M.E. Saltykov-Shchedrin

Mikhail Evgrafovich Saltykov-Shchedrin - writer, journalist, critic. He combined literary work with public service: at various times, the vice-governor of Ryazan and Tver, led the Treasury Chambers in the cities of Penza, Tula and Ryazan.

Mikhail Evgrafovich was fluent in a formidable weapon - the word. Life observations formed the basis of his creations; from the pen of the genius of journalism, many texts on the topic of the day appeared. Today we will get acquainted with the work created by Saltykov, "The Wise Gudgeon". A summary will be presented in this article.

Foreword

The work "The Wise Scribbler" (in the modern interpretation - "The Wise Minnow"), which is part of the series "Tales for Children of a Fair Age", was first published in 1883. It ridicules cowardice, touches upon the age-old philosophical question of what is the meaning of life.

Here is a summary of "The Wise Gudgeon". It is worth noting that reading the original will not take much time and will bring a lot of aesthetic pleasure, as it is written by a true master of the word, so do not limit yourself to acquaintance with the "recycled" work.

Once upon a time there was a minnow, he was lucky with his parents, they were smart and gave the right attitudes in life. For many years ("arid eyelids") they lived, avoiding numerous dangers that may lie in wait for small representatives of the underwater world. The father, dying, instructed his son - in order to live a long life, it is necessary to look at both, not to yawn.

Minnow himself was not stupid, or rather, he had a "mind chamber". I decided that the surest recipe for longevity is not to provoke trouble, to live in such a way that no one notices. During the year he hollowed out a hole with his nose, such that he could only fit himself, took exercise at night, at noon, when everyone was full and hiding from the heat, he ran out in search of food. I didn’t get enough sleep at night, the wise minnow was malnourished, he was afraid ... Every day he was shaking with fear that he was gaping and would not be able to save his precious life, as his father punished. What did Shchedrin want to say with this work?

"Wise Gudgeon": a summary - the main idea

Having lived "more than a hundred years", the minnow at his deathbed wondered what would happen if everyone, like him, led a smart life? And he made a disappointing conclusion - the gudgeon family would be interrupted. No family, no friends... Only unflattering epithets: dumbass, fool and asshole - that's all he deserved for his hermit life. He lived and trembled - that's all, not a citizen, a useless unit that only takes up space for nothing ... This is how the author spoke about his hero in the text.

The wise minnow died, disappeared, but how it happened - whether it was natural or who helped, no one noticed, and no one was interested in it.

This is the summary of "The Wise Gudgeon" - a fairy tale that the author wrote, ridiculing the mores of the society of bygone times. But it has not lost its relevance in our time.

Afterword

The representative of the fish community, the main character, refusing to benefit, left behind the glory of a trembling creature. The minnow, whom the author satirically called wise, chose a meaningless life, filled only with fear and deprivation, and as a result, a criminally inactive life was punished - death in the insight of his worthlessness and uselessness.

We hope that the summary of the "Wise Gudgeon" in this presentation will be useful to you.

Tales of Saltykov-Shchedrin

wise gudgeon

Saltykov devoted the tale "The Wise Scribbler" to a satirical criticism of cowardice and cowardice, which seized the public mood of part of the intelligentsia after the defeat of the Narodnaya Volya.

wise gudgeon

Once upon a time there was a piskar. Both his father and mother were smart; Little by little, the Arid eyelids* lived in the river and didn’t get into the ear or the pike in Hailo. Ordered the same for my son. “Look, son,” said the old scribbler, dying, “if you want to live life, then look at both!”

And the young scribbler had a mind. He began to scatter with this mind and sees: no matter where he turns, he is cursed everywhere. All around, in the water, all the big fish swim, and he is the smallest of all; any fish can swallow him, but he cannot swallow anyone. Yes, and does not understand: why swallow? A cancer can cut it in half with a claw, a water flea can bite into a ridge and torture to death. Even his brother scribbler - and he, as soon as he sees that he has caught a mosquito, will rush to take it away with a whole herd. They will take it away and start fighting with each other, only they will ruffle a mosquito for nothing.

