I
This was in the seventies, the day after winter Nikola. There was a holiday in the parish, and the village janitor, merchant of the second guild Vasily Andreich Brekhunov, could not be absent: he had to be in church - he was a church elder - and at home he had to receive and treat his relatives and friends. But then the last guests left, and Vasily Andreich began to get ready to immediately go to the neighboring landowner to buy from him a grove that had long been bargained for. Vasily Andreich was in a hurry to leave so that the city merchants would not take this profitable purchase away from him. The young landowner asked ten thousand for the grove only because Vasily Andreich gave seven for it. Seven thousand was only one third of the real value of the grove. Vasily Andreich, perhaps, would have bargained for more, since the forest was in his district and a procedure had long been established between him and the village district merchants, according to which one merchant did not raise prices in the district of another, but Vasily Andreich learned that the provincial timber merchants they wanted to go and sell the Goryachkinskaya Grove, and he decided to go immediately and finish the matter with the landowner. And therefore, as soon as the holiday passed, he took his seven hundred rubles out of the chest, added to them the two thousand and three hundred church rubles he had, so that there were three thousand rubles, and, carefully counting them and putting them in his wallet, he got ready to go.
Worker Nikita, the only one of Vasily Andreich’s workers who was not drunk that day, ran to harness the horse. Nikita was not drunk that day because he was a drunkard, and now, with the spell, during which he drank from his undershirt and leather boots, he swore off drinking and did not drink for the second month; I didn’t drink now, despite the temptation of drinking wine everywhere during the first two days of the holiday.
Nikita was a fifty-year-old man from a nearby village, not a master, as they said about him, most living his life not at home, but among people. Everywhere he was appreciated for his hard work, dexterity and strength in his work, most importantly for his kindness, pleasant character; but he did not get along anywhere, because twice a year, or even more often, he drank, and then, in addition to drinking everything from himself, he became even more violent and picky. Vasily Andreich also drove him away several times, but then took him again, valuing his honesty, love for animals and, most importantly, his cheapness. Vasily Andreich did not pay Nikita eighty rubles, how much such a worker cost, but forty rubles, which he gave him without calculation, in small change, and even then, for the most part, not in money, but at an expensive price in goods from the store.
Nikita's wife, Marfa, who had once been a beautiful, lively woman, ran the house with a small teenager and two girls and did not invite Nikita to live home, firstly, because she had been living for twenty years with a cooper, a man from a foreign village, who stood in their house; and secondly, because, although she pushed her husband around as she wanted when he was sober, she was afraid of him like fire when he was drunk. Once, while drunk and drunk at home, Nikita, probably in order to avenge his wife for all his sober humility, broke into her chest, took out her most precious clothes and, taking an ax, chopped all her sundresses and dresses into small pieces on a stump. The salary Nikita earned was all given to his wife, and Nikita did not contradict this. So now, two days before the holiday, Martha came to Vasily Andreich and took from him white flour, tea, sugar and octane wine, three rubles in total, and also took five rubles in money and thanked him for this as for a special favor, whereas at the cheapest price for Vasily Andreich it was twenty rubles.
– Did we really make any arrangements with you? - Vasily Andreich said to Nikita. – You need it, take it, you’ll live. I’m not like people: wait, yes, there are settlements, and there are fines. We are by honor. You serve me, and I will not leave you. You need it, I will deliver it.
And, saying all this, Vasily Andreich was sincerely convinced that he was benefactoring Nikita: he knew how to speak so convincingly, and so all the people who depended on his money, starting with Nikita, supported him in this conviction that he was not deceiving, but was benefactoring them.
– Yes, I understand, Vasily Andreich; It seems that I serve, I try, like my own father, I understand very well,” Nikita answered, very well understanding that Vasily Andreich was deceiving him, but at the same time feeling that there was no point in trying to explain his calculations with him, but he had to live until there is no other place, and take what they give.
Now, having received the owner’s order to harness, Nikita, as always, cheerfully and willingly, cheerful and easy step With his goose-like legs walking, he went into the barn, took the heavy belt with a tassel bridle from the nail there and, rattling the rams of the bit, went to the closed stable, in which stood separately the horse that Vasily Andreich had ordered to be harnessed.
- What, are you bored, bored, fool? - Nikita said, responding to the weak neigh of greeting with which he was greeted by a medium-sized, somewhat lop-backed, karak, fly-haired stallion standing alone in the stable. - But, but! “If you’re in time, give me some water first,” he spoke to the horse in exactly the same way as one speaks to creatures who understand words, and, having brushed his hollow, fat, corroded and dust-covered back with a groove in the middle, he put a bridle on the stallion’s beautiful young head, pulled out his ears and bangs and, throwing off the mud, he led them out to drink.
Carefully getting out of the highly manured barn, Mukhorty began to play and bucked, pretending that he wanted to kick Nikita, who was trotting with him to the well, with his hind leg.
- Pamper, spoil, scoundrel! - Nikita said, knowing the care with which Mukhorty raised his back leg just enough to touch his greasy sheepskin coat, but not to hit him, and especially loved this manner.
Having drunk the cold water, the horse sighed, moving his wet, strong lips, from which transparent drops dripped from his whiskers into the trough, and froze, as if deep in thought; then suddenly she snorted loudly.
- If you don’t want to, you don’t have to, so we’ll know; “Don’t ask me anymore,” said Nikita, completely seriously and thoroughly explaining his behavior to Mukhortom; and again ran to the barn, tugging at the reins of the cheerful young horse, bucking and crackling throughout the yard.
There were no workers, there was only one stranger, the cook’s husband, who came to the holiday.
“Go and ask, dear soul,” Nikita said to him, “what kind of sleigh should I order to be harnessed: the small ones or the tiny ones?”
The cook's husband went to the iron-roofed house on a high foundation and soon returned with the news that it was ordered to harness the little ones. Nikita at this time had already put on a collar, tied up a saddle covered with carnations, and, carrying a light painted bow in one hand and leading a horse with the other, approached two sleighs standing under the barn.
“In small ones, so in small ones,” he said and led the smart horse into the shafts, which was always pretending that she wanted to bite him, and with the help of the cook, he began harnessing his husband.
When everything was almost ready and all that remained was to start the fire, Nikita sent the cook’s husband to the barn for straw and to the barn for rope.
- That's okay. But, but, don’t push yourself! - Nikita said, kneading the freshly threshed oat straw brought by the cook’s husband in the sleigh. “Now let’s lay the sackcloth down like this, and put a rope on top.” This is how, this is how it’s good to sit,” he said, doing what he said, tucking the rope on top of the straw on all sides around the seat.
