Stories about kuprin animals are short. Reading lesson plan (Grade 4) on the topic: “The world of animals in the works of A

Barbos was small in stature, but squat and broad-chested. Thanks to his long, slightly curly coat, there was a distant resemblance to a white poodle in him, but only with a poodle that was never touched by soap, comb, or scissors. In summer, he was constantly covered from head to tail with prickly "burdocks", while in autumn, tufts of wool on his legs, stomach, wallowing in the mud and then drying out, turned into hundreds of brown, dangling stalactites. Barbos's ears always bore traces of "combat fights", and in especially hot periods of dog flirting, they turned into bizarre scallops. Dogs like him are called Barbos from time immemorial and everywhere. Occasionally only, and then as an exception, they are called Druzhki. These dogs, if I am not mistaken, come from simple mongrels and shepherd dogs. They are distinguished by fidelity, independent character and subtle hearing.

Zhulka also belonged to a very common breed of small dogs, those thin-legged dogs with smooth black hair and yellow tan above the eyebrows and on the chest, which retired officials are so fond of. Her main feature was a delicate, almost shy politeness. This does not mean that she immediately rolled over on her back, began to smile, or humiliatedly crawled on her stomach as soon as a person spoke to her (this is what all hypocritical, flattering and cowardly dogs do). No, to good man she approached with her characteristic bold trustfulness, leaning on his knee with her front paws and gently stretching out her muzzle, demanding affection. Her delicacy was expressed chiefly in her manner of eating. She never begged, on the contrary, she always had to beg her to take a bone. If another dog or people approached her while eating, Zhulka modestly stepped aside with a look that seemed to say: "Eat, eat, please ... I'm already completely full ..."

Indeed, in these moments there was much less canine in her than in other respectable human faces during a good lunch. Of course, Zhulka was unanimously recognized as a lap dog.

As for Barbos, we, the children, very often had to defend him from the just wrath of the elders and life exile in the yard. Firstly, he had a very vague idea of ​​​​ownership (especially when it came to food), and secondly, he was not very neat in the toilet. It cost nothing for this robber to crack a good half of a roasted Easter turkey in one sitting, brought up with special love and fattened only by nuts, or lie down, having just jumped out of a deep and dirty puddle, on the festive, white as snow, cover of his mother's bed. In the summer they treated him condescendingly, and he usually lay on the windowsill of an open window in the pose of a sleeping lion, burying his muzzle between his outstretched front paws. However, he did not sleep: this was noticeable by his eyebrows, which did not stop moving all the time. The watchdog was waiting ... As soon as a dog figure appeared on the street opposite our house. The watchdog swiftly rolled down from the window, slipped on its belly into the doorway and rushed at the impudent violator of territorial laws with a full career. He firmly remembered the great law of all martial arts and battles: hit first if you don’t want to be beaten, and therefore flatly refused any diplomatic tricks accepted in the dog world, such as preliminary mutual sniffing, threatening growl, curling the tail with a ring, and so on. Watchdog, like lightning, overtook the opponent, knocked him down with his chest and started squabbling. For several minutes, among the thick column of brown dust, two canine bodies floundered, intertwined in a ball. Finally Barbos won. While the enemy took to flight, tucking his tail between his legs, squealing and cowardly looking back. The watchdog proudly returned to his post on the windowsill. It is true that sometimes during this triumphal procession he limped heavily, and his ears were decorated with superfluous scallops, but, probably, the victorious laurels seemed all the sweeter to him. Between him and Zhulka reigned a rare agreement and the most tender love.

Maybe Zhulka secretly condemned her friend for violent temper and bad manners, but at any rate she never explicitly expressed it. Even then she restrained her displeasure when Barbos, having swallowed his breakfast in several doses, impudently licking his lips, approached Zhulka's bowl and thrust his wet, furry muzzle into it.

In the evening, when the sun did not burn so strongly, both dogs liked to play and tinker in the yard. They either ran from one another, then set up ambushes, then with a mock-angry growl they pretended to fiercely squabble among themselves. Once a rabid dog ran into our yard. Watchdog saw her from his window sill, but instead of, as usual, rushing into battle, he only trembled all over and squealed plaintively. The dog rushed around the yard from corner to corner, catching up with one of his appearances. panic horror both on people and on animals. People hid behind the doors and timidly looked out from behind them. Everyone shouted, ordered, gave stupid advice and provoked each other. The mad dog, meanwhile, had already bitten two pigs and torn apart several ducks. Suddenly, everyone gasped in fear and surprise. From somewhere behind the barn, little Zhulka jumped out and, with all the speed of her thin legs, rushed across the path of a rabid dog. The distance between them decreased with amazing speed. Then they collided...
It all happened so quickly that no one even had time to call Zhulka back. From a strong push, she fell and rolled on the ground, and the mad dog immediately turned towards the gate and jumped out into the street. When Zhulka was examined, not a single trace of teeth was found on her. Probably, the dog did not even have time to bite her. But the tension of the heroic impulse and the horror of the moments experienced were not in vain for poor Zhulka ... Something strange, inexplicable happened to her.
If dogs had the ability to go crazy, I'd say she's crazy. One day she lost weight beyond recognition; sometimes she would lie for whole hours in some dark corner; then she ran around the yard, spinning and bouncing. She refused food and did not turn around when her name was called. On the third day she became so weak that she could not rise from the ground. Her eyes, as bright and intelligent as before, expressed deep inner anguish. On her father's orders, she was taken to an empty woodshed so that she could die in peace there. (After all, it is known that only a person arranges his death so solemnly. But all animals, sensing the approach of this disgusting act, seek solitude.)
An hour after Zhulka was locked up, Barbos ran to the barn. He was very excited and began to squeal first, and then howl, raising his head up. Sometimes he would stop for a moment to sniff the crack in the shed door with an anxious look and alert ears, and then again howl long and pitifully. They tried to withdraw him from the barn, but it did not help. He was chased and even hit several times with a rope; he ran away, but immediately stubbornly returned to his place and continued to howl. Since children generally stand much closer to animals than adults think, we were the first to guess what Barbos wants.
- Dad, let Barbosa into the barn. He wants to say goodbye to Zhulka. Let me, please, dad, - we stuck to the father. He first said: "Nonsense!" But we so climbed to him and whimpered so much that he had to give in.
And we were right. As soon as the barn door was opened, Barbos rushed headlong to Zhulka, who was lying helplessly on the ground, sniffed her and with a quiet squeal began to lick her in the eyes, in the muzzle, in the ears. Zhulka weakly wagged her tail and tried to raise her head - she did not succeed. There was something touching in the farewell of the dogs. Even the servants who stared at this scene seemed moved. When Barbosa was called, he obeyed and, leaving the barn, lay down near the door on the ground. He was no longer agitated and howling, but only occasionally raised his head and seemed to be listening to what was happening in the shed. About two hours later he howled again, but so loudly and so expressively that the driver had to get the keys and open the doors. Zhulka lay motionless on her side. She died...
1897

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

V. P. Priklonsky

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

I'm medelian! A friend of the Boss says that this name is corrupted. You should say "weeks". IN deep antiquity fun was arranged for the people once a week: they played bears with dogs. Hence the word. My great-great-great-grandfather Sapsan I, in the presence of the formidable Tsar John IV, took the bear-vulture "in place" by the throat, threw him to the ground, where he was pinned by a korytnik. In honor and memory of him, the best of my ancestors bore the name of Sapsan. Few commended earls can boast of such a pedigree. What brings me closer to representatives of ancient human surnames is that our blood, according to knowledgeable people, blue color. The name Peregrine is Kyrgyz, and it means - a hawk.

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

The owner is ambitious. When we walk side by side along the street - I am at his right foot - flattering remarks are always heard behind us: “That's so doggie ... a whole lion ... what a wonderful muzzle" and so on. By no means do I let the Boss know that I hear these praises and that I know to whom they refer. But I feel how his ridiculous, naive, proud joy is transmitted to me through invisible threads. Freak. Let it be fun. I like him even more with his little weaknesses.

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

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

We dogs are seven and many times thinner than humans in terms of nervous receptivity. To understand each other, people need external differences, words, voice changes, glances and touches. I know their souls simply, with one inner instinct. I feel in secret, unknown, trembling ways how their souls blush, turn pale, tremble, envy, love, hate. When the Master is not at home, I know from afar whether happiness or misfortune has befallen him. And I am happy or sad.

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

I let people pet me. But I prefer if they give me an open hand first. I don't like claws up. Many years of canine experience teaches that a stone can lurk in it. (The little daughter of the Boss, my favorite, cannot pronounce "stone", but says "cabin".) A stone is a thing that flies far, hits accurately and hits painfully. I have seen this in other dogs. Of course, no one dares to throw a stone at me!

What nonsense people say, as if dogs cannot stand the human gaze. I can look into the Master's eyes for a whole evening without looking up. But we avert our eyes from the feeling of disgust. Most people, even young people, have a tired, dull and angry look, just like old, sick, nervous, spoiled, hoarse pugs. But in children, the eyes are clean, clear and trusting. When the children caress me, I can hardly keep myself from licking one of them right in the pink muzzle. But the Owner does not allow, and sometimes even threatens with a whip. Why? I don't understand. Even he has his oddities.

About the bone. Who doesn't know that this is the most fascinating thing in the world. Veins, cartilage, the inside is spongy, tasty, soaked in the brain. You can willingly work on another entertaining mosolok from breakfast to dinner. And I think so: a bone is always a bone, even the most second-hand, and therefore, it is always not too late to have fun with it. And so I bury it in the ground in the garden or in the garden. In addition, I reflect: there was meat on it and there is none; why, if he is not, he should not be again?

And if anyone - a person, a cat or a dog - passes by the place where it is buried, I get angry and growl. Will they suddenly guess? But more often I myself forget the place, and then I am out of sorts for a long time.

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

Only Serge smells worse than her. The owner calls him a friend and loves him. My master, so smart, is often a big fool. I know that Serge hates the Boss, fears him and envies him. And in me Serge fawns. When he stretches out his hand to me from a distance, I feel a sticky, hostile, cowardly tremor coming from his fingers. I will growl and turn away. I will never take bones or sugar from him. While the Boss is not at home, and Serge and the Mistress are hugging each other with their front paws, I lie on the carpet and look at them, intently, without blinking. He laughs stiffly and says: “The peregrine falcon looks at us like that, as if he understands everything.” You're lying, I don't understand everything about human meanness. But I foresee all the sweetness of that moment when the will of the Master will push me and I will cling to your fat caviar with all my teeth. Arrgrra... ghrrr...

