As the story goes in one famous ancient legend, once in the beautiful groves of Lebanon, three cedars were born. Cedars, as everyone knows, grow very, very slowly, so our three trees have spent entire centuries thinking about life and death, about nature and humanity.
They saw how the emissaries of King Solomon arrived on the land of Lebanon and how then, in battles with the Assyrians, this land was washed with blood. They saw face to face their sworn enemies - Jezebel and the prophet Elijah. Under them the alphabet was invented; they marveled as the caravans passed by, laden with colorful textiles.
And one day the cedars decided to talk about the future.
“After all that I have seen,” said the first, “I would like to turn into a throne, on which the most powerful king on earth will sit.
“And I would like to become a part of something that will transform Evil into Good for all eternity,” said the second.
“As for me,” said the third, “I would like people, looking at me, to remember God every time.
Years and years passed, and finally, lumberjacks appeared in the forest. They cut down the cedars and sawed them up.
Each cedar had its own cherished desire, but reality never asks what we dream about. The first cedar became a barn, and a nursery was built from the remains of its wood. The second tree was made into a rough rustic table, which was later sold to a furniture dealer.
Logs from the third tree could not be sold. They were sawn into boards and left to be stored in a warehouse in a large city.
Three cedars complained bitterly: “Our wood was so good! But no one has found a worthy use for it.”
Time passed, and then one day, starry night, some married couple, unable to find shelter, decided to spend the night in a barn built from the wood of the first cedar. The wife was on the loose. That night she gave birth to a son and laid him in a manger on soft hay.
And at the same moment the first cedar realized that his dream had come true: he served as a support for the greatest King of the Earth.
A few years later, in one modest country house the people sat down at a table made from the wood of the second cedar. Before they began to eat, one of them spoke a few words over the bread and wine on the table.
And then the second cedar realized that at that very moment it served as a support not only for a cup of wine and a dish of bread, but also for the union between Man and the Divine.
The next day, a cross was made from two planks of the third tree. A few hours later, a wounded man was brought in and nailed to the cross. The third cedar was horrified by his fate and began to curse his cruel fate.
“There are holidays that have their own smell. On Easter, Trinity and Christmas, the air smells of something special. Even non-believers love these holidays. My brother, for example, interprets that there is no God, and on Easter he is the first to run to matins ”(A.P. Chekhov, story“ On the Way ”).
Orthodox Christmas is just around the corner! With the celebration of this have a bright day(and even a few - Christmas time) many are connected interesting traditions. In Rus', it was customary to devote this period to serving one's neighbor, to works of mercy. Everyone knows the tradition of caroling - the performance of chants in honor of the born Christ. Winter holidays inspired many writers to create magical Christmas stories.
There is even special genre Christmas story. The plots in it are very close to each other: often the heroes of Christmas stories find themselves in a state of spiritual or material crisis, the resolution of which requires a miracle. Christmas stories are imbued with light, hope, and only a few of them have a sad ending. Especially often Christmas stories are dedicated to the triumph of mercy, compassion and love.
Especially for you, dear readers, we have prepared a selection of the best Christmas stories, both Russian and foreign writers. Read and enjoy, let festive mood will last longer!
"Gifts of the Magi", O. Henry
The well-known story of sacrificial love who will give her last for the happiness of her neighbor. A story about quivering feelings, which cannot but surprise and delight. At the end, the author ironically remarks: “And I was just telling you an unremarkable story about two stupid children from an eight-dollar apartment who, in the most unwise way, sacrificed their greatest treasures for each other.” But the author does not make excuses, he only confirms that the gifts of his heroes were more important than the gifts of the Magi: “But let it be said for the edification of the wise men of our days that of all the donors these two were the wisest. Of all those who offer and receive gifts, only those like them are truly wise. Anywhere and everywhere. They are the Magi." In the words of Joseph Brodsky, "on Christmas everyone is a little magician."
"Nikolka", Evgeny Poselyanin
The plot of this Christmas story is very simple. The stepmother did a very mean thing to her stepson on Christmas eve, he had to die. At the Christmas service, a woman experiences belated remorse. But on a bright festive night, a miracle happens ...
By the way, Yevgeny Poselyanin has wonderful memories of the childhood experience of Christmas - "Christmas Days". Read - and plunge into the pre-revolutionary atmosphere noble estates, childhood and joy.