And the man? What kind of wicked creature is this! no matter what tricks he invented, so that he, the scribbler, would be destroyed by a vain death! And seine, and nets, and heads, and norota, and, finally ... I will fish! It seems, what could be more stupid than oud? - A thread, a hook on a thread, a worm or a fly on the hook ... Yes, and how are they worn? .. in the most, one might say, unnatural position! And meanwhile, it is precisely on the lure of all that the piskar is caught!

The old father warned him more than once about oud. “Most of all, beware of the oud! - he said, - because even though it is the most stupid projectile, but with us, scribblers, what is more stupid is more true. They will throw us a fly, as if they want to take a nap on us; you cling to it - en death is in the fly!

The old man also told how one day he missed a little in the ear. At that time they were caught by a whole artel, they stretched a net over the entire width of the river, and so they dragged it about two miles along the bottom. Passion, how many fish then caught! And pikes, and perches, and chubs, and roaches, and loaches - even couch potato breams were raised from the mud from the bottom! And the scribblers lost count. And what fears he, the old scribbler, had endured while they dragged him along the river - it is neither in a fairy tale to say, nor to describe with a pen. He feels that he is being taken, but he does not know where. He sees that he has a pike on one side, and a perch on the other; he thinks: just about, now, either one or the other will eat him, but they don’t touch him ... “At that time, there was no time for food, brother, it was!” Everyone has one thing in mind: death has come! and how and why she came - no one understands. Finally, they began to lower the wings of the seine, dragged it ashore and began to bring down the fish from the bobbin into the grass. It was then that he learned what an ear was. Something red flutters in the sand; gray clouds run up from him; and it was so hot that he immediately grew mad. Even without water, it's sickening, and then they give in ... He hears - "fire", they say. And on the "bonfire" on this black something is laid, and in it the water, as if in a lake, during a storm, walks with a shaker. This is a "cauldron", they say. And in the end they began to say: put the fish into the “cauldron” - there will be an “ear”! And they started throwing our brother there. A fisherman will throw a fish - it will first plunge, then, like a madman, jump out, then plunge again - and calm down. "Uhi" means you've tasted it. They felled and felled at first indiscriminately, and then one old man looked at him and said: “What use is he, from the baby, for the fish soup! let it grow in the river!” He took him under the gills, and let him into free water. And he, do not be stupid, in all the shoulder blades - home! He ran, and his squeaker peeped out of the hole neither alive nor dead ...

And what! no matter how much the old man explained at that time what an ear is and what it consists of, however, even if you bring it in the river, rarely does anyone have a sound idea about the ear!

But he, the son of a scribbler,* perfectly remembered the teachings of the scribbler-father, and he wound it around his mustache. He was an enlightened scribbler, moderately liberal, and he very firmly understood that living life is not like licking a whorl. “You have to live in such a way that no one notices,” he said to himself, “otherwise you’ll just disappear!” - and began to settle down. First of all, he invented such a hole for himself, so that he could climb into it, but no one else could get into it! He pecked this hole with his nose for a whole year, and how much fear he took at that time, spending the night either in silt, or under water burdock, or in sedge. Finally, however, hollowed out for glory. Clean, tidy - just one fit just right. The second thing, about his life, he decided this: at night, when people, animals, birds and fish are sleeping, he will exercise, and during the day he will sit in a hole and tremble. But since he still needs to drink and eat, and he does not receive a salary and does not keep servants, he will run out of the hole around noon, when all the fish are already full, and, God willing, maybe a booger or two and hunt. And if he doesn’t provide, the hungry one will lie down in a hole, and will tremble again. For it is better not to eat, not to drink, than to lose life with a full stomach.

And so he did. At night he did exercise, bathed in the moonlight, and during the day he climbed into a hole and trembled. Only at noon will he run out to grab something - but what can you do at noon! At this time, the mosquito hides under the leaf from the heat, and the insect buries itself under the bark. Swallows water - and the Sabbath!

He lies day and day in a hole, does not sleep at night, does not eat a piece, and still thinks: “It seems that I am alive? ah, what will happen tomorrow?

He will doze off, a sinful thing, and in a dream he dreams that he has a winning ticket and he won two hundred thousand on it. Beside himself with delight, he will roll over to the other side - lo and behold, he has a whole half of his snout sticking out of the hole ... What if at that time there was a little pup nearby! after all, he would have pulled him out of the hole!