After the Master of all is closer to mine dog heart"Little" - that's what I call His daughter. I would not forgive anyone but her if they decided to drag me by the tail and by the ears, sit on me on horseback or harness me to a wagon. But I endure everything and squeal like a three-month-old puppy. And it happens to me joyfully in the evenings to lie motionless when, having run over during the day, she suddenly dozes off on the carpet, crouching her head on my side. And she, when we play, is also not offended if I sometimes wag her tail and dump her on the floor.

Sometimes we drive with her, and she starts to laugh. I love it very much, but I don't know how. Then I jump up with all four paws and bark as loud as I can. And they usually drag me out by the collar into the street. Why?

In the summer there was such a case in the country. "Little" was still barely walking and was preposternoe. We were walking together. She, me and the nanny. Suddenly everyone rushed about - people and animals. In the middle of the street a dog was rushing, black with white spots, with its head lowered, with a trailing tail, covered in dust and foam. The nurse ran away screaming. "Little" sat down on the ground and squeaked. The dog was running straight at us. And from this dog immediately breathed on me a sharp smell of madness and boundlessly furious malice. I trembled with horror, but overcame myself and blocked the “Little” with my body.

It was not single combat, but the death of one of us. I curled up into a ball, waited for a brief, precise moment, and with one push knocked the motley to the ground. Then he lifted it up by the collar into the air and shook it. She lay down on the ground without moving, so flat and now not at all scary.

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

Starlings

It was the middle of March. Spring this year has been smooth and friendly. Occasionally heavy but short rains fell. Already drove on wheels on roads covered with thick mud. Snow still lay in snowdrifts in deep forests and in shady ravines, but settled in the fields, became loose and dark, and from under it in some places large bald patches appeared black, greasy, steamed in the sun. The birch buds are swollen. The lambs on the willows turned from white to yellow, fluffy and huge. The willow has blossomed. The bees flew out of the hives for the first bribe. The first snowdrops timidly appeared in the forest glades.

We were looking forward to when old acquaintances would fly into our garden again - starlings, these cute, cheerful, sociable birds, the first migratory guests, joyful heralds of spring. They need to fly many hundreds of miles from their winter camps, from the south of Europe, from Asia Minor, from northern regions Africa. Others will have to do more than three thousand miles. Many will fly over the seas: the Mediterranean or the Black.

How many adventures and dangers are on the way: rains, storms, dense fogs, hail clouds, birds of prey, shots of greedy hunters. How much incredible effort must be used for such a flight by a small creature, weighing about twenty to twenty-five spools. Indeed, the shooters who destroy the bird during the difficult journey have no heart, when, obeying the mighty call of nature, it strives to the place where it first hatched from an egg and saw sunlight and greenery.

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

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

Having made a dangerous crossing across the sea plain, the starlings rest all day long and always in a certain, favorite place from year to year. I once saw one such place in Odessa, in the spring. This is a house on the corner of Preobrazhenskaya Street and Cathedral Square, opposite the cathedral garden. This house was then completely black and seemed to be all moving from a great number of starlings that had settled it everywhere: on the roof, on balconies, cornices, window sills, architraves, window peaks and on stucco decorations. And the sagging telegraph and telephone wires were closely humiliated by them, like big black rosaries. My God, how much there was a deafening scream, squeak, whistle, chatter, chirp and all sorts of squabbling fuss, chatter and quarrels. Despite the recent fatigue, they definitely could not sit still for a minute. Every now and then they pushed each other, breaking up and down, circling, flying away and returning again. Only old, experienced, wise starlings sat in solemn solitude and sedately cleaned their feathers with their beaks. The entire pavement along the house turned white, and if a careless pedestrian used to gape, then trouble threatened his coat and hat. Starlings make their flights very quickly, sometimes making up to eighty miles per hour. They will arrive at a familiar place early in the evening, feed themselves, take a little nap at night, in the morning - even before dawn - a light breakfast, and again on the road, with two or three stops in the middle of the day.

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

Tell me, please, what good news for the world!

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

Indeed, they sat high on the branches of poplars and, after sparrows, seemed unusually large and too black. We began to count them: one, two, five, ten, fifteen... And next to the neighbors, among the trees transparent in spring, these dark, motionless lumps swayed easily on flexible branches. That evening, the starlings had neither noise nor fuss. It always happens when you return home after a long hard journey. On the road, you are fussing, in a hurry, worrying, but when you arrived - and all at once it was as if softened from previous fatigue: you sit and do not want to move.

For two days, the starlings seemed to gain strength and kept visiting and inspecting last year's familiar places. And then the eviction of sparrows began. At the same time, I did not notice especially violent clashes between starlings and sparrows. Usually, two starlings sit high above the birdhouses and, apparently, carelessly chatting about something among themselves, while they themselves, with one eye, sideways, gaze intently down. The sparrow is terribly and difficult. No, no - stick his sharp cunning nose out of a round hole - and back. Finally, hunger, frivolity, and perhaps timidity make themselves felt. “I’m flying away,” he thinks, “for a minute and now back. Maybe I'll overreach. Maybe they won't notice." And as soon as he has time to fly off to a sazhen, like a starling with a stone down and already at home. And now the end of the sparrow temporary economy has come. Starlings guard the nest in turn: one sits - the other flies on business. Sparrows will never think of such a trick: a windy, empty, frivolous bird. And so, with chagrin, great battles begin between the sparrows, during which fluff and feathers fly into the air.

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

It is interesting to watch when he, walking between the beds or along the path, hunts for his prey. His gait is very fast and slightly clumsy, with a waddle from side to side. Suddenly he stops, turns to one side, to the other, tilts his head first to the left, then to the right. Quickly peck and run further. And again, and again ... His black back casts in the sun a metallic green or purple color, his chest is speckled with brown, And there is so much something businesslike, fussy and funny in him during this craft that you look at him for a long time and involuntarily smile .

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

And the real song of the starling should be heard only in the early morning, when the first pink light of dawn will color the trees and, together with them, the birdhouses, which are always located with an opening to the east. The air warmed up a little, and the starlings had already scattered on the high branches and began their concert. I don't really know if the starling has his own motives, but you will hear enough of anything alien in his song. Here are bits of nightingale trills, and the sharp meow of the oriole, and the sweet voice of the robin, and the musical babble of the warbler, and the thin whistle of the titmouse, and among these melodies such sounds are suddenly heard that, sitting alone, you cannot help yourself and laugh: a chicken will cackle on a tree , the grinder's knife will hiss, the door will creak, the children's military trumpet will turn down. And, having made this unexpected musical digression, the starling, as if nothing had happened, without a break, continues his cheerful, sweet humorous song. One of my familiar starlings (and only one, because I always heard it in a certain place) mimicked the stork with amazing accuracy. This is how I imagined this venerable white black-tailed bird when it stands on one leg on the edge of its round nest, on the roof of a Little Russian hut, and beats out a ringing shot with a long red beak. Other starlings did not know how to do this thing.

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

By the beginning of June, the chicks had already hatched. The starling chick is a true monster, which consists entirely of a head, but the head is only of a huge, yellow at the edges, unusually voracious mouth. For caring parents, the most troublesome time has come. No matter how many little ones you feed, they are always hungry. And then there is the constant fear of cats and jackdaws; it's scary to go far from the birdhouse.

But starlings - good comrades. As soon as jackdaws or crows get into the habit of circling around the nest, a watchman is immediately appointed. The starling on duty sits on the dome of the tallest tree and, whistling softly, vigilantly looks in all directions. Predators appeared a little close, the watchman gives a signal, and the whole starling tribe flocks to protect the young generation.

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

But now the first cold weather is over. It's time to go. By some mysterious command, unknown to us, of mighty nature, the leader gives a sign one morning, and the air cavalry, squadron after squadron, soars into the air and swiftly rushes south. Goodbye, dear bastards! Come spring. The nests are waiting for you...

Elephant

The little girl is unwell. Every day Dr. Mikhail Petrovich, whom she has known for a long time, visits her. And sometimes he brings with him two more doctors, strangers. They turn the girl over on her back and on her stomach, listen to something, putting their ear to the body, pull down the eyelids and look. At the same time, they somehow importantly snore, their faces are strict, and they speak among themselves in an incomprehensible language.

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

Saying goodbye, the head doctor says loudly:

The main thing - do not let her get bored. Fulfill all her whims.

Ah, doctor, but she wants nothing!

Well, I don't know... remember what she liked before, before she got sick. Toys... some treats. ..

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

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

Dear Nadia, my dear girl, - says my mother, - do you want something?

No, mom, I don't want anything.

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

Thank you mom... I don't feel like... I'm bored...

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

No need, mom. The truth is, you don't have to. I don't want anything, I don't want anything. I am so bored!

Do you want me to bring you chocolate?

But the girl does not answer and looks at the ceiling with motionless, sad eyes. She has no pain and no fever. But she is getting thinner and weaker every day. Whatever they do to her, she doesn't care, and she doesn't need anything. So she lies for whole days and whole nights, quiet, sad. Sometimes she will doze off for half an hour, but even in her dream she sees something gray, long, boring, like an autumn rain.

When the door to the living room is opened from the nursery, and further from the living room to the study, the girl sees her father. Dad walks quickly from corner to corner and smokes, smokes. Sometimes he comes into the nursery, sits on the edge of the bed and softly strokes Nadia's legs. Then suddenly he gets up and goes to the window. He whistles something, looking out into the street, but his shoulders are shaking. Then he hurriedly puts the handkerchief to one eye, to the other, and, as if angry, goes to his office. Then he again runs from corner to corner and keeps smoking, smoking, smoking ... And the office becomes all blue from tobacco smoke.

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

Do you need something? Mom asks.

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

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

Of course, my girl, of course you can.

She goes to the office and tells her dad that the girl wants an elephant. Dad immediately puts on his coat and hat and leaves somewhere. Half an hour later he returns with the road beautiful toy. This is a big gray elephant who shakes his head and wags his tail; the elephant has a red saddle, and on the saddle is a golden tent, and three little men are sitting in it. But the girl looks at the toy as indifferently as she does at the ceiling and walls, and says languidly:

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

Just look, Nadia, - says dad. - We will start it now, and it will be very, very like a living one.