"A Christmas Carol" by Charles Dickens
Dickens' work - the history of the present spiritual rebirth person. Main character, Scrooge, was a miser, became a merciful benefactor, from a lone wolf turned into a sociable and friendly person. And this change was helped by the spirits that flew to him and showed him a possible future. watching different situations from his past and future, the hero felt remorse for his wrongly lived life.
"Christ's boy on the Christmas tree", F. M. Dostoevsky
A touching story with a sad (and joyful at the same time) ending. I doubt if it should be read to children, especially sensitive ones. But for adults, it's probably worth it. What for? I would answer with the words of Chekhov: “It is necessary that behind the door of every satisfied, happy person someone stood with a hammer and constantly reminded by knocking that there are unfortunate people, that, no matter how happy he is, sooner or later life will show him its claws, trouble will strike - illness, poverty, loss, and no one will see him and He will hear, as now he does not see and does not hear others.
Dostoevsky included it in the "Diary of a Writer" and himself was surprised how this story came out from under his pen. And his writer's intuition tells the author that this very much could actually happen. Like tragic story the main sad storyteller of all time, G. H. Andersen, also has it - “The Girl with Matches”.
"Gifts of the Christ Child" by George MacDonald
The story of one young family going through difficult times in relationships, difficulties with a nanny, alienation from their daughter. The latter is a thinly feeling lonely girl Sophie (or Fauci). It was through her that joy and light returned to the house. The story emphasizes that the main gifts of Christ are not gifts under the Christmas tree, but love, peace and mutual understanding.
"Christmas letter", Ivan Ilyin
I would call this short work, composed of two letters from mother and son, a real hymn of love. It is she, unconditional love, runs like a red thread through the whole work and is its main theme. It is this state that opposes loneliness and defeats it.
“Whoever loves, his heart blooms and smells sweet; and he gives his love just like a flower gives its scent. But then he is not alone, because his heart is with the one he loves: he thinks about him, takes care of him, rejoices in his joy and suffers in his sufferings. He doesn't even have time to feel lonely or think about whether he is lonely or not. In love man forgets himself; he lives with others, he lives in others. And that is happiness."
After all, Christmas is a holiday of overcoming loneliness and alienation, this is the day of the appearance of Love ...
"God in the Cave" by Gilbert Chesterton
We are accustomed to perceive Chesterton primarily as the author of detective stories about Father Brown. But he wrote to different genres: he wrote several hundred poems, 200 stories, 4000 essays, a number of plays, the novels "The Man Who Was Thursday", "The Ball and the Cross", "The Flying Tavern" and much more. Chesterton was also an excellent publicist and deep thinker. In particular, his essay "God in the Cave" is an attempt to comprehend the events of two thousand years ago. I recommend it to people with a philosophical mindset.
"Silver Blizzard", Vasily Nikiforov-Volgin
Nikiforov-Volgin in his work surprisingly subtly shows the world of children's faith. His stories are thoroughly permeated with a festive atmosphere. So, in the story silver blizzard"He shows the boy with awe and love with his zeal for piety, on the one hand, and with mischief and pranks, on the other. What is worth one well-aimed phrase of the story: “These days I don’t want anything earthly, and especially school”!
Holy Night, Selma Lagerlöf
Story Selma Lagerlöf continues the theme of childhood.
Grandmother tells her granddaughter interesting legend about Christmas. It is not canonical in the strict sense, but reflects the immediacy of popular faith. it amazing story about mercy and how pure heart opens the eyes with which a person can enjoy the contemplation of the beauty of heaven.
"Christ Visiting a Man", "The Unchangeable Ruble", "On Christmas Offended", Nikolai Leskov
These three stories struck me to the core, so it was difficult to choose the best one from them. I discovered Leskov from some unexpected side. These works of the author have common features. This is both a fascinating story and general ideas mercy, forgiveness and doing good deeds. Examples of heroes from these works surprise, cause admiration and a desire to imitate.
"Reader! be kind: intervene in our history too, remember what today's Newborn taught you: punish or pardon? The one who gave you "verbs eternal life"... Think! This is very worthy of your thought, and the choice is not difficult for you ... Do not be afraid to seem ridiculous and stupid if you act according to the rule of the One Who told you: “Forgive the offender and get yourself a brother in him” (N. S. Leskov, “Under Christmas offended").
