Summary of the Christmas story. A Christmas Tale - Saltykov-Shchedrin M.E.

Mikhail Evgrafovich Saltykov-Shchedrin wrote: “... Literature, for example, can be called Russian salt: what will happen if salt ceases to be salty, if it adds voluntary self-restraint to restrictions that do not depend on literature ...”

This article is about the fairy tale by Saltykov-Shchedrin "Konyaga". In a brief summary, we will try to understand what the author wanted to say.

about the author

Saltykov-Shchedrin M. E. (1826-1889) - an outstanding Russian writer. Born and spent his childhood in a noble estate with many serfs. His father (Evgraf Vasilyevich Saltykov, 1776-1851) was a hereditary nobleman. Mom (Zabelina Olga Mikhailovna, 1801-1874) was also from a noble family. After receiving his primary education, Saltykov-Shchedrin entered the Tsarskoye Selo Lyceum. After graduation, he began his career as a secretary in the military office.

In life, moving up in the service, he traveled a lot through the provinces and observed the desperately plight of the peasantry. Having a pen as a weapon, the author shares what he has seen with his reader, denouncing lawlessness, tyranny, cruelty, lies, immorality. Revealing the truth, he wanted the reader to be able to consider a simple truth behind a huge shaft of lies and myths. The writer hoped that the time would come when these phenomena would decrease and disappear, since he believed that the fate of the country was in the hands of the common people.

The author is outraged by the injustice happening in the world, the powerless, humiliated existence of serfs. In his works, he sometimes allegorically, sometimes directly denounces cynicism and callousness, stupidity and megalomania, greed and cruelty of those in power and authority at that time, the plight and hopeless situation of the peasantry. Then there was strict censorship, so the writer could not openly criticize the established state of affairs. But he could not endure in silence, like a "wise gudgeon", so he clothed his thoughts in a fairy tale.

Tale of Saltykov-Shchedrin "Konyaga": a summary

The author writes not about a slender horse, not about a submissive horse, not about a fine mare, and not even about a hard worker horse. And about the goner-horse, poor fellow, hopeless, meek slave.

How does he live, Saltykov-Shchedrin wonders in Konyaga, without hope, without joy, without the meaning of life? Where does he get strength for the daily hard labor of endless labor? They feed him and let him rest only so that he does not die and can still work. Even from the brief content of the fairy tale "Konyaga" it is clear that the serf is not a person at all, but a labor unit. “... It is not his well-being that is needed, but a life capable of enduring the yoke of work ...” And if you do not plow, who needs you, only damage to the economy.

Weekdays

In a brief summary of the “Konyaga”, first of all, it is necessary to tell how the stallion does his job monotonously all year round. From day to day the same thing, furrow after furrow, with the last of his strength. The field does not end, do not plow plow. For someone field-space, for the horse - bondage. Like a "cephalopod", it sucked and pressed, taking away strength. Hard bread. But he doesn't exist either. Like water in dry sand: it was and is not.

And probably there was a time when a horse frolic like a foal on the grass, played with the breeze and thought how beautiful, interesting, deep life is, how it sparkles with different colors. And now he lies thin in the sun, with protruding ribs, with shabby hair and bleeding wounds. Mucus flows from the eyes and nose. Before the eyes of darkness and lights. And around the flies, gadflies, stuck around, drinking blood, climb into the ears, eyes. And you have to get up, the field is not plowed up, and there is no way to get up. Eat, they tell him, you won't be able to work. And there’s no strength to reach out to food, he won’t even move his ear.

Field

Wide expanses, covered with greenery and ripe wheat, are fraught with a huge magical power of life. She is chained in the ground. Freed, she would have healed the horse's wounds, removed the burden of worries from the peasant's shoulders.

In a brief summary of the "Konyaga" one cannot fail to tell how a horse and a peasant work on it day after day, like bees, giving their sweat, their strength, time, blood and life. For what? Wouldn't even a small fraction of the great power be enough for them?

Waste dances

In the summary of Saltykov-Shchedrin's "Konyaga" one cannot help but show horses-dancing. They consider themselves the chosen ones. Molded straw is for horses, and for them only oats. And they will be able to substantiate this competently, and convince that this is the norm. And their horseshoes are probably gilded and their manes are silky. They frolic in the expanse, creating for everyone the myth that the father-horse planned it that way: for one everything, for the other only a minimum, so that labor units do not die. And suddenly it is revealed to them that they are alluvial foam, and the peasant with the horse, who feed the whole world, are immortal. "How so?" - empty dancers will cackle, they will be surprised. How can a horse with a peasant be eternal? Where does their virtue come from? Each empty dance inserts its own. How can such an incident be justified for the world?

“Yes, he’s stupid, this man, he plows in the field all his life, where does the mind come from?” - something like this says one. In modern terms: "If so smart, why no money?" And what about the mind? The strength of the spirit is enormous in this frail body. “Labor gives him happiness and peace,” the other reassures himself. “Yes, he won’t be able to live in any other way, he’s used to the whip, take it away and he’ll disappear,” develops the third. And having calmed down, they joyfully wish, as if for the good of the disease: “... That's who you need to learn from! Here's who to imitate! N-but, hard labor, n-but!

Conclusion

The perception of the fairy tale "Konyaga" by Saltykov-Shchedrin is different for each reader. But in all his works, the author pities the common man or denounces the shortcomings of the ruling class. In the image of Konyaga and Peasant, the author has resigned, oppressed serfs, a huge number of working people who earn their little penny. “... How many centuries he bears this yoke - he does not know. How many centuries it is necessary to carry it ahead - does not count ... ”The content of the fairy tale“ Konyaga ”is like a brief digression into the history of the people.

The most beautiful sermon today, for the holiday, was delivered by our rural priest.

