Sasha Cherny (real name Alexander Mikhailovich Glikberg; October 1 (13), 1880 in a Jewish family of a pharmacist, an agent of a trading company. There were five children in the family, two of whom were named Sasha. The blond was called "white", and the brunette - "black" - and so the pseudonym was born.
To give the child the opportunity to enter the Bila Tserkva gymnasium, the parents baptized him. In the gymnasium, Alexander did not study for long. The boy ran away from home, became poor, a beggar, begged. His sad fate was written in the newspaper, and the Zhytomyr official K. K. Roche, moved by this story, took the boy to him. K. K. Roche, who did a lot of charity work and loved poetry, had a great influence on Alexander.
From 1901 to 1902, Alexander Glikberg served as a private in a training team, then worked in the Novoselensk customs.
On June 1, 1904, in the Zhytomyr newspaper "Volynsky Vestnik" his "Diary of a Resonator" was published under the signature "By itself".
In 1905 he moved to St. Petersburg, where he published the satirical poems that brought him fame in the magazines Spectator, Almanac, Journal, Masks, Leshy, etc. As Chukovsky wrote: “having received a fresh issue of the magazine, the reader, first of all, looked for the poems of Sasha Cherny in it.
The first poem under the pseudonym "Sasha Cherny" - the satire "Nonsense", published on November 27, 1905, led to the closure of the magazine "Spectator". The poetry collection "Different Motifs" was banned by censors.
In 1906-1908 he lived in Germany, where he continued his education at the University of Heidelberg.
Returning to St. Petersburg in 1908, he collaborates with the magazine "Satyricon", publishes collections of poems "To All the Poor in Spirit", "Involuntary Tribute", "Satires". Published in the journals "Modern World", "Argus", "The Sun of Russia", "Sovremennik", in the newspapers "Kievskaya Thought", "Russkaya Rumor", "Odessa News". Becomes famous as a children's writer: books "Knock-Knock", "Live ABC" and others.
During the First World War, Sasha Cherny served in the 5th Army as a private at the field infirmary and worked as a prose writer.
He published a collection of prose "Fanny Stories" (1928), the story "Wonderful Summer" (1929), children's books: "Professor Patrashkin's Dream" (1924), "Mickey the Fox's Diary" (1927), "Cat Sanatorium" (1928), " Ruddy Book "(1930)," Sailor Squirrel "(1932).
In 1929, he bought a plot of land in the south of France, in the town of La Favière, built his own house, where Russian writers, artists, musicians came and stayed for a long time.
Sasha Cherny died of a heart attack on August 5, 1932. Risking his life, he helped put out a fire at a nearby farm. When he got home, he fell down and never got up again.
He was buried in the cemetery of Lavandou, department of Var.
The book includes soldiers' tales of the famous Russian satirist writer Sasha Cherny. "Soldier's Tales" were published abroad. Published in the Soviet Union for the first time.
Antipus
Sends a regimental adjutant to the commander of the first company with a note. So and so, my card table of an expensive tree was filled with vodka on a name day. Send Ivan Borodulin to polish it.
The company commander gave the order through the sergeant major, you will not refuse the adjutant. And what about Borodulin: why not free himself from the camp; the work is easy - its own, sincere, and the adjutant is not such a miser to use the gift of a soldier later.
It was Borodulin sitting on the floor, rubbing his legs with lacquer-sandarak, he evaporated all over, warmed up, threw his tunic from himself onto the parquet, rolled up his sleeves. The soldier was of himself stately and strong, at least write a patret: the muscles on the shoulders and arms under the skin roll like iron jaws, his face is thin, as if not a simple soldier, but a little bit of officer yeast added. However, what’s in vain to find fault - his parent was of the old school, a natural suburban bourgeois woman - on a fast day, you won’t pass by a sausage shop, not that ...
Borodulin took a breath, wiped the sweat from his forehead with his palm. He raised his eyes, the lady was standing in the doorway - a young widow, that means, from whom the adjutant rented a fater at a reasonable price. She is neat, her face too - you won’t turn away. Will the adjutant live with the clumsy one ...
- Upreli, soldier?
He jumped on frisky legs - a tunic on the floor. As soon as he began to put it on over his head, he hurriedly put his hand into the collar instead of his head, and the mistress slowed him down:
- No no! Do not touch the gymnast! She examined him at all seams, as if she had taken an exam, and behind the curtain she threw out in a honeyed voice:
- Purely Antipus! ... Entot suits me as it is.
And she left. Only the lilac spirit behind her curled like a path.
The soldier frowned. How the hell does he suit her? What a word she blurted out in the white light ... With fat, they, ladies, gnaw on the railing, but not attacked such a one.