The elephant is turned on with a key, and, shaking his head and waving his tail, he begins to step over his feet and slowly walks along the table. The girl is not at all interested and even bored, but in order not to upset her father, she whispers meekly:

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

But listen, my dear girl, understand that this is impossible. The elephant is very big, it's up to the ceiling, it won't fit in our rooms... And besides, where can I get it?

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

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

The girl smiles sadly

What a fool you are, dad. Don't I know that the sun can't be reached because it burns! And the moon is also impossible. But, I would like an elephant ... a real one.

And she quietly closes her eyes and whispers:

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

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

Olga! Coat and hat!

The wife comes into the front.

Where are you, Sasha? she asks.

He breathes heavily as he buttons up his coat.

I myself, Mashenka, don't know where... Only it seems that by tonight I'll actually bring here, to us, a real elephant.

His wife looks at him worriedly.

Honey, are you well? Do you have a headache? Maybe you didn't sleep well today?

I haven't slept at all," he replies angrily. - I see you want to ask if I'm crazy. Not yet. Goodbye! Everything will be visible in the evening.

And he disappears, slamming the front door loudly.

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

A clumsy seal fires a pistol. Finally, the elephants are brought out. There are three of them: one large, two very small, dwarfs, but still much larger than a horse. It is strange to watch how these huge animals, seemingly so clumsy and heavy, perform the most difficult tricks that even a very dexterous person cannot do. The largest elephant is especially distinguished. He first stands on his hind legs, sits down, stands on his head, feet up, walks on wooden bottles, walks on a rolling barrel, turns the pages of a large cardboard book with his trunk, and finally sits down at the table and, tied with a napkin, dines, just like a well-bred boy .

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

Excuse me, please, - says Nadine's father. - Can you let your elephant go to my house for a while?

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

Let go? Elephant? Home? I do not understand.

It can be seen from the German’s eyes that he also wants to ask if Nadya’s father has a headache... But the father hastily explains what’s the matter: his only daughter Nadya is ill with some strange disease that even doctors don’t understand properly. She has been lying in bed for a month now, she is losing weight, weakening every day, she is not interested in anything, she is bored and slowly goes out. Doctors tell her to entertain, but she doesn't like anything; They tell her to fulfill all her desires, but she has no desires. Today she wanted to see a live elephant. Is it really impossible to do this?

Well, here... I, of course, hope that my girl will recover. But... but... what if her illness ends badly... what if the girl dies?

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

Um... And how old is your girl?

Six.

Um... My Lisa is also six. But, you know, it will cost you dearly. You will have to bring the elephant at night and only take it back the next night. During the day you can't. The public will gather, and there will be one scandal ... Thus, it turns out that I lose the whole day, and you must return the loss to me.

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

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

I'll arrange it. Allow.

Another question: will the owner of your house allow one elephant to enter his house?

Allow. I am the owner of this house.

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

In the second.

Hm... That's not so good... Do you have a wide staircase in your house, a high ceiling, a large room, wide doors and a very strong floor? Because my Tommy is three arshins and four inches high and five and a half arshins long*. In addition, it weighs one hundred and twelve pounds.

Nadia's father thinks for a minute.

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

Very good! - the owner of the menagerie agrees.

At night, the elephant is taken to visit a sick girl. In a white blanket, he strides importantly along the very middle of the street, shaking his head and twisting and then developing his trunk. Around him, despite the late hour, a large crowd. But the elephant does not pay attention to her: every day he sees hundreds of people in the menagerie. Only once did he get a little angry. Some street boy ran up to his very feet and began to grimace for the amusement of onlookers.

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

Lord, please leave. And what do you find so unusual here? I'm surprised! It's like they've never seen a live elephant on the street.

They approach the house. On the stairs, as well as all the way of the elephant, up to the dining room, all the doors were thrown wide open, for which it was necessary to beat off the door locks with a hammer.

But in front of the stairs the elephant stops and stubbornly restless in anxiety.

We must give him some kind of treat ... - says the German. - Some sweet bun or something... But... Tommy! Wow... Tommy!

Nadine's father runs to a nearby bakery and buys a big round pistachio cake. The elephant discovers the urge to swallow it whole along with carton box, but the German gives him only a quarter. The cake is to Tommy's taste, and he holds out his trunk for a second slice. However, the German turns out to be more cunning. Holding a delicacy in his hand, he climbs up from step to step, and the elephant, with an outstretched trunk, with outstretched ears, involuntarily follows him. On the court, Tommy gets the second piece.

In this way, he is led into the dining room, from where all the furniture has been taken out in advance, and the floor is thickly covered with straw ... The elephant is tied by the leg to a ring screwed into the floor. Put before him fresh carrots, cabbage and turnips. The German is located nearby, on the couch. The lights go out and everyone goes to bed.

V

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

But what about the elephant? He came?

Came, - answers mom. - But only he ordered that Nadia first wash herself, and then eat a soft-boiled egg and drink hot milk.

And is he kind?

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

And is he funny?

A little. Put on a warm jacket.

The egg was eaten, the milk was drunk. Nadya is put in the same stroller in which she rode when she was still so small that she could not walk at all. And they take you to the canteen.

The elephant turns out to be much larger than Nadia thought when she looked at it in the picture. He is only a little shorter than the door, and occupies half the dining room in length. The skin on it is rough, in heavy folds. The legs are thick as pillars. A long tail with something like a broom at the end. Head in big cones. The ears are large, like mugs, and hang down. The eyes are quite tiny, but smart and kind. Fangs are cut off. The trunk is like a long snake and ends in two nostrils, and between them is a movable, flexible finger. If an elephant extended its trunk to its full length, it would probably reach the window with it.

The girl is not scared at all. She is only a little struck by the enormous size of the animal. But the nanny, sixteen-year-old Polya, begins to squeal with fear.

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

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

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

Hello. How are you? she answers. - I'm not at all afraid. And what is his name?

Tommy.

Hello, Tommy, - the girl says and bows her head. Because the elephant is so big, she does not dare to say “you” to him. - How did you sleep that night?

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

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

Oh, absolutely everything, young lady.

But he doesn't speak?

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

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

The elephant again stretches out its trunk and blows warm, strong breath into the very face of the girl, which is why the light hair on the girl's head scatters in all directions.

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

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

No, he didn't drink tea, young lady. But he enjoys drinking sugar water. He also loves buns.

They bring a tray of rolls. The girl feeds the elephant. He deftly grabs the bun with his finger and, bending his trunk into a ring, hides it somewhere down under his head, where his funny, triangular, furry lower lip moves. You can hear the bun rustling against dry skin. Tommy does the same with another roll, and a third, and a fourth, and a fifth, and nods his head in gratitude, his small eyes narrowing even more in pleasure. And the girl laughs happily.

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

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

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

Then Nadia shows him a large book with pictures and explains:

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

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

The hour of dinner comes, but the girl cannot be torn away from the elephant. The German comes to the rescue

Let me arrange everything. They will have lunch together.

He orders the elephant to sit down. The elephant obediently sits down, which causes the floor in the whole apartment to shake, dishes rattle in the closet, and plaster falls from the ceiling of the lower tenants. A girl sits in front of him. A table is placed between them. The tablecloth is tied around the elephant's neck, and the new friends begin to dine. The girl is eating chicken soup and a cutlet, and the elephant is eating various vegetables and a salad. The girl is given a tiny glass of sherry, and the elephant is warm water with a glass of rum, and he happily pulls this drink out of the bowl with his trunk. Then they get a sweet: the girl gets a cup of cocoa, and the elephant gets half a cake, this time hazelnut. The German at this time is sitting with dad in the living room and with the same pleasure as the elephant, he drinks beer, only in larger quantities.

After dinner some of my father's acquaintances come; they are warned about the elephant in the hall so that they are not afraid. At first they do not believe, and then, seeing Tommy, they press close to the door.

Don't be afraid, he's kind! the girl reassures them.

But acquaintances hurriedly leave for the living room and, without sitting for five minutes, leave.

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

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

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

Mo-loch-ka!

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

And the elephant?

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

Kuprin A.I. is a famous Russian writer. Heroes of his works - ordinary people who, contrary to social order and injustice, do not lose faith in goodness. For those who wish to introduce the child to the writer's work, below is a list of Kuprin's works for children with a brief description.

Anathema

The story "Anathema" reveals the theme of the opposition of the church against Leo Tolstoy. At the end of his life he often wrote on the subject of religion. The ministers of the church did not like what Tolstoy expounded, and they decided to anathematize the writer. The case was entrusted to Archdeacon Olympius. But the protodeacon was an admirer of Lev Nikolaevich's work. The day before he read the author's story, he was so delighted with the bark that he even cried. As a result, instead of anathema, Olympius wished Tolstoy "Many years!".

white poodle

In the story "White Poodle" the author describes the history of a wandering troupe. The old organ grinder, together with the boy Seryozha and the poodle Arto, earned money by performing numbers in front of the public. After a whole day of unsuccessful walking around the local dachas, luck nevertheless smiled at them: in last home there were spectators who wanted to see the performance. It was a spoiled and capricious boy named Trilly. Seeing the dog, he wished it for himself. However, his mother received a categorical refusal, because friends are not sold. Then she stole the dog with the help of a janitor. That same night Serezha brought his friend back.

Swamp

Kuprin's work "Swamp" tells how the land surveyor Zhmakin, together with his student assistant, returned after shooting. Since the way home is long, they had to go to sleep with the forester - Stepan. During the journey, student Nikolai Nikolaevich entertained Zhmakin with a conversation, which only irritated the old man. When they had to go through the swamp, both were afraid of the bog. If not for Stepan, it is not known whether they would have got out. Staying with him for the night, the student saw the meager life of a forester.

The story "In the Circus" tells about the cruel fate of the circus strongman - Arbuzov. He will have to fight in the arena with an American. Reber is perhaps inferior to him in strength and dexterity. But today Arbuzov is not able to show all his skill and skill. He is seriously ill and cannot fight on an equal footing. Unfortunately, this is noticed only by the doctor, who considered the wrestler's appearance on the stage dangerous for the athlete's health. The rest need only a spectacle. As a result, Arbuzov is defeated.

Inquiry

"Inquest" is one of the author's first stories. It tells about the investigation of the theft, in which a Tatar soldier is accused. The inquiry is conducted by Lieutenant Kozlovsky. There was no serious evidence of a thief. Therefore, Kozlovsky decides to get a confession from the suspect with a cordial attitude. The method was successful, and the Tatar confessed to the theft. However, the second lieutenant began to doubt the justice of his act in relation to the accused. On this basis, Kozlovsky had a quarrel with another officer.