“Many centuries ago,” he said, “on this very day Truth came into the world.

The truth is eternal. She, before all ages, sat with Christ the Lover of Man at the right hand of the Father, together with Him she became incarnate and kindled her torch on earth. She stood at the foot of the Cross and was crucified with Christ; she sat, in the form of a luminous angel, at His tomb and saw His Resurrection. And when the Lover of mankind ascended to heaven, he left Truth on earth as a living evidence of His unchanging goodwill towards the human race.

Since then, there has not been a corner in the whole world that Truth has not penetrated and filled it with itself. The truth educates our conscience, warms our hearts, enlivens our work, indicates the goal towards which our life should be directed. Afflicted hearts find in it a sure and always open refuge in which they can rest and console themselves from the occasional disturbances of life.

Those who assert that the Truth ever hid its face, or, what is even worse, was ever defeated by untruth, think wrong. No, even in those mournful moments when it seemed to short-sighted people that the father of lies was triumphant, in reality Truth triumphed. She alone did not have a temporary character, she alone invariably went forward, stretching her wings over the world and illuminating it with her everlasting light. The imaginary triumph of lies dissipated like a heavy dream, but the Truth continued its procession.

Together with the persecuted and humiliated, Truth descended into the dungeons and penetrated the mountain gorges. She ascended with the righteous to the fires and stood next to them in the face of their tormentors. She blew a sacred flame in their souls, drove away thoughts of cowardice and betrayal from them; she taught them to suffer in their own way. It was in vain that the servants of the father of lies imagined to triumph, seeing this triumph in those material signs that represented executions and death. The most severe executions were powerless to break the Truth, but, on the contrary, imparted to it a great attracting force. At the sight of these executions, simple hearts lit up, and in them the Truth found new and grateful soil for sowing. The bonfires burned and devoured the bodies of the righteous, but from the flame of these bonfires countless lights were kindled, just as on a bright morning from the flame of one lit candle the whole temple is suddenly lit with thousands of candles.

What is the Truth about which I am talking to you? This question is answered by the gospel commandment. First of all, love God, and then love your neighbor as yourself. This commandment, despite its brevity, contains all the wisdom, the whole meaning of human life.

Love God - for He is the Giver of Life and Lover of mankind, for in Him is the source of goodness, moral beauty and truth. In Him is Truth. In this very temple, where the bloodless Sacrifice is offered to God, the unceasing service to Truth is also performed in it. All its walls are saturated with the Truth, so that you, even the worst of you, when you enter the temple, feel peaceful and enlightened. Here, in the face of the Crucified One, you quench your sorrows; here you find rest for your troubled souls. He was crucified for the sake of the Truth, the rays of which poured out from him to the whole world - will you weaken in spirit before the trials that befall you?

Love your neighbor as yourself - such is the second half of Christ's commandment. I will not say that cohabitation is impossible without love for one's neighbor; I will say frankly, without reservations: this love, in itself, apart from any external considerations, is the beauty and exultation of our life. We must love our neighbor not for the sake of reciprocity, but for the sake of love itself. We must love unceasingly, selflessly, willingly to lay down our lives, just as a good shepherd lays down his life for his sheep.

We must strive to help our neighbor, not counting whether he will return or not return the service rendered to him; we must protect him from adversity, even if adversity threatened to swallow us ourselves; we must intercede for him before the powers that be, we must go into battle for him. The feeling of love for one's neighbor is that highest treasure that only man possesses and which distinguishes him from other animals. Without his life-giving spirit, all human affairs are dead; without him, the very purpose of existence becomes dim and incomprehensible. Only those people live a full life who are aflame with love and self-sacrifice; they alone know the real joys of life.

So, let's love God and each other - such is the meaning of human Truth. Let us seek her and walk in her path. Let us not be afraid of the intrigues of lies, but let us become kind and oppose them with the Truth we have acquired. The lie will be put to shame, but the Truth will remain and will warm the hearts of people.

Now you will return to your homes and indulge in rejoicing about the feast of the Nativity of the Lord and Lover of mankind. But even amidst your joy, do not forget that Truth came into the world with it, that it is present among you all the days, hours and minutes, and that it represents that sacred fire that illuminates and warms human existence.

When the priest had finished and from the kliros it was heard: “Blessed be the name of the Lord,” a deep sigh swept through the whole church. As if the whole mass of those praying with this sigh confirmed: “Yes, be blessed!”

But of all those present in the church, the ten-year-old son of a small landowner Seryozha Ruslantsev listened most attentively to the words of Father Pavel. At times he even showed excitement, his eyes filled with tears, his cheeks burned, and he himself leaned forward with his whole body, as if he wanted to ask something.

Marya Sergeevna Ruslantseva was a young widow and had a tiny estate in the village itself. During the times of serfdom, there were up to seven landowners' estates in the village, which were not far from each other. The landowners were small landowners, and Fyodor Pavlych Ruslantsev belonged to the number of the poorest: he had only three peasant households and a dozen courtyards. But since he was almost constantly elected to various positions, the service helped him to make a small capital. When the liberation came, he received, as a small estate, a preferential ransom and, continuing the field farming on the piece of land remaining behind the allotment, he could exist day after day.

Marya Sergeevna married him a considerable time after the peasant liberation, and a year later she was already a widow. Fyodor Pavlich was examining his forest plot on horseback, the horse got frightened of something, knocked him out of the saddle, and he bruised his head against a tree. Two months later, the young widow had a son.