One day he woke up and sees: right in front of his hole is a cancer. He stands motionless, as if bewitched, staring at him with bone eyes. Only the whiskers move with the flow of water. That's when he got scared! And for half a day, until it got completely dark, this cancer was waiting for him, and in the meantime he was trembling, trembling all the time.

Another time, he had just managed to return to the hole in front of the dawn, he had just yawned sweetly, in anticipation of sleep, - he was looking, out of nowhere, at the very hole, a pike was standing and clapping his teeth. And she, too, guarded him all day long, as if she were fed up with the sight of him alone. And he blew a pike: he did not come out of the hole, and the coven.

And not once, not twice, this happened to him, but almost every day. And every day he, trembling, won victories and overcomings, every day he exclaimed: “Glory to you, Lord! alive!"

But this is not enough: he did not marry and had no children, although his father had a large family. He reasoned like this: “Father could have lived jokingly! At that time, the pikes were kinder, and perches did not covet us, small fry. And although once he was in the ear, and then there was an old man who rescued him! And now, as the fish have hatched in the rivers, and squeakers have hit in honor. So it’s not up to the family here, but how to live on your own! ”

And the wise scribbler lived in this way for over a hundred years. Everyone trembled, everyone trembled. He has no friends, no relatives; neither he to anyone, nor anyone to him. He doesn’t play cards, doesn’t drink wine, doesn’t smoke tobacco, doesn’t chase red girls - he only trembles and thinks for one thought: “Thank God! seems to be alive!

Even the pikes, in the end, and they began to praise him: “Now, if everyone lived like that, then it would be quiet in the river!” Yes, but they said it on purpose; they thought that he would introduce himself for praise - here, they say, I am! here it and clap! But he did not succumb to this thing either, and once again defeated the intrigues of his enemies with his wisdom.

How many years have passed after a hundred years is unknown, only the wise scribbler began to die. He lies in a hole and thinks: “Thank God, I am dying of my own death, just like my mother and father died.” And then he remembered the pike words: “If only everyone lived like this wise scribbler lives ...” Come on, really, what would happen then?

He began to scatter the mind, which he had a ward, and suddenly, as if someone whispered to him: “After all, that way, perhaps, the entire squeaky family would have died long ago!”

Because, in order to continue the scribble family, first of all, a family is needed, but he does not have one. But this is not enough: in order for the Piskar family to strengthen and prosper, for its members to be healthy and vigorous, it is necessary that they be brought up in their native element, and not in a hole where he was almost blind from eternal twilight. It is necessary that the scribblers receive sufficient food, that they do not alienate themselves from the public, that they share bread and salt with each other and borrow virtues and other excellent qualities from each other. For only such a life can perfect the minnow breed and will not allow it to be crushed and degenerate into a smelt.

Those who think that only those scribblers can be considered worthy citizens who, mad with fear, sit in holes and tremble, believe incorrectly. No, these are not citizens, but at least useless scribblers. No one is warm or cold from them, no honor, no dishonor, no glory, no dishonor ... they live, they take up space for nothing and eat food.

All this presented itself so distinctly and clearly that suddenly a passionate desire came to him: “I’ll get out of the hole and swim like a goldeneye across the river!” But as soon as he thought about it, he was frightened again. And began, trembling, to die. Lived - trembled, and died - trembled.

His whole life flashed before him in an instant. What were his joys? who did he comfort? who gave good advice? to whom did he say a kind word? who sheltered, warmed, protected? who heard about it? who remembers its existence?

And he had to answer all these questions: "No one, no one."

He lived and trembled - that's all. Even now: death is on his nose, and he is trembling, he himself does not know why. It is dark and cramped in his hole, there is nowhere to turn around, not a ray of sunlight will look there, nor will it smell of warmth. And he lies in this damp darkness, blind, exhausted, of no use to anyone, lies and waits: when will starvation finally free him from a useless existence?

He hears how other fish darting past his hole - perhaps, like him, piskari - and not one of them will take an interest in him. Not a single thought will come: “Let me ask the wise scribbler, in what manner did he manage to live for too hundred years, and neither the pike swallowed him, nor the cancer of the claws did not break, nor did the fisherman catch the hook?” They swim past, or maybe they don’t know that in this hole the wise scribbler completes his life process!

