Andersen magic lantern summary. Fairy tale old street lamp

Have you heard the story about the old street lamp? It’s not that it’s so entertaining, but it doesn’t hurt to listen to her once. So, there was a kind of respectable old street lamp; he honestly served for many, many years and finally had to retire.

Last evening a lantern hung on its post, illuminating the street, and in his soul he felt like an old ballerina who, in last time performs on stage and knows that tomorrow she will be forgotten by everyone in her closet.

Tomorrow frightened the old campaigner: he had to appear for the first time at the town hall and appear before the "thirty-six city fathers" who would decide whether he was still fit for service or not. Perhaps it will still be sent to light some bridge or sent to the province to some factory, or perhaps it will simply be handed over to the smelter, and then anything can come of it. And now he was tormented by the thought: will he retain the memory of what was once street lamp. One way or another, he knew that in any case he would have to part with the night watchman and his wife, who became like nothing to him. native family. Both of them - both the lantern and the watchman - entered the service at the same time. The watchman's wife then aimed high and, passing by the lantern, honored him with a glance only in the evenings, and never during the day. In recent years, when all three - the watchman, and his wife, and the lantern - grew old, she also began to look after the lantern, clean the lamp and pour blubber into it. honest people there were these old people who never once deprived the lantern a bit.

So, he shone in the street for the last evening, and in the morning he had to go to the town hall. These gloomy thoughts did not give him rest, and it is not surprising that he burned unimportantly. However, other thoughts flashed through him; he saw a lot, he had a chance to shed light on a lot, perhaps he was not inferior in this to all the "thirty-six fathers of the city." But he was silent about this. He was honorable old lantern and did not want to offend anyone, and even more so his superiors.

In the meantime, he remembered many things, and from time to time his flame flared up, as it were, from such thoughts:

“Yes, and someone will remember me! At least that handsome young man ... Many years have passed since then. He came up to me with a letter in his hand. The letter was on pink paper, thin, thin, with a gold edge, and written in a graceful woman's hand. He read it twice, kissed it, and looked up at me with shining eyes. "I am the most happy man in the world!" they said. Yes, only he and I knew what his beloved had written in her first letter.

I remember other eyes too... It's amazing how thoughts jump! A magnificent funeral procession moved along our street. On a wagon upholstered in velvet they carried a young beautiful woman. How many wreaths and flowers! And there were so many torches that they completely eclipsed my light. The sidewalks were filled with people seeing off the coffin. But when the torches were out of sight, I looked around and saw a man who was standing at my post and crying. “I will never forget the look of his mournful eyes looking at me!”

And a lot of other things the old street lamp remembered that last evening. The sentry, who is being replaced from the post, at least knows who will take his place, and can exchange a few words with his comrade. And the lantern did not know who would replace him, and could not tell either about the rain and bad weather, or about how the moon illuminates the sidewalk and from which direction the wind blows.

At that time, three candidates for the vacant seat appeared on the bridge over the gutter, believing that the appointment to the post depended on the lantern itself. The first was a herring head that glowed in the dark; she believed that her appearance on the pole would significantly reduce the consumption of blubber. The second was rotten, which also glowed and, according to her, even brighter than dried cod; besides, she considered herself the last remnant of the entire forest. The third candidate was a firefly; where it came from, the lantern could not understand in any way, but nevertheless the firefly was there and also glowed, although the herring head and the rotten one swore that it only shined from time to time, and therefore did not count.

The old lantern said that none of them shined so brightly as to serve as a street lamp, but, of course, they did not believe him. And having learned that the appointment to the post did not depend on him at all, all three expressed deep satisfaction - he was too old to make the right choice.

At that moment, a wind blew up from around the corner and whispered to the lantern under the cap:

What? They say you're retiring tomorrow? And I see you here for the last time? Well, here's a present for you from me. I will ventilate your cranium, and you will not only clearly and distinctly remember everything that you saw and heard yourself, but also see as in reality everything that will be told or read in front of you. What a fresh head you will have!

I don't know how to thank you! said the old lantern. - If only not to get into the smelter!

It's still a long way off," replied the wind. - Well, now I'll check your memory. If you received many such gifts, you would have a pleasant old age.

If only not to fall into the smelter! repeated the lantern. - Or maybe you will keep my memory in this case too? “Be reasonable, old lantern!” - said the wind and blew.

At that moment the moon peeped out.

What will you give? asked the wind.

Nothing, replied the month. - I'm at a disadvantage, besides, the lights never shine for me, I'm always for them.

And the month again hid behind the clouds - he did not want to be bothered. Suddenly a drop fell on the iron cap of the lantern. It seemed that she rolled down from the roof, but the drop said that she fell from gray clouds, and also - as a gift, perhaps even the best.

I will carve you, - said the drop, - so that you will be able to turn into rust and crumble to dust on any night you wish.

To the lantern this gift seemed bad, to the wind too.

Who will give more? Who will give more? he murmured with all his might.

And at the same moment a star rolled down from the sky, leaving behind a long luminous trail.

What's this? cried the herring head. - No way, a star fell from the sky? And it seems, right on the lantern. Well, if such high-ranking persons are coveting this position, we can only take our bows and get out.

So all three did. And the old lantern suddenly flashed especially brightly.