Marya Sergeevna lived more than modestly. She violated field cultivation, gave the land to the peasants, and left behind her an estate with a small piece of land, on which a garden with a small vegetable garden was planted. All her household livestock consisted of one horse and three cows; all the servants were from the same family of former courtyards, which consisted of her old nanny with her daughter and married son. The nanny looked after everything in the house and nurtured little Seryozha; the daughter worked as a cook, the son and his wife went for cattle, for poultry, cultivated a garden, a garden, and so on. Life flowed silently. There was no need; firewood and the main foodstuffs were not purchased, and there was almost no request for purchases. Households said: “It’s like we live in paradise!” Marya Sergeevna herself also forgot that there is another life in the world (she caught a glimpse of it from the windows of the institute where she was brought up). Only Seryozha disturbed her from time to time. At first he grew well, but, approaching the age of seven, he began to show signs of some kind of painful impressionability.

He was an intelligent, quiet boy, but at the same time weak and sickly. From the age of seven, Marya Sergeevna put him to jail for a letter; at first she taught herself, but then, when the boy began to approach the age of ten, Father Pavel also took part in the teaching. It was supposed to give Seryozha to the gymnasium, and therefore, it was required to acquaint him with at least the first foundations of ancient languages. The time was drawing near, and Marya Sergeevna, in great embarrassment, thought of the impending separation from her son. Only at the cost of this separation could educational goals be achieved. The provincial city was far away, and it was not possible to move there with an annual income of six to seven hundred. She had already corresponded about Seryozha with her brother, who lived in a provincial town, occupying an inconspicuous position, and the other day received a letter in which her brother agreed to accept Seryozha into his family.

Upon returning from the church, at tea, Seryozha continued to worry.

- I, Mom, really want to live! he repeated.

“Yes, my dear, the main thing in life is the truth,” his mother reassured him, “only your life is still ahead.” Children do not live otherwise, and they cannot live, as in truth.

– No, I don’t want to live like that; Batiushka said that he who lives in truth must protect his neighbor from insults. This is how you should live, but is this how I live? Here, the other day, they sold a cow at Ivan Poor's - did I stand up for him? I just watched and cried.

“It is in these tears that your childish truth lies. You couldn't do anything else. They sold a cow from Ivan Poor - according to the law, for a debt. There is such a law that everyone is obliged to pay their debts.

- Ivan, mother, could not pay. He wanted to, but he couldn't. And the nanny says: "There is no poorer peasant in the whole village." What is the truth?

“I repeat to you, there is such a law, and everyone must obey the law. If people live in society, then they have no right to neglect their duties. You better think about learning - that's your truth. If you enter the gymnasium, be diligent, behave quietly - this will mean that you live in truth. I don't like it when you get so excited. Whatever you see, whatever you hear - everything somehow sinks into your heart. Batiushka spoke in general; in church, you can’t say otherwise, but you already apply it to yourself. Pray for your neighbors - more than this and God will not ask you.

But Serezha did not let up. He ran to the kitchen, where at that time the servants had gathered and drank tea for the sake of the holiday. The cook, Stepanida, was bustling about the stove with a tong, and now and then pulled out a pot of boiling greasy cabbage soup. The smell of rotten slaughter and festive cake filled the air.

- I, nanny, will live in truth! Sergei announced.

- Look, since when did you gather! the old woman joked.

- No, nanny, I gave myself the right word! I will die for the truth, and I will not submit to a lie!

- Oh, my sick! Look what's on your mind!

“Didn’t you hear what the father said in the church? Life must be believed for the truth - that's what! everyone must go to fight for the truth!

- It is known what to say in the church! That's what the church was given to hear about righteous deeds in it. Only you, dear, listen, listen, and spread your mind too!

“One has to live with the truth looking back,” the worker Grigory said reasonably.

- Why, for example, my mother and I drink tea in the dining room, and you are in the kitchen? Is this true? - Seryozha got excited.

- The truth is not true, but it has been going on for centuries. We are simple people, we feel good in the kitchen. If everyone had gone to the dining room, the rooms would not have been prepared.

- You, Sergei Fedorych, that's what! - Grigory stood up again, - when you are big - sit wherever you want: you like it in the dining room, you like it in the kitchen. But Pokedova is small, sit with your mother - you won’t find better than this truth for your years! Batiushka will come to dinner, and he will tell you the same thing. We don’t do many things: we go after cattle, and we dig in the ground, but the masters don’t have to. So that!

- Yes, it's not true!

- But in our opinion it is like this: if the gentlemen are kind, compassionate - this is their truth. And if we, the workers, diligently serve the masters, we do not deceive, we try - this is our truth. Thank you for that, if everyone observes his own truth.

There was a moment's silence. Seryozha, apparently, wanted to object something, but Grigory's arguments were so good-natured that he hesitated.

- In our side, - the nanny was the first to break the silence, - from where your mother and I came from, lived the landowner Rassoshnikov. At first he lived like the others, and suddenly he wanted to live in truth. And what did he do in the end? - He sold the estate, gave money to the poor, and he himself went on a journey ... Since then, he has not been seen.

- Oh, nanny! what a man!

“And by the way, his son served in the regiment in St. Petersburg,” added the nanny.

“The father distributed the estate, but the son was left with nothing ... It would be better to ask the son if the father’s truth is good?” Grigory reasoned.

“Didn’t the son understand that the father did the right thing?” - Seryozha stood up.

- The fact that he did not understand it too much, but also tried to bother. Why, he says, did he assign me to the regiment, if I now have nothing to support myself with?

“I assigned to the regiment… there is nothing to support myself with…” Seryozha repeated automatically after Grigory, getting confused among these comparisons.

- And I have one case in my memory, - continued Grigory, - a peasant in our village took care of this very Rassoshnikov - he was nicknamed Martyn. He also distributed all the money that he had to the poor, leaving only a hut for the family, and he himself put a bag over his shoulder, and he left, stealthily, at night, wherever his eyes looked. Only, listen, I forgot to straighten the patchport - a month later they sent him home by stage.