Emerald

The work "Emerald" tells about human cruelty. The protagonist is a four-year-old stallion participating in the races, whose feelings and emotions are described in the story. The reader knows what he is thinking, what feelings he is experiencing. In the stable where he is kept, there is no harmony between brothers. Emerald's already savory life gets worse when he wins the races. People accuse horse owners of cheating. And after long examinations and trials, the Emerald is simply poisoned to death.

lilac bush

In the story "The Lilac Bush" the author describes the relationship married couple. Husband - Nikolai Evgrafovich Almazov, studies at the Academy of the General Staff. Drawing up a plan of the area, he made a blot, which he covered over, depicting bushes in that place. Since in reality there was no vegetation there, the professor did not believe Almazov and rejected the work. His wife Vera not only reassured her husband, but also corrected the situation. She did not spare her jewelry, paying with them for the purchase and planting of a lilac bush in that very ill-fated place.

Lenochka

The work "Helen" is a story about a meeting of old acquaintances. Colonel Voznitsyn, heading to the Crimea on a ship, met a woman whom he knew in his youth. Then her name was Lenochka, and Voznitsyn had tender feelings for her. They were swirled in a whirlpool of memories of youth, reckless deeds and a kiss at the gate. After meeting many years later, they barely recognized each other. Seeing the daughter of Elena, who was very similar to her young, Voznitsyn felt sadness.

moonlit night

“Moonlight Night” is a work that tells about one event. On a warm June night, two acquaintances, as usual, were returning from guests. One of them is the narrator of the story, the other is a certain Gamov. Returning home after visiting the evening at Elena Alexandrovna's dacha, the heroes walked along the road. The usually silent Gamow was surprisingly talkative on this warm June night. He told about the murder of the girl. His interlocutor realized that Gamow himself was the culprit of the incident.

Moloch

The hero of the work "Moloch" is an engineer of a steel plant Andrei Ilyich Bobrov. He was disgusted with his work. Because of this, he began to take morphine, as a result of which he suffered from insomnia. The only bright moment in his life was Nina, one of the daughters of the warehouse manager at the plant. However, all his attempts to get close to the girl ended in nothing. And after the arrival in the city of the owner of the plant, Kvashin, Nina was married to another. Svezhevsky became the girl's fiancé and the new manager.

Olesya

The hero of the work "Olesya" is a young man who talks about his stay in the village of Perebrod. In such a remote area there is not much entertainment. In order not to get bored at all, the hero, together with the servant Yarmola, goes hunting. One of those days they got lost and found a hut. An old witch lived in it, about whom Yarmola had previously told. A romance breaks out between the hero and the old woman's daughter Olesya. However, dislike local residents separates the heroes.

Duel

In the story "Duel" in question about Lieutenant Romashov and his affair with Raisa Alexandrovna Peterson. Soon he decided to terminate the relationship with a married woman. The offended lady promised to take revenge on the second lieutenant. It is not known from whom, but the deceived husband found out about his wife's affair with Romashov. Over time, a scandal broke out between the second lieutenant and Nikolaev, whom he visited, which resulted in a duel. As a result of the duel, Romashov dies.

Elephant

The work "Elephant" tells about the girl Nadia. Once she fell ill, and a doctor, Mikhail Petrovich, was called to her. After examining the girl, the doctor said that Nadya had "indifference to life." To heal the child, the doctor advised to cheer her up. Therefore, when Nadia asked to bring an elephant, her father did everything possible to fulfill her desire. After the joint tea party of the girl with the elephant, she went to bed, and the next morning she got up completely healthy.

Miraculous Doctor

Speech in the story Miraculous Doctor”is about the Mertsalov family, who began to be haunted by trouble. First, my father fell ill and lost his job. All the family's savings went to the treatment. Because of this, they had to move to a damp basement. Then the children started getting sick. One girl died. His father's attempts to find funds came to nothing until he met Dr. Pirogov. Thanks to him, the lives of the remaining children were saved.

Pit

The story "Yama" about the life of women of easy virtue. All of them are kept in an institution run by Anna Markovna. One of the visitors - Lichonin - decides to take one of the girls into his care. Thus, he wanted to save the unfortunate Lyuba. However, this decision led to many problems. As a result, Lyubka returned to the institution. When Anna Markovna was replaced by Emma Eduardovna, a series of troubles began. In the end, the institution was looted by soldiers.

On capercaillie

In the work "On the Capercaillie" the story is told in the first person. Panych tells how he went on a capercaillie hunt. As his companion, he took the state forester - Trofim Shcherbaty, who knows the forest well. The hunters spent the first day on the road, and in the evening they made a halt. The next morning, before dawn, Trofimych led the master through the forest in search of capercaillie. Only with the help of the forester and his knowledge of the habits of birds, the main character managed to shoot the capercaillie.

Accommodation

The main character of the work "Overnight" is lieutenant Avilov. He, along with the regiment, went on big maneuvers. On the way, he felt bored and indulged in dreams. At a halt, he was provided with an overnight stay in the house of a clerk. Falling asleep, Avilov witnessed the conversation between the owner and his wife. It was clear that even in her youth the girl was dishonored by a young man. Because of this, the owner beats his wife every evening. When Avilov realizes that it was he who ruined the woman's life, he becomes ashamed.

Autumn flowers

The story "Autumn Flowers" is a letter from a woman to her former lover. Once they were happy together. They were bound by tender feelings. Having met again after many years, the lovers realized that their love had died. After the man offered to visit his ex-lover, she decided to leave. In order not to be influenced by sensuality and not to discredit past memories. So she wrote a letter and got on the train.

Pirate

The work "Pirate" is named after a dog that was a friend to a poor old man. Together they gave performances in taverns, which earned them a living. Sometimes the "artists" left with nothing and remained hungry. One day the merchant, seeing the performance, wished to buy Piratka. Starkey resisted for a long time, but could not resist and sold a friend for 13 rubles. After that, he longed for a long time, tried to steal a dog and eventually hanged himself out of grief.

river of life

The story "River of Life" describes the way of life in furnished rooms. The author tells about the hostess of the institution - Anna Friedrichovna, her fiancé and children. Once in this "realm of vulgarity" an emergency occurs. An unfamiliar student rents a room and closes himself there to write a letter. Being a member revolutionary movement, he gets interrogated. The student got scared and betrayed his comrades. Because of this, he could not continue to live and committed suicide.

The work "Starlings" tells about migratory birds, which are the first to return to their native lands after winter. It tells about the difficulties encountered on the way of wanderers. For the return of birds to Russia, people prepare birdhouses for them, which are quickly occupied by sparrows. Therefore, upon arrival, starlings have to evict uninvited guests. Then the new tenants move in. After living a certain period, the birds fly south again.

Nightingale

The narration in the work "The Nightingale" is conducted in the first person. After finding the old photo, the hero was flooded with memories. Then he lived in Salzo Maggiore, a resort located in northern Italy. One evening he dined with a table d'hot company. Among them were four Italian singers. When a nightingale sang not far from the company, they admired its sound. At the end, the company got so excited that everyone sang a song.

From the street

The work "From the Street" is a confession of a criminal about how he turned into what he is now. His parents drank heavily and beat the boy. The apprentice Yushka was engaged in the upbringing of the former criminal. Under his influence, the hero learned to drink, smoke, play and steal. He failed to graduate from the gymnasium, and he went to serve as a soldier. There he roamed and roamed. After the hero seduced the lieutenant colonel's wife, Marya Nikolaevna, he was expelled from the regiment. At the end, the hero tells how he killed a man with a friend and surrendered to the police.

Garnet bracelet

The work "Garnet Bracelet" describes the secret love of a certain Zheltkov for a married woman. One day he gives Vera Nikolaevna a garnet bracelet for her birthday. Her husband and brother visit the unfortunate lover. After an unexpected visit, Zhelkov commits suicide, since his life consisted only in the woman he loved. Vera Nikolaevna understands that such a feeling is very rare.

Animal world

A. I. Kuprina

Teacher n\kl

MKOU secondary school No. 2, Alagira

Cheldieva M.K.

The world of animals in the works of Alexander Ivanovich Kuprin is amazing, unusual and original. Few of the artists so perfectly recreated their manners and characters, habits and loyalty to a person.

Having gone through a number of various trials as a child, forced to adapt to the cruel environment of the Orphan School, cadet corps, cadet school, Kuprin retained in his soul the ability not to hurt, retained the ability to compassion, sympathize.

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

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

Lesson Objectives

1. Education of a kind and attentive attitude towards the animal world.

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

3. The development of children's abilities to carefully and thoughtfully treat the artistic word.

Lesson equipment

1. Portrait of A.I. Kuprin.

2. Exhibition of books.

3. Illustrations for the writer's works.

4. Electronic presentation.

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

Preliminary preparation

1. Reading Kuprin's stories about animals.

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

3. Drawing up an electronic presentation.

During the classes:

1. Introductory speech of the teacher

At the beginning of the lesson, a melody from the TV show "In the Animal World" sounds.

– Why was this particular melody played? (children's answers)

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

2. Student's report about the writer

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

The world of animals in the works of Alexander Ivanovich Kuprin is amazing, unusual and original. Few of the artists so perfectly recreated their original customs and characters, habits and loyalty to a person. The writer loved and knew well the habits of many animals. According to L. V. Krutikova, A. I. Kuprin was a great "hunter".

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

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

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

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

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

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

3. Working with illustrations drawn (selected) by children

Students take turns showing the pictures to the whole class. It is necessary to determine to which story the drawing was made, which moment is displayed. Then confirm your assumption with a citation. If one of the children illustrates the story "Balt", then it will be possible to watch an excerpt from the film "A Dangerous Arctic Adventure".

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

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

Conversation on:

– Tell us about the first meeting between the narrator and Zavirayka. (children's answers)

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

– Which portrait detail it confirms? (Eyes: "They didn't run, they didn't blink, they didn't hide... they kept asking me...")

– What epithets are used by the author when describing the dog's appearance? (“Brilliant - black, with deep red tan marks, broad-chested, etc.)

– To what evaluative epithet do the marked means of expression lead? ("Excellent hound dog")

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

– Is there any reason to believe that the author also has in mind human relationships when he writes about a dog? (Yes. In the story “Zavirayka”, Kuprin enthusiastically writes about the meekness and purity of character of a hunting dog, which “showed such devoted friendship, such strength of goodwill and such quick wit, which would do a great honor to the average person.”Kuprin believes that it was not a dark instinct, but a conscious mind that forced Zavirayka to go looking for a “friend” (Patrashka who fell into a trap).