A venerable thought, said the wind. - But you probably do not know what this gift is supposed to wax candle. You won't be able to show anything to anyone if you don't have a wax candle burning inside you. That's what the stars didn't think about. And you, and everything that glows, they take for wax candles. Well, now I'm tired, it's time to lie down, - said the wind and subsided.

The next morning ... no, in a day we'd better jump - the next evening the lantern was in the armchair, and who had it? At the old night watchman. For his long faithful service, the old man asked the "thirty-six city fathers" for an old street lamp. They laughed at him, but they gave him the lantern. And now the lantern was lying in an armchair near the warm stove, and it seemed as if it had grown from this - it occupied almost the entire armchair. The old men were already sitting at supper and looking affectionately at the old lantern: they would gladly put it with them at least at the table.

True, they lived in a basement, several cubits underground, and to get into their closet, one had to go through a brick-paved hallway, but in the closet itself it was warm and cozy. The doors were upholstered with felt, the bed was hidden behind the canopy, curtains hung on the windows, and on the windowsills stood two strange flower pot. They were brought by a Christian sailor from either the East Indies or the West Indies. These were clay elephants with a recess in the place of the back, into which earth was poured. In one elephant, a wonderful leek grew - it was the old people's garden, in the other geraniums bloomed magnificently - it was their garden. On the wall hung a large oil painting, depicting Congress of Vienna, which was attended by all the emperors and kings at once. An old clock with heavy lead weights ticked incessantly and always ran ahead, but it was better than if it fell behind, the old people said.

So, now they were having dinner, and the old street lamp lay, as said above, in an armchair near a warm stove, and it seemed to him as if the whole world had turned upside down. But then the old watchman looked at him and began to recall everything that they had experienced together in rain and in bad weather, in clear, short summer nights and in snow blizzards, when one is drawn to the cellar, - and the old lantern seemed to wake up and see it all as if in reality.

Yes, the wind blew it nicely!

The old men were hardworking and inquisitive people, not a single hour was wasted with them in vain. On Sunday afternoons, a book would appear on the table, most often a description of a journey, and the old man would read aloud about Africa, about its vast forests and wild elephants that roam free. The old woman listened and looked at the clay elephants that served as flower pots.

I imagine! she said.

And the lantern so much wanted a wax candle to burn in it - then the old woman, like himself, would see everything in reality: and tall trees with dense intertwining branches, and naked black people on horseback, and whole herds of elephants trampling down reeds and bushes with their thick feet.

What use is my ability if there is no wax candle? sighed the lantern. - The old people have only blubber and tallow candles, but this is not enough.

But in the basement there was a whole bunch of wax stubs. The long ones were used for lighting, and the old woman waxed the thread with short ones when she sewed. The old men now had wax candles, but it never occurred to them to insert at least one stub into the lantern.

The lantern, always clean and tidy, stood in the corner, in the most visible place. True, people called it old rubbish, but the old people let such words go past their ears - they loved the old lantern.

One day, on the birthday of the old watchman, the old woman went up to the lantern, smiled and said:

Now we will light an illumination in his honor!

The lantern rattled its cap with joy. “Finally, it dawned on them!” he thought.

But he got the blubber again, and not the wax candle. He burned all evening and now knew that the gift of the stars - wonderful gift- so it will not be useful to him in this life.

And then the lantern dreamed - with such abilities it is not surprising to dream - as if the old people had died, and he himself was melted down. And he was terrified, as at the time when he was to appear at the town hall for a review of the "thirty-six fathers of the city." And although he has the ability to crumble into rust and dust at will, he did not do this, but fell into a smelting furnace and turned into a wonderful iron candlestick in the form of an angel with a bouquet in his hand. A wax candle was inserted into the bouquet, and the candlestick took its place on the green cloth of the desk. The room is very comfortable; all the shelves are filled with books, the walls are hung with great pictures. The poet lives here, and everything he thinks and writes about unfolds before him, as in a panorama. The room becomes either a dense dark forest, or meadows illuminated by the sun, through which a stork walks, or the deck of a ship sailing on a stormy sea ...

Have you heard the story about the old street lamp? It’s not that it’s so entertaining, but it doesn’t hurt to listen to her once. So, there was a kind of respectable old street lamp; he honestly served for many, many years and finally had to retire.

Last evening the lantern hung on its pole, illuminating the street, and in his soul he felt like an old ballerina who performs on stage for the last time and knows that tomorrow she will be forgotten by everyone in her closet.

Tomorrow frightened the old campaigner: he was to appear for the first time at the town hall and appear before the "thirty-six city fathers" who would decide whether he was still fit for service or not. Perhaps it will still be sent to light some bridge or sent to the province to some factory, or perhaps it will simply be handed over to the smelter, and then anything can come of it. And now he was tormented by the thought: will he retain the memory that he was once a street lamp. One way or another, he knew that in any case he would have to part with the night watchman and his wife, who became like family to him. Both of them - both the lantern and the watchman - entered the service at the same time. The watchman's wife then aimed high and, passing by the lantern, honored him with a glance only in the evenings, and never during the day. In recent years, when all three - the watchman, and his wife, and the lantern - grew old, she also began to look after the lantern, clean the lamp and pour blubber into it. Honest people were these old men, they never cheated the lantern even a bit.