Many novels have chapters dedicated to Christmas, for example, in B. Shiryaev’s “The Unquenchable Lamp”, L. Kassil’s “Konduit and Shvambrania”, A. Solzhenitsyn’s “In the First Circle”, I. S. Shmelev’s “The Summer of the Lord”.
The Christmas story, for all its seeming naivety, fabulousness and extraordinaryness, has always been loved by adults. Maybe because Christmas stories are primarily about goodness, about faith in a miracle and in the possibility of a person's spiritual rebirth?
Christmas is really a celebration of children's faith in a miracle ... Many Christmas stories dedicated to the description of this pure joy of childhood. Here are some wonderful words from one of them: Great holiday Christmas, surrounded by spiritual poetry, is especially understandable and close to the child ... The Divine Infant was born, and to Him be praise, glory and honors of the world. Everyone rejoiced and rejoiced. And in memory of the Holy Infant in these days of bright memories, all children should have fun and rejoice. This is their day, a holiday of innocent, pure childhood…” (Klavdiya Lukashevich, “Christmas Holiday”).
P.S. In preparing this collection, I read a lot of Christmas stories, but, of course, not all that are in the world. I chose according to my taste those that seemed the most fascinating, artistically expressive. Preference was given to little-known works, so, for example, the list does not include N. Gogol's The Night Before Christmas or Hoffmann's The Nutcracker.
And what are your favorite Christmas stories, dear matrons?
When republishing materials from the Matrony.ru website, a direct active link to the source text of the material is required.
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Guy de Maupassant
Christmas tale
Dr. Bonanfant began to rummage through his memory, repeating in an undertone: - A Christmas story? .. A Christmas story? .. And suddenly he exclaimed: - Well, yes! I have one memory and even a very unusual one. it fantasy story. I saw a miracle. Yes, ladies, a miracle on Christmas night. Does it surprise you that you hear this from me, a man who does not believe in anything? And yet, I saw a miracle! I tell you, I saw him, I saw him with my own eyes, I saw him. Did it surprise me? Far from it: if I do not believe in your dogmas, then I believe in the existence of faith and I know that it moves mountains. I could give many examples. But I am afraid to arouse indignation in you and weaken the effect of my story. First of all, I confess that if I was not convinced by everything I saw, then in any case I was very excited, and I will try to tell you all this ingenuously with the naive credulity of an Auvernetz. I was then a village doctor and lived in a place called Rolleville, in the wilderness of Normandy. The winter was severe that year. Since the end of November, after a week of frosts, snow has fallen. Already from afar one could see heavy clouds approaching from the north, then thick white flakes began to fall. In one night the whole valley was covered with a white shroud. Lonely farms, standing among square courtyards, behind a curtain of large trees, covered with frost, seemed to fall asleep under this dense and light cover. No sound disturbed the silence of the village. Only flocks of crows drew long patterns across the sky in a vain search for food and, descending in a cloud on dead fields, pecked at the snow with their large beaks. Nothing could be heard but the soft and continuous rustle of frozen dust, which continued to fall without end. This went on for a whole week, then the snow stopped. The ground was wrapped in a blanket five feet thick. For the next three weeks, the sky, clear as blue crystal during the day, and at night all strewn with stars, like frost on a cold, harsh surface, stretched over an even veil of hard and shiny snow. The valley, the hedges, the elms behind the fence—everything seemed to be dead, killed by the cold. Neither people nor animals appeared on the street; only pipes sticking out of huts in white snowdrifts testified to hidden life thin, straight wisps of smoke rising in the icy air. From time to time the crackling of trees was heard, as if their wooden arms were breaking under the bark: a thick branch sometimes separated and fell, because the cold froze the tree juices and tore apart the icy fibers. The dwellings, scattered here and there among the fields, seemed to be separated from each other by a hundred leagues. They lived as they should. I alone tried to visit my closest patients, incessantly risking being buried in some pit. Soon I noticed that the whole area was seized with a mysterious fear. It was interpreted that such a disaster could not be a natural phenomenon. They assured that voices, a sharp whistle, someone's screams are heard at night. These cries and whistles were undoubtedly issued by flocks of birds flying south at dusk. But try to convince the distraught people. Horror seized the souls, and everyone was waiting for some extraordinary event. Uncle Vatinel's forge stood at the end of the village of Epivan, on