5. Viewing the electronic presentation "The world of animals of Kuprin"

6. Summing up

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

7. Homework

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

Open lesson on literary reading in grade 4 on the topic:

"The world of animals in the works of A. I. Kuprin"

primary school teacher Yarukina Olga Vasilievna

MBOU "Gymnasium No. 2", Cheboksary

Lesson Objectives:

1. Education of a kind and attentive attitude towards the animal world.
2. Formation of skills to navigate in the text, draw conclusions and generalizations.
3. The development of children's abilities to carefully and thoughtfully treat the artistic word.

Lesson equipment:

Texts of stories on each desk.

Portrait of A.I. Kuprin.

Exhibition of books.

Illustrations for the works of the writer.

Preliminary preparation:

Reading stories by A.I. Kuprin about animals.

Individual task for students: oral communication about the writer.

Selection of illustrations for Kuprin's stories.

Lesson plan:

1. Introduction by the teacher.
2. Students' message about the writer A.I. Kuprine.
3. Work with text.
4. Working with illustrations drawn (selected) by children
5. Group work (children write stories about animals).
6. Summarizing.
7. Homework.

During the classes

1. Introductory speech of the teacher

The world of animals in the works of Alexander Ivanovich Kuprin is amazing, unusual and original. Few of the artists so perfectly recreated their manners and characters, habits and loyalty to a person. The writer loved and knew well the habits of many animals. According to L. V. Krutikova, A. I. Kuprin was a great "hunter". Alexander Ivanovich Kuprin has more than 30 stories about animals. These stories, scattered in different editions, could make up a whole book. And today in the lesson we will talk about the originality of the stories of A.I. Kuprin dedicated to the world of animals.

2. Student performance (added by the teacher)

Alexander Ivanovich Kuprin (1870–1938)was a great animal lover. He treated them with understanding and respect. He himself had cats, St. Bernard dogs, horses. In his youth, he traveled around Russia with a traveling circus, he knew the circus world well, including the habits of four-legged artists.

Having passed through a number of various trials as a child, forced to adapt to the cruel environment of the Orphan School, the Cadet Corps, the cadet school, Kuprin retained in his soul the ability not to cause pain, retained the ability to sympathize and sympathize.

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

Being in exile in France, the writer often turns to the purest and most honest creatures in this world - children and animals. A.I. Kuprin once remarked that children generally stand much closer to animals than adults think. Kuprin's stories about animals carry the lofty, human, kind ...

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

Kuprin himself - writer

We had a friend with us.

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

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

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

3. Working with text.

The title of the story also contains the goal - to describe a cat with such an exotic nickname: not Mashka, not Belka, but Yu-Yu. Let's learn the art of description from a great word artist!

1st excerpt. “At first it was just a fluffy lump with two cheerful eyes and a pink and white nose. This lump was dozing on the windowsill, in the sun; lapped, squinting and purring, milk from a saucer; caught flies on the window with his paw; rolled on the floor, playing with a piece of paper, a ball of thread, with his own tail ... And we ourselves do not remember when, instead of a black-red-white fluffy lump, we saw a big, slender, proud cat, the first beauty of the city and the object of envy of lovers.

Has grown, in a word, to all cats a cat. Dark chestnut with fiery spots, a lush white shirt-front on the chest, a quarter arshin mustache, long hair and all glossy, hind legs in wide trousers, a tail like a lamp ruff! .. "

How shall we title this part?

"Fluffy lump".

Conversation.

What does the author highlight in the “portrait” of a kitten?

Kuprin highlights:

Body shape: fluffy ball

funny eyes

Nose: white-pink

habits : lapping, squinting and purring, catching, rolling, playing with a piece of paper- mobile, restless;

Coloration: black-red-white lump

2nd passage.

Has grown, in a word, to all cats a cat. Dark chestnut with fiery spots, a magnificent white shirt-front on the chest, a quarter arshin mustache, long hair and all glossy, hind legs in wide pants, a tail like a lamp ruff.

How shall we title this part?

"To all cats a cat."

How did the first passage, in which the kitten is opposed to the adult cat, end?

And we ourselves do not remember when, instead of a black-red-white fluffy lump, we saw a big, slender, proud cat, the first beauty and the envy of lovers.

Yu-Yu description plan.

1. General form : big, slender, proud, the first beauty.
2. Coloring: dark chestnut, with fiery spots on the chest.
3. Special signs: on the chest is a lush white shirt-front.
4. Muzzle: mustache a quarter of an arshin (arshin - about a meter, i.e. the mustache is very long, expressive), eyes, nose.
5. Wool: long and all shiny, i.e. shiny, smooth, healthy.
6. Paws: in wide trousers.
7. Tail: like a lamp ruff (a lamp ruff is a fluffy round brush that is used to clean kerosene lamps, i.e. the tail is very fluffy).

- Would you like to have such a beauty at home?

- Why do we present Yu-Yu as alive?

Thanks to the expressive writing of Kuprin.

Name all tricks artistic language Kuprin in this description.

Answers:

1. large, slender, dark chestnut, long -just adjectives that draw physical properties cats;
2. proud posture, fiery spots, i.e. bright, burning, lush shirt-front - epithets;
3. metaphors: stain from chest to neck - shirtfront, those. White collar; fur on hind legswide panties;
4. comparison: tail - lamp ruff (shape, fluffiness, roundness).

You notice, dear Nika: we live next to many animals and know absolutely nothing about them. We just don't care. Take, for example, all the dogs that you and I have known. Each has its own special soul, its own habits, its own character. The same with cats. The same with horses. And the birds. Just like people... (That is, animals are just like people? Right?)

And never believe what you are told bad things about animals. (Why?) They will tell you: the donkey is stupid. When they want to hint to a person that he is narrow-minded, stubborn and lazy, he is delicately called a donkey. Remember, on the contrary, the donkey is not only an intelligent animal, but also an obedient, friendly, and industrious animal. But if you overload him beyond his strength and imagine that he is a racehorse, then he simply stops and says: "I can't do that. Do what you want with me." And you can beat him as much as you like - he will not budge. I would like to know who in this case is more stupid and stubborn: a donkey or a man? (That is, people blame animals for their own sins.) The horse is a completely different matter. She is impatient, nervous and touchy. She will even do what exceeds her strength, and immediately die of zeal ...

They also say: stupid as a goose ... And there is no smarter bird in the world. (And how can one guess about this?) The goose knows the owners by their gait. For example, you come home in the middle of the night. You walk down the street, you open the gate, you pass through the yard - the geese are silent, as if they were not there. And a stranger entered the yard - now a goose commotion: "Ha-ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha! Who is this hanging around other people's houses?"

And what are they... Nika, don't chew paper. Spit it out... And what glorious fathers and mothers they are, if you only knew! (And which ones?) The chicks hatch alternately - either the female or the male. A goose is even more conscientious than a goose. If, in her spare time, she speaks over the measure with her neighbors at the watering trough - according to women's habit - Mr. Goose will come out, take her by the back of her head with his beak and politely drag her home, to the nest, to maternal duties. Here's how! (Almost like people)

And it's very funny when the goose deigns to take a walk. (And what's funny about that?) He's in front, the owner and protector. From importance and pride, the beak lifted up to the sky. Looks down on the whole poultry house. But trouble for an inexperienced dog or a frivolous girl like you, Nika, if you don’t give way to him: immediately he will snake over the ground, hiss like a bottle of soda water, open his hard beak, and the next day Nika walks with a huge bruise on his left leg, below the knee, and the dog keeps shaking his pinched ear.

And behind the goose - goslings, yellow-green, like fluff on a blooming willow lamb. (That's who he's protecting) They huddle together and squeak. Their necks are bare, they are not firm on their legs - you can’t believe that they will grow up and become like daddy. Mom is behind. Well, it’s simply impossible to describe her - she’s such bliss, such a triumph! "Let the whole world look and wonder what a wonderful husband I have and what magnificent children. Although I am a mother and wife, I must tell the truth: you will not find better in the world." And he rolls over from side to side, he rolls over ... And the whole goose family is exactly like a good German surname on a festive walk. (Again a direct comparison with people).

And note one more thing, Nika: geese and dachshund dogs, similar to crocodiles, are the least likely to fall under cars, and it’s even hard to decide which of them looks clumsy. (Don't believe what it seems at first sight)

Or take a horse. What do they say about her? The horse is stupid. She has only beauty, the ability to run fast and the memory of places. And so - a fool is a fool, besides being short-sighted, capricious, suspicious and unattached to a person. But this nonsense is spoken by people who keep a horse in dark stables, who do not know the joy of raising it from a foal age, who have never felt how grateful a horse is to someone who washes it, cleans it, leads it to be shod, waters and feeds it. (That is, people who do not know horses?) Such a person has only one thing in mind: to sit on a horse and be afraid that she will kick him, bite him, or throw him off. It would not occur to him to refresh the horse's mouth, to use a softer path on the way, to drink moderately in time, to cover it with a blanket or his coat in the parking lot ... Why would the horse be his respect I ask you? (That is, they attribute bad human feelings to animals, but they themselves behave with them in a non-human way)

And you better ask any natural rider about a horse, and he will always answer you: there is no one smarter, kinder, nobler than a horse - of course, if only she is in good, understanding hands. (Significant Condition)

The Arabs have the best horses ever. But there the horse is a member of the family. (And how can this be expressed?) There, as the most faithful nanny, they leave small children to her. Be calm, Nika, such a horse will crush a scorpion with its hoof, and a wild beast will lie down. And if the grimy child crawls away on all fours somewhere in the thorny bushes where the snakes are, the horse will gently take him by the collar of his shirt or by the pants and drag him to the tent: "Don't climb, fool, where you shouldn't."

And sometimes horses die in longing for the owner, and cry real tears.

3rd passage.

I visited with Yu- yu special hours of calm family happiness. This is when I wrote at night. You scratch, you scratch with a pen, suddenly some very necessary word is missing. And shudder from a soft elastic push. It was Yu-yu who easily jumped up from the floor onto the table.

He turns a little on the table, hesitates, taking a fancy to the place, sits next to me at the right hand, a fluffy, hunchbacked lump in the shoulder blades; all four paws are picked up and hidden, only two front velvet gloves stick out a little.

What's the name of the third part?

"Hours of family happiness"

How is this passage different from the previous one?

There, the portrait is static, motionless, in this description Yu-yu's habits, her character are given.