So, he shone in the street for the last evening, and in the morning he had to go to the town hall. These gloomy thoughts did not give him rest, and it is not surprising that he burned unimportantly. However, other thoughts flashed through his mind; he saw a lot, he had a chance to shed light on a lot, perhaps he was not inferior in this to all the "thirty-six fathers of the city." But he was silent about this. After all, he was a respectable old lantern and did not want to offend anyone, and even more so his superiors.

In the meantime, he remembered many things, and from time to time his flame flared up, as it were, from such thoughts:

“Yes, and someone will remember me! If only that handsome young man ... Many years have passed since then. He came up to me with a letter in his hands. and written in an elegant female handwriting. He read it twice, kissed it and raised his shining eyes to me. "I am the happiest man in the world!" they said. Yes, only he and I knew what his beloved had written in her first letter.

I remember other eyes too... It's amazing how thoughts jump! A magnificent funeral procession moved along our street. On a wagon upholstered in velvet, a beautiful young woman was carried in a coffin. How many wreaths and flowers! And there were so many torches that they completely eclipsed my light. The sidewalks were filled with people seeing off the coffin. But when the torches were out of sight, I looked around and saw a man who was standing at my post and crying. “I will never forget the look of his mournful eyes looking at me!”

And a lot of other things the old street lamp remembered that last evening. The sentry, who is being replaced from the post, at least knows who will take his place, and can exchange a few words with his comrade. And the lantern did not know who would replace him, and could not tell either about the rain and bad weather, or about how the moon illuminates the sidewalk and from which direction the wind blows.

At that time, three candidates for the vacant seat appeared on the bridge over the gutter, believing that the appointment to the post depended on the lantern itself. The first was a herring head that glowed in the dark; she believed that her appearance on the pole would significantly reduce the consumption of blubber. The second was rotten, which also glowed and, according to her, even brighter than dried cod; besides, she considered herself the last remnant of the entire forest. The third candidate was a firefly; where it came from, the lantern could not understand in any way, but nevertheless the firefly was there and also glowed, although the herring head and the rotten one swore that it only shined from time to time, and therefore did not count.

The old lantern said that none of them shined so brightly as to serve as a street lamp, but, of course, they did not believe him. And having learned that the appointment to the post did not depend on him at all, all three expressed deep satisfaction - he was too old to make the right choice.

At that moment, a wind blew up from around the corner and whispered to the lantern under the cap:

What? They say you're retiring tomorrow? And I see you here for the last time? Well, here's a present for you from me. I will ventilate your cranium, and you will not only clearly and distinctly remember everything that you saw and heard yourself, but also see as in reality everything that will be told or read in front of you. What a fresh head you will have!

I don't know how to thank you! said the old lantern. - If only not to get into the smelter!

It's still a long way off," replied the wind. - Well, now I'll check your memory. If you received many such gifts, you would have a pleasant old age.

If only not to fall into the smelter! repeated the lantern. - Or maybe you will keep my memory in this case too? “Be reasonable, old lantern!” - said the wind and blew.

At that moment the moon peeped out.

What will you give? asked the wind.

Nothing, replied the month. - I'm at a disadvantage, besides, the lights never shine for me, I'm always for them.

And the month again hid behind the clouds - he did not want to be bothered. Suddenly a drop fell on the iron cap of the lantern. It seemed that she rolled down from the roof, but the drop said that she fell from gray clouds, and also - as a gift, perhaps even the best.

I will carve you, - said the drop, - so that you will be able to turn into rust and crumble to dust on any night you wish.

To the lantern this gift seemed bad, to the wind too.

Who will give more? Who will give more? he murmured with all his might.

And at the same moment a star rolled down from the sky, leaving behind a long luminous trail.

What's this? cried the herring head. - No way, a star fell from the sky? And it seems, right on the lantern. Well, if such high-ranking persons are coveting this position, we can only take our bows and get out.

So all three did. And the old lantern suddenly flashed especially brightly.

A venerable thought, said the wind. “But you probably don’t know that a wax candle is supposed to go with this gift. You won't be able to show anything to anyone if you don't have a wax candle burning inside you. That's what the stars didn't think about. And you, and everything that glows, they take for wax candles. Well, now I'm tired, it's time to lie down, - said the wind and subsided.

The next morning ... no, in a day we'd better jump - the next evening the lantern was in the armchair, and who had it? At the old night watchman. For his long faithful service, the old man asked the "thirty-six city fathers" for an old street lamp. They laughed at him, but they gave him the lantern. And now the lantern was lying in an armchair near the warm stove, and it seemed as if it had grown from this - it occupied almost the entire armchair. The old men were already sitting at supper and looking affectionately at the old lantern: they would gladly put it with them at least at the table.

True, they lived in a basement, several cubits underground, and to get into their closet, one had to go through a brick-paved hallway, but in the closet itself it was warm and cozy. The doors were lined with felt, the bed was hidden behind a canopy, curtains hung from the windows, and two outlandish flower pots stood on the windowsills. They were brought by a Christian sailor from either the East Indies or the West Indies. These were clay elephants with a recess in the place of the back, into which earth was poured. In one elephant, a wonderful leek grew - it was the old people's garden, in the other geraniums bloomed magnificently - it was their garden. On the wall hung a large oil painting depicting the Congress of Vienna, which was attended by all the emperors and kings at once. An old clock with heavy lead weights ticked incessantly and always ran ahead, but it was better than if it fell behind, the old people said.