“Thank you, dear soul,” Nikita said to the cook’s husband, “everything is faster together.” - And, having disassembled the belt reins with a ring at the connected end, Nikita sat down on the handlebar and set off the good horse, which was asking to go, across the frozen manure of the yard to the gate.
- Uncle Mikit, uncle, uncle! - a seven-year-old boy in a black sheepskin coat, new white felt boots and a warm hat shouted behind him in a thin voice, hastily running out of the hallway into the yard. “Put me down,” he asked, buttoning up his sheepskin coat as he walked.
“Well, well, run, my dear,” said Nikita and, stopping him, he sat down the owner’s pale, thin boy, who was beaming with joy, and drove out into the street.
It was three o'clock. It was frosty - ten degrees, cloudy and windy. Half of the sky was covered with a low dark cloud. But it was quiet outside. On the street, the wind was more noticeable: snow was falling from the roof of the neighboring barn and it was spinning on the corner near the bathhouse. As soon as Nikita rode through the gate and turned his horse towards the porch, Vasily Andreich, with a cigarette in his mouth, in a covered sheepskin sheepskin coat, belted tightly and low with a sash, came out of the entryway onto the high porch trampled with snow, squealing under his skin with covered felt boots, and stopped. . Taking a drag from the rest of his cigarette, he threw it under his feet and stepped on it and, blowing smoke through his mustache and looking askance at the horse as it rode out, began tucking the corners of the collar of his sheepskin coat on both sides of his ruddy face, shaved except for the mustache, with the fur inward, so that the fur would not sweating from breathing.
“Look, what a prosecutor’s office, it’s already in time!” - he said, seeing his little son in the sleigh. Vasily Andreich was excited by the wine he drank with the guests and therefore even more than usual, pleased with everything that belonged to him and everything that he did. The sight of his son, whom he had always called heir in his thoughts, now gave him great pleasure; he looked at him, squinting and baring his long teeth.
Bundled over head and shoulders woolen scarf, so that only her eyes were visible, the pregnant, pale and thin wife of Vasily Andreich, seeing him off, stood behind him in the entryway.
“Really, I should have taken Nikita,” she said, timidly stepping out from behind the door.
Vasily Andreich did not answer anything and at her words, which were obviously unpleasant to him, he frowned angrily and spat.
“You’ll go with the money,” the wife continued in the same plaintive voice. - And the weather wouldn’t have risen. Really, by God.
- Well, why don’t I know the road, that I definitely need an escort? - Vasily Andreich said with that unnatural tension of his lips with which he usually spoke with sellers and buyers, pronouncing each syllable with particular clarity.
- Well, really, I would take it, I ask you from God! - the wife repeated, turning the scarf over to the other side.
- That’s how the bath leaf stuck... Well, where can I take it?
“Well, Vasily Andreich, I’m ready,” Nikita said cheerfully. “Only they would have given the horses food without me,” he added, turning to the hostess.
“I’ll take a look, Nikitushka, I’ll tell Semyon,” said the hostess.
- So, should we go, Vasily Andreich? - Nikita said, waiting.
- Yes, it’s obvious to respect the old woman. “Just if you’re going, go and put on a warmer suitcase,” Vasily Andreich said, smiling again and winking at Nikita’s sheepskin coat, torn under the armpits and in the back and at the hem, fringed, greasy and matted, having seen everything.
- Hey, dear soul, go out, hold the horse! - Nikita shouted to the cook’s husband into the yard.
- I myself, I myself! - the boy squeaked, taking his cold red hands out of his pockets and grabbing the cold belt reins with them.
- Just don’t be too pretentious about your diplomat, be quick! - Vasily Andreich shouted, mocking Nikita.
“One puff, Father Vasily Andreich,” said Nikita and, quickly flashing his socks inside his old felt boots lined with felt soles, he ran into the yard and into the work hut.
- Come on, Arinushka, give me my robe from the stove - to go with the owner! - Nikita said, running into the hut and taking the sash off the nail.
The worker, who had slept after lunch and was now setting up the samovar for her husband, cheerfully greeted Nikita and, infected by his haste, just like him, quickly moved and took out from the stove a poor, worn-out cloth caftan that was drying there and began to hastily shake off and knead it.
“You and your master will have plenty of room to walk,” said Nikita to the cook, who always, out of good-natured politeness, said something to a person when he was alone with him.
And, drawing the narrow, matted sash around him, he pulled in his already skinny belly and pulled on his sheepskin coat as hard as he could.
“That’s it,” he said after that, turning not to the cook, but to the sash, tucking its ends into his belt. - You can’t jump out like that! - and, raising and lowering his shoulders so that there was a looseness in his hands, he put on a robe on top, also strained his back so that his arms were free, tucked them under his arms and took out mittens from the shelf. - Well, that's okay.
“You should, Stepanych, change your legs,” said the cook, “otherwise the boots are thin.”
Nikita stopped, as if remembering.
- It should be... Well, it will do just like that, not far away!
And he ran into the yard.
“Won’t you be cold, Nikitushka?” - said the hostess when he approached the sleigh.
“Why is it cold, it’s warm at all,” answered Nikita, straightening the straw in the heads of the sleigh to cover his legs, and tucking the whip, which was unnecessary for a good horse, under the straw.
Vasily Andreich was already sitting in the sleigh, filling almost the entire curved back of the sleigh with his back, dressed in two fur coats, and immediately, taking the reins, he set off the horse. As Nikita walked, he sat down in front on the left side and stuck out one leg.
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Lev Nikolaevich Tolstoy
Owner and worker
Tolstoy Lev Nikolaevich
Owner and worker
Lev Nikolaevich Tolstoy
Owner and worker
This was in the seventies, the day after winter Nikola. There was a holiday in the parish, and the village janitor, merchant of the second guild Vasily Andreich Brekhunov, could not be absent: he had to be in church - he was a church elder - and at home he had to receive and treat his relatives and friends. But then the last guests left, and Vasily Andreich began to get ready to immediately go to the neighboring landowner to buy from him a grove that had long been bargained for. Vasily Andreich was in a hurry to leave so that the city merchants would not take this profitable purchase away from him. The young landowner asked ten thousand for the grove only because Vasily Andreich gave seven for it. Seven thousand was only one third of the real value of the grove. Vasily Andreich, perhaps, would have bargained for more, since the forest was in his district, and a procedure had long been established between him and the village district merchants, according to which one merchant did not raise prices in the district of another, but Vasily Andreich learned that the provincial The timber merchants wanted to go and sell the Goryachkinskaya Grove, and he decided to go immediately and finish the matter with the landowner. And therefore, as soon as the holiday passed, he took out his seven hundred rubles from the chest, added two thousand three hundred of the church rubles he had to them, so that there were three thousand rubles, and, carefully counting them and putting them in his wallet, he got ready to go.