What part of speech replaced the abundance of adjectives?

Verb.

What Yu-yu character in habits?

A soft elastic push, jumped up ... turned around, wrinkled, choosing a place, sat down side by side, turned into a fluffy hunchbacked lump; turned into a small statue, a sculpture: four paws are picked up, hidden, two front velvet gloves stick out a little.

What is the generalizing thought about the character of Yu-yu?

Light, mobile, graceful; devoted, loving, assistant to the owner, sensitive, in moments of difficulty is always there.

Plan.

1. Fluffy lump.
2. "To all cats a cat":

a) general view.

B) coloring.

C) special signs.

D) muzzle (moustache, eyes, nose).

D) wool.

E) paws.

G) tail.

3) Hours of family happiness:

A) the habits of Yu-yu;

B) the character of Yu-yu.

Can you guess why this story is built as a conversation between the writer and the girl Nika? For what purpose A.I. Kuprin addresses his work to a child?

Throughout the story, the writer refutes those “truths” that seem generally accepted to many: “a donkey is stupid”, “stupid like a goose”, “a horse is stupid ... it has only beauty, the ability to run fast and the memory of places”, “a cat – an egoistic animal... it becomes attached to housing, not to a person.” What arguments against these "truths" does Kuprin give? What does he teach Nick? (“And never believe what you are told bad things about animals.”)

A.I. Kuprin says that dogs have "their own special soul, their own habits, their own character." Prove with the text of the story that Yu-yu

also has a soul, habits and character.

(Individual work - drawing up a flowchart "Character of Yu-yu)

What is the relationship between the narrator and Yu-yu? Is it possible to say that they need each other? (In answering these questions, it should be noted that the narrator admires Yu-yu, drawing her portrait for us, respects and obeys her, admires her devotion to sick Kolya, needs her during night work. He remarks: “People in general are very slow and hard understand animals; animals understand people much faster and more subtle.")

To summarize: Yu-yu affairs proves the existence of her feelings, thoughts, attachments. She really is "a cat to all cats."

4. Work with illustrations drawn (selected) by children.

Students take turns showing the pictures to the whole class. It is necessary to determine to which story the drawing was made, which moment is displayed. Then confirm your assumption with a citation.

A.I. Kuprin was convinced that animals are distinguished by their memory, the ability to distinguish time, space, sounds, and even colors. They, in his opinion, have attachments and disgust, love and hatred, gratitude and gratitude, anger and humility, joy and sorrow.

5. Work in groups. The guys are divided into groups. The group commander, without looking, takes out a toy from the bag. Each group has a different animal. Task: write a story in which the main character will be this animal.

6. Summing up

- What do the stories of Alexander Ivanovich Kuprin teach? (Alexander Ivanovich Kuprin calls with his stories for unity between man and the animal world. His works bring up feelings of caring attitude of man to nature).

The main result should be a deeper understanding of the meaning of the title of the section "We can't live without them, and they can't live without us."

Barbos was small in stature, but squat and broad-chested. Thanks to his long, slightly curly coat, there was a distant resemblance to a white poodle in him, but only with a poodle that was never touched by soap, comb, or scissors. In summer, he was constantly covered from head to tail with prickly "burdocks", while in autumn, tufts of wool on his legs, stomach, wallowing in the mud and then drying out, turned into hundreds of brown, dangling stalactites. Barbos's ears always bore traces of "combat fights", and in especially hot periods of dog flirting, they turned into bizarre scallops. Dogs like him are called Barbos from time immemorial and everywhere. Occasionally only, and then as an exception, they are called Druzhki. These dogs, if I am not mistaken, come from simple mongrels and shepherd dogs. They are distinguished by fidelity, independent character and subtle hearing.

Zhulka also belonged to a very common breed of small dogs, those thin-legged dogs with smooth black hair and yellow tan above the eyebrows and on the chest, which retired officials are so fond of. Her main feature was a delicate, almost shy politeness. This does not mean that she immediately rolled over on her back, began to smile, or humiliatedly crawled on her stomach as soon as a person spoke to her (this is what all hypocritical, flattering and cowardly dogs do). No, she approached a kind man with her characteristic bold gullibility, leaned on his knee with her front paws and gently extended her muzzle, demanding affection. Her delicacy was expressed chiefly in her manner of eating. She never begged, on the contrary, she always had to beg her to take a bone. If another dog or people approached her while eating, Zhulka modestly stepped aside with a look that seemed to say: "Eat, eat, please ... I'm already completely full ..."

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

As for Barbos, we, the children, very often had to defend him from the just wrath of the elders and life exile in the yard. Firstly, he had a very vague idea of ​​​​ownership (especially when it came to food), and secondly, he was not very neat in the toilet. It cost nothing for this robber to crack a good half of a roasted Easter turkey in one sitting, brought up with special love and fattened only by nuts, or lie down, having just jumped out of a deep and dirty puddle, on the festive, white as snow, cover of his mother's bed. In the summer they treated him condescendingly, and he usually lay on the windowsill of an open window in the pose of a sleeping lion, burying his muzzle between his outstretched front paws. However, he did not sleep: this was noticeable by his eyebrows, which did not stop moving all the time. The watchdog was waiting ... As soon as a dog figure appeared on the street opposite our house. The watchdog swiftly rolled down from the window, slipped on its belly into the doorway and rushed at the impudent violator of territorial laws with a full career. He firmly remembered the great law of all martial arts and battles: hit first if you don’t want to be beaten, and therefore flatly refused any diplomatic tricks accepted in the dog world, such as preliminary mutual sniffing, threatening growl, curling the tail with a ring, and so on. Watchdog, like lightning, overtook the opponent, knocked him down with his chest and started squabbling. For several minutes, among the thick column of brown dust, two canine bodies floundered, intertwined in a ball. Finally Barbos won. While the enemy took to flight, tucking his tail between his legs, squealing and cowardly looking back. The watchdog proudly returned to his post on the windowsill. It is true that sometimes during this triumphal procession he limped heavily, and his ears were decorated with superfluous scallops, but, probably, the victorious laurels seemed all the sweeter to him. Between him and Zhulka reigned a rare agreement and the most tender love.

Maybe Zhulka secretly condemned her friend for his violent temper and bad manners, but in any case, she never explicitly expressed this. Even then she restrained her displeasure when Barbos, having swallowed his breakfast in several doses, impudently licking his lips, approached Zhulka's bowl and thrust his wet, furry muzzle into it.

In the evening, when the sun did not burn so strongly, both dogs liked to play and tinker in the yard. They either ran from one another, then set up ambushes, then with a mock-angry growl they pretended to fiercely squabble among themselves. Once a rabid dog ran into our yard. Watchdog saw her from his window sill, but instead of, as usual, rushing into battle, he only trembled all over and squealed plaintively. The dog rushed around the yard from corner to corner, catching up panic horror both on people and on animals with its very appearance. People hid behind the doors and timidly looked out from behind them. Everyone shouted, ordered, gave stupid advice and provoked each other. The mad dog, meanwhile, had already bitten two pigs and torn apart several ducks. Suddenly, everyone gasped in fear and surprise. From somewhere behind the barn, little Zhulka jumped out and, with all the speed of her thin legs, rushed across the path of a rabid dog. The distance between them decreased with amazing speed. Then they collided...
It all happened so quickly that no one even had time to call Zhulka back. From a strong push, she fell and rolled on the ground, and the mad dog immediately turned towards the gate and jumped out into the street. When Zhulka was examined, not a single trace of teeth was found on her. Probably, the dog did not even have time to bite her. But the tension of the heroic impulse and the horror of the moments experienced were not in vain for poor Zhulka ... Something strange, inexplicable happened to her.
If dogs had the ability to go crazy, I'd say she's crazy. One day she lost weight beyond recognition; sometimes she would lie for whole hours in some dark corner; then she ran around the yard, spinning and bouncing. She refused food and did not turn around when her name was called. On the third day she became so weak that she could not rise from the ground. Her eyes, as bright and intelligent as before, expressed deep inner anguish. On her father's orders, she was taken to an empty woodshed so that she could die in peace there. (After all, it is known that only a person arranges his death so solemnly. But all animals, sensing the approach of this disgusting act, seek solitude.)
An hour after Zhulka was locked up, Barbos ran to the barn. He was very excited and began to squeal first, and then howl, raising his head up. Sometimes he would stop for a moment to sniff the crack in the shed door with an anxious look and alert ears, and then again howl long and pitifully. They tried to withdraw him from the barn, but it did not help. He was chased and even hit several times with a rope; he ran away, but immediately stubbornly returned to his place and continued to howl. Since children generally stand much closer to animals than adults think, we were the first to guess what Barbos wants.
- Dad, let Barbosa into the barn. He wants to say goodbye to Zhulka. Let me, please, dad, - we stuck to the father. He first said: "Nonsense!" But we so climbed to him and whimpered so much that he had to give in.
And we were right. As soon as the barn door was opened, Barbos rushed headlong to Zhulka, who was lying helplessly on the ground, sniffed her and with a quiet squeal began to lick her in the eyes, in the muzzle, in the ears. Zhulka weakly wagged her tail and tried to raise her head - she did not succeed. There was something touching in the farewell of the dogs. Even the servants who stared at this scene seemed moved. When Barbosa was called, he obeyed and, leaving the barn, lay down near the door on the ground. He was no longer agitated and howling, but only occasionally raised his head and seemed to be listening to what was happening in the shed. About two hours later he howled again, but so loudly and so expressively that the driver had to get the keys and open the doors. Zhulka lay motionless on her side. She died...
1897

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

V. P. Priklonsky

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

I'm medelian! A friend of the Boss says that this name is corrupted. You should say "weeks". In ancient times, fun was arranged for the people once a week: they played bears with dogs. Hence the word. My great-great-great-grandfather Sapsan I, in the presence of the formidable Tsar John IV, took the bear-vulture "in place" by the throat, threw him to the ground, where he was pinned by a korytnik. In honor and memory of him, the best of my ancestors bore the name of Sapsan. Few commended earls can boast of such a pedigree. What brings me closer to representatives of ancient human surnames is that our blood, according to knowledgeable people, is blue. The name Peregrine is Kyrgyz, and it means - a hawk.

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

The owner is ambitious. When we walk side by side along the street - I am at his right foot - flattering remarks are always heard behind us: “That's so doggie ... a whole lion ... what a wonderful muzzle" and so on. By no means do I let the Boss know that I hear these praises and that I know to whom they refer. But I feel how his ridiculous, naive, proud joy is transmitted to me through invisible threads. Freak. Let it be fun. I like him even more with his little weaknesses.