So, now they were having dinner, and the old street lamp lay, as said above, in an armchair near a warm stove, and it seemed to him as if the whole world had turned upside down. But then the old watchman looked at him and began to recall everything that they happened to go through together in rain and in bad weather, on clear, short summer nights and in snow blizzards, when one is drawn to the cellar, and the old lantern seemed to wake up and see everything. it's like reality.

Yes, the wind blew it nicely!

The old men were hardworking and inquisitive people, not a single hour was wasted with them in vain. On Sunday afternoons, a book would appear on the table, most often a description of a journey, and the old man would read aloud about Africa, about its vast forests and wild elephants that roam free. The old woman listened and looked at the clay elephants that served as flower pots.

I imagine! she said.

And the lantern so wanted a wax candle to burn in it - then the old woman, like himself, would see everything in reality: tall trees with intertwining dense branches, and naked black people on horseback, and whole herds of elephants trampling down reeds with thick legs and shrub.

What use is my ability if there is no wax candle? sighed the lantern. - The old people have only blubber and tallow candles, but this is not enough.

But in the basement there was a whole bunch of wax stubs. The long ones were used for lighting, and the old woman waxed the thread with short ones when she sewed. The old men now had wax candles, but it never occurred to them to insert at least one stub into the lantern.

The lantern, always clean and tidy, stood in the corner, in the most visible place. True, people called it old rubbish, but the old people let such words go past their ears - they loved the old lantern.

One day, on the birthday of the old watchman, the old woman went up to the lantern, smiled and said:

Now we will light an illumination in his honor!

The lantern rattled its cap with joy. "Finally, it dawned on them!" he thought.

But he got the blubber again, and not the wax candle. He burned all evening and now knew that the gift of the stars - the most wonderful gift - would never be useful to him in this life.

And then the lantern dreamed - with such abilities it is not surprising to dream - as if the old people had died, and he himself was melted down. And he was terrified, as at the time when he was to appear at the town hall for a review of the "thirty-six city fathers." And although he has the ability to crumble into rust and dust at will, he did not do this, but fell into a smelting furnace and turned into a wonderful iron candlestick in the form of an angel with a bouquet in his hand. A wax candle was inserted into the bouquet, and the candlestick took its place on the green cloth of the desk. The room is very comfortable; all the shelves are filled with books, the walls are hung with magnificent paintings. The poet lives here, and everything he thinks and writes about unfolds before him, as in a panorama. The room becomes either a dense dark forest, or meadows illuminated by the sun, through which a stork walks, or the deck of a ship sailing on a stormy sea ...

Ah, what abilities are hidden in me! - said the old lantern, waking up from his dreams. - Really, I even want to get into the smelter. However, no! As long as the old people are alive, it is not necessary. They love me for who I am, for them I am like a son. They clean me, fill me with blubber, and I am no worse here than all these high-ranking persons at the congress.

Since then, the old street lamp has found peace of mind- and he deserved it.

Tales of Andersen

Summary of the tale "The Old Street Lamp"

Andersen's fairy tale "Old street lamp" - interesting tale about one very old lantern that stood on the street for many years, regularly serving. And so, one fine day, the main people of the city had to decide what to do with it next. Leave it there, send it somewhere to the province or, worst of all, to be smelted. The old lamp was anxiously waiting for a decision, and he was lucky - the old street lamp begged for his home by the old lamplighter. Since then, the lantern lived happily, in coziness and comfort.

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Have you heard the story about the old street lamp? It’s not that it’s so entertaining, but it doesn’t hurt to listen to her once. So, there was a kind of respectable old street lamp; he honestly served for many, many years and finally had to retire.

Last evening the lantern hung on its pole, illuminating the street, and in his soul he felt like an old ballerina who performs on stage for the last time and knows that tomorrow she will be forgotten by everyone in her closet.

Tomorrow frightened the old campaigner: he was to appear for the first time at the town hall and appear before the "thirty-six city fathers" who would decide whether he was still fit for service or not. Perhaps it will still be sent to light some bridge or sent to the province to some factory, or perhaps it will simply be handed over to the smelter, and then anything can come of it. And now he was tormented by the thought: will he retain the memory that he was once a street lamp. One way or another, he knew that in any case he would have to part with the night watchman and his wife, who became like family to him. Both of them - both the lantern and the watchman - entered the service at the same time. The watchman's wife then aimed high and, passing by the lantern, honored him with a glance only in the evenings, and never during the day. In recent years, when all three - the watchman, and his wife, and the lantern - grew old, she also began to look after the lantern, clean the lamp and pour blubber into it. Honest people were these old men, they never cheated the lantern even a bit.

So, he shone in the street for the last evening, and in the morning he had to go to the town hall. These gloomy thoughts did not give him rest, and it is not surprising that he burned unimportantly. However, other thoughts flashed through him; he saw a lot, he had a chance to shed light on a lot, perhaps he was not inferior in this to all the "thirty-six fathers of the city." But he was silent about this. After all, he was a respectable old lantern and did not want to offend anyone, and even more so his superiors.

In the meantime, he remembered many things, and from time to time his flame flared up, as it were, from such thoughts:

“Yes, and someone will remember me! If only that handsome young man ... Many years have passed since then. He came up to me with a letter in his hands. and written in an elegant female handwriting. He read it twice, kissed it and raised his shining eyes to me. "I am the happiest man in the world!" they said. Yes, only he and I knew what his beloved had written in her first letter.