Worker Nikita, the only one of Vasily Andreich’s workers who was not drunk that day, ran to harness the horse. Nikita was not drunk that day because he was a drunkard, and now, with the spell, during which he drank from his undershirt and leather boots, he swore off drinking and did not drink for the second month; I didn’t drink now, despite the temptation of drinking wine everywhere during the first two days of the holiday.
Nikita was a fifty-year-old man from a nearby village, a non-owner, as they said about him, who spent most of his life not at home, but among people. Everywhere he was appreciated for his hard work, dexterity and strength in work, most importantly for his kind, pleasant character; but he did not get along anywhere, because twice a year, or even more often, he drank, and then, in addition to drinking everything from himself, he became even more violent and picky. Vasily Andreich also drove him away several times, but then took him again, valuing his honesty, love for animals and, most importantly, his cheapness. Vasily Andreich did not pay Nikita eighty rubles, how much such a worker cost, but forty rubles, which he gave him without calculation, in small change, and even then, for the most part, not in money, but at an expensive price in goods from the store.
Nikita's wife, Marfa, who had once been a beautiful, lively woman, ran the house with a small teenager and two girls and did not invite Nikita to live home, firstly, because she had already been living for twenty years with a cooper, a man from a foreign village, who stood in their house; and secondly, because, although she pushed her husband around as she wanted when he was sober, she was afraid of him like fire when he was drunk. Once, while drunk and drunk at home, Nikita, probably to avenge his wife for all his sober humility, broke into her chest, took out her most precious clothes and, taking an ax, chopped all her sundresses and dresses into small pieces on a stump. The salary Nikita earned was all given to his wife, and Nikita did not contradict this. So now, two days before the holiday, Marfa came to Vasily Andreich and took from him white flour, tea, sugar and octal wine, three rubles in total, and also took five rubles in money and thanked him for this as for a special favor, then how the cheapest price for Vasily Andreich was twenty rubles.
Did we make any kind of arrangements with you? - Vasily Andreich said to Nikita. - You need it - take it, you'll live. I’m not like people: wait, yes, there are settlements, and there are fines. We are honorable. You serve me, and I will not leave you.
And, saying this, Vasily Andreich was sincerely confident that he was doing Nikita a favor: he knew how to speak so convincingly, and so all the people who depended on his money, starting with Nikita, supported him in this conviction that he was not deceiving, but was benefiting them.
Yes, I understand, Vasily Andreich; It seems that I serve, I try, like my own father. “I understand very well,” Nikita answered, understanding very well that Vasily Andreich was deceiving him, but at the same time feeling that there was no point in trying to explain his calculations to him, but he must live until there is no other place, and take what they give.
Now, having received the owner’s order to harness, Nikita, as always, cheerfully and willingly, with the cheerful and light step of his goose-walking feet, went into the barn, took the heavy belt with a brush from the nail there and, rattling the rams of the bit, went to the closed stable, in which The horse that Vasily Andreich ordered to be harnessed stood separately.
Are you bored, bored, you fool? - Nikita said, responding to the weak neigh of greeting with which he was greeted by a medium-sized, somewhat lop-backed, karak, fly-haired stallion standing alone in the stable. - But, but! “If you’re in time, let daddy tell you first,” he spoke to the horse exactly as one speaks to creatures who understand words, and, brushing his hollow, fatty back with a groove in the middle, corroded and covered with dust, he put a bridle on the stallion’s beautiful young head, pulled out his ears and bangs and, throwing off the mud, he led them out to drink.
Carefully getting out of the tall, overgrown barn, Mukhorty began to play and bucked, pretending that he wanted to kick Nikita, who was trotting with him to the well, with his hind leg.
Pamper, spoil, scoundrel! - Nikita said, knowing the care with which Mukhorty raised his back leg just enough to touch his greasy sheepskin coat, but not to hit him, and especially loved this manner.
Having drunk the cold water, the horse sighed, moving his wet, strong lips, from which transparent drops dripped from his whiskers into the trough, and froze, as if deep in thought; then suddenly she snorted loudly.
If you don’t want it, you don’t have to, so we’ll know; “Don’t ask me any more,” said Nikita, completely seriously and thoroughly explaining his behavior to Mukhortom; and again ran to the barn, tugging at the reins of the cheerful young horse, bucking and crackling throughout the yard.
There were no workers; there was only one stranger, the cook's husband who came to the holiday.
Go and ask, dear soul,” Nikita told him, “what kind of sleigh should I order to be harnessed: the small ones or the tiny ones?”
The cook's husband went to the iron-roofed house on a high foundation and soon returned with the news that it was ordered to harness the little ones. Nikita at this time had already put on a collar, tied up a saddle studded with carnations, and, carrying a light painted bow in one hand and leading a horse in the other, approached two sleighs standing under the barn.
“In the little ones, so in the little ones,” he said, and led the clever horse into the shafts, which was all the time pretending that it wanted to bite him, and with the help of the cook, he began harnessing his husband.
When everything was almost ready and all that remained was to start the fire, Nikita sent the cook’s husband to the barn for straw and to the barn for rope.
That's okay, But, but, don't push yourself! - Nikita said, kneading the freshly threshed oat straw brought by the cook’s husband in the sleigh. - Now let’s lay the sackcloth down like this, and put a rope on top. This is how, this is how it will be good to sit,” he said, doing what he said, tucking the rope on top of the straw on all sides around the seat.
“Thank you, dear soul,” Nikita said to the cook’s husband, “everything is faster together.” - And, having disassembled the belt reins with a ring at the connected end, Nikita sat down on the handlebar and started the good horse, which was asking for a move, across the frozen manure of the yard to the gate.
Uncle Mikit, uncle, uncle! - a seven-year-old boy in a black sheepskin coat, new white felt boots and a warm hat shouted behind him in a thin voice, hastily running out of the hallway into the yard. “Put me down,” he asked, buttoning up his sheepskin coat as he walked.
Well, well, run, my dear,” said Nikita and, stopping him, he sat down the owner’s pale, thin boy, who was beaming with joy, and drove out into the street.
