open, for which it was necessary to beat off the door latches with a hammer.

But in front of the stairs, the elephant stops and is stubborn in anxiety.

We must give him some delicacy ... - says the German. - Some sweet roll or something ... But ... Tommy! Whoa ... Tommy!

Nadine's father runs to a nearby bakery and buys a large round pistachio cake. The elephant tends to swallow it whole with the cardboard box, but the German gives him only a quarter. Tommy likes the cake, and he reaches out his trunk for a second slice. However, the German turns out to be more cunning. Holding a delicacy in his hand, he rises up from step to step, and the elephant, with an extended trunk, with spread ears, inevitably follows him. On the court, Tommy gets the second piece.

Thus, he is brought into the dining room, from where all the furniture has been taken out in advance, and the floor is thickly covered with straw ... The elephant is tied by the leg to a ring screwed into the floor. Fresh carrots, cabbage and turnips are placed in front of him. The German is sitting next to him, on the couch. The lights are put out and everyone goes to bed.

V

The next day, the girl wakes up a little light and first of all asks:

And what about the elephant? He came?

I came, - my mother answers. - But only he ordered that Nadia first wash, and then eat a soft-boiled egg and drink hot milk.

Is he kind?

He is kind. Eat, girl. Now we will go to him.

Is he funny?

A little bit. Put on a warm blouse.

The egg has been eaten, the milk has been drunk. Nadia is put in the same wheelchair in which she went when she was so little that she could not walk at all. And they are taken to the dining room.

The elephant turns out to be much larger than Nadia thought when she looked at it in the picture. He is only slightly lower than the door in height, and takes up half of the dining room in length. The skin on it is rough, with heavy folds. The legs are as thick as pillars. A long tail with a sort of broom at the end. The head is in big bumps. The ears are large, like burdocks, and hang down. The eyes are very tiny, but smart and kind. The canines are cut. The trunk is like a long snake and ends in two nostrils, and between them a movable, flexible finger. If the elephant stretched out its trunk to its full length, it probably would have reached the window.

The girl is not frightened at all. She is only slightly amazed at the enormous size of the animal. But the nanny, sixteen-year-old Fields, begins to scream with fear.

The elephant's owner, a German, comes up to the carriage and says:

Good morning, lady! Please don't be afraid. Tommy is very kind and loves children.

The girl holds out her small, pale hand to the German.

Hello. How are you? she replies. “I’m not in the least bit afraid. And what is his name?

Tommy.

Hello Tommy, the girl says and bows her head. Because the elephant is so big, she hesitates to speak "you" to him. - How did you sleep that night?

She stretches out her hand to him. The elephant carefully takes and squeezes her thin fingers with his movable strong finger and does it much more gently than Doctor Mikhail Petrovich. At the same time, the elephant shakes its head, and its small eyes are completely narrowed, as if laughing.

Does he understand everything? - asks the girl of the German.

Oh, absolutely everything, young lady.

But only does he not speak?

Yes, he just doesn’t speak. You know, I also have one daughter, as small as you. Her name is Liza. Tommy is a big, very big friend with her.

Have you already had tea, Tommy? the girl asks.

The elephant again pulls out its trunk and blows into the girl's very face with warm, strong breath, which makes the light hair on the girl's head fly in all directions.

Nadia laughs and claps her hands. The German laughs deeply.

He himself is as big, fat and good-natured as an elephant, and it seems to Nadya that they both look alike. Maybe they are related?

No, he did not drink tea, young lady. But he drinks sugar water with pleasure. He also loves rolls very much.

A tray of rolls is brought. The girl treats the elephant. He deftly grabs the roll with his finger and, bending the trunk with a ring, hides it somewhere down under his head, where his funny, triangular, shaggy lower lip moves. You can hear the roll rustling on dry skin. Tommy does the same thing with another bun, and with the third, and with the fourth, and with the fifth, and nods his head in gratitude, and his small eyes narrow even more with pleasure. And the girl laughs happily.

When all the rolls are eaten, Nadia introduces the elephant to her dolls:

Look, Tommy, this fancy doll is Sonya. She is a very kind child, but a little capricious and does not want to eat soup. And this is Natasha, Sonya's daughter. She is already starting to learn and knows almost all the letters. And this is Matryoshka. This is my very first doll. See, she has no nose, and her head is glued, and no more hair. But all the same, you can't drive the old woman out of the house. Really, Tommy? She used to be Sonya's mother, and now she serves as our cook. Well, let's play, Tommy: you will be the dad, and I will be the mother, and these will be our children.

Tommy agrees. He laughs and takes Matryoshka by the neck and drags it into his mouth. But this is just a joke. Having slightly chewed the doll, he again puts it on the girl's lap, albeit a little wet and rumpled.

Then Nadia shows him a large picture book and explains:

This is a horse, this is a canary, this is a gun ... Here is a cage with a bird, here is a bucket, a mirror, a stove, a shovel, a crow ... And this, look, this is an elephant! Doesn't it look like it at all? Are elephants so small, Tommy?