high road , in those days swept with snow and deserted. And when the workers ran out of bread, the blacksmith decided to go to the village. He spent several hours talking, visiting half a dozen houses that made up the local center, got bread, heard a lot of news and became infected with the fear that reigned in the village. Before dark, he went home. Passing along some kind of fence, he suddenly noticed an egg in the snow, yes, no doubt, an egg, white, like everything around. He leaned over: indeed, an egg. Where is it from? What kind of chicken could come out of the chicken coop and lay down in this place? The surprised blacksmith did not understand anything. However, he took the egg and brought it to his wife. “Hey mistress, I brought you an egg. Found it on the road. The wife shook her head... - Egg on the road? In this kind of weather! Yes, you seem to be drunk. - No, mistress, it was lying by the fence and was still warm, not frozen. Here it is, I put it in my bosom so that it does not get cold. Eat it at lunch. The egg was lowered into the cauldron, where the soup was being cooked, and the blacksmith began to retell what was being talked about in the village. The wife listened, turning pale. “Honest to God, last night I heard a whistle: it even seemed to me that it was coming from a pipe. We sat at the table. First they ate the soup, then, while the husband was spreading butter on the bread, the wife took the egg and examined it suspiciously. "What if there's something in that egg?" What do you think might be there? -- How do I know! - It will be for you ... Eat and don't be stupid. She broke the egg. It was the most ordinary and very fresh. She began to eat it hesitantly, now biting off a piece, then leaving it, then again taking it. The husband asked: - Well, what does it taste like? She did not answer and, having swallowed the remains of the egg, suddenly stared at her husband with a fixed, gloomy and insane look: throwing her hands, she. clenched them into fists and fell to the ground, writhing in convulsions and emitting terrible cries. All night long she struggled in a terrible fit, trembling with death, disfigured by disgusting convulsions. The blacksmith, unable to cope with her, was forced to tie her up. Without stopping for a moment, she screamed in a wild voice: "He's in my stomach! .. He's in my stomach! .. They called me the next day." I tried without any result all sedatives. The woman has lost her mind. With incredible speed, despite the impenetrable snowdrifts, the news, amazing news, spread through all the farms: "The blacksmith's wife has been possessed by a demon!" Curious people came from everywhere, but did not dare to enter the house. They listened to her terrible cries from a distance: it was hard to believe that this loud howl belonged to a human being. Let the village priest know. It was an old, simple-hearted abbot. He came running in a surplice, as if for parting words to a dying man, and, holding out his hands, uttered an incantatory formula, while four men held a woman writhing on the bed and splashing foam. But the demon was never cast out. Christmas came and the weather was the same. The curate came to see me the previous morning. “I want,” he said, “that this unfortunate woman should be present at the evening service today. Perhaps the Lord will work a miracle for her at the very hour when he himself was born of a woman. I answered him: “I fully approve of you, monsieur abbé. If she is affected by worship—and this the best remedy touch her, she can be healed without medicine. The old priest muttered: "You, doctor, are an unbeliever, but you will help me, won't you?" Are you willing to deliver it? I promised him my help. Evening came, then night. rang church bell, dropping a sad ringing into the dead space, onto the white and frozen snow surface. Obedient to the copper call, groups of black figures slowly stretched out. The full moon illuminated the horizon bright and pale, further emphasizing the dull whiteness of the fields. I took four strong men and went to the blacksmith. The Possessed was still howling, tied to the bed. Despite wild resistance, she was carefully dressed and carried. The church, cold but lit, was now full of people; the choristers sang a monotonous motive; the organ wheezed; a small bell in the hands of an attendant tinkled, controlling the movements of the faithful. I locked the woman with her watchmen in the kitchen church house and began to wait for a favorable, in my opinion, minute. I chose the moment after communion. All the peasants, men and women, having communed, communed with their god in order to soften his severity. While the priest performed the sacrament, a deep silence reigned in the church. At my command, the door was opened, and my four assistants brought in the mad woman. As soon as she saw the light, the kneeling crowd, the illuminated choirs and the golden ark, she thrashed with such force that she almost escaped our hands, and began to scream so piercingly that a tremor of horror swept through the church. All heads went