- For what? did he do something bad? Serezha objected.

“Thin is not bad, I’m not talking about this, but about the fact that in truth you need to live looking back. It is not allowed to walk without a patchport - that's all for a short time. In this way, everyone will disperse, they will give up work - and there will be no end to them, from vagabonds ...

The tea is over. Everyone got up from the table and prayed. “Well, now we will have dinner,” said the nurse, “go, my dear, to your mother, sit with her; soon, go, and the father and mother will come.

Indeed, about two o'clock Father Pavel and his wife came.

- I, father, will live in truth! I will fight for the truth! Seryozha greeted the guests.

- That's how the warrior turned up! you can’t see from the ground, and he’s already going to battle! - joked the father.

- He bored me. In the morning everyone is talking about the same thing, ”said Marya Sergeevna.

“Nothing, ma'am. Talk and forget.

- No, I won't forget! Seryozha insisted, “you yourself said just now that you need to live in truth ... you spoke in church!

– That’s what the church was established for, in order to proclaim the truth in it. If I, a pastor, do not fulfill my duty, then the church itself will remind of the truth. And besides me, every word that is pronounced in it is Truth; only hardened hearts can remain deaf to it...

- In the church? and live?

And you should live in truth. That's when you come to the extent of your age, then you will fully understand the truth, and for now it is enough from you and the truth that is characteristic of your age. Love your mother, have respect for your elders, study diligently, behave modestly - this is your truth.

“Why, martyrs… you said just now…”

There were also martyrs. For truth and reproach should be taken. It's just not the time for you to think about it. And besides, to say that: then there was a time, and now it is different, the truth has multiplied - and there are no more martyrs.

“Martyrs… bonfires…” Seryozha babbled in embarrassment.

- Enough! Marya Sergeevna shouted at him impatiently.

Seryozha was silent, but the whole dinner remained thoughtful. At dinner, ordinary conversations about village affairs were carried on. Stories followed stories, and it was not always clear from them that the truth triumphed. Strictly speaking, there was neither truth nor untruth, but ordinary life, in those forms and with that lining to which everyone has been accustomed from time immemorial. Seryozha had heard these conversations countless times and had never been particularly agitated by them. But on that day, something new entered his being, something that incited and aroused him.

- Eat! - his mother forced him, seeing that he almost did not eat at all.

– In corpore sano mens sana [A healthy mind (lat.) in a healthy body], added the priest for his part. - Listen to your mother - this is the best way to prove your love for the truth. One should love the truth, but imagine oneself a martyr for no reason - this is already vanity, vanity.

A new mention of the truth alarmed Seryozha; he bent down to the plate and tried to eat; but suddenly burst into tears. Everyone got up and surrounded him.

“Does your head hurt?” Marya Sergeevna inquired.

- Come on, go to bed. Nanny, put him down!

He was taken away. Dinner was interrupted for a few minutes, because Marya Sergeevna could not stand it and left after the nurse. Finally, both returned and announced that Seryozha had fallen asleep.

- Nothing, fall asleep - and pass! Father Pavel reassured Marya Sergeevna.

In the evening, however, the headache not only did not subside, but a fever opened up. Seryozha would get up anxiously at night in bed and kept rummaging around with his hands, as if looking for something.

- Martyn ... one stage for the truth ... what is it? he babbled incoherently.

- What kind of Martin does he remember? - Perplexed, Marya Sergeevna turned to the nanny.

“Do you remember, there was a little peasant in our village, he left home in the name of Christ ... Just now, Grigory was telling Seryozha in front of him.

- You're talking nonsense! - Marya Sergeevna got angry, - it’s absolutely impossible to let the boy in with you.

The next day, after an early mass, the priest volunteered to go to the city for a doctor. The city was forty versts away, so that it was impossible to wait for the doctor's arrival before nightfall. Yes, and the doctor, to confess, was an old, bad one; he did not use any other means, except for opedeldok, which he prescribed both externally and internally. In the city they said about him: “He doesn’t believe in medicine, but he believes in opedeldok.”

At night, about eleven o'clock, the doctor arrived. Examined the patient, felt the pulse and announced that there is "hot". Then he ordered the patient to be rubbed with an opedeldoc and forced him to swallow two spools.

- There is a fry, but you will see that everything will be removed from the opedeldok! he announced sternly.

The doctor was fed and put to bed, and Seryozha rushed about all night and burned like a fire.

The doctor was awakened several times, but he repeated the tricks of the opedeldok and continued to assure that by morning everything would be taken off as if by hand.

Seryozha was delirious; in delirium, he repeated: “Christ ... True ... Rassoshnikov ... Martin ...” and continued to rummage around him, saying: “Where? where?..” By morning, however, he calmed down and fell asleep.

The doctor left, saying: “You see!” - and referring to the fact that other patients are waiting for him in the city.

A whole day passed between fear and hope. As long as it was light outside, the patient felt better, but the decline in strength was so great that he hardly spoke. With the onset of dusk, the "hot" opened again and the pulse began to beat faster. Marya Sergeevna stood at his bedside in silent horror, trying to understand something, but not understanding it.

Opodeldok abandoned; the nanny applied vinegar compresses to Serezha's head, put mustard plasters on, gave lime flowers to drink, in a word, used all the means she heard about and which were at hand, inadvertently and inadvertently.

By nightfall, the agony began. At eight o'clock in the evening a full moon rose, and since the curtains on the windows, by mistake, were not lowered, a large bright spot formed on the wall. Serezha got up and stretched out his hands to him.

- Mother! he murmured, “look! all in white… this is Christ… this is the Truth… Behind him… to him…

He tipped over onto the pillow, gave a childish sob, and died.

The truth flashed before him and filled his being with bliss; but the weak heart of the lad could not withstand the influx and burst.