Tommy finds that there are never such small elephants in the world. In general, he does not like this picture. He grasps the edge of the page with his finger and turns it over.

The hour of lunch comes, but the girl cannot be taken away from the elephant. A German comes to the rescue:

Let me arrange everything. They will have lunch together.

He orders the elephant to sit down. The elephant obediently sits down, causing the floor in the entire apartment to shake, dishes rattling in the cupboard, and plaster falls from the ceiling of the lower tenants. A girl sits down opposite him. A table is placed between them. A tablecloth is tied around the elephant's neck, and new friends begin to dine. The girl eats chicken soup and a cutlet, and the elephant eats various vegetables and salad. The girl is given a tiny glass of sherry, and the elephant is given warm water with a glass of rum, and he gladly draws this drink out of the bowl with his trunk. Then they get a sweet: the girl gets a cup of cocoa, and the elephant gets half a cake, this time a nutty one. At this time, the German sits with his dad in the living room and drinks beer with the same pleasure as the elephant, only in larger quantities.

After dinner, some of my father's acquaintances come; they are warned about the elephant in the front hall so that they do not get scared. At first they do not believe, and then, when they see Tommy, they huddle to the door.

Do not be afraid, he is kind! - the girl soothes them.

But acquaintances hurriedly go into the living room and, without sitting even five minutes, leave.

Evening falls. Late. It's time for the girl to sleep. However, she cannot be dragged away from the elephant. She falls asleep beside him, and she, already sleepy, is taken to the nursery. She doesn't even hear how she is being undressed.

That night Nadya sees in a dream that she married Tommy and they have many children, little funny elephants. The elephant, who was taken to the menagerie at night, also sees in a dream a sweet, affectionate girl. In addition, he dreams of large cakes, nut and pistachio, the size of a gate ...

In the morning, the girl wakes up cheerful, fresh and, as in the old days, when she was still healthy, she shouts at the whole house, loudly and impatiently:

Mo-loch-ka!

Hearing this cry, mother happily hurries. But the girl immediately remembers yesterday and asks:

And the elephant?

They explain to her that the elephant went home on business, that he has children who cannot be left alone, that he asked to bow to Nadya and that he is waiting for her to visit him when she is healthy. The girl smiles slyly and says: - Tell Tommy that I am already completely healthy!
1907

A. Kuprin's stories

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A large and strong dog named Peregrine Falcon reflects on life and what surrounds him in this life. The peregrine falcon got its name from ancient ancestors, one of whom defeated a bear in a fight by grabbing its throat. The Peregrine Falcon reflects on the Master, condemns his bad habits, rejoices at how he is praised when he and the Master are walking. Peregrine Falcon lives in a house with the Master, his little daughter and a cat. They are friends with the cat, the Little Peregrine Falcon protects, does not hurt anyone and allows her something that would not allow anyone. Peregrine falcon also loves bones and often gnaws them or buries them in order to gnaw them later, but sometimes forgets the place. Although the Peregrine Falcon is the strongest dog in the world, it does not kill defenseless and weak dogs. Often the Peregrine Falcon looks into the sky and knows that there is someone there who is stronger and smarter than the Master, and someday this someone will take the Peregrine Falcon into eternity. The Peregrine Falcon really wants the Master to be near at this moment, even if he is not there, the last thought of the Peregrine Falcon will be about him.

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A. Kuprin's stories

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Kuprin's story "Elephant" - interesting story about a little girl who got sick and no doctor could cure her. They only said that she had apathy and indifference to life, and she herself lay in bed for a whole month with a bad appetite, she was very bored. The mother and father of the sick girl did not find a place for themselves, trying to cure the child, but nothing could interest her. The doctor advised her to fulfill her every whim, but she did not want anything. Suddenly the girl wanted an elephant. Dad immediately ran to the store and bought a beautiful clockwork elephant. But Nadia was not impressed by this toy elephant, she wanted a real live elephant, not necessarily a big one. And dad, after thinking for a while, went to the circus, where he agreed with the owner of the animals to bring the elephant home to them at night for the whole day, because during the day crowds of people would have clung to the elephant. In order for the elephant to enter the apartment on the 2nd floor, the doors were specially widened. And at night the elephant was brought. The girl Nadya woke up in the morning and was very happy with him. They spent the whole day together, even dined at the same table. Nadia fed the elephant with rolls and showed him her dolls. So she fell asleep beside him. And at night she dreamed about an elephant. Waking up in the morning, Nadya did not find the elephant - he was taken away, but she got interested in life and she recovered.

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A. Kuprin's stories

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Gutta-percha boy: stories of Russian writers for children

Dmitry Vasilievich Grigorovich

Gutta-percha boy

“… When I was born, I cried; subsequently, every day he lived, he explained to me why I cried when I was born ... "

I

Blizzard! Blizzard!! And how suddenly it is! How unexpected!!! Until that time, the weather was fine. It was slightly freezing at noon; the sun, dazzlingly sparkling in the snow and forcing everyone to squint, added to the joy and diversity of the street Petersburg population, celebrating the fifth day of Maslenitsa. This went on until almost three hours, until dusk, and suddenly a cloud flew in, the wind rose, and the snow poured down with such a thickness that in the first minutes it was impossible to make out anything on the street.