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

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

We dogs are seven and many times thinner than humans in terms of nervous receptivity. To understand each other, people need external differences, words, voice changes, glances and touches. I know their souls simply, with one inner instinct. I feel in secret, unknown, trembling ways how their souls blush, turn pale, tremble, envy, love, hate. When the Master is not at home, I know from afar whether happiness or misfortune has befallen him. And I am happy or sad.

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

I let people pet me. But I prefer if they give me an open hand first. I don't like claws up. Many years of canine experience teaches that a stone can lurk in it. (The little daughter of the Boss, my favorite, cannot pronounce "stone", but says "cabin".) A stone is a thing that flies far, hits accurately and hits painfully. I have seen this in other dogs. Of course, no one dares to throw a stone at me!

What nonsense people say, as if dogs cannot stand the human gaze. I can look into the Master's eyes for a whole evening without looking up. But we avert our eyes from the feeling of disgust. Most people, even young people, have a tired, dull and angry look, just like old, sick, nervous, spoiled, hoarse pugs. But in children, the eyes are clean, clear and trusting. When the children caress me, I can hardly keep myself from licking one of them right in the pink muzzle. But the Owner does not allow, and sometimes even threatens with a whip. Why? I don't understand. Even he has his oddities.

About the bone. Who doesn't know that this is the most fascinating thing in the world. Veins, cartilage, the inside is spongy, tasty, soaked in the brain. You can willingly work on another entertaining mosolok from breakfast to dinner. And I think so: a bone is always a bone, even the most second-hand, and therefore, it is always not too late to have fun with it. And so I bury it in the ground in the garden or in the garden. In addition, I reflect: there was meat on it and there is none; why, if he is not, he should not be again?

And if anyone - a person, a cat or a dog - passes by the place where it is buried, I get angry and growl. Will they suddenly guess? But more often I myself forget the place, and then I am out of sorts for a long time.

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

Only Serge smells worse than her. The owner calls him a friend and loves him. My master, so smart, is often a big fool. I know that Serge hates the Boss, fears him and envies him. And in me Serge fawns. When he stretches out his hand to me from a distance, I feel a sticky, hostile, cowardly tremor coming from his fingers. I will growl and turn away. I will never take bones or sugar from him. While the Boss is not at home, and Serge and the Mistress are hugging each other with their front paws, I lie on the carpet and look at them, intently, without blinking. He laughs stiffly and says: “The peregrine falcon looks at us like that, as if he understands everything.” You're lying, I don't understand everything about human meanness. But I foresee all the sweetness of that moment when the will of the Master will push me and I will cling to your fat caviar with all my teeth. Arrgrra... ghrrr...

After the Master of all, “Little” is closest to my dog's heart - that's what I call His daughter. I would not forgive anyone but her if they decided to drag me by the tail and by the ears, sit on me on horseback or harness me to a wagon. But I endure everything and squeal like a three-month-old puppy. And it happens to me joyfully in the evenings to lie motionless when, having run over during the day, she suddenly dozes off on the carpet, crouching her head on my side. And she, when we play, is also not offended if I sometimes wag her tail and dump her on the floor.

Sometimes we drive with her, and she starts to laugh. I love it very much, but I don't know how. Then I jump up with all four paws and bark as loud as I can. And they usually drag me out by the collar into the street. Why?

In the summer there was such a case in the country. "Little" was still barely walking and was preposternoe. We were walking together. She, me and the nanny. Suddenly everyone rushed about - people and animals. In the middle of the street a dog was rushing, black with white spots, with its head lowered, with a trailing tail, covered in dust and foam. The nurse ran away screaming. "Little" sat down on the ground and squeaked. The dog was running straight at us. And from this dog immediately breathed on me a sharp smell of madness and boundlessly furious malice. I trembled with horror, but overcame myself and blocked the “Little” with my body.

It was not single combat, but the death of one of us. I curled up into a ball, waited for a brief, precise moment, and with one push knocked the motley to the ground. Then he lifted it up by the collar into the air and shook it. She lay down on the ground without moving, so flat and now not at all scary.

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

Starlings

It was the middle of March. Spring this year has been smooth and friendly. Occasionally heavy but short rains fell. Already drove on wheels on roads covered with thick mud. Snow still lay in snowdrifts in deep forests and in shady ravines, but settled in the fields, became loose and dark, and from under it in some places large bald patches appeared black, greasy, steamed in the sun. The birch buds are swollen. The lambs on the willows turned from white to yellow, fluffy and huge. The willow has blossomed. The bees flew out of the hives for the first bribe. The first snowdrops timidly appeared in the forest glades.

We were looking forward to when old acquaintances would fly into our garden again - starlings, these cute, cheerful, sociable birds, the first migratory guests, joyful heralds of spring. They need to fly many hundreds of miles from their winter camps, from the south of Europe, from Asia Minor, from the northern regions of Africa. Others will have to do more than three thousand miles. Many will fly over the seas: the Mediterranean or the Black.

How many adventures and dangers are on the way: rains, storms, dense fogs, hail clouds, birds of prey, shots of greedy hunters. How much incredible effort must be used for such a flight by a small creature, weighing about twenty to twenty-five spools. Indeed, the shooters who destroy the bird during the difficult journey have no heart, when, obeying the mighty call of nature, it strives to the place where it first hatched from an egg and saw sunlight and greenery.

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

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

Having made a dangerous crossing across the sea plain, the starlings rest all day long and always in a certain, favorite place from year to year. I once saw one such place in Odessa, in the spring. This is a house on the corner of Preobrazhenskaya Street and Cathedral Square, opposite the cathedral garden. This house was then completely black and seemed to be all moving from a great number of starlings that had settled it everywhere: on the roof, on balconies, cornices, window sills, architraves, window peaks and on stucco decorations. And the sagging telegraph and telephone wires were closely humiliated by them, like big black rosaries. My God, how much there was a deafening scream, squeak, whistle, chatter, chirp and all sorts of squabbling fuss, chatter and quarrels. Despite the recent fatigue, they definitely could not sit still for a minute. Every now and then they pushed each other, breaking up and down, circling, flying away and returning again. Only old, experienced, wise starlings sat in solemn solitude and sedately cleaned their feathers with their beaks. The entire pavement along the house turned white, and if a careless pedestrian used to gape, then trouble threatened his coat and hat. Starlings make their flights very quickly, sometimes making up to eighty miles per hour. They will arrive at a familiar place early in the evening, feed themselves, take a little nap at night, in the morning - even before dawn - a light breakfast, and again on the road, with two or three stops in the middle of the day.

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

Tell me, please, what good news for the world!

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

Indeed, they sat high on the branches of poplars and, after sparrows, seemed unusually large and too black. We began to count them: one, two, five, ten, fifteen... And next to the neighbors, among the trees transparent in spring, these dark, motionless lumps swayed easily on flexible branches. That evening, the starlings had neither noise nor fuss. It always happens when you return home after a long hard journey. On the road, you are fussing, in a hurry, worrying, but when you arrived - and all at once it was as if softened from previous fatigue: you sit and do not want to move.

For two days, the starlings seemed to gain strength and kept visiting and inspecting last year's familiar places. And then the eviction of sparrows began. At the same time, I did not notice especially violent clashes between starlings and sparrows. Usually, two starlings sit high above the birdhouses and, apparently, carelessly chatting about something among themselves, while they themselves, with one eye, sideways, gaze intently down. The sparrow is terribly and difficult. No, no - stick his sharp cunning nose out of a round hole - and back. Finally, hunger, frivolity, and perhaps timidity make themselves felt. “I’m flying away,” he thinks, “for a minute and now back. Maybe I'll overreach. Maybe they won't notice." And as soon as he has time to fly off to a sazhen, like a starling with a stone down and already at home. And now the end of the sparrow temporary economy has come. Starlings guard the nest in turn: one sits - the other flies on business. Sparrows will never think of such a trick: a windy, empty, frivolous bird. And so, with chagrin, great battles begin between the sparrows, during which fluff and feathers fly into the air.

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

It is interesting to watch when he, walking between the beds or along the path, hunts for his prey. His gait is very fast and slightly clumsy, with a waddle from side to side. Suddenly he stops, turns to one side, to the other, tilts his head first to the left, then to the right. Quickly peck and run further. And again, and again ... His black back casts in the sun a metallic green or purple color, his chest is speckled with brown, And there is so much something businesslike, fussy and funny in him during this craft that you look at him for a long time and involuntarily smile .

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

And the real song of the starling should be heard only in the early morning, when the first pink light of dawn will color the trees and, together with them, the birdhouses, which are always located with an opening to the east. The air warmed up a little, and the starlings had already scattered on the high branches and began their concert. I don't really know if the starling has his own motives, but you will hear enough of anything alien in his song. Here are bits of nightingale trills, and the sharp meow of the oriole, and the sweet voice of the robin, and the musical babble of the warbler, and the thin whistle of the titmouse, and among these melodies such sounds are suddenly heard that, sitting alone, you cannot help yourself and laugh: a chicken will cackle on a tree , the grinder's knife will hiss, the door will creak, the children's military trumpet will turn down. And, having made this unexpected musical digression, the starling, as if nothing had happened, without a break, continues his cheerful, sweet humorous song. One of my familiar starlings (and only one, because I always heard it in a certain place) mimicked the stork with amazing accuracy. This is how I imagined this venerable white black-tailed bird when it stands on one leg on the edge of its round nest, on the roof of a Little Russian hut, and beats out a ringing shot with a long red beak. Other starlings did not know how to do this thing.

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

By the beginning of June, the chicks had already hatched. The starling chick is a true monster, which consists entirely of a head, but the head is only of a huge, yellow at the edges, unusually voracious mouth. For caring parents, the most troublesome time has come. No matter how many little ones you feed, they are always hungry. And then there is the constant fear of cats and jackdaws; it's scary to go far from the birdhouse.

But starlings are good companions. As soon as jackdaws or crows get into the habit of circling around the nest, a watchman is immediately appointed. The starling on duty sits on the dome of the tallest tree and, whistling softly, vigilantly looks in all directions. Predators appeared a little close, the watchman gives a signal, and the whole starling tribe flocks to protect the young generation.

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

But now the first cold weather is over. It's time to go. By some mysterious command, unknown to us, of mighty nature, the leader gives a sign one morning, and the air cavalry, squadron after squadron, soars into the air and swiftly rushes south. Goodbye, dear bastards! Come spring. The nests are waiting for you...