Very briefly The hero's son dies before Christmas, a boy who collected butterflies. After the funeral, in the village, in a heated room, a huge Indian butterfly hatches from the cocoon that was in the boy's collection.

Sleptsov's son, a boy who was fond of collecting butterflies, died in a Petersburg house. The father moved the “heavy, as if full of life” coffin to the village, to a small white-stone crypt near the village church and settled in the adjacent outbuilding of the estate, which was easy to heat.

The next morning, Sleptsov, in high boots and a sheepskin coat, quietly walked along the straight, cleared path deep into the park, surprised that he was still alive and could feel. On the bridge, he was seized with bitter anger - he remembered how in the summer his son walked on these slippery boards, catching butterflies that sat on the railing with a net. Quite recently, in St. Petersburg, he was talking in delirium about the school, about some Indian butterfly.

Sleptsov stood for a long time, leaning against a pine tree, and looked at the church cross, blindly shining over the roofs of the village. After dinner, he went to the church, sat for about an hour at the fence of the crypt and returned home disappointed: it seemed to him that he was farther from his son in the churchyard than on the bridge in the estate.

After dinner, Sleptsov went to the church, sat for about an hour at the grave fence, and returned home. In the evening, he ordered the large house to be unlocked and entered the room where his son lived in the summer. By the light of a lamp with a tin reflector, he sat down at the bare desk and sobbed. In the table, he found notebooks, spreaders, a biscuit box with a large cocoon, which his son recalled before his death. There were even rows of butterflies in the glass drawers of the cabinet.

Now they have dried up long ago - tailed swallowtails, sky-azure moths, large red butterflies in black speckles, with a mother-of-pearl underside gently gleam under the glass.

In the wing, in the hotly heated living room, the servant put a yard-long Christmas tree on the table. Sleptsov ordered to remove it and bent over his son's things brought from home - a box with an Indian cocoon, a blue notebook. From the notebook, which turned out to be a diary, he learned that his son was in love with a neighbor girl, but he did not dare to meet her.

Sleptsov thought that tomorrow was Christmas, and today he would die, because he could not live on.

For a moment it seemed to him that earthly life was completely understood, completely naked - sad to the point of horror, humiliatingly aimless, barren, devoid of miracles ...

At that moment, something clicked, and Sleptsov saw that a black creature the size of a mouse was crawling along the wall - it was a huge night butterfly slowly hatching from a cocoon. It hatched because a grief-stricken man brought a cocoon into a warm room.

Soon the shriveled creature turned into an Indian silkworm that flies like a bird in the dusk around the lanterns of Bombay. Her dark velvet wings sighed and fluttered "in a burst of tender, delightful, almost human happiness."

BARAN-NEPOMNYASHCHY
The forgetful ram is the hero of a fairy tale. He began to see vague dreams that disturbed him, forcing him to suspect that "the world does not end with the walls of a barn." The sheep began mockingly calling him "wise man" and "philosopher" and shunned him. The ram withered and died. Explaining what had happened, the shepherd Nikita suggested that the deceased "saw a free ram in a dream."

BOGATYR
The hero is the hero of a fairy tale, the son of Baba Yaga. Sent by her to exploits, he uprooted one oak tree, crushed another with his fist, and when he saw the third, with a hollow, he climbed in there and fell asleep, frightening the neighborhood with snoring. His fame was great. The hero was both afraid and hoped that he would gain strength in a dream. But centuries passed, and he was still sleeping, not coming to the aid of his country, no matter what happened to it. When, during an enemy invasion, they approached him to help him out, it turned out that the Bogatyr had long been dead and rotted. His image was so clearly aimed against the autocracy that the tale remained unpublished until 1917.

WILD LANDMAN
The wild landowner is the hero of the fairy tale of the same name. Having read the retrograde newspaper Vest, he foolishly complained that "there are too many divorced ... peasants," and tried in every possible way to oppress them. God heard the tearful peasant prayers, and "there was no peasant in the entire space of the possessions of the stupid landowner." He was delighted (the “clean” air became), but it turned out that now he could neither receive guests, nor eat himself, nor even wipe the dust from the mirror, and there was no one to pay taxes to the treasury. However, he did not deviate from his "principles" and as a result, he became wild, began to move on all fours, lost human speech and became like a predatory beast (once he did not bully the police officer himself). Worried about the lack of taxes and the impoverishment of the treasury, the authorities ordered "to catch the peasant and put him back." With great difficulty they also caught the landowner and brought him to a more or less decent appearance.

KARAS-IDEALIST
Karas-idealist - the hero of the fairy tale of the same name. Living in a quiet backwater, he is sympathetic and cherishes dreams of the triumph of good over evil, and even of the opportunity to reason with Pike (whom he has never seen) that she has no right to eat others. He eats shells, justifying himself by the fact that "they climb into their mouths" and they have "not a soul, but steam." Having appeared before Pike with his speeches, for the first time he was released with the advice: "Go to sleep!" In the second, he was suspected of "sicilism" and pretty much bitten during interrogation by Okun, and the third time, Pike was so surprised at his exclamation: "Do you know what virtue is?" - that she opened her mouth and almost involuntarily swallowed her interlocutor. "The features of contemporary liberalism are grotesquely captured in the image of Karas.

SANITARY HARE
The sensible hare - the hero of the fairy tale of the same name, "reasoned so sensibly that it fit the donkey." He believed that "every animal has its own life" and that, although "everyone eats" hares, he is "not picky" and "agrees to live in every possible way." In the heat of this philosophizing, he was caught by the Fox, who, bored with his speeches, ate him.