I remember other eyes too... It's amazing how thoughts jump! A magnificent funeral procession moved along our street. On a wagon upholstered in velvet, a beautiful young woman was carried in a coffin. How many wreaths and flowers! And there were so many torches that they completely eclipsed my light. The sidewalks were filled with people seeing off the coffin. But when the torches were out of sight, I looked around and saw a man who was standing at my post and crying. “I will never forget the look of his mournful eyes looking at me!”

And a lot of other things the old street lamp remembered that last evening. The sentry, who is being replaced from the post, at least knows who will take his place, and can exchange a few words with his comrade. And the lantern did not know who would replace him, and could not tell either about the rain and bad weather, or about how the moon illuminates the sidewalk and from which direction the wind blows.

At that time, three candidates for the vacant seat appeared on the bridge over the gutter, believing that the appointment to the post depended on the lantern itself. The first was a herring head that glowed in the dark; she believed that her appearance on the pole would significantly reduce the consumption of blubber. The second was rotten, which also glowed and, according to her, even brighter than dried cod; besides, she considered herself the last remnant of the entire forest. The third candidate was a firefly; where it came from, the lantern could not understand in any way, but nevertheless the firefly was there and also glowed, although the herring head and the rotten one swore that it only shined from time to time, and therefore did not count.

The old lantern said that none of them shined so brightly as to serve as a street lamp, but, of course, they did not believe him. And having learned that the appointment to the post did not depend on him at all, all three expressed deep satisfaction - he was too old to make the right choice.

At that moment, a wind blew up from around the corner and whispered to the lantern under the cap:

What? They say you're retiring tomorrow? And I see you here for the last time? Well, here's a present for you from me. I will ventilate your cranium, and you will not only clearly and distinctly remember everything that you saw and heard yourself, but also see as in reality everything that will be told or read in front of you. What a fresh head you will have!

I don't know how to thank you! said the old lantern. - If only not to get into the smelter!

It's still a long way off," replied the wind. - Well, now I'll check your memory. If you received many such gifts, you would have a pleasant old age.

If only not to fall into the smelter! repeated the lantern. - Or maybe you will keep my memory in this case too? “Be reasonable, old lantern!” - said the wind and blew.

At that moment the moon peeped out.

What will you give? asked the wind.

Nothing, replied the month. - I'm at a disadvantage, besides, the lights never shine for me, I'm always for them.

And the month again hid behind the clouds - he did not want to be bothered. Suddenly a drop fell on the iron cap of the lantern. She seemed to roll

Las from the roof, but the drop said that it fell from the gray clouds, and also - as a gift, perhaps even the best.

I will carve you, - said the drop, - so that you will be able to turn into rust and crumble to dust on any night you wish.

To the lantern this gift seemed bad, to the wind too.

Who will give more? Who will give more? he murmured with all his might.

And at the same moment a star rolled down from the sky, leaving behind a long luminous trail.

What's this? cried the herring head. - No way, a star fell from the sky? And it seems, right on the lantern. Well, if such high-ranking persons are coveting this position, we can only take our bows and get out.

So all three did. And the old lantern suddenly flashed especially brightly.

A venerable thought, said the wind. “But you probably don’t know that a wax candle is supposed to go with this gift. You won't be able to show anything to anyone if you don't have a wax candle burning inside you. That's what the stars didn't think about. And you, and everything that glows, they take for wax candles. Well, now I'm tired, it's time to lie down, - said the wind and subsided.

The next morning ... no, in a day we'd better jump - the next evening the lantern was in the armchair, and who had it? At the old night watchman. For his long faithful service, the old man asked the "thirty-six city fathers" for an old street lamp. They laughed at him, but they gave him the lantern. And now the lantern was lying in an armchair near the warm stove, and it seemed as if it had grown from this - it occupied almost the entire armchair. The old men were already sitting at supper and looking affectionately at the old lantern: they would gladly put it with them at least at the table.

True, they lived in a basement, several cubits underground, and to get into their closet, one had to go through a brick-paved hallway, but in the closet itself it was warm and cozy. The doors were lined with felt, the bed was hidden behind a canopy, curtains hung from the windows, and two outlandish flower pots stood on the windowsills. They were brought by a Christian sailor from either the East Indies or the West Indies. These were clay elephants with a recess in the place of the back, into which earth was poured. In one elephant, a wonderful leek grew - it was the old people's garden, in the other geraniums bloomed magnificently - it was their garden. On the wall hung a large oil painting depicting the Congress of Vienna, which was attended by all the emperors and kings at once. An old clock with heavy lead weights ticked incessantly and always ran ahead, but it was better than if it fell behind, the old people said.

So, now they were having dinner, and the old street lamp lay, as said above, in an armchair near a warm stove, and it seemed to him as if the whole world had turned upside down. But then the old watchman looked at him and began to recall everything that they happened to go through together in rain and in bad weather, on clear, short summer nights and in snow blizzards, when one is drawn to the cellar, and the old lantern seemed to wake up and see everything. it's like reality.

Yes, the wind blew it nicely!