The hustle and bustle was especially felt on the square opposite the circus. The audience, leaving after the morning performance, could hardly make their way in the crowd that was pouring from the Tsarina to the Luga, where the booths were. People, horses, sleighs, carriages - everything was confused. In the midst of the noise, impatient exclamations were heard from all over, and disgruntled, grumbling remarks were heard from persons taken by surprise by the blizzard. There were even those who immediately got seriously angry and chose her well.

Among the latter should be, first of all, ranked the directors of the circus. Indeed, if we take into account the upcoming evening performance and the audience expected for it, a blizzard could easily damage the business. Shrovetide undoubtedly has a mysterious power to awaken in a person's soul a sense of duty to use pancakes, to delight oneself with amusements and spectacles of all kinds; but, on the other hand, it is also known from experience that a sense of duty can sometimes fail and weaken from reasons incomparably less worthy than a change of weather. Be that as it may, a blizzard shook the success of the evening performance; even some fears were born that if the weather did not improve by eight o'clock, the circus box office would suffer significantly.

So or almost so reasoned the director of the circus, seeing the audience crowded at the exit with his eyes. When the doors to the square were closed, he walked across the hall to the stables.

In the circus hall, the gas has already been extinguished. Passing between the barrier and the first row of chairs, the director could make out through the darkness only the circus arena, indicated by a round dull yellowish spot; the rest everything: the empty rows of chairs, the amphitheater, the upper galleries - went into darkness, in places indefinitely turning black, in places disappearing in a foggy mist, strongly saturated with the sweet and sour smell of stables, amyac, damp sand and sawdust. Under the dome, the air was already so thick that it was difficult to distinguish the outline of the upper windows; darkened from the outside by a cloudy sky, half covered with snow, they peeped inward, as if through jelly, imparting enough light to give the lower part of the circus even more darkness. Throughout this vast dark space, the light passed sharply only in a golden longitudinal strip between the halves of the drapery, which fell under the orchestra; it crashed into the thick air like a ray, disappeared and reappeared at the opposite end at the exit, playing on the gilding and crimson velvet of the middle box.

Behind the drapery, which let in the light, voices were heard, horses' stomps could be heard; they were joined from time to time by the eager barking of the learned dogs, who were locked up as soon as the show was over. There now concentrated the life of the noisy staff who had animated the circus arena during the morning performance half an hour ago. There only gas was now burning, illuminating the brick walls, hastily whitewashed with lime. At their base, along rounded corridors, stacked decorations, painted barriers and stools, stairs, stretchers with mattresses and carpets, bundles of colored flags were piled up; in the light of the gas, the hoops hanging on the walls, intertwined with bright paper flowers or sealed with thin Chinese paper, were clearly outlined; A long gilded pole gleamed beside him, and a blue, sequined curtain stood out, which adorned the support when dancing on the rope. In a word, there were all those objects and devices that instantly transfer the imagination to people flying in space, women vigorously jumping into a hoop in order to get their feet on the back of a galloping horse again, children tumbling in the air or hanging on the same socks under dome.

Despite, however, that everything here resembled frequent and terrible cases of bruises, fractures of ribs and legs, falls associated with death, that human life constantly hung here by a thread and was played with it, like with a ball - in this bright corridor and located in its restrooms there were more cheerful faces, jokes, laughter and whistling were mainly heard.

So it was now.

In the main aisle, which connected the inner corridor with the stables, almost all the faces of the troupe could be seen. Some of them had already changed their clothes and stood in robes, fashionable hats, coats and jackets; others only managed to wash off the blush and whitewash and hastily throw on a coat, from under which peeped out legs, covered in colored tights and shod in shoes embroidered with sequins; still others took their time and flaunted in full costume, as they were during the performance.

Between the latter, special attention was drawn to himself a short man, covered from chest to feet in a striped leotard with two large butterflies sewn on the chest and on the back. On his face, thickly smeared with white, with eyebrows drawn perpendicularly across his forehead, and red circles on his cheeks, it would have been impossible to tell how old he was, if he had not taken off his wig as soon as the performance was over, and bald spot that ran over his head.

He noticeably bypassed his comrades, did not interfere in their conversations. He didn’t notice how many of them nudged each other and winked playfully as he passed.

At the sight of the director who entered, he backed away, quickly turned away and took a few steps towards the restrooms; but the director hastened to stop him.

“Edwards, wait a minute; still have time to undress! - said the director, looking attentively at the clown, who stopped, but apparently did it reluctantly, - wait, please; I just need to talk to Frau Brown ... Where is Madame Brown? Call her here ... Ah, Frau Braun! - exclaimed the director, addressing a small lame, no longer young woman, in a cloak, also not young, and a hat, even older than a cloak.

Frau Brown was not alone: ​​she was accompanied by a girl of about fifteen, thin, with delicate features and beautiful expressive eyes.