Elephant

The little girl is unwell. Every day Dr. Mikhail Petrovich, whom she has known for a long time, visits her. And sometimes he brings with him two more doctors, strangers. They turn the girl over on her back and on her stomach, listen to something, putting their ear to the body, pull down the eyelids and look. At the same time, they somehow importantly snore, their faces are strict, and they speak among themselves in an incomprehensible language.

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

Saying goodbye, the head doctor says loudly:

The main thing - do not let her get bored. Fulfill all her whims.

Ah, doctor, but she wants nothing!

Well, I don't know... remember what she liked before, before she got sick. Toys... some treats. ..

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

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

Dear Nadia, my dear girl, - says my mother, - do you want something?

No, mom, I don't want anything.

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

Thank you mom... I don't feel like... I'm bored...

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

No need, mom. The truth is, you don't have to. I don't want anything, I don't want anything. I am so bored!

Do you want me to bring you chocolate?

But the girl does not answer and looks at the ceiling with motionless, sad eyes. She has no pain and no fever. But she is getting thinner and weaker every day. Whatever they do to her, she doesn't care, and she doesn't need anything. So she lies for whole days and whole nights, quiet, sad. Sometimes she will doze off for half an hour, but even in her dream she sees something gray, long, boring, like an autumn rain.

When the door to the living room is opened from the nursery, and further from the living room to the study, the girl sees her father. Dad walks quickly from corner to corner and smokes, smokes. Sometimes he comes into the nursery, sits on the edge of the bed and softly strokes Nadia's legs. Then suddenly he gets up and goes to the window. He whistles something, looking out into the street, but his shoulders are shaking. Then he hurriedly puts the handkerchief to one eye, to the other, and, as if angry, goes to his office. Then he again runs from corner to corner and keeps smoking, smoking, smoking ... And the office becomes all blue from tobacco smoke.

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

Do you need something? Mom asks.

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

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

Of course, my girl, of course you can.

She goes to the office and tells her dad that the girl wants an elephant. Dad immediately puts on his coat and hat and leaves somewhere. Half an hour later he returns with an expensive beautiful toy. This is a big gray elephant who shakes his head and wags his tail; the elephant has a red saddle, and on the saddle is a golden tent, and three little men are sitting in it. But the girl looks at the toy as indifferently as she does at the ceiling and walls, and says languidly:

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

Just look, Nadia, - says dad. - We will start it now, and it will be very, very like a living one.

The elephant is turned on with a key, and, shaking his head and waving his tail, he begins to step over his feet and slowly walks along the table. The girl is not at all interested and even bored, but in order not to upset her father, she whispers meekly:

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

But listen, my dear girl, understand that this is impossible. The elephant is very big, it's up to the ceiling, it won't fit in our rooms... And besides, where can I get it?

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

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

The girl smiles sadly

What a fool you are, dad. Don't I know that the sun can't be reached because it burns! And the moon is also impossible. But, I would like an elephant ... a real one.

And she quietly closes her eyes and whispers:

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

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

Olga! Coat and hat!

The wife comes into the front.

Where are you, Sasha? she asks.

He breathes heavily as he buttons up his coat.

I myself, Mashenka, don't know where... Only it seems that by tonight I'll actually bring here, to us, a real elephant.

His wife looks at him worriedly.

Honey, are you well? Do you have a headache? Maybe you didn't sleep well today?

I haven't slept at all," he replies angrily. - I see you want to ask if I'm crazy. Not yet. Goodbye! Everything will be visible in the evening.

And he disappears, slamming the front door loudly.

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

A clumsy seal fires a pistol. Finally, the elephants are brought out. There are three of them: one large, two very small, dwarfs, but still much larger than a horse. It is strange to watch how these huge animals, seemingly so clumsy and heavy, perform the most difficult tricks that even a very dexterous person cannot do. The largest elephant is especially distinguished. He first stands on his hind legs, sits down, stands on his head, feet up, walks on wooden bottles, walks on a rolling barrel, turns the pages of a large cardboard book with his trunk, and finally sits down at the table and, tied with a napkin, dines, just like a well-bred boy .

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

Excuse me, please, - says Nadine's father. - Can you let your elephant go to my house for a while?

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

Let go? Elephant? Home? I do not understand.

It can be seen from the German’s eyes that he also wants to ask if Nadya’s father has a headache... But the father hastily explains what’s the matter: his only daughter Nadya is ill with some strange disease that even doctors don’t understand properly. She has been lying in bed for a month now, she is losing weight, weakening every day, she is not interested in anything, she is bored and slowly goes out. Doctors tell her to entertain, but she doesn't like anything; They tell her to fulfill all her desires, but she has no desires. Today she wanted to see a live elephant. Is it really impossible to do this?

Well, here... I, of course, hope that my girl will recover. But... but... what if her illness ends badly... what if the girl dies?

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

Um... And how old is your girl?

Six.

Um... My Lisa is also six. But, you know, it will cost you dearly. You will have to bring the elephant at night and only take it back the next night. During the day you can't. The public will gather, and there will be one scandal ... Thus, it turns out that I lose the whole day, and you must return the loss to me.

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

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

I'll arrange it. Allow.

Another question: will the owner of your house allow one elephant to enter his house?

Allow. I am the owner of this house.

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

In the second.

Hm... That's not so good... Do you have a wide staircase in your house, a high ceiling, a large room, wide doors and a very strong floor? Because my Tommy is three arshins and four inches high and five and a half arshins long*. In addition, it weighs one hundred and twelve pounds.

Nadia's father thinks for a minute.

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

Very good! - the owner of the menagerie agrees.

At night, the elephant is taken to visit a sick girl. In a white blanket, he strides importantly along the very middle of the street, shaking his head and twisting and then developing his trunk. Around him, despite the late hour, a large crowd. But the elephant does not pay attention to her: every day he sees hundreds of people in the menagerie. Only once did he get a little angry. Some street boy ran up to his very feet and began to grimace for the amusement of onlookers.

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

Lord, please leave. And what do you find so unusual here? I'm surprised! It's like they've never seen a live elephant on the street.

They approach the house. On the stairs, as well as all the way of the elephant, up to the dining room, all the doors were thrown wide open, for which it was necessary to beat off the door locks with a hammer.

But in front of the stairs the elephant stops and stubbornly restless in anxiety.

We must give him some kind of treat ... - says the German. - Some sweet bun or something... But... Tommy! Wow... Tommy!

Nadine's father runs to a nearby bakery and buys a big round pistachio cake. The elephant feels like swallowing it whole, along with the cardboard box, but the German only gives him a quarter. The cake is to Tommy's taste, and he holds out his trunk for a second slice. However, the German turns out to be more cunning. Holding a delicacy in his hand, he climbs up from step to step, and the elephant, with an outstretched trunk, with outstretched ears, involuntarily follows him. On the court, Tommy gets the second piece.

In this way, he is led into the dining room, from where all the furniture has been taken out in advance, and the floor is thickly covered with straw ... The elephant is tied by the leg to a ring screwed into the floor. Put before him fresh carrots, cabbage and turnips. The German is located nearby, on the couch. The lights go out and everyone goes to bed.

V

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

But what about the elephant? He came?

Came, - answers mom. - But only he ordered that Nadia first wash herself, and then eat a soft-boiled egg and drink hot milk.

And is he kind?

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

And is he funny?

A little. Put on a warm jacket.

The egg was eaten, the milk was drunk. Nadya is put in the same stroller in which she rode when she was still so small that she could not walk at all. And they take you to the canteen.

The elephant turns out to be much larger than Nadia thought when she looked at it in the picture. He is only a little shorter than the door, and occupies half the dining room in length. The skin on it is rough, in heavy folds. The legs are thick as pillars. A long tail with something like a broom at the end. Head in big cones. The ears are large, like mugs, and hang down. The eyes are quite tiny, but smart and kind. Fangs are cut off. The trunk is like a long snake and ends in two nostrils, and between them is a movable, flexible finger. If an elephant extended its trunk to its full length, it would probably reach the window with it.

The girl is not scared at all. She is only a little struck by the enormous size of the animal. But the nanny, sixteen-year-old Polya, begins to squeal with fear.

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

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

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

Hello. How are you? she answers. - I'm not at all afraid. And what is his name?

Tommy.

Hello, Tommy, - the girl says and bows her head. Because the elephant is so big, she does not dare to say “you” to him. - How did you sleep that night?

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

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

Oh, absolutely everything, young lady.

But he doesn't speak?

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

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

The elephant again stretches out its trunk and blows warm, strong breath into the very face of the girl, which is why the light hair on the girl's head scatters in all directions.

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

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

No, he didn't drink tea, young lady. But he enjoys drinking sugar water. He also loves buns.

They bring a tray of rolls. The girl feeds the elephant. He deftly grabs the bun with his finger and, bending his trunk into a ring, hides it somewhere down under his head, where his funny, triangular, furry lower lip moves. You can hear the bun rustling against dry skin. Tommy does the same with another roll, and a third, and a fourth, and a fifth, and nods his head in gratitude, his small eyes narrowing even more in pleasure. And the girl laughs happily.

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

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

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

Then Nadia shows him a large book with pictures and explains:

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

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

The hour of dinner comes, but the girl cannot be torn away from the elephant. The German comes to the rescue

Let me arrange everything. They will have lunch together.

He orders the elephant to sit down. The elephant obediently sits down, which causes the floor in the whole apartment to shake, dishes rattle in the closet, and plaster falls from the ceiling of the lower tenants. A girl sits in front of him. A table is placed between them. The tablecloth is tied around the elephant's neck, and the new friends begin to dine. The girl is eating chicken soup and a cutlet, and the elephant is eating various vegetables and a salad. The girl is given a tiny glass of sherry, and the elephant is given warm water with a glass of rum, and he happily pulls this drink out of the bowl with his trunk. Then they get a sweet: the girl gets a cup of cocoa, and the elephant gets half a cake, this time hazelnut. The German at this time is sitting with dad in the living room and with the same pleasure as the elephant, he drinks beer, only in larger quantities.

After dinner some of my father's acquaintances come; they are warned about the elephant in the hall so that they are not afraid. At first they do not believe, and then, seeing Tommy, they press close to the door.

Don't be afraid, he's kind! the girl reassures them.

But acquaintances hurriedly leave for the living room and, without sitting for five minutes, leave.

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

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

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

Mo-loch-ka!

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

And the elephant?

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