The old men were hardworking and inquisitive people, not a single hour was wasted with them in vain. On Sunday afternoons, a book would appear on the table, most often a description of a journey, and the old man would read aloud about Africa, about its vast forests and wild elephants that roam free. The old woman listened and looked at the clay elephants that served as flower pots.

I imagine! she said.

And the lantern so wanted a wax candle to burn in it - then the old woman, like himself, would see everything in reality: tall trees with intertwining dense branches, and naked black people on horseback, and whole herds of elephants trampling down reeds with thick legs and shrub.

What use is my ability if there is no wax candle? sighed the lantern. - The old people have only blubber and tallow candles, but this is not enough.

But in the basement there was a whole bunch of wax stubs. The long ones were used for lighting, and the old woman waxed the thread with short ones when she sewed. The old men now had wax candles, but it never occurred to them to insert at least one stub into the lantern.

The lantern, always clean and tidy, stood in the corner, in the most visible place. True, people called it old rubbish, but the old people let such words go past their ears - they loved the old lantern.

One day, on the birthday of the old watchman, the old woman went up to the lantern, smiled and said:

Now we will light an illumination in his honor!

The lantern rattled its cap with joy. "Finally, it dawned on them!" he thought.

But he got the blubber again, and not the wax candle. He burned all evening and now knew that the gift of the stars - the most wonderful gift - would never be useful to him in this life.

And then the lantern dreamed - with such abilities it is not surprising to dream - as if the old people had died, and he himself was melted down. And he was terrified, as at the time when he was to appear at the town hall for a review of the "thirty-six city fathers." And although he has the ability to crumble into rust and dust at will, he did not do this, but fell into a smelting furnace and turned into a wonderful iron candlestick in the form of an angel with a bouquet in his hand. A wax candle was inserted into the bouquet, and the candlestick took its place on the green cloth of the desk. The room is very comfortable; all the shelves are filled with books, the walls are hung with magnificent paintings. The poet lives here, and everything he thinks and writes about unfolds before him, as in a panorama. The room becomes either a dense dark forest, or meadows illuminated by the sun, through which a stork walks, or the deck of a ship sailing on a stormy sea ...

Ah, what abilities are hidden in me! - said the old lantern, waking up from his dreams. - Really, I even want to get into the smelter. However, no! As long as the old people are alive, it is not necessary. They love me for who I am, for them I am like a son. They clean me, fill me with blubber, and I am no worse here than all these high-ranking persons at the congress.

Since then, the old street lamp has found peace of mind - and he deserves it.

Have you heard the story about the old street lamp? It’s not that it’s so entertaining, but it doesn’t hurt to listen to her once. So, there was a kind of respectable old street lamp; he honestly served for many, many years and finally had to retire.

Last evening the lantern hung on its pole, illuminating the street, and in his soul he felt like an old ballerina who performs on stage for the last time and knows that tomorrow she will be forgotten by everyone in her closet.

Tomorrow frightened the old campaigner: he had to appear for the first time at the town hall and appear before the "thirty-six city fathers" who would decide whether he was still fit for service or not. Perhaps it will still be sent to light some bridge or sent to the province to some factory, or perhaps it will simply be handed over to the smelter, and then anything can come of it. And now he was tormented by the thought: will he retain the memory that he was once a street lamp. One way or another, he knew that in any case he would have to part with the night watchman and his wife, who became like family to him. Both of them - both the lantern and the watchman - entered the service at the same time. The watchman's wife then aimed high and, passing by the lantern, honored him with a glance only in the evenings, and never during the day. In recent years, when all three - the watchman, and his wife, and the lantern - grew old, she also began to look after the lantern, clean the lamp and pour blubber into it. Honest people were these old men, they never cheated the lantern even a bit.

So, he shone in the street for the last evening, and in the morning he had to go to the town hall. These gloomy thoughts did not give him rest, and it is not surprising that he burned unimportantly. However, other thoughts flashed through his mind; he saw a lot, he had a chance to shed light on a lot, perhaps he was not inferior in this to all the "thirty-six fathers of the city." But he was silent about this. After all, he was a respectable old lantern and did not want to offend anyone, and even more so his superiors.

In the meantime, he remembered many things, and from time to time his flame flared up, as it were, from such thoughts:

“Yes, and someone will remember me! At least that handsome young man ... Many years have passed since then. He came up to me with a letter in his hand. The letter was on pink paper, thin, thin, with a gold edge, and written in a graceful woman's hand. He read it twice, kissed it, and looked up at me with shining eyes. “I am the happiest person in the world!” they said. Yes, only he and I knew what his beloved had written in her first letter.

I remember other eyes too... It's amazing how thoughts jump! A magnificent funeral procession moved along our street. On a wagon upholstered in velvet, a beautiful young woman was carried in a coffin. How many wreaths and flowers! And there were so many torches that they completely eclipsed my light. The sidewalks were filled with people seeing off the coffin. But when the torches were out of sight, I looked around and saw a man who was standing at my post and crying. “I will never forget the look of his mournful eyes looking at me!”

And a lot of other things the old street lamp remembered that last evening. The sentry, who is being replaced from the post, at least knows who will take his place, and can exchange a few words with his comrade. And the lantern did not know who would replace him, and could not tell either about the rain and bad weather, or about how the moon illuminates the sidewalk and from which direction the wind blows.