Borodulin did his work, tied his tackle into a bundle, and reported through the messenger.
The adjutant came out himself. He pinched his eye: the table gleamed, as if a cow had licked it with a wet tongue.
- Cleverly, - he says, - he nailed it! Well done Borodulin!
- Glad to try, your speed. Only if you please order that the windows are not opened until tomorrow, until the varnish has grown stronger. And then the May dust will fly in, the table will get tired ... The work is delicate. Allow me to chime in?
The adjutant rewarded him properly, while he himself grins.
- No, brother, wait. One job completed, the other stuck. The lady really liked you, the lady wants to sculpt you, understand?
- Not at all. Something suspicious...
And he himself thinks: why sculpt me? The tea is already molded!…
- OK. I don’t understand, so the lady will give you an explanation.
And with that cap on his forehead and proceeded into the canopy. Only, therefore, the soldier for the tunic - curtain - vyk! - as if the wind had blown her sideways. The lady is standing, leaning her downy palm against the jamb and again for her own:
- No no! Ascend as it is, in kind. What is your name, soldier?
- Ivan Borodulin! - He gave the answer, and he himself, like a bear on a mill wheel, stared sideways.
She calls him, which means, to her peace at close range. The adjutant ordered, you won’t rest.
“Here,” says the lady, “take a look. Everything is cool, as is my work.
Mother honest! As he looked, his eyes turned white; the room is full of naked men, some without legs, some without a head ... And between them are alabaster women. Which lies, which stands ... Dresses, underwear and titles are not visible, but the faces, by the way, are strict.
The lady here made a full explanation:
- Here you are, Borodulin, a mahogany master, and I sculpt from clay. Only difference. Yours, for example, is a polish, and mine is a sculpture ... In the city, for example, monuments have been erected, the same idols, only in their final form ...
The soldier sees that the mistress is not a military lady, soft, - he crosses her and cuts:
How, ma'am, is it possible? On the monuments, the heroes in full dress uniform on horseback wave their sabers, and the entis, without a clan-tribe, are useless. Can you roll such naked devils into the city?
She doesn't take offense at all. She bared her teeth in a lace handkerchief and answered:
- Well, they made a mistake. Have you been to St. Petersburg? That's it! And there in the Summer Garden there are as many untainted entihs as you like. Which is the god of the sea, which is the goddess of infertility in charge. You are a literate soldier, you should know.
“Look, it’s flooding!” The soldier thinks. “The mothers of the prince’s children are nursing tea in the capital’s garden, the authorities are walking, how is it possible to put such rubbish between the trees? ...”.
She takes out a white shaggy sheet from the locker, the edge is sheathed with a red ribbon, - she gives it to the soldier.
- Here you have instead of the Crimean epanchi. Take off your underwear shirt, I don't need it.
Borodulin was stunned, he stands like a pillar, his hand does not rise to the collar.
An stubborn lady, does not accept a soldier's embarrassment:
- Well, what about you, soldier? Well, I’m only up to my waist - just think, what a monastic dandelion! ... Throw a sheet over your right shoulder, Antignoy’s left is always in its natural form.
Before he had time to come to his senses, the lady fastened the sheet on his shoulder with a horse badge, put him on a high stool, screwed up the screw ... The soldier ascended, like a cat on a pedestal, with his eyes peeling, boiling water rushes to his temples. The tree is straight, but the apple is sour ...
She took the soldier at gunpoint from all angles.
- Just right! They just cut you, soldier, low - a mouse won’t grab it with a tooth. The curls certainly rely on Antipus... For a complete fantasy, I always need to see the model in its entire form from the first blow. Well, this trouble is easy to help ...
She dived into the locker again, took out a wig of an angelic suit and threw it at Borodulin with such a round whisk. From above she pressed a copper hoop, either for strength, or for beauty.
She looked into the fist from three steps:
- Oh, how natural! Lime would whiten you, but put it frozen on a pedestal - and you don’t need to sculpt ...
Borodulin also looked in the mirror - what was hanging obliquely in the wall near the goat-legged peasant ... It was as if the devil had pulled his lip.
Look at the shame ... Mom is not a mother, a bathhouse attendant is not a bathhouse attendant - that is, before that, the mistress of the soldier dressed up what you want to show in booths. Glory to Thee, Lord, that the window is high: besides the cat, no one from the street will see.
And the young widow went into a rage. She spins the clay around the machine, hastily slapped her rawhide torso, planted a crumpled bun instead of a head. He twirls, puffs, and does not look at Borodulin. At first, you see, she did not reach the subtle subtleties, just to somehow break off the clay.