And what is most offensive of all: not even to hear anyone call him wise. They just say: “Have you heard about the dumbass who doesn’t eat, doesn’t drink, doesn’t see anyone, doesn’t take bread and salt with anyone, but only saves his hateful life?” And many even simply call him a fool and a shame and wonder how the water tolerates such idols.

He scattered in this way with his mind and dozed. That is, not that he was dozing, but he began to forget. Death whispers rang out in his ears, languor spread throughout his body. And then he dreamed of the former seductive dream. He allegedly won two hundred thousand, grew by as much as half a yard, and swallows the pike himself.

And while he was dreaming about it, his snout, little by little and gently, completely poked out of the hole.

And suddenly he disappeared. What happened here - whether the pike swallowed him, whether the crayfish was crushed by claws, or he himself died by his own death and surfaced - there were no witnesses to this case. Most likely, he died himself, because what sweetness is it for a pike to swallow an ailing, dying scribbler, and besides, a wise one?

You read the fairy tale: The wise minnow: Saltykov Shchedrin M E (Mikhail Evgrafovich).
You can read all the fairy tales in full, according to the content on the right.

Classics of literature (satire) from the collection of works for reading (stories, fairy tales) of the best, famous writers: Mikhail Evgrafovich Saltykov-Shchedrin. .................

The old man also told how one day he missed a little in the ear. At that time they were caught by a whole artel, they stretched a net over the entire width of the river, and so they dragged it about two miles along the bottom. Passion, how many fish then caught! And pikes, and perches, and chubs, and roaches, and loaches - even couch potato breams were raised from the mud from the bottom! And the scribblers lost count. And what fears he, the old scribbler, had endured while they dragged him along the river - it is neither in a fairy tale to say, nor to describe with a pen. He feels that he is being taken, but he does not know where. He sees that he has a pike on one side, and a perch on the other; he thinks: just about, now, either one or the other will eat him, but they don’t touch him ... “At that time, there was no time for food, brother, it was!” Everyone has one thing in mind: death has come! and how and why she came - no one understands. Finally, they began to lower the wings of the seine, dragged it ashore and began to bring down the fish from the bobbin into the grass. It was then that he learned what an ear was. Something red flutters in the sand; gray clouds run up from him; and it was so hot that he immediately grew mad. Even without water, it's sickening, and then they give in ... He hears - "bonfire", they say. And on the "bonfire" on this black something is laid, and in it the water, as if in a lake, during a storm, walks with a shaker. This is a "cauldron", they say. And in the end they began to say: put the fish into the “cauldron” - there will be an “ear”! And they started throwing our brother there. A fisherman will throw a fish - it will first plunge, then, like a madman, jump out, then plunge again - and calm down. "Uhi" means you've tasted it. They felled and felled at first indiscriminately, and then one old man looked at him and said: “What use is he, from the baby, for the fish soup! let it grow in the river!” He took him under the gills, and let him into free water. And he, do not be stupid, in all the shoulder blades - home! He came running, and his scribbler looked out of the hole neither alive nor dead ...

And what! no matter how much the old man explained at that time what an ear is and what it consists of, however, even if you bring it in the river, rarely does anyone have a sound idea about the ear!

But he, the scribbler-son, perfectly remembered the teachings of the scribbler-father, and he wound it around his mustache. He was an enlightened scribbler, moderately liberal, and he very firmly understood that living life is not like licking a whorl. “You have to live in such a way that no one notices,” he said to himself, “otherwise you’ll just disappear!” - and began to settle down. First of all, he invented such a hole for himself, so that he could climb into it, but no one else could get into it! He pecked this hole with his nose for a whole year, and how much fear he took at that time, spending the night either in silt, or under water burdock, or in sedge. Finally, however, hollowed out for glory. Clean, tidy - just one

fit fit. The second thing, about his life, he decided this: at night, when people, animals, birds and fish are sleeping, he will exercise, and during the day he will sit in a hole and tremble. But since he still needs to drink and eat, and he does not receive a salary and does not keep servants, he will run out of the hole around noon, when all the fish are already full, and, God willing, maybe a booger or two and hunt. And if he doesn’t provide, the hungry one will lie down in a hole, and will tremble again. For it is better not to eat, not to drink, than to lose life with a full stomach.

And so he did. At night he did exercise, bathed in the moonlight, and during the day he climbed into a hole and trembled. Only at noon will he run out to grab something - but what can you do at noon! At this time, the mosquito hides under the leaf from the heat, and the insect buries itself under the bark. Swallows water - and the Sabbath!