KISSEL
Kissel, the hero of the fairy tale of the same name, "was so flamboyant and soft that he did not feel any inconvenience from what he ate. The gentlemen were so fed up with them that they provided pigs with food, so, in the end, "only jelly was left dried scrapes". In a grotesque form, both peasant humility and the post-reform impoverishment of the village, robbed not only by the "masters" - landlords, but also by new bourgeois predators, who, according to the satirist, like pigs, "satiety ... do not know ".

The generals are characters in "The Tale of How One Man Feeded Two Generals." Miraculously, they found themselves on a desert island in the same nightgowns and with orders around their necks. They couldn’t do anything and, starving, they almost ate each other. Having changed their minds, they decided to look for a peasant and, having found it, demanded that he feed them. In the future, they lived by his labors, and when they got bored, he built "such a vessel so that you could swim across the ocean-sea." Upon returning to St. Petersburg, G. received a pension accumulated over the past years, and a glass of vodka and a nickel of silver were granted to their breadwinner.

Ruff is a character in the fairy tale "Karas-Idealist". He looks at the world with bitter sobriety, seeing strife and savagery everywhere. Karas ironically over the reasoning, convicting him of complete ignorance of life and inconsistency (Karas is indignant at Pike, but eats shells himself). However, he admits that “after all, you can talk with him alone to your liking,” and at times even slightly hesitates in his skepticism, until the tragic outcome of the “dispute” between Karas and Pike confirms his innocence.

Liberal is the hero of the fairy tale of the same name. “He was eager to do a good deed,” but out of apprehension he moderated his ideals and aspirations more and more. At first, he acted only “if possible”, then agreeing to receive “at least something” and, finally, acting “in relation to meanness”, consoling himself with the thought: “Today I’m wallowing in the mud, and tomorrow the sun will come out, dry the dirt - I’m done again -Well done!" The eagle-philanthropist is the hero of the fairy tale of the same name. He surrounded himself with a whole court staff and even agreed to start sciences and arts. However, he soon got tired of this (however, the Nightingale was driven out immediately), and he brutally cracked down on the Owl and the Falcon, who tried to teach him to read and write and arithmetic, imprisoned the historian Woodpecker in a hollow, etc. The wise scribbler is the hero of the fairy tale of the same name, “enlightened, moderately -liberal". From childhood, he was frightened by his father's warnings about the danger of getting into the ear and concluded that "you need to live in such a way that no one notices." He dug a hole in order to fit himself, did not make any friends or family, lived and trembled, having received in the end even pike praises: “Now, if everyone lived like that, it would be quiet in the river!” It was only before his death that the “wise man” realized that in such a case “perhaps the entire screech family would have died out long ago.” The story of the wise scribbler in exaggerated form expresses the meaning, or rather the entire nonsense, of the cowardly attempts to "dedicate oneself to the cult of self-preservation," as the book Abroad says. The features of this character are clearly visible, for example, in the heroes of Modern Idyll, in Polozhilov and other Shchedrin heroes. The remark made by the then critic in the Russkiye Vedomosti newspaper is also characteristic: “We are all more or less scribblers ...”

WISE PISKAR
The wise scribbler is the "enlightened, moderately liberal" hero of the tale. From childhood, he was frightened by his father's warnings about the danger of getting into the ear and concluded that "you need to live in such a way that no one notices." He dug a hole, just to fit himself, did not make any friends or family, lived and trembled, Having received even pike praise in the end: "Now, if everyone lived like that, it would be quiet in the river!" It was only before his death that the “wise man” realized that in this case, “perhaps the entire piss-kary family would have died out long ago.” The story of the wise scribbler in exaggerated form expresses the meaning, or rather the entire nonsense, of the cowardly attempts to "devote oneself to the cult of self-preservation," as it is said in the book Abroad. The features of this character are clearly visible, for example, in the heroes of "Modern Idyll", in Polozhilov and other Shchedrin heroes. Characteristic is the remark made by the then critic in the Russkiye Vedomosti newspaper: "We are all more or less scribblers..."

Pustoplyas is a character in the fairy tale "Konyaga", the "brother" of the hero, unlike him, leading an idle life. The personification of the local nobility. The arguments of idle dancers about Konyaga as the embodiment of common sense, humility, “life of the spirit and spirit of life”, etc., are, as a contemporary critic wrote to the writer, “an insulting parody” of the then theories that sought to justify and even glorify “hard labor” peasants, their downtroddenness, darkness and passivity.

Ruslantsev Seryozha - the hero of the "Christmas Tale", a ten-year-old boy. After preaching about the need to live according to the truth, said, as the author seems to remark in passing, “for the holiday,” S. decided to do so. But both the mother, the priest himself, and the servants warn him that "one must live with the truth looking back." Shocked by the discrepancy between high words (indeed - a Christmas tale!) and real life, stories about the sad fate of those who tried to live by the truth, the hero fell ill and died. The selfless hare is the hero of the fairy tale of the same name. Caught by the Wolf and meekly sitting in anticipation of his fate, not daring to run even when the brother of his bride comes for him and says that she is dying of grief. Released to see her, he returns, as he promised, receiving condescending wolf praise.

Toptygin 1st - one of the heroes of the fairy tale "The Bear in the Voivodeship". He dreamed of capturing himself in history with a brilliant atrocity, but with a hangover he mistook a harmless siskin for an “internal adversary” and ate it. He became a universal laughingstock and was no longer able to improve his reputation even with his superiors, no matter how hard he tried - “he climbed into the printing house at night, smashed the machines, mixed the type, and dumped the works of the human mind into the waste pit.” "And if he started right from the printing houses, he would be ... a general."

Toptygin 2nd - a character in the fairy tale "The Bear in the Voivodeship". Arriving at the voivodeship in the hope of destroying the printing house or burning down the university, he found that all this had already been done. I decided that it was no longer necessary to eradicate the "spirit", but "to be taken straight for the skin." Having climbed up to a neighboring peasant, he pulled up all the cattle and wanted to destroy the yard, but he was caught and planted in disgrace on a horn.