The soldier is sweating. And I want to spit, and I want to smoke a mortal hunt, and in the mirror my shoulder and half my chest, as if on a tray, stick out at the root, at the top the tow spreads like a red lamb, - it would be like pulling a stool out from under itself and myself in the face and slamming it ... It’s impossible: mistress want and not a military one, but she will be offended - through the adjutant she will hurt so much that you won’t catch your breath. Uprela, however, and she. She wiped her hands on her apron, looks at Borodulin, grins.
- Somlely? But we will take a breather for a while and we will do it. It is advisable to walk around, walk around, or even sit in a free position.
Why should he walk around in a hoodie with a hoop? He wrapped his shoulder, swallowed saliva and asked:
- And what kind of entot will he be from? Was he listed in the busurman gods, or in what civilian position?
- Under the Crimean Emperor Andreyan, he was a household handsome man.
Borodulin shook his head. He will say, too ... Under the emperor, either the adjutant wing or the chief valets rely. Why would he keep such a boyfriend in curls with him.
And the lady went up to the window, leaned out into the garden up to her chest, so that the wind would blow on her: the work is also not easy, kneading a pound of clay, not milking a duck.
A soldier hears behind him the squeak-screech of a mouse, the curtain on the rings is shaking. He glanced back at both flanks, almost fell off the stool: at one end, the lady’s maid, a shack, chokes on her handkerchief, at the other, the orderly of the adjutant’s dial stuck out, shoulder straps on it are shaking, and behind him a kufarka, - he closes his mouth with an apron ... Borodulin approached them with a full patret - they all burst through at once, as if they hit three frying pans with peas ... They jumped, but rather walked along the wall so that the lady would not be caught.
The lady turned from the window, Borodulina asked:
- What are you, soldier, snorting?
Alexander Glikberg (Sasha Cherny) was one of the most important satirical writers of the early 20th century. Sasha Cherny and Arkady Averchenko are two pillars of the Silver Age humorous literature. But personally, I like Sasha Cherny more: I can’t read his poems and stories without a smile, and lines from the “Settings” often pop up in my memory when a bad mood rolls over. Sasha Cherny has a kind of "Odessa" humor, in which funny and sad things are mixed, which makes you laugh and think at the same time. For some reason, writers from Odessa have just such a sense of humor. It is immediately clear that Sasha Cherny, Isaac Babel, Ilya Ilf and Evgeny Petrov, Mikhail Zhvanetsky were born and raised in Odessa. The first on this list is Alexander Glikberg, who, in order to joke about the pseudonym of Blok's friend and "ardent symbolist poet" Boris Bugaev (Andrey Bely), took the creative name Sasha Cherny.
"Soldier's Tales" by Sasha Cherny is a special book. It appeared for the first time in print after the death of the author in Paris in 1933 and caused many enthusiastic reviews among the Russian emigration. Everyone wrote about "Soldier's Tales", from the captious Alexander Kuprin to the sophisticated Vladimir Nabokov. And this is quite fair. The book "Soldier's Tales" is a notable event not only in Russian émigré literature, but also in Russian literature in general. What in this relatively small book caused such a stir?
First, the language of fairy tales. The stylization of a soldier-narrator is complete, there are many proverbs and sayings in the speech. Sometimes it is not clear whether these are real proverbs and sayings or they are invented by Sasha Cherny himself. Most, of course, invented, but how invented. Can't be distinguished from the real ones. And what these phrases are funny and funny. At least write in a notebook. Here, for example: “Look you ... To give birth to a hedgehog against wool!”, “How many bones a ruff has, so many lordly undertakings”, “something, dear man, it reeks of you with a simple vegetable that it’s impossible to have a conversation , so I started that you can smoke a whitefish ”,“ a real ancient hero, whitewash you with lime, and put it frozen on a pedestal in the park ”, etc.
Secondly, the plots of fairy tales. These are not just fairy tales - these are “soldier tales”, but they are so amusing and interesting that they take your breath away. In these tales, the soldier will not only be able to cook the traditional “porridge from an ax”, but also calm the herd of donkeys, which, with its cries, does not allow Generalisimo Suvorov to sleep in the Alps. Here is a fairy tale, and a case from life, and just an army anecdote. Heroes unite all the stories: merry soldiers and their infectious humor.
Thirdly, the skill of parody. In each fairy tale, Sasha Cherny parodies something: either a fairy tale, or a heroic epic, or an adventure novel. I especially liked the fairy tale, in which Lermontov's romantic poem "The Demon" is parodied. It is called "Caucasian Devil". An experienced soldier tells his colleagues the content of the "Demon" ("Caucasian Devil"), turning the tragic plot of the poem into a series of anecdotes.