It was three o'clock. It was frosty - ten degrees, cloudy and windy. Half of the sky was covered with a low dark cloud. But it was quiet outside. On the street, the wind was more noticeable: snow was falling from the roof of the neighboring barn, and it was twisting on the corner, near the bathhouse. As soon as Nikita rode out through the gate and turned his horse towards the porch, Vasily Andreich, with a cigarette in his mouth, in a covered sheepskin sheepskin coat, belted tightly and low with a sash, came out of the entryway onto the high porch squealing under his skin with trimmed felt boots, trampled with snow and stopped. Taking a drag from the rest of his cigarette, he threw it under his feet and stepped on it and, blowing smoke through his mustache and looking askance at the riding horse, began tucking the corners of the collar of his sheepskin coat on both sides of his ruddy face, shaved except for the mustache, with the fur inward, so that the fur would not sweating from breathing.
Look, what a prosecutor's office, it's already time! - he said, seeing his son in the sleigh. Vasily Andreich was excited by the wine he drank with the guests and therefore even more than usual, pleased with everything that belonged to him and everything that he did. The sight of his son, whom he had always called heir in his thoughts, now gave him great pleasure; He looked at him, squinting and baring his long teeth.
Wrapped over her head and shoulders in a woolen scarf, so that only her eyes were visible, Vasily Andreich’s pregnant, pale and thin wife, seeing him off, stood behind him in the entryway.
Really, I would have taken Nikita,” she said, timidly stepping out from behind the door.
Vasily Andreich did not answer anything and at her words, which were obviously unpleasant to him, he frowned angrily and spat.
“You’ll go with the money,” the wife continued in the same plaintive voice. - And the weather wouldn’t have risen, really, by God.
Why am I, or don’t know the road, that I absolutely need a guide? Vasily Andreich said with that unnatural tension of his lips with which he usually spoke with sellers and buyers, pronouncing each syllable with particular distinctness.
Well, really, I would take it. I beg you by God! - the wife repeated, wrapping the scarf on the other side.
This is how the bath leaf stuck... Well, where can I take it?
Well, Vasily Andreich, I’m ready,” Nikita said cheerfully. “Only they would have given the horses food without me,” he added, turning to the hostess.
“I’ll take a look, Nikitushka, I’ll tell Semyon,” said the hostess.
So, should we go, Vasily Andreich? - Nikita said, waiting.
Yes, obviously, respect the old woman. “Just if you’re going, go and put on a warmer suitcase,” Vasily Andreich said, smiling again and winking at Nikita’s sheepskin coat, torn under the armpits and in the back and at the hem, fringed, greasy and matted, having seen everything.
Hey, dear soul, go out and hold the horse! - Nikita shouted to the cook’s husband into the yard.
I myself, myself! - the boy squeaked, taking his cold red hands out of his pockets and grabbing the cold belt reins with them.
Just don’t prettify your diplomat too much, be quick! - Vasily Andreich shouted, mocking Nikita.
One puff, Father Vasily Andreich,” said Nikita and, quickly flashing his toes inside his old felt boots lined with felt soles, he ran into the yard and into the work hut.
Come on, Arinushka, give me my robe from the stove - go with the owner! Nikita said, running into the hut and taking the sash off the nail.
The worker, who had slept well after lunch and was now setting up the samovar for her husband, cheerfully greeted Nikita and, infected by his haste, just like him, she quickly moved and took out the poor, worn-out cloth caftan that was drying there from the stove and began to hastily shake off and knead it.
“So you and the owner will have a spacious walk,” Nikita said to the cook, who always, out of good-natured politeness, said something to a person when he was with him face to face.
And, drawing the narrow, matted sash around him, he pulled in his already skinny belly and pulled on his sheepskin coat as hard as he could.
“That’s it,” he said after that, turning not to the cook, but to the sash, tucking its ends into his belt, “but you’ll jump out,” and, raising and lowering his shoulders so that there was a swagger in his hands, he put on a robe on top , also strained his back so that his arms could be free, tucked them under his arms and took out mittens from the shelf. - Well, okay.
“You better, Stepanych,” said the cook, “otherwise your boots are too thin.”
Nikita stopped, as if remembering.
It would be necessary... Well, let’s get off anyway, it’s not far!
And he ran into the yard.
Won't you be cold, Nikitushka? - said the hostess when he approached the sleigh.
Why is it cold, it’s warm at all,” Nikita answered, straightening the straw in the heads of the sleigh to cover his legs, and tucking the whip, which was unnecessary for a good horse, under the straw.
Vasily Andreich was already sitting in the sleigh, filling almost the entire curved back of the sleigh with his back, dressed in two fur coats, and immediately, taking the reins, he set off the horse. As Nikita walked, he sat down in front on the left side and stuck out one leg.
The good stallion, with a slight creaking of the runners, moved the sleigh and set off at a brisk pace along the frosty road in the village.
Where are you going? Give me the whip, Mikita! - Vasily Andreich shouted, obviously rejoicing at the heir, who was perched behind on the runners. - I love you! Run to your mother, you son of a bitch!
The boy jumped off. Mukhorty increased his amble and, stuttering, switched to a trot.
The crosses in which Vasily Andreich’s house stood consisted of six houses. As soon as they left the last, Kuznetsov's hut, they immediately noticed that the wind was much stronger than they thought. The road was almost no longer visible. The track of the runners was immediately covered up, and the road could only be distinguished because it was higher than the rest of the place. It was spinning all over the field, and the line where the earth meets the sky was not visible. The Velyatinsky forest, always clearly visible, only occasionally became dimly black through the snow dust. The wind blew from the left side, stubbornly twisting the mane on Mukhorty’s steep, well-fed neck to one side, and twisting his fluffy tail, tied in a simple knot, to one side. The long collar of Nikita, who was sitting on the side of the wind, pressed against his face and nose.
“She’s not really running, it’s snowy,” said Vasily Andreich, proud of his good horse. “I once drove it to Pashutino, and it delivered in half an hour.”
Chago? - Nikita asked, unable to hear because of his collar.
“I got to Pashutino, I say, in half an hour,” shouted Vasily Andreich.
Needless to say, the horse is kind! - Nikita said.
They were silent. But Vasily Andreich wanted to talk.
Well, did I tell the housewife not to give her tea? - Vasily Andreich spoke in the same loud voice, so confident that Nikita should be flattered to talk to such a significant and intelligent person like him, and so pleased with his joke that it never occurred to him that this conversation might be unpleasant Nikita.
Nikita again did not hear the sound of the owner’s words carried by the wind.
Vasily Andreich repeated his joke about the cooper in his loud, distinct voice.
God bless them, Vasily Andreich, I don’t delve into these matters. I don’t want her to offend the little ones, otherwise God bless her.