Toptygin the 3rd is a character in the fairy tale "The Bear in the Voivodeship". I faced a painful dilemma: “If you mess up a little, they will ridicule you; if you mess up a lot, they’ll raise it on a horn ... ”Arriving at the voivodeship, he hid in a den, without taking control, and found that even without his intervention everything in the forest was going on as usual. He began to leave the lair only “to receive the appropriated maintenance” (although in the depths of his soul he wondered “why the governor was sent”). Later he was killed by hunters, like "all fur-bearing animals", also in a routine manner.

"A Christmas Tale" Saltykov-Shchedrin

The most beautiful sermon today, for the holiday, was delivered by our rural priest.

Many centuries ago, he said, on this very day Truth came into the world.

The truth is eternal. She, before all the ages, sat with Christ the humane at the right hand of her father, together with him she became incarnate and kindled her torch on the earth. She stood at the foot of the cross and was crucified with Christ; she sat, in the form of a luminous angel, at his tomb and saw his resurrection. And when the philanthropist ascended to heaven, he left Truth on earth as living evidence of his unchanging goodwill towards the human race.

Those who assert that the Truth ever hid its face, or, what is even worse, was ever defeated by Falsehood, think incorrectly. No, even in those mournful moments when it seemed to short-sighted people that the father of lies was triumphant, in reality Truth triumphed. She alone did not have a temporary character, she alone invariably went forward, stretching her wings over the world and illuminating it with her everlasting light. The imaginary triumph of lies dissipated like a heavy dream, but the Truth continued its procession.

Love God - for he is a life-giver and a philanthropist, for in him is a source of goodness, moral beauty and truth. It has Truth. In this very temple, where a bloodless sacrifice is made to God, the unceasing service to Truth is also performed in it. All its walls are impregnated with the Truth, so that you, even the worst of you, entering the temple feel peaceful and enlightened. Here, before the face of the crucified, you quench your sorrows; here you find rest for your troubled souls. He was crucified for the sake of Truth, the rays of which poured out from him to the whole world - will you weaken in spirit before the trials that befall you?

Love your neighbor as yourself - such is the second half of Christ's commandment. I will not say that cohabitation is impossible without love for one's neighbor - I will say frankly, without reservations: this love, in itself, apart from any outside considerations, is the beauty and exultation of our life. We must love our neighbor not for the sake of reciprocity, but for the sake of love itself. We must love unceasingly, selflessly, willingly to lay down our lives, just as a good shepherd lays down his life for his sheep.

Now you will return to your homes and indulge in rejoicing about the feast of the Nativity of the Lord and the Lover of mankind. But even amidst your joy, do not forget that Truth came into the world with it, that it is present among you all the days, hours and minutes, and that it represents that sacred fire that illuminates and warms human existence.

When the priest had finished and from the kliros it was heard: "Bless the name of the Lord," then a deep sigh swept through the whole church. As if the whole mass of those praying with this sigh confirmed: "Yes, be blessed!"

Marya Sergeevna lived more than modestly. She violated field cultivation, gave the land to the peasants, and left behind her an estate with a small piece of land, on which a garden with a small vegetable garden was planted. All her household livestock consisted of one horse and three cows; all the servants are from the same family of former courtyards, which consisted of her old nanny with her daughter and married son. The nanny looked after everything in the house and nurtured little Seryozha; the daughter worked as a cook, the son and his wife went after cattle, for poultry, cultivated a garden, a garden, and so on. Life flowed silently. There was no need; firewood and the main foodstuffs were not purchased, and there was almost no request for purchases. Households said: "We live in paradise!" Marya Sergeevna herself also forgot that there is another life in the world (she caught a glimpse of it from the windows of the institute where she was brought up). Only Seryozha disturbed her from time to time. At first he grew well, but, approaching the age of seven, he began to show signs of some kind of painful impressionability.

Upon returning from the church, at tea, Seryozha continued to worry.

Mommy, I really want to live! he repeated.

Yes, my dear, the main thing in life is the truth, - his mother reassured him, - only your life is still ahead. Children do not live otherwise, and they cannot live, as in truth.

No, this is not how I want to live; Batiushka said that he who lives in truth must protect his neighbor from insults. This is how you should live, but is this how I live? Here, the other day, Ivan Poor's cow was sold - did I stand up for him? I just watched and cried.

Here in these tears - and your child's truth. You couldn't do anything else. They sold a cow from Ivan Poor - according to the law, for a debt. There is such a law that everyone is obliged to pay their debts.

Ivan, mother, could not pay. He wanted to, but he couldn't. And the nanny says: "There is no peasant in the whole village who is poorer than him." What is the truth?

I repeat to you, there is such a law, and everyone must obey the law. If people live in society, then they have no right to neglect their duties. You better think about learning - that's your truth. If you enter the gymnasium, be diligent, behave quietly - this will mean that you truly live. I don't like it when you get so excited. Whatever you see, whatever you hear - everything somehow sinks into your heart. Batiushka spoke in general; in church, you can’t say otherwise, but you already apply it to yourself. Pray for your neighbors - more than this and God will not ask you.

I, nanny, will truly live! Serezha announced.

Look how long you've been going! - joked the old woman.

No, nanny, I gave myself the right word! I will die for the truth, and I will not submit to a lie!

Ah, my sick! Look what's on your mind!

Didn't you hear what the priest said in the church? Life must be believed for the truth - that's what! everyone must go to fight for the truth!

It is known what to say in the church! That's what the church was given to hear about righteous deeds in it. Only you, dear, listen, listen, and spread your mind too!