up, many of the worshipers ran away. She lost her human form, writhing and writhing in our hands, with a distorted face and crazy eyes. They dragged her to the steps of the kliros and forced her to the floor. The priest stood and waited. When she was seated, he took the monstrance, at the bottom of which lay a white wafer, and, taking a few steps, raised it with both hands above the head of the demoniac, so that she could see her ... She was still howling, fixing her gaze on the shiny object . The abbot continued to stand so still that he could be mistaken for a statue. It dragged on for a long, long time. The woman seemed to be seized with fear: she, as if spellbound, without looking up, looked at the bowl, still shaking with terrible trembling from time to time, and continued to scream, but in a less heart-rending voice. And it also took a long time. It seemed that she could not take her eyes off the monstrance and was only moaning, her tense body weakened and drooped. The whole crowd fell on their faces. Now the possessed one quickly lowered her eyelids, then raised them again, as if unable to bear the sight of her god. She no longer screamed. I soon noticed that she had closed her eyes. She slept the sleep of a somnambulist, mesmerized - excuse me, pacified - by the close contemplation of the gleaming gold cup, struck down by Christ the conqueror. She was carried away exhausted, and the priest returned to the altar. Shocked bystanders thundered "Te deum" to the glory of God's mercy. The blacksmith's wife slept for forty hours in a row, then woke up, remembering nothing about either the illness or the healing. Here, ladies, is the miracle I have seen. Dr. Bonanfant fell silent, then added with annoyance: “I was forced to witness the miracle in writing. Printed in Gaulois, December 25, 1882. Text source: Guy de Maupassant. complete collection works in 12 volumes. M., "Pravda", 1958 (library "Spark"). Volume 3, p. 3-120. OCR; sad369 (25.04.2007)In one of the picturesque corners of Russia, there is a small village with the cheerful name "Good". This is where the little girl Sophia lived.
Every now and then happened to her incredible stories. And all because the baby believed in a miracle ...
Just before Christmas, the girl's parents went to town for a fair. Mom, hurrying up, said:
We won't be long. We will choose gifts for everyone and return on the evening bus!
Although Sophia did not like to be alone, but today, the departure of her parents was most welcome. The fact is that the little girl made a postcard for the holiday for her father and mother. And, drawing, knowing that at any moment they can enter the room, it was inconvenient.
Don't worry, I'll be good, Sofia promised.
Dad laughed and said that no one doubted it. After seeing off her parents, she decided to immediately get down to business. But, as soon as she closed the gate, an unfamiliar girl suddenly appeared on the road. So beautiful that you can't take your eyes off her! Her snow-white fur coat shone under the rays of the bright winter sun, her boots shone with cleanliness, and a huge pom-pom dangled merrily on a knitted white hat. The girl walked and wept bitterly, wiping her tears with her sleeve.
What, are you lost? Sofia called out to the stranger.
No, - the girl sobbed, - no one wants to be friends with me!
What is your name? Sofia asked.
Envy, she whispered.
Seeing that Sophia was frowning, she hastened to add:
So you will drive me away now, but I, in fact, am good! It’s just that all people confuse me with my sister, so they drive me out of the yard ...
Sofia thought about it. She didn't know envy had a sister. At least the parents never talked about it. Maybe they didn’t know?.. Meanwhile, the uninvited guest, seeing her confusion, began to ask:
Let's be friends! Do you want me to tell you the whole truth about my sister and me, and you will see for yourself that we are completely different from her?
Sophia became curious and opened the gate. When the girls entered the house, Envy exclaimed:
How delicious you smell here!
These are tangerines! Mom bought three kilos!
Why so many? - Envy was amazed, - Do you eat so much?
Sofia laughed.
Of course not! We just have guests. My cousins are Yulia and Nastenka. So we came up with the idea of putting gifts in beautiful packages for them. Each will get tangerines, chocolate and some other souvenir. I don't know which one yet. Parents themselves will choose at the fair ... You better tell about your sister!
Envy sighed sadly.
It’s embarrassing for me to talk badly about her, but, on the other hand, I’m not lying ... You see, I am White Envy, and my sister is called Black Envy. We are often confused, but we, after all, are so different! My sister is angry and does not like it when something good happens to people. And I, for example, am very happy if someone new toy gave. I'm just trying to do everything so that I have the same appeared. Is it bad? I think it's very good!
Sofia shrugged. She wasn't sure if it was really good. However, the girl did not want to quarrel with a new acquaintance.