“That’s true,” said Vasily Andreich. - Well, are you going to buy a horse in the spring? - he began new item conversation.
Yes, it’s impossible,” Nikita answered, turning away the collar of his caftan and leaning towards the owner.
Now Nikita was interested in the conversation, and he wanted to hear everything.
The little one has grown up, you have to plow yourself, and then everyone was hired,” he said.
Well, take the cutless one, I won’t charge you much! - Vasily Andreich shouted, feeling excited and as a result of this attacking his favorite occupation, which absorbed all his mental strength, - profiteering.
“If you give me fifteen rubles, I’ll buy it at a horse-drawn horse,” said Nikita, who knew that the red price for the beskostny, whom Vasily Andreich wants to sell to him, is seven rubles, and that Vasily Andreich, having given him this horse, will count it at twenty-five rubles, and then in six months you won’t see any money from him.
The horse is good. I wish you as much as I wish myself. According to conscience. Liars will not offend any person. Let mine disappear, and not like others. By honor,” he shouted in that voice with which he charmed his sellers and buyers. - The horse is real!
“As it is,” Nikita said, sighing, and, making sure that there was nothing more to listen to, he pulled down his collar with his hand, which immediately covered his ear and face.
They drove in silence for half an hour. The wind blew through Nikita's side and arm, where his fur coat was torn.
He shrugged and breathed into the collar that covered his mouth, and he was not at all cold.
What do you think, should we go to Karamyshevo or go straight? - asked Vasily Andreich.
On Karamyshevo the driving was on a busier road, lined with good markers in two rows, but further. It was closer straight ahead, but the road was little traveled and there were no markers or they were bad and out of place.
Nikita thought for a moment.
“But you can’t get lost if you drive straight through the hollow, but it’s good through the forest,” said Vasily Andreich, who wanted to go straight.
“It’s your choice,” Nikita said and pulled down his collar again.
Vasily Andreich did so and, having driven off half a mile, near a tall oak branch blowing in the wind with dry leaves hanging on it here and there, he turned left.
The wind from the turn became almost counter to them. And it snowed from above. Vasily Andreich ruled, puffed out his cheeks and blew the spirit from below into his mustache. Nikita was dozing.
They drove like this in silence for about ten minutes. Suddenly Vasily Andreich said something.
Chago? - Nikita asked, opening his eyes.
Vasily Andreich did not answer and twisted, looking back and forth in front of the horse. The horse, curled with sweat in its groins and neck, walked at a walk.
What are you doing, I say? - Nikita repeated.
Chago, chago! - Vasily Andreich imitated him angrily. - There are no landmarks in sight! They must have lost their way!
So stop, I’ll look at the road,” said Nikita and, easily jumping off the sleigh and taking out a whip from under the straw, he went to the left and from the side on which he was sitting.
The snow this year was shallow, so there was a road everywhere, but still in some places it was knee-deep and fell into Nikita’s boot. Nikita walked, felt with his feet and whip, but there was no road anywhere.
Well? - said Vasily Andreich when Nikita approached the sleigh again.
There is no road on this side. We need to go in that direction.
“There’s something black ahead, you go there and look,” said Vasily Andreich.
Nikita went there too, approached what was turning black - this was the blackening soil, which had been deposited from the bare winter fields on top of the snow and had colored the snow black. After walking to the right, Nikita returned to the sleigh, brushed off the snow, shook it out of his boot and sat down in the sleigh.
“We must go to the right,” he said decisively. “The wind was on my left side, but now it’s straight in my face.” Go right! - he said decisively.
Vasily Andreich listened to him and took to the right. But there was still no road. They drove like this for some time. The wind did not decrease, and it began to snow.
And we, Vasily Andreich, apparently have completely lost our way,” Nikita suddenly said as if with pleasure. - What's this? - he said, pointing to black potato tops sticking out from under the snow.
Vasily Andreich stopped the horse, which was already sweating and was moving heavily with its steep sides.
And what? - he asked.
And the fact that we are on the Zakharovsky field. That's where we went!
Wre? - Vasily Andreich responded.
“I’m not lying, Vasily Andreich, but I’m telling the truth,” said Nikita, “and you can hear from the sleigh that we’re going through the potato fields; and there are heaps of tops being hauled away. Zakharovskoe factory field.
See where you've gone astray! - said Vasily Andreich. - How can this be?
“But we have to take it straight away, that’s all, let’s go somewhere,” Nikita said. - If we don’t go to Zakharovka, we’ll go to the manor’s farm.
Vasily Andreich obeyed and let the horse go, as Nikita ordered. They drove like this for quite a long time. Sometimes they drove out onto bare greenery, and the sleigh rattled over the frozen earth. Sometimes they went out to the stubble fields, either winter or spring, where wormwood and straw could be seen dangling from the wind from under the snow; sometimes we drove into deep, uniformly white snow everywhere, from above which nothing was visible.
Snow fell from above and sometimes rose from below. The horse was obviously exhausted, all curled up and covered in frost from sweat, and walked at a walk. Suddenly she broke off and sat down in a pond or ditch. Vasily Andreich wanted to stop, but Nikita shouted at him:
What to keep! We arrived - we need to leave. But, darling! But! but, dear! - he shouted in a cheerful voice at the horse, jumping out of the sleigh and getting stuck in the ditch.
The horse rushed and immediately climbed out onto the frozen embankment. Apparently it was a dug ditch.
Where are we? - said Vasily Andreich.
But we'll find out! - Nikita answered. - Go ahead and know that we’ll go somewhere.
But this must be the Goryachkinsky forest? - said Vasily Andreich, pointing to something black that appeared from behind the snow in front of them.
When we get there, we’ll see what the forest is like,” Nikita said.
Nikita saw that dry elongated vine leaves were rushing from the direction of something blackened, and therefore he knew that this was not a forest, but a dwelling, but did not want to talk. And indeed, they had not even gone ten fathoms after the ditch when the trees in front of them obviously turned black, and some new dull sound was heard. Nikita guessed correctly: it was not a forest, but a row of tall vines, with leaves still fluttering here and there. The lozins were obviously planted along the threshing floor ditch. Having approached the vineyards that were sadly humming in the wind, the horse suddenly rose with its front legs higher than the sleigh, climbed out onto a hill with its hind legs, turned to the left and stopped sinking into the knee-deep snow. This was the road.
“So we’ve arrived,” said Nikita, “but we don’t know where.”