You have to live with the truth looking back, - reasonably said the worker Grigory.

Why, for example, do my mother and I drink tea in the dining room, and you are in the kitchen? Is this true? - Seryozha got excited.

The truth is not the truth, but it has been going on from time immemorial. We are simple people, we feel good in the kitchen. If everyone had gone to the dining room, the rooms would not have been prepared.

You, Sergei Fedorych, that's what! - Grigory stood up again, - when you are big - sit wherever you want: you like it in the dining room, you like it in the kitchen. But Pokedova is small, sit with your mother - you won’t find better than this truth for your years! Batiushka will come to dinner, and he will tell you the same thing. We don’t do many things: we go after cattle, and we dig in the ground, but the Lords don’t have to. So that!

And yes, this is not true!

And in our opinion, this is: if the Lord is kind, compassionate - this is their truth. And if we, the workers, diligently serve the masters, we do not deceive, we try - this is our truth. Thank you for that, if everyone observes his own truth.

There was a moment's silence. Seryozha, apparently, wanted to object something, but Grigory's arguments were so good-natured that he hesitated.

In our side, - the nanny was the first to break the silence, - where your mother and I came from, lived the landowner Rassoshnikov. At first he lived like the others, and suddenly he wanted to live in truth. And what did he do in the end? - He sold the estate, distributed money to the poor, and he went on a journey ... Since then, he has not been seen.

Ah, nanny! what a man!

And by the way, his son served in the regiment in St. Petersburg, - added the nanny.

The father distributed the estate, but the son was left with nothing ... It would be better to ask the son if the father's truth is good? - Grigory reasoned.

Didn't the son understand that the father did the right thing? - Seryozha stood up.

The fact that he did not understand it too much, but also tried to bother. Why, he says, did he assign me to the regiment, if I now have nothing to support myself with?

I assigned to the regiment ... there is nothing to support myself with ... - Seryozha mechanically repeated after Grigory, getting confused among these comparisons.

And I have one incident in my memory, - continued Grigory, - a peasant from this very Rassoshnikov took care of one in our village - he was nicknamed Martyn. He also distributed all the money that he had to the poor, leaving only a hut for the family, and he himself put a bag over his shoulder, and he left, stealthily, at night, wherever his eyes looked. Only, listen, I forgot to straighten the patchport - a month later they sent it home by stage.

For what? did he do something bad? Serezha objected.

Thin is not bad, I'm not talking about this, but about the fact that in truth you need to live looking back. It is not allowed to walk without a patchport - that's all for a short time. That way everyone will disperse, they will give up work - and there will be no end to them, from vagabonds ...

The tea is over. Everyone got up from the table and prayed. “Well, now we’ll have dinner,” said the nurse, “go, my dear, to your mother, sit with her; soon, go, and the father and mother will come.

Indeed, about two o'clock Father Pavel and his wife came.

I, father, will truly live! I will fight for the truth! - Seryozha greeted the guests.

That's how the warrior turned up! you can’t see from the ground, and he’s already going to battle! - joked the father.

He bored me. In the morning everyone is talking about the same thing, ”said Marya Sergeevna.

Nothing, sir. Talk and forget.

No, I won't forget! - Serezha insisted, - you yourself just now said that you need to live in truth ... you spoke in church!

That is what the church was established for, in order to proclaim the truth in it. If I, a pastor, do not fulfill my duty, then the church itself will remind of the truth. And besides me, every word that is pronounced in it is Truth; only hardened hearts can remain deaf to it...

In the church? and live?

Why, martyrs... you said just now...

There were also martyrs. For truth and reproach should be taken. It's just not the time for you to think about it. And besides, to say that: then there was a time, and now it’s different, the truth has multiplied - and there are no more martyrs.

Martyrs... bonfires... - Seryozha babbled in embarrassment.

Enough! Marya Sergeevna shouted impatiently at him.

Eat! - his mother forced him, seeing that he almost did not eat at all.

In corpore sano mens sana [A healthy mind (lat.) in a healthy body], added the priest for his part. - Listen to your mother - this is the best way to prove your love for the truth. One should love the truth, but imagine oneself a martyr for no reason - this is already vanity, vanity.

A new mention of the truth alarmed Seryozha; he bent down to the plate and tried to eat; but suddenly burst into tears. Everyone got up and surrounded him.

Does your head hurt?” Marya Sergeevna inquired.

Well, go to bed. Nanny, put him down!

He was taken away. Dinner was interrupted for a few minutes, because Marya Sergeevna could not stand it and left after the nurse. Finally, both returned and announced that Seryozha had fallen asleep.

Nothing, fall asleep - and pass! Father Pavel reassured Marya Sergeevna.

Martyn... on stage for the truth... what is it? he babbled incoherently.

Which Martin does he remember? - Perplexed, Marya Sergeevna turned to the nanny.

And remember, in our village there was a little peasant, he left home in the name of Christ ... Just now, Grigory was telling Seryozha.

You are talking nonsense! - Marya Sergeevna got angry, - it’s absolutely impossible to let the boy in with you.

There is a fry, but you will see that everything will be removed from the opedeldok! he announced sternly.

The doctor was fed and put to bed, and Seryozha rushed about all night and burned like a fire.

The doctor was awakened several times, but he repeated the tricks of the opedeldok and continued to assure that by morning everything would be taken off as if by hand.

Seryozha was delirious; in delirium, he repeated: "Christ ... True ... Rassoshnikov ... Martin ..." and continued to fumble around him, saying: "Where? where? .." By morning, however, he calmed down and fell asleep.

The doctor left, saying: "You see!" - and referring to the fact that other patients are waiting for him in the city.

Mother! - he babbled, - look! all in white... this is Christ... this is the Truth... Behind him... to him...