Envy, I need to draw a postcard for mom and dad, so I have no time to entertain you - said Sofia.
I'll sit in the corner. Don't worry, I won't distract you! the guest responded.
Soon a Nativity scene appeared on a sheet of paper. The bright purple sky above him was illuminated by a slightly uneven, but big star… Sofia diligently drew the inscription under the picture: “Merry Christmas!” The girl almost forgot about her new acquaintance, who modestly settled on the sidelines. The little girl folded the postcard and suddenly thought: “It’s like parents don’t know that there is Black Envy and White Envy. And, so they would definitely allow us to be friends. After all, there is no harm from this snow-white girl. He sits quietly, does not interfere with anyone.
Until the very evening, Envy told Sofia what gifts her girlfriends would receive for Christmas: Masha would be given a huge teddy bear, Tanya will get real skates, and for Lyudochka they bought a set of toy dishes. Porcelain! The girls chatted so much that they did not hear how mom and dad entered the house.
Oh, what will happen?! Now I'm being kicked out! - envy fussed.
Don't worry, - Sophia began to reassure her, - I'll tell my parents everything. Explain that you are White!
No, no, no, - whimpered Envy, - I know your parents! When they were little, I used to visit them. They did not believe then that I was good, they will not believe now. I can't see them!
Sophia said sadly:
Okay, let me let you out the window then.
Envy began to shift from foot to foot, and then blushed and confessed:
To be honest, I really want to see what they bought your sisters ... Can I hide under your bed? I would just take a look, and then I'll leave!
And without waiting for an answer, the guest quickly darted under the bed.
Daughter, look, what a beauty! - said dad, entering the nursery.
He placed two small bright boxes on the table. Sofia carefully opened one of them and gasped in delight. On a velvety pillow lay a tiny glass bell. An angel was painted on his frail side. The baby immediately understood: this is the best gift in the world ...
You call! Dad smiled.
Sophia took the memento by the white ribbon and shook it slightly. The sound was so gentle and clear that even my mother, running out of the kitchen, clapped her hands happily:
What a wonder our dad found! And I was already going to buy ordinary wooden boxes for Nastya and Yulia ...
In the second box was exactly the same bell, only it was tied to a pink ribbon. Sophia carefully placed the gifts on the shelf, and the parents left the room, closing the door tightly behind them.
Yeah, - Envy whispered under the bed, - they definitely didn’t buy you such a bell ...
Why? – the girl was surprised.
Yes, because it is unlikely that the seller immediately found three identical ones! For you, they most likely chose some mittens.
Mittens are also a great gift! Sofia objected.
Yeah, only the bell is better.
The little girl couldn't argue with that.
Okay, don't be upset, - said Envy, so be it, I'll teach you how to make sure that you get both of these gifts! Listen carefully and remember: you will go to your mother now and start whimpering. Better even cry. Tell her that you liked these bells so much - you don’t have the strength to part with them! And, sisters and tangerines with chocolate will suffice. If mom does not agree, then start to roar louder. And don't forget to stomp your feet!
Then Envy crawled out from under the bed and, carefully examining Sophia, waved her hand:
However, you won't get anything. You can't be naughty. But, and it does not matter. Take now one box and throw it on the floor. No one will even guess that we did it on purpose! But the second bell will definitely be given to you! The parents of Nastya and Yulia will not give one gift for two.
Then Sofia saw how the guest's fur coat and boots turned black! And even the hat turned black, so that now the pom-pom looked like a huge coal. Envy had already stretched out her hand towards the shelf, but Sophia grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and said angrily:
You lied to me. You don't have any sister! Envy in the world is only one - Black. It's you who change into a white coat on purpose to confuse people!
Envy began to break out, but Sophia held her tightly. The girl bravely opened the window and threw her out into the street. Envy landed right in the snowdrift and floundered in it for a long time, snorting with indignation. And Sophia closed the window and began to sharpen her pencils. She drew a postcard for mom and dad, but she didn’t have time for her sisters yet. The little girl tried her best to make it, like the gifts, the most beautiful in the world ...
Parents, meanwhile, took out another box and hid it in a sideboard. It contained a glass bell on a purple ribbon.
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One day a woman appeared on the threshold of the puppet craftswoman. She held a bundle in her hand and smiled happily: - Look how many colors I have ...