And, fourthly, each fairy tale contains a deep meaning, each story teaches to be savvy and kind. Such as Lukashka from the fairy tale "Peaceful War", who suggested that hostile armies pull the rope so that people in the war would not be killed or maimed. Whoever pulls the rope will win the war.
If you want your children to have a good laugh and learn something at the same time, then "Soldier's Tales" by Sasha Cherny is a good choice for you. The stylization of folk speech may seem unusual to children at first, but sparkling humor will quickly help you get used to the style of the story. And, of course, read the tales of Sasha Cherny yourself. A good mood after reading will be guaranteed to you.
The book "Soldier's Tales" was published by the publishing house "Nigma" in a luxurious gift collection edition. This edition is unique in its own way. So "Soldier's Tales" has never been published. Solid colorful cover, high-quality expensive paper, offset printing, there is a lace bookmark. At the end of the book is a story about "Soldier's Tales" and about Sasha Cherny by the famous cartoonist Yuri Norshtein (author of the cartoon "Hedgehog in the Fog", etc.). Illustrations by Yuri Norshtein's student Ekaterina Sokolova. Ekaterina Sokolova is one of the best modern Russian animation directors, winner of many awards for animated films.
There are a lot of drawings in the book, they are on almost every page. The illustrations are colorful, drawn with the humor and taste you expect from a fun book. The book is recommended for children of senior school age, but it seems to me that children of secondary school age (from the age of 13) will find Sasha Cherny's fairy tale fun and interesting.
Dmitry Matsyuk
Sasha Cherny: Soldier's Tales. Artist: Ekaterina Sokolova. Publishing house Nigma, 2016
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After the "Live ABC" I will write about the "painful" - about "Soldier's Tales". And it "sick" because it's expensive to buy two books, but my husband and I almost fight because of it - first, to read, and then we begin to discuss who is to blame - men or women. Forgive the expression, but such is human nature that all the troubles of men are from women, and vice versa. Or from the bosses - commanders, that they are not allowed to go home to their wife, or they are forced to dance in a female guise, there are no women in the army, but the performance must be staged! And if they decide to undress the poor soldier, and present him naked in front of a sculpture - a woman, then the whole servant will laugh at him and worse, they will ring the whole village, and if it comes to a part? It happens that he finds a soldier - and he imagines mermaids that attack him, and he dreams of a king, and a landowner. And he doesn’t even know that the landowner is also under the heel of his little wife. Once I dreamed that I got into the bedchamber of the royal wife to help her out of golden horseshoes.
But not only ordinary soldiers had "fun" life in the service, and they had to in the hospital, but the devils got it from the soldiers. A soldier, although he is straightforward, he doesn’t like devils passion.
One day, a regimental musical team settled in the old merchant's house, where the red-eyed housekeeper lived.
I will give an excerpt, and you savor the language:
A little earlier:
“The nightingales rattle over the raspberries, the sonorous peal-whistle from the garden floats so sadly that not only the brownie will melt the log. swirl…"
And then
“It’s over this musical soldiery ... You won’t fall asleep during the day, - and when will the brownie fall asleep, if not during the day ... Read black pipes from the dawn, the flutes reach such a shrillness, it cuts in the eyes, the basses mumble and roll into the lining. bury your head in shavings, even if you caulk your ears with tow from under a log, you will never achieve silence. Marches and polkas - like copper goats jumping through a glass fence ...
And it wasn't much easier at night. A combatant soldier, when he does not knock down, but does not stand on duty with a gun, will definitely sleep at night, but these sleepless ones turned out to be somehow. As soon as the Kapellmeister stumbles across the road on his veil, a little as a senior non-commissioned officer, a super-duty old man, he hangs a uniform with chevrons over the bed, now - who goes where. In the garden, shoo-shoo, shoo-shu: you never know homeless kufarok and mothers ... The regimental musician after the fireman, one might say, the first vacancy. From the windows they shine, they squeeze oil in the bushes - all the nightingales, selfless birds, were dispersed to the dog's mother ... Lilacs are torn in sheaves - they will use it for a nickel, break it for a ruble. Oh, you bastards!"
The last paragraph to my conclusion about all the troubles is confirmed.
And the soldiers themselves have "footcloths - although they are washed, they burn incense in the moonlight, no lilac will kill. ... Even the mice have disappeared."
Yes, such reading requires a special approach.
It seems to me, and to my husband, that Ekaterina Sokolova was especially imbued with the texts, since such crazy illustrations turned out. This is not for you to draw squirrel bunnies, as one reviewer correctly noted, but a rollicking soldier's life!
This is not a book, this is an explosion of emotions! The faint of heart, please stay away!