The horse, without losing his way, walked along the snow-covered road, and they had not traveled forty fathoms along it when the straight strip of the fence of the barn turned black under the roof, thickly covered with snow, from which snow was constantly falling. Having passed Riga, the road turned downwind, and they drove into a snowdrift. But ahead was an alley between two houses, so, obviously, a snowdrift had blown up on the road, and it was okay to cross it. And indeed, having driven over a snowdrift, they drove into the street. Near the outer yard, frozen clothes hung desperately on a rope in the wind: shirts, one red, one white, trousers, onuchi and a skirt. The white shirt was especially desperately torn, waving its sleeves.
Look, the woman is lazy, or else dying, she didn’t pack her laundry for the holiday, Nikita said, looking at the dangling shirts.
At the beginning of the street it was still windy and the road was swept away, but in the middle of the village it became quiet, warm and cheerful. Near one yard a dog was barking, at another a woman, covering her head with a robe, came running from somewhere and went into the door of the hut, stopping on the threshold to look at the passers-by. The songs of girls were heard from the middle of the village.
In the village, there seemed to be less wind, snow and frost.
But this is Grishkino,” said Vasily Andreich.
That’s what it is,” Nikita answered.
And indeed, it was Grishkino. It turned out that they veered to the left and drove about eight miles not quite in the direction they needed, but still moved towards their destination. It was five miles from Grishkin to Goryachkin.
In the middle of the village they came across a tall man walking in the middle of the street.
Who's going? - this man shouted, stopping the horse, and, immediately recognizing Vasily Andreich, he grabbed the shaft and, moving his hands along it, reached the sleigh and sat down on the beam.
This was a man familiar to Vasily Andreich, Isai, known in the area as the first horse thief.
A! Vasily Andreich! Where is God taking you? - said Isai, dousing Nikita with the smell of drunk vodka.
Yes, we were in Goryachkino.
Look where we went! You should go to Malakhovo.
“We didn’t need much, but we didn’t bother,” said Vasily Andreich, stopping his horse.
“It’s a good horse,” said Isai, looking at the horse and, with his usual movement, tightening the loose knot of his thick tail, right up to the ribs.
So, spend the night, or what?
No, brother, you definitely have to go.
It is necessary, obviously. Whose is this? A! Nikita Stepanych!
And then who? - Nikita answered. - But as if, dear soul, we won’t get lost here again.
Where can you get lost here? Turn back, go straight along the street, and when you get out, everything is straight. Don't take it to the left. You will get onto the highway, and then turn right.
Where is the turn off the highway? Summer or winter? - Nikita asked.
In winter. Now, as you leave, there are bushes, opposite the bushes there is also a large, curly oak pole standing - there it is.
Vasily Andreich turned his horse back and rode through the settlement.
Otherwise we would have spent the night! - Isai shouted to them from behind.
But Vasily Andreich did not answer him and touched the horse: five miles of flat road, two of which were forest, seemed easy to travel, especially since the wind seemed to have died down and the snow had stopped.
Having again driven through the street along a road paved and blackened here and there with fresh manure and passing a yard with linen, whose white shirt had already come off and was hanging on one frozen sleeve, they again drove out to the terribly humming vineyards and again found themselves in an open field. The snowstorm not only did not subside, but seemed to intensify. The whole road was covered, and you could only know that you hadn’t lost your way by looking at the markers. But it was difficult to see the landmarks ahead, because the wind was headwind.
Vasily Andreich squinted, bent his head and looked at the markers, but mostly let the horse go, relying on it. And the horse really did not lose his way and walked, turning now to the right, now to the left along the windings of the road, which she felt under her feet, so that, despite the fact that the snow from above had increased and the wind had become stronger, the landmarks continued to be visible, now to the right, now to the left.
They rode like this for about ten minutes, when suddenly something black appeared right in front of the horse, moving in a slanting net of wind-driven snow. These were fellow travelers. Mukhorty had completely caught up with them and was banging his feet on the chairs of the sleigh in front.
Drive around... ah-ah... in front! - they shouted from the sleigh.
Vasily Andreich began to drive around. Three men and a woman were sitting in the sleigh. Obviously, these were guests from the holiday. One man was whipping the snow-covered backside of a horse with a twig. Two people were waving their arms and shouting something in the front. A bundled-up woman, completely covered with snow, sat without moving, ruffled in the back of the sleigh.
Whose will you be? - Vasily Andreich shouted.
Ah-ah...skies! - I could only hear it.
Whose, I say?
A-a-a-skies! - one of the men shouted with all his might, but still it was impossible to hear which ones.
Truly admirable. It is based on the works of a whole galaxy outstanding masters. No country in the world has given birth to as many outstanding wordsmiths as Britain. There are numerous English classics, the list goes on for a long time: William Shakespeare, Thomas Hardy, Charlotte Bronte, Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, William Thackeray, Daphne Du Maurier, George Orwell, John Tolkien. Are you familiar with their works?
Already in the 16th century, the British William Shakespeare earned the reputation of the world's best playwright. It is curious that to this day the plays of the “spear-shaking” Englishman (as his last name is literally translated) are staged in theaters more often than the works of other authors. His tragedies “Hamlet”, “Othello”, “King Lear”, “Macbeth” are universal values. Getting to know him creative heritage, we recommend that you MUST read philosophical tragedy"Hamlet" is about the meaning of life and moral principles. For four hundred years now she has headed the repertoires of the most famous theaters. There is an opinion that English classic writers started with Shakespeare.
She became famous thanks to the classic love story"Pride and Prejudice", which introduces us to the daughter of an impoverished nobleman, Elizabeth, who has a rich inner world, pride and an ironic look at the environment. She finds her happiness in love with the aristocrat Darcy. It’s paradoxical, but this book, with a fairly simple plot and a happy ending, is one of the most beloved in Britain. It traditionally outstrips the works of many serious novelists in popularity. At least for that reason it is worth reading. Like this writer, many English classics came to literature precisely in early XVIII century.
He glorified himself with his works as a deep and genuine expert on the life of ordinary British people in the 18th century. His heroes are invariably heartfelt and convincing. The novel Tess of the D'Urbervilles shows tragic fate a simple decent woman. She commits the murder of a scoundrel nobleman who is ruining her life in order to free herself from his persecution and find happiness. Using the example of Thomas Hardy, the reader can see that the English classics had a deep mind and a systematic view of the society around them, saw its flaws more clearly than others, and, despite having ill-wishers, still courageously presented their creations for the assessment of the entire society.