At that time, three candidates for the vacant seat appeared on the bridge over the gutter, believing that the appointment to the post depended on the lantern itself. The first was a herring head that glowed in the dark; she believed that her appearance on the pole would significantly reduce the consumption of blubber. The second was rotten, which also glowed and, according to her, even brighter than dried cod; besides, she considered herself the last remnant of the entire forest. The third candidate was a firefly; where it came from, the lantern could not understand in any way, but nevertheless the firefly was there and also glowed, although the herring head and the rotten one swore that it only shined from time to time, and therefore did not count.

The old lantern said that none of them shined so brightly as to serve as a street lamp, but, of course, they did not believe him. And having learned that the appointment to the post did not depend on him at all, all three expressed deep satisfaction - he was too old to make the right choice.

At that moment, a wind blew up from around the corner and whispered to the lantern under the cap:

What? They say you're retiring tomorrow? And I see you here for the last time? Well, here's a present for you from me. I will ventilate your cranium, and you will not only clearly and distinctly remember everything that you saw and heard yourself, but also see as in reality everything that will be told or read in front of you. What a fresh head you will have!

I don't know how to thank you! said the old lantern. - If only not to get into the smelter!

It's still a long way off," replied the wind. - Well, now I'll check your memory. If you received many such gifts, you would have a pleasant old age.

If only not to fall into the smelter! repeated the lantern. - Or maybe you will keep my memory in this case too? “Be reasonable, old lantern!” - said the wind and blew.

At that moment the moon peeped out.

What will you give? asked the wind.

Nothing, replied the month. - I'm at a disadvantage, besides, the lights never shine for me, I'm always for them.

And the month again hid behind the clouds - he did not want to be bothered. Suddenly a drop fell on the iron cap of the lantern. She seemed to roll

climbed from the roof, but the drop said that it fell from gray clouds, and also - as a gift, perhaps even the best.

I will carve you, - said the drop, - so that you will be able to turn into rust and crumble to dust on any night you wish.

To the lantern this gift seemed bad, to the wind too.

Who will give more? Who will give more? he murmured with all his might.

And at the same moment a star rolled down from the sky, leaving behind a long luminous trail.

What's this? cried the herring head. - No way, a star fell from the sky? And it seems, right on the lantern. Well, if such high-ranking persons are coveting this position, we can only take our bows and get out.

So all three did. And the old lantern suddenly flashed especially brightly.

A venerable thought, said the wind. “But you probably don’t know that a wax candle is supposed to go with this gift. You won't be able to show anything to anyone if you don't have a wax candle burning inside you. That's what the stars didn't think about. And you, and everything that glows, they take for wax candles. Well, now I'm tired, it's time to lie down, - said the wind and subsided.

The next morning ... no, in a day we'd better jump - the next evening the lantern was in the armchair, and who had it? At the old night watchman. For his long faithful service, the old man asked the "thirty-six city fathers" for an old street lamp. They laughed at him, but they gave him the lantern. And now the lantern was lying in an armchair near the warm stove, and it seemed as if it had grown from this - it occupied almost the entire armchair. The old men were already sitting at supper and looking affectionately at the old lantern: they would gladly put it with them at least at the table.

True, they lived in a basement, several cubits underground, and to get into their closet, one had to go through a brick-paved hallway, but in the closet itself it was warm and cozy. The doors were lined with felt, the bed was hidden behind a canopy, curtains hung from the windows, and two outlandish flower pots stood on the windowsills. They were brought by a Christian sailor from either the East Indies or the West Indies. These were clay elephants with a recess in the place of the back, into which earth was poured. In one elephant, a wonderful leek grew - it was the old people's garden, in the other geraniums bloomed magnificently - it was their garden. On the wall hung a large oil painting depicting the Congress of Vienna, which was attended by all the emperors and kings at once. An old clock with heavy lead weights ticked incessantly and always ran ahead, but it was better than if it fell behind, the old people said.

So, now they were having dinner, and the old street lamp lay, as said above, in an armchair near a warm stove, and it seemed to him as if the whole world had turned upside down. But then the old watchman looked at him and began to recall everything that they happened to go through together in rain and in bad weather, on clear, short summer nights and in snow blizzards, when one is drawn to the cellar, and the old lantern seemed to wake up and see everything. it's like reality.

Yes, the wind blew it nicely!

The old men were hardworking and inquisitive people, not a single hour was wasted with them in vain. On Sunday afternoons, a book would appear on the table, most often a description of a journey, and the old man would read aloud about Africa, about its vast forests and wild elephants that roam free. The old woman listened and looked at the clay elephants that served as flower pots.

I imagine! she said.

And the lantern so wanted a wax candle to burn in it - then the old woman, like himself, would see everything in reality: tall trees with intertwining dense branches, and naked black people on horseback, and whole herds of elephants trampling down reeds with thick legs and shrub.

What use is my ability if there is no wax candle? sighed the lantern. - The old people have only blubber and tallow candles, but this is not enough.

But in the basement there was a whole bunch of wax stubs. The long ones were used for lighting, and the old woman waxed the thread with short ones when she sewed. The old men now had wax candles, but it never occurred to them to insert at least one stub into the lantern.

The lantern, always clean and tidy, stood in the corner, in the most visible place. True, people called it old rubbish, but the old people let such words go past their ears - they loved the old lantern.