He lies day and day in a hole, does not sleep at night, does not eat a piece, and still thinks: “It seems that I am alive? ah, what will happen tomorrow?

He will doze off, a sinful thing, and in a dream he dreams that he has a winning ticket and he won two hundred thousand on it. Beside himself with delight, he will roll over to the other side - lo and behold, he has a whole half of his snout sticking out of the hole ... What if at that time there was a little pup nearby! after all, he would have pulled him out of the hole!

One day he woke up and sees: right in front of his hole is a cancer. He stands motionless, as if bewitched, staring at him with bone eyes. Only the whiskers move with the flow of water. That's when he got scared! And for half a day, until it got completely dark, this cancer was waiting for him, and in the meantime he was trembling, trembling all the time.

Another time, just before dawn he had time to return to the hole, he just yawned sweetly, in anticipation of sleep, - he looks, out of nowhere, at the very hole, the pike is standing and clapping his teeth. And she, too, guarded him all day long, as if she were fed up with the sight of him alone. And he blew a pike: he did not come out of the hole, and the coven.

And not once, not twice, this happened to him, but almost every day. And every day he, trembling, won victories and overcomings, every day he exclaimed: “Glory to you, Lord! alive!"

But this is not enough: he did not marry and had no children, although his father had a large family. He reasoned like this: “Father could have lived jokingly! At that time, the pikes were kinder, and perches did not covet us, small fry. And although once he was in the ear, and then there was an old man who rescued him! And now, as fish have hatched in the rivers, and squeakers in honor of

hit. So it’s not up to the family here, but how to live on your own! ”

And the wise scribbler lived in this way for over a hundred years. Everyone trembled, everyone trembled. He has no friends, no relatives; neither he to anyone, nor anyone to him. He doesn’t play cards, doesn’t drink wine, doesn’t smoke tobacco, doesn’t chase red girls - he only trembles and thinks for one thought: “Thank God! seems to be alive!

Even the pikes, in the end, and they began to praise him: “Now, if everyone lived like that, then it would be quiet in the river!” Yes, but they said it on purpose; they thought that he would introduce himself for praise - here, they say, I am! here it and clap! But he did not succumb to this thing either, and once again defeated the intrigues of his enemies with his wisdom.

How many years have passed after a hundred years is unknown, only the wise scribbler began to die. He lies in a hole and thinks: “Thank God, I am dying of my own death, just like my mother and father died.” And then he remembered the pike words: “If only everyone lived like this wise scribbler lives ...” Well, really, what would happen then?

He began to scatter the mind, which he had a ward, and suddenly, as if someone whispered to him: “After all, that way, perhaps, the entire squeaky family would have died long ago!”

Because, in order to continue the scribble family, first of all, a family is needed, but he does not have one. But this is not enough: in order for the Piskar family to strengthen and prosper, for its members to be healthy and vigorous, it is necessary that they be brought up in their native element, and not in a hole where he was almost blind from eternal twilight. It is necessary that the scribblers receive sufficient food, that they do not alienate themselves from the public, that they share bread and salt with each other and borrow virtues and other excellent qualities from each other. For only such a life can perfect the minnow breed and will not allow it to be crushed and degenerate into a smelt.

Those who think that only those scribblers can be considered worthy citizens who, mad with fear, sit in holes and tremble, believe incorrectly. No, these are not citizens, but at least useless scribblers. No one is warm or cold from them, no honor, no dishonor, no glory, no dishonor ... they live, they take up space for nothing and eat food.

All this presented itself so distinctly and clearly that suddenly a passionate desire came to him: “I’ll get out of the hole and swim like a goldeneye across the river!” But as soon as he thought about it, he was frightened again. And began, trembling, to die. Lived - trembled, and died - trembled.

His whole life flashed before him in an instant. What were his joys? who did he comfort? who gave good advice?

to whom did he say a kind word? who sheltered, warmed, protected? who heard about it? who remembers its existence?

And he had to answer all these questions: "No one, no one."

He lived and trembled - that's all. Even now: death is on his nose, and he is trembling, he himself does not know why. It is dark and cramped in his hole, there is nowhere to turn around, not a ray of sunlight will look there, nor will it smell of warmth. And he lies in this damp darkness, blind, exhausted, of no use to anyone, lies and waits: when will starvation finally free him from a useless existence?

