Panteleev love for the motherland or the journey of a sparrow. Love for the Motherland, or the Journey of the Sparrow (A

Platonov Andrey

Love for the motherland, or the journey of a sparrow

Andrey Platonovich PLATONOV

LOVE FOR THE HOMELAND, OR THE JOURNEY OF A SPARROW

(fantastic incident)

The old violinist-musician loved to play at the foot of the monument to Pushkin. This monument stands in Moscow, at the beginning of Tverskoy Boulevard, poems are written on it, and marble steps rise up to it from all four sides. Climbing up these steps to the pedestal itself, the old musician turned his face to the boulevard, to the distant Nikitsky Gate, and touched the strings on the violin with his bow. Children, passers-by, newspaper readers from the local kiosk immediately gathered at the monument - and they all fell silent in anticipation of music, because music consoles people, it promises them happiness and a glorious life. The musician put the case from his violin on the ground against the monument, it was closed, and there was a piece of black bread and an apple in it, so that you could eat whenever you wanted.

Usually the old man went out to play in the evening, at first dusk. It was more useful for his music to make the world quieter and darker. He did not know troubles from his old age, because he received a pension from the state and was fed enough. But the old man was bored by the thought that he did not bring people any good, and therefore he voluntarily went to play on the boulevard. There, the sounds of his violin were heard in the air, in the dusk, and at least occasionally they reached the depths of the human heart, touching him with a gentle and courageous force, captivating him to live a higher, beautiful life. Some music listeners took out money to give it to the old man, but did not know where to put it: the violin case was closed, and the musician himself was high at the foot of the monument, almost next to Pushkin. Then people put dimes and kopecks on the lid of the case. However, the old man did not want to cover his need at the expense of the art of music; hiding the violin back in the case, he showered money from it on the ground, not paying attention to their value. He went home late, sometimes already at midnight, when the people became rare, and only some random lonely person listened to his music. But the old man could play for one person and played the piece to the end until the listener left, crying in the darkness to himself. Maybe he had his grief, disturbed now by the song of art, or maybe he felt ashamed that he was living wrong, or he just drank wine ...

In late autumn, the old man noticed that a sparrow sat on the case, which, as usual, lay at a distance on the ground. The musician was surprised that this bird was still awake and that even in the darkness of the evening it was busy working for its livelihood. True, it is difficult to feed oneself in a day now: all the trees have already fallen asleep for the winter, the insects have died, the land in the city is bare and hungry, because the horses rarely walk and the janitors immediately remove the manure after them. Where, in fact, to eat sparrows in autumn and winter? After all, the wind in the city is weak and meager between the houses - it does not hold the sparrow when it spreads tired wings, so that the sparrow has to wave and work all the time.

Sparrow, having examined the entire lid of the case, did not find anything useful on it for himself. Then he moved the money coins with his legs, took the smallest bronze kopeck out of them with his beak and flew away with it to no one knows where. So, he didn’t fly for nothing - at least something, but he took it! Let him live and care, he also needs to exist.

The next evening, the old violinist opened the case - in case that if yesterday's sparrow arrives, he can feed on the pulp of bread that lay at the bottom of the case. However, the sparrow did not appear, probably, he ate somewhere else, and the penny was not good for him anywhere.

The old man still patiently waited for the sparrow, and on the fourth day he saw him again. Sparrow, without interference, sat down on the bread in the case and began to peck at the prepared food in a businesslike manner. The musician stepped down from the monument, approached the case and quietly examined a small bird. The sparrow was disheveled, big-headed, and many of his feathers turned gray; from time to time he vigilantly glanced around, so as to accurately see enemy and friend, and the musician was surprised at his calm, reasonable eyes. This sparrow must have been very old or unhappy, because he had already acquired a great mind from grief, misfortune and longevity.

For several days the sparrow did not appear on the boulevard; In the meantime, pure snow fell and it froze. The old man, before going to the boulevard, daily crumbled soft warm bread into the violin case. Standing at the height of the foot of the monument, playing a gentle melody, the old man constantly followed his open case, the nearby paths and the dead flower bushes in the summer flowerbed. The musician expected the sparrow and yearned for it: where does it sit now and keep warm, what does it eat in the cold snow? Quietly and brightly, the lanterns around the monument to Pushkin burned, beautiful clean people, illuminated by electricity and snow, gently passed by the monument, moving away on their important and happy business. The old man played on, concealing in himself a miserable feeling of sadness for a small, zealous bird, which now lived somewhere and was exhausted.