One day, on the birthday of the old watchman, the old woman went up to the lantern, smiled and said:

Now we will light an illumination in his honor!

The lantern rattled its cap with joy. “Finally, it dawned on them!” he thought.

But he got the blubber again, and not the wax candle. He burned all evening and now knew that the gift of the stars - the most wonderful gift - would never be useful to him in this life.

And then the lantern dreamed - with such abilities it is not surprising to dream - as if the old people had died, and he himself was melted down. And he was terrified, as at the time when he was to appear at the town hall for a review of the "thirty-six fathers of the city." And although he has the ability to crumble into rust and dust at will, he did not do this, but fell into a smelting furnace and turned into a wonderful iron candlestick in the form of an angel with a bouquet in his hand. A wax candle was inserted into the bouquet, and the candlestick took its place on the green cloth of the desk. The room is very comfortable; all the shelves are filled with books, the walls are hung with magnificent paintings. The poet lives here, and everything he thinks and writes about unfolds before him, as in a panorama. The room becomes either a dense dark forest, or meadows illuminated by the sun, through which a stork walks, or the deck of a ship sailing on a stormy sea ...

Ah, what abilities are hidden in me! - said the old lantern, waking up from his dreams. - Really, I even want to get into the smelter. However, no! As long as the old people are alive, it is not necessary. They love me for who I am, for them I am like a son. They clean me, fill me with blubber, and I am no worse here than all these high-ranking persons at the congress.

Since then, the old street lamp has found peace of mind - and he deserves it.

Andersen Hans Christian

Have you heard the story about the old street lamp? It’s not that it’s so entertaining, but it doesn’t hurt to listen to her once. So, there was a kind of respectable old street lamp; he honestly served for many, many years and finally had to retire.

Last evening the lantern hung on its pole, illuminating the street, and in his soul he felt like an old ballerina who performs on stage for the last time and knows that tomorrow she will be forgotten by everyone in her closet.

Tomorrow frightened the old campaigner: he was to appear for the first time at the town hall and appear before the "thirty-six city fathers" who would decide whether he was still fit for service or not. Perhaps it will still be sent to light some bridge or sent to the province to some factory, or perhaps it will simply be handed over to the smelter, and then anything can come of it. And now he was tormented by the thought: will he retain the memory that he was once a street lamp. One way or another, he knew that in any case he would have to part with the night watchman and his wife, who became like family to him. Both of them - both the lantern and the watchman - entered the service at the same time. The watchman's wife then aimed high and, passing by the lantern, honored him with a glance only in the evenings, and never during the day. In recent years, when all three - the watchman, and his wife, and the lantern - grew old, she also began to look after the lantern, clean the lamp and pour blubber into it. Honest people were these old men, they never cheated the lantern even a bit.

So, he shone in the street for the last evening, and in the morning he had to go to the town hall. These gloomy thoughts did not give him rest, and it is not surprising that he burned unimportantly. However, other thoughts flashed through his mind; he saw a lot, he had a chance to shed light on a lot, perhaps he was not inferior in this to all the "thirty-six fathers of the city." But he was silent about this. After all, he was a respectable old lantern and did not want to offend anyone, and even more so his superiors.

In the meantime, he remembered many things, and from time to time his flame flared up, as it were, from such thoughts:

“Yes, and someone will remember me! If only that handsome young man ... Many years have passed since then. He came up to me with a letter in his hands. and written in an elegant female handwriting. He read it twice, kissed it and raised his shining eyes to me. "I am the happiest man in the world!" they said. Yes, only he and I knew what his beloved had written in her first letter.

I remember other eyes too... It's amazing how thoughts jump! A magnificent funeral procession moved along our street. On a wagon upholstered in velvet, a beautiful young woman was carried in a coffin. How many wreaths and flowers! And there were so many torches that they completely eclipsed my light. The sidewalks were filled with people seeing off the coffin. But when the torches were out of sight, I looked around and saw a man who was standing at my post and crying. “I will never forget the look of his mournful eyes looking at me!”

And a lot of other things the old street lamp remembered that last evening. The sentry, who is being replaced from the post, at least knows who will take his place, and can exchange a few words with his comrade. And the lantern did not know who would replace him, and could not tell either about the rain and bad weather, or about how the moon illuminates the sidewalk and from which direction the wind blows.

At that time, three candidates for the vacant seat appeared on the bridge over the gutter, believing that the appointment to the post depended on the lantern itself. The first was a herring head that glowed in the dark; she believed that her appearance on the pole would significantly reduce the consumption of blubber. The second was rotten, which also glowed and, according to her, even brighter than dried cod; besides, she considered herself the last remnant of the entire forest. The third candidate was a firefly; where it came from, the lantern could not understand in any way, but nevertheless the firefly was there and also glowed, although the herring head and the rotten one swore that it only shined from time to time, and therefore did not count.

The old lantern said that none of them shined so brightly as to serve as a street lamp, but, of course, they did not believe him. And having learned that the appointment to the post did not depend on him at all, all three expressed deep satisfaction - he was too old to make the right choice.

At that moment, a wind blew up from around the corner and whispered to the lantern under the cap:

What? They say you're retiring tomorrow? And I see you here for the last time? Well, here's a present for you from me. I will ventilate your cranium, and you will not only clearly and distinctly remember everything that you saw and heard yourself, but also see as in reality everything that will be told or read in front of you.