He hears how other fish darting past his hole - perhaps, like him, piskari - and not one of them will take an interest in him. Not a single thought will come: “Let me ask the wise scribbler, in what manner did he manage to live for too hundred years, and neither the pike swallowed him, nor the cancer of the claws did not break, nor did the fisherman catch the hook?” They swim past, or maybe they don’t know that in this hole the wise scribbler completes his life process!

Once upon a time there was an "enlightened, moderately liberal" minnow. Clever parents, dying, bequeathed to him to live, looking at both. The minnow realized that trouble threatened him from everywhere: from large fish, from minnow neighbors, from a person (his own father once almost got boiled in his ear). The gudgeon built a hole for himself, where no one but him fit, swam out at night for food, and during the day he “trembled” in the hole, lacked sleep, malnourished, but took care of his life with all his might. Minnow has a dream about a winning ticket of 200 thousand. Crayfish and pikes lie in wait for him, but he avoids death.

The minnow does not have a family: “I would like to live on my own.” “And the wise gudgeon of this kind lived for more than a hundred years. Everyone trembled, everyone trembled. He has no friends, no relatives; neither he to anyone, nor anyone to him. He doesn’t play cards, doesn’t drink wine, doesn’t smoke tobacco, doesn’t chase red girls - he only trembles and thinks for one thought: “Thank God! seems to be alive! Even pike praise the minnow for its calm behavior, hoping that it will relax and they will eat it. The minnow does not succumb to any provocations.

The minnow lived for a hundred years. Reflecting on pike words, he understands that if everyone lived like him, the minnows would be eliminated (you can’t live in a hole, and not in your native element; you need to eat normally, have a family, communicate with neighbors). The life he leads is conducive to degeneration. He belongs to the "useless minnows." “No one from them is warm or cold, no one has any honor, no dishonor, no glory, no dishonor ... they live, they take up space for nothing and eat food.” The minnow decides once in a lifetime to get out of the hole and swim normally along the river, but gets scared. Even when dying, the gudgeon trembles. No one cares about him, no one asks his advice on how to live a hundred years, no one calls him wise, but rather "stupid" and "hateful." In the end, the minnow disappears to no one knows where: after all, even pikes do not need him, he is sick, dying, and even wiser.

The Wise Minnow The Tale of Saltykov-Shchedrin read

Once upon a time there was a piskar. Both his father and mother were smart; Little by little, the Arid eyelids lived in the river and didn’t get into the ear or the pike in the haylo. Ordered the same for my son. “Look, son,” said the old scribbler, dying, “if you want to live life, then look at both!”

And the young scribbler had a mind. He began to scatter with this mind and sees: no matter where he turns, he is cursed everywhere. All around, in the water, all the big fish swim, and he is the smallest of all; any fish can swallow him, but he cannot swallow anyone. Yes, and does not understand: why swallow? A cancer can cut it in half with a claw, a water flea can bite into a ridge and torture to death. Even his brother scribbler - and he, as soon as he sees that he has caught a mosquito, will rush to take it away with a whole herd. They will take it away and start fighting with each other, only they will ruffle a mosquito for nothing.

And the man? What kind of wicked creature is this! no matter what tricks he invented, so that he, the scribbler, would be destroyed by a vain death! And the seine, and the net, and the lead, and the norota, and, finally ... I will fish! It seems that it can be more stupid than oud? - A thread, a hook on a thread, a worm or a fly on the hook ... Yes, and how are they worn? .. in the most, one might say, unnatural position! And meanwhile, it is precisely on the lure of all that the piskar is caught!

The old father warned him more than once about oud. “Most of all, beware of the oud!” he said, “because even though it is the most stupid projectile, but with us, scribblers, what is more stupid is more true. They will throw us a fly, as if they want to lure us; is death!"