Showed in many ways autobiographical novel"Jane Eyre" emerging new morality- the principles of an educated, active, decent person who wants to serve society. The writer creates a surprisingly holistic, deep image of the governess Jane Eyre, who goes towards her love for Mr. Rochester even at the cost of sacrificial service. Bronte, inspired by her example, was followed by other English classics, not from the noble class, calling on society for social justice and an end to all human discrimination.
Possessed, according to the Russian classic F.M. Dostoevsky, who considered himself his student, “instinct of universal humanity.” Huge talent The writer did the seemingly impossible: he became famous in his early youth thanks to his first novel, “Posthumous Notes.” Pickwick Club”, followed by the following - “Oliver Twist”, “David Copperfield” and others, which earned the writer unprecedented fame, putting him on a par with Shakespeare.
William Thackeray is an innovator in the style of presenting a novel. None of the classics before him turned into central images his work of bright, textured depictions negative characters. Moreover, as in life, often something individually positive was inherent in their characters. His outstanding work- “Vanity Fair” - written in the unique spirit of intellectual pessimism mixed with subtle humor.
With her “Rebecca” in 1938, she did the impossible: she wrote the novel at a key moment, when it seemed that English literature had run out of steam, that everything possible had already been written, that the English classics had “run out.” Having not received worthy works for a long time, the English reading audience was interested and delighted by the unique, unpredictable plot of her novel. The opening phrase of this book has become a catchphrase. Be sure to read this book by one of the world's best masters of creating psychological images!
George Orwell will amaze you with the merciless truth. He wrote his famous novel“1984” as a powerful universal denouncing weapon against all dictatorships: present and future. His creative method borrowed from another great Englishman - Swift.
The novel “1984” is a parody of a dictatorship society that has completely trampled on universal human values. He exposed and called to account for the inhumanity of the ugly model of socialism, which was actually becoming a dictatorship of leaders. An extremely sincere and uncompromising man, he endured poverty and hardship, passing away early - at the age of 46.
Is it possible not to love “The Lord of the Rings” by Professor This is a real miraculous and surprisingly harmonious temple of the epic of England? The work conveys deep humanistic messages to its readers and it is no coincidence that Frodo destroys the ring on March 25 - the day of the Ascension. The creative and competent writer showed insight: all his life he was indifferent to politics and parties, passionately loved “good old England”, and was a classic British bourgeois.
This list goes on and on. I apologize to dear readers who had the courage to read this article that, due to limited space, it did not include the worthy Walter Scott, Ethel Lilian Voynich, Daniel Defoe, Lewis Carroll, James Aldridge, Bernard Shaw and, believe me, many, many others. English classic literature- a huge, interesting layer of achievements human culture and spirit. Do not deny yourself the pleasure of meeting her.
English literature - This centuries-old history, magnificent writers, unique works that reflect the characteristics of national character. We grow up with the books of these great authors, we develop with their help. It is impossible to convey the importance of English writers and the contribution they made to world literature. We offer you 10 internationally recognized masterpieces of English literature.
1. William Shakespeare - “King Lear”
The story of King Lear is the story of a man blinded by his own despotism, who, in his declining years, encounters the bitter truth of life for the first time. Endowed with unlimited power, Lear decides to divide his kingdom between his three daughters Cordelia, Goneril and Regan. On the day of his abdication, he expects flattering speeches and assurances of tender love from them. He knows in advance what his daughters will say, but he longs to once again listen to the praises addressed to him in the presence of the court and foreigners. Lear invites the youngest of them and the most beloved Cordelia to talk about his love in such a way that her words will prompt him to give her a “more extensive share than his sisters.” But proud Cordelia refuses to perform this ritual with dignity. A fog of rage obscures Lear’s eyes and, considering her refusal an attack on his power and dignity, he curses his daughter. Having disinherited her, King Lear abdicates the throne in favor of his eldest daughters Goneril and Regan, without realizing dire consequences of his actions...
2. George Gordon Byron - “Don Juan”
“I’m looking for a hero!..” This is how the poem “Don Juan” begins, Peruvian the great English poet George Gordon Byron. And his attention was attracted by a hero well known in world literature. But the image of the young Spanish nobleman Don Juan, who became a symbol of a seducer and womanizer, takes on Byron's new depth. He is unable to resist his passions. But often he himself becomes the object of harassment from women...
3. John Galsworthy - “The Forsyte Saga”
“The Forsyte Saga” is life itself, in all its tragedy, in joys and losses, a life that is not very happy, but accomplished and unique.
The first volume of “The Forsyte Saga” includes a trilogy consisting of novels: “The Owner,” “In the Loop,” “For Rent,” which presents the history of the Forsyte family over many years.
4. David Lawrence - “Women in Love”
David Herbert Lawrence shocked the consciousness of his contemporaries with the freedom with which he wrote about the relationship of the sexes. In the famous novels about the Brenguin family - “The Rainbow” (which was banned immediately after publication) and “Women in Love” (published in a limited edition, and in 1922 a censorship trial of its author took place) Lawrence describes the history of several married couples. Women in Love was filmed by Ken Russell in 1969 and won an Oscar.
“My great religion is the belief in blood and flesh, that they are wiser than the intellect. Our minds may make mistakes, but what our blood feels, believes, and says is always true.”
5. Somerset Maugham - “The Moon and a Penny”
One of best works Maugham. The novel about which literary critics have been arguing for many decades, but still cannot come to a consensus on whether history should be considered tragic life and death English artist Strickland as a kind of “free biography” of Paul Gauguin?
Whether this is true or not, “The Moon and a Penny” still remains the true pinnacle of English literature of the 20th century.
6. Oscar Wilde - “The Picture of Dorian Gray”
Oscar Wilde is a great English writer who gained fame as a brilliant stylist, an inimitable wit, an extraordinary personality of his time, a man whose name, through the efforts of enemies and a gossip-hungry mob, became a symbol of depravity. This edition includes the famous novel “The Picture of Dorian Gray” - the most successful and most scandalous of all the books created by Wilde.
7. Charles Dickens - “David Copperfield”
The famous novel “ David Copperfield"great English writer Charles Dickens has gained the love and recognition of readers all over the world. Largely autobiographical, this novel tells the story of a boy forced to fight alone against a cruel, bleak world inhabited by evil teachers, selfish factory owners and soulless servants of the law. In this unequal war David can only be saved by moral firmness, purity of heart and extraordinary talent, capable of turning a dirty ragamuffin into greatest writer England.