But another five days passed, and the sparrow still did not fly to visit the monument to Pushkin. The old violinist still left an open case with crumbled bread for him, but the musician's senses were already weary of waiting, and he began to forget the sparrow. The old man had to forget a lot in his life forever. And the violinist stopped crumbling the bread, now he was lying in a case in a whole piece, and only the musician left the lid open.

In the depths of winter, near midnight, one day a snowstorm began. The old man was playing Schubert's "Winter Road" with the last piece and then was going to retire. At that hour, out of the middle of the wind and snow, the familiar gray sparrow appeared. He sat down with thin, insignificant paws on the frosty snow; then he walked a little around the case, blowing whirlwinds all over his body, but indifferent to them and fearless, and flew into the case. There the sparrow began to peck at the bread, almost burrowing into its warm flesh. He ate for a long time, probably for half an hour; already the blizzard had almost completely covered the room with snow, and the sparrow was still stirring inside the snow, working on its food. So he knew how to eat for a long time. The old man went up to the case with the violin and the bow and waited a long time in the midst of the whirlwind for the sparrow to free the case. Finally, the sparrow got out, cleaned himself in a small snowdrift, briefly said something and ran away on foot to his lodging for the night, not wanting to fly in the cold wind, so as not to waste his strength in vain.

Platonov Andrey

Love for the motherland, or the journey of a sparrow

Andrey Platonovich PLATONOV

LOVE FOR THE HOMELAND, OR THE JOURNEY OF A SPARROW

(fantastic incident)

The old violinist-musician loved to play at the foot of the monument to Pushkin. This monument stands in Moscow, at the beginning of Tverskoy Boulevard, poems are written on it, and marble steps rise up to it from all four sides. Climbing up these steps to the pedestal itself, the old musician turned his face to the boulevard, to the distant Nikitsky Gate, and touched the strings on the violin with his bow. Children, passers-by, newspaper readers from the local kiosk immediately gathered at the monument - and they all fell silent in anticipation of music, because music consoles people, it promises them happiness and a glorious life. The musician put the case from his violin on the ground against the monument, it was closed, and there was a piece of black bread and an apple in it, so that you could eat whenever you wanted.

Usually the old man went out to play in the evening, at first dusk. It was more useful for his music to make the world quieter and darker. He did not know troubles from his old age, because he received a pension from the state and was fed enough. But the old man was bored by the thought that he did not bring people any good, and therefore he voluntarily went to play on the boulevard. There, the sounds of his violin were heard in the air, in the dusk, and at least occasionally they reached the depths of the human heart, touching him with a gentle and courageous force, captivating him to live a higher, beautiful life. Some music listeners took out money to give it to the old man, but did not know where to put it: the violin case was closed, and the musician himself was high at the foot of the monument, almost next to Pushkin. Then people put dimes and kopecks on the lid of the case. However, the old man did not want to cover his need at the expense of the art of music; hiding the violin back in the case, he showered money from it on the ground, not paying attention to their value. He went home late, sometimes already at midnight, when the people became rare, and only some random lonely person listened to his music. But the old man could play for one person and played the piece to the end until the listener left, crying in the darkness to himself. Maybe he had his grief, disturbed now by the song of art, or maybe he felt ashamed that he was living wrong, or he just drank wine ...

In late autumn, the old man noticed that a sparrow sat on the case, which, as usual, lay at a distance on the ground. The musician was surprised that this bird was still awake and that even in the darkness of the evening it was busy working for its livelihood. True, it is difficult to feed oneself in a day now: all the trees have already fallen asleep for the winter, the insects have died, the land in the city is bare and hungry, because the horses rarely walk and the janitors immediately remove the manure after them. Where, in fact, to eat sparrows in autumn and winter? After all, the wind in the city is weak and meager between the houses - it does not hold the sparrow when it spreads tired wings, so that the sparrow has to wave and work all the time.

Sparrow, having examined the entire lid of the case, did not find anything useful on it for himself. Then he moved the money coins with his legs, took the smallest bronze kopeck out of them with his beak and flew away with it to no one knows where. So, he didn’t fly for nothing - at least something, but he took it! Let him live and care, he also needs to exist.

The next evening, the old violinist opened the case - in case that if yesterday's sparrow arrives, he can feed on the pulp of bread that lay at the bottom of the case. However, the sparrow did not appear, probably, he ate somewhere else, and the penny was not good for him anywhere.

The old man still patiently waited for the sparrow, and on the fourth day he saw him again. Sparrow, without interference, sat down on the bread in the case and began to peck at the prepared food in a businesslike manner. The musician stepped down from the monument, approached the case and quietly examined a small bird. The sparrow was disheveled, big-headed, and many of his feathers turned gray; from time to time he vigilantly glanced around, so as to accurately see enemy and friend, and the musician was surprised at his calm, reasonable eyes