The old man also told how one day he missed a little in the ear. At that time they were caught by a whole artel, they stretched a net over the entire width of the river, and so they dragged it about two miles along the bottom. Passion, how many fish then caught! And pikes, and perches, and chubs, and roaches, and loaches - even couch potato breams were raised from the mud from the bottom! And the scribblers lost count. And what fears he, the old scribbler, had endured while they dragged him along the river - it is neither in a fairy tale to say, nor to describe with a pen. He feels that he is being taken, but he does not know where. He sees that he has a pike on one side, and a perch on the other; he thinks: just about, now, either one or the other will eat him, but they don’t touch him ... "At that time, there was no time for food, brother, it was!" Everyone has one thing in mind: death has come! and how and why she came - no one understands. Finally, they began to lower the wings of the seine, dragged it ashore and began to bring down the fish from the bobbin into the grass. It was then that he learned what an ear is. Something red flutters in the sand; gray clouds run up from him; and the heat is such that he immediately succumbed. Even without water, it's nauseating, and then they give in ... He hears - "bonfire", they say. And on the "bonfire" on this black something is laid, and in it the water, as if in a lake, during a storm, walks with a shaker. This is a "cauldron", they say. And in the end they began to say: put the fish into the "cauldron" - there will be "ear"! And they started throwing our brother there. A fisherman will throw a fish - it will first plunge, then, like a madman, jump out, then plunge again - and calm down. "Uhi" means you tasted it. They felled and felled at first indiscriminately, and then one old man looked at him and said: "What use is he, from the baby, for the fish soup! Let him grow in the river!" He took him under the gills, and let him into free water. And he, do not be stupid, in all the shoulder blades - home! He came running, and his scribbler looked out of the hole neither alive nor dead ...

And what! no matter how much the old man explained at that time what an ear is and what it consists of, however, even if you raise it in the river, rarely does anyone have a sound idea about the ear!

But he, the scribbler-son, perfectly remembered the teachings of the scribbler-father, and he wound it around his mustache. He was an enlightened scribbler, moderately liberal, and he very firmly understood that living life is not like licking a whorl. “You have to live in such a way that no one notices,” he said to himself, “otherwise you will just disappear!” - and began to settle down. First of all, he invented such a hole for himself, so that he could climb into it, but no one else could get into it! He pecked this hole with his nose for a whole year, and how much fear he took at that time, spending the night either in silt, or under water burdock, or in sedge. Finally, however, hollowed out for glory. Clean, tidy - just one fit just right. The second thing, about his life, he decided this: at night, when people, animals, birds and fish are sleeping, he will exercise, and during the day he will sit in a hole and tremble. But since he still needs to drink and eat, and he does not receive a salary and does not keep servants, he will run out of the hole around noon, when all the fish are already full, and, God willing, maybe a booger or two and hunt. And if he doesn’t provide, the hungry one will lie down in a hole, and will tremble again. For it is better not to eat, not to drink, than to lose life with a full stomach.

And so he did. At night he did exercise, bathed in the moonlight, and during the day he climbed into a hole and trembled. Only at noon will he run out to grab something - but what can you do at noon! At this time, the mosquito hides under the leaf from the heat, and the insect buries itself under the bark. Swallows water - and the Sabbath!

He lies all day long in a hole, he doesn’t sleep at night, he doesn’t eat a piece, and he still thinks: “It seems that I’m alive? Oh, will there be something tomorrow?”

He will doze off, a sinful thing, and in a dream he dreams that he has a winning ticket and he won two hundred thousand on it. Beside himself with delight, he will roll over to the other side - lo and behold, he has a whole half of his snout sticking out of the hole ... What if at that time there was a little pup nearby! after all, he would have pulled him out of the hole!

One day he woke up and sees: right in front of his hole is a cancer. He stands motionless, as if bewitched, staring at him with bone eyes. Only the whiskers move with the flow of water. That's when he got scared! And for half a day, until it got completely dark, this cancer was waiting for him, and in the meantime he was trembling, trembling all the time.

Another time, he had just managed to return to the hole in front of the dawn, he had just yawned sweetly, in anticipation of sleep, - he was looking, out of nowhere, at the very hole, a pike was standing and clapping his teeth. And she, too, guarded him all day long, as if she were fed up with the sight of him alone. And he blew a pike: he did not come out of the bark, and the Sabbath.

And not once, not twice, this happened to him, but almost every day. And every day he, trembling, won victories and overcomings, every day he exclaimed: "Glory to you, Lord! alive!"