8. Bernard Shaw - “Pygmalimon”
The play begins on a summer evening in Covent Garden in London. A sudden torrential downpour of rain caught the pedestrians by surprise and forced them to take shelter under the portal of St. Paul's Cathedral. Among those gathered were professor of phonetics Henry Higgins and researcher of Indian dialects Colonel Pickering, who specially came from India to see the professor. Unexpected meeting delights both of them. Men start lively conversation, which involves an incredibly dirty flower girl. While begging the gentlemen to buy a bouquet of violets from her, she makes such unimaginable inarticulate sounds that it horrifies Professor Higgins, who is discussing the advantages of his method of teaching phonetics. The disgruntled professor swears to the colonel that thanks to his lessons, this dirty woman can easily become a saleswoman flower shop, into which now she will not even be allowed on the threshold. Moreover, he swears that in three months he will be able to pass her off as the duchess at the envoy's reception.
Higgins gets down to business with great enthusiasm. Obsessed with the idea of turning a simple street girl into a a real lady, he is absolutely confident of success, and does not think at all about the consequences of his experiment, which will radically change not only the fate of Eliza (that’s the girl’s name), but also his own life.
9. William Thackeray - “Vanity Fair”
The pinnacle of creativity of the English writer, journalist and graphic artist William Makepeace Thackeray was the novel “Vanity Fair”. All the characters in the novel - positive and negative - are involved, according to the author, in an “eternal circle of grief and suffering.” Full of events, rich in subtle observations of the life of its time, imbued with irony and sarcasm, the novel “Vanity Fair” took pride of place in the list of masterpieces of world literature.
10. Jane Austen - “Sense and Sensibility”
“Sense and Sensibility” is one of best novels wonderful English writer Jane Austen, rightly called the “First Lady” British literature. Among her most famous works are such masterpieces as “Pride and Prejudice”, “Emma”, “Northanger Abbey” and others. “Sense and Sensibility” is a so-called novel of morals, representing love stories two sisters: one of them is restrained and reasonable, the other with all passion gives herself over to emotional experiences. Heart dramas against the background of the conventions of society and ideas about duty and honor become a real “education of feelings” and are crowned with well-deserved happiness. The life of a large family, the characters and the twists and turns of the plot are described by Jane Austen easily, ironically and heartfeltly, with inimitable humor and purely English restraint.
Everyone knows the plot of Daniel Defoe's novel. However, the book contains many other interesting details about the organization of Robinson’s life on the island, his biography, and inner experiences. If you ask a person who has not read the book to describe Robinson’s character, he is unlikely to cope with this task.
In the popular consciousness, Crusoe is a smart character without character, feelings or history. The novel reveals the image of the main character, which allows you to look at the plot from a different angle.
Why you need to read
To get acquainted with one of the most famous adventure novels and find out who Robinson Crusoe really was.
Swift does not openly challenge society. Like a true Englishman, he does it correctly and witty. His satire is so subtle that Gulliver's Travels can be read as an ordinary fairy tale.
Why you need to read
For children, Swift's novel is a fun and unusual adventure story. Adults need to read it to get acquainted with one of the most famous artistic satires.
This novel, let it artistically and not the most outstanding, definitely iconic in the history of literature. After all, in many ways he predetermined the development of the scientific genre.
But this is not just entertaining reading. It raises problems of the relationship between creator and creation, God and man. Who is responsible for creating a being who is destined to suffer?
Why you need to read
To get acquainted with one of the main works science fiction, as well as to experience complex issues that are often lost in film adaptations.
Difficult to select best play Shakespeare. There are at least five of them: “Hamlet”, “Romeo and Juliet”, “Othello”, “King Lear”, “Macbeth”. The unique style and deep understanding of life's contradictions made Shakespeare's works an immortal classic, relevant at all times.
Why you need to read
To begin to understand poetry, literature and life. And also to find the answer to the question, what is better: to be or not to be?
The main theme of English literature of the early 19th century was social criticism. Thackeray in his novel denounces his contemporary society with the ideals of success and material enrichment. To be in society means to be sinful - this is approximately Thackeray’s conclusion regarding his social environment.
After all, the successes and joys of yesterday lose their meaning when a well-known (albeit unknown) tomorrow looms ahead, which we all will sooner or later have to think about.
Why you need to read
To learn to relate more simply to life and the opinions of others. After all, everyone in society is infected with “fair ambitions” that have no real value.
The language of the novel is beautiful, and the dialogue is an example of English wit. Oscar Wilde is a subtle psychologist, which is why his characters turned out to be so complex and multifaceted.
This book is about human vice, cynicism, the difference between the beauty of the soul and body. If you think about it, to some extent each of us is Dorian Gray. Only we do not have a mirror on which sins would be imprinted.
Why you need to read
To enjoy the stunning language of Britain's wittiest writer, to see how much moral character may not match the appearance, but also become a little better. Wilde's work is a spiritual portrait not only of his era, but of all humanity.
The ancient Greek myth about a sculptor who fell in love with his creation takes on a new, socially significant meaning in Bernard Shaw's play. How should a work feel towards its author if this work is a person? How can it relate to the creator - the one who made it in accordance with his ideals?
Why you need to read
This is the most famous play Bernard Shaw. It is often staged in theaters. According to many critics, Pygmalion is iconic work English drama.
A universally recognized masterpiece of English literature, familiar to many from cartoons. Who, at the mention of Mowgli, does not hear Kaa’s drawn-out hiss in his head: “Man-cub...”?
Why you need to read
As an adult, it is unlikely that anyone will take up The Jungle Book. A person has only one childhood to enjoy Kipling's creation and appreciate it. So be sure to introduce your children to the classics! They will be grateful to you.
And again it comes to mind soviet cartoon. It's really good, and the dialogue in it is almost entirely taken from the book. However, the images of the characters and general mood the narratives in the original source are different.
Stevenson's novel is realistic and quite harsh in places. But this is a good adventure work that every child and adult will read with pleasure. Boarding boards, sea wolves, wooden legs - marine theme beckons and attracts.
Why you need to read
Because it's fun and exciting. In addition, the novel is divided into quotes, which everyone should know.
Interest in the deductive abilities of the great detective is still great today thanks to the huge number of film adaptations. Many people are familiar with the classic detective story only from films. But there are many film adaptations, but there is only one collection of stories, but what a one!
Why you need to read
H. G. Wells was in many ways a pioneer in the genre of science fiction. Before him, people were not at odds with, he was the first to write about time travel. Without the Time Machine, we would not have seen either the film Back to the Future or the cult TV series Doctor Who.
They say that all life is a dream, and a nasty, pathetic one at that, nap, although you still won’t dream of another one.
Why you need to read
To look at the origins of many science fiction ideas that have become popular in modern culture.