But this is not enough: he did not marry and had no children, although his father had a large family. He reasoned like this: “Father could have lived jokingly! At that time, the pikes were kinder, and the perches didn’t covet us, small fry. And although once he got into the ear, there was an old man who rescued him! now, as the fish have hatched in the rivers, and the piskars have hit in honor. So it’s not up to the family here, but how if only to live oneself!

And the wise scribbler of this kind lived for more than a hundred years. Everyone trembled, everyone trembled. He has no friends, no relatives; neither he to anyone, nor anyone to him. He doesn’t play cards, doesn’t drink wine, doesn’t smoke tobacco, doesn’t chase red girls - he only trembles and thinks for one thought: “Thank God! It seems he is alive!”

Even the pikes, in the end, and they began to praise him: "Now, if everyone lived like that, then it would be quiet in the river!" Yes, but they said it on purpose; they thought that he would introduce himself for praise - here, they say, I am! here it and clap! But he did not succumb to this thing either, and once again defeated the intrigues of his enemies with his wisdom.

How many years have passed after a hundred years is unknown, only the wise scribbler began to die. He lies in a hole and thinks: "Thank God, I'm dying my own death, just like my mother and father died." And then he remembered the pike words: "Now, if everyone lived like this wise scribbler lives ..." Well, really, what would happen then?

He began to scatter the mind, which he had a ward, and suddenly, as if someone whispered to him: "After all, that way, perhaps, the whole piskary family would have died long ago!"

Because, in order to continue the scribble family, first of all, a family is needed, but he does not have one. But this is not enough: in order for the Piskar family to strengthen and prosper, for its members to be healthy and vigorous, it is necessary that they be brought up in their native element, and not in a hole where he was almost blind from eternal twilight. It is necessary that the scribblers receive sufficient food, that they do not alienate themselves from the public, that they share bread and salt with each other and borrow virtues and other excellent qualities from each other. For only such a life can perfect the minnow breed and will not allow it to be crushed and degenerate into a smelt.

Those who think that only those scribblers can be considered worthy citizens who, mad with fear, sit in holes and tremble, believe incorrectly. No, these are not citizens, but at least useless scribblers. No one is warm or cold from them, no honor, no dishonor, no glory, no dishonor ... they live, they take up space for nothing and eat food.

All this presented itself so distinctly and clearly that suddenly a passionate desire came to him: "I'll get out of the hole and swim like a goldeneye across the river!" But as soon as he thought about it, he was frightened again. And began, trembling, to die. Lived - trembled, and died - trembled.

His whole life flashed before him in an instant. What were his joys? who did he comfort? who gave good advice? to whom did he say a kind word? who sheltered, warmed, protected? who heard about it? who remembers its existence?

And he had to answer all these questions: "No one, no one."

He lived and trembled - that's all. Even now: death is on his nose, and he is trembling, he himself does not know why. It is dark and cramped in his hole, there is nowhere to turn around, neither a ray of sunlight will look into it, nor does it smell of warmth. And he lies in this damp darkness, blind, exhausted, of no use to anyone, lies and waits: when will starvation finally free him from a useless existence?

He hears how other fish darting past his hole - perhaps, like him, piskari - and not one of them will take an interest in him. Not a single thought will come to mind: “Let me ask the wise scribbler, in what manner did he manage to live for more than a hundred years, and neither the pike swallowed him, nor the cancer of the claws did not break, nor did the fisherman catch the hook?” They swim past, or maybe they don’t know that in this hole the wise scribbler completes his life process!

And what is most offensive of all: not even to hear that someone called him wise. They just say: “Have you heard about the dumbass who doesn’t eat, doesn’t drink, doesn’t see anyone, doesn’t take bread and salt with anyone, but only saves his hateful life?” And many even simply call him a fool and a shame and wonder how the water tolerates such idols.

He scattered in this way with his mind and dozed. That is, not that he was dozing, but he began to forget. Death whispers rang out in his ears, languor spread throughout his body. And then he dreamed of the former seductive dream. He allegedly won two hundred thousand, grew by as much as half an arshin and swallows the pike himself.

And while he was dreaming about it, his snout, little by little and gently, completely poked out of the hole.

And suddenly he disappeared. What happened here - whether the pike swallowed him, whether the crayfish was killed by claws, or whether he himself died by his own death and surfaced - there were no witnesses to this case. Most likely, he died himself, because what sweetness is it for a pike to swallow an ailing, dying scribbler, and besides, also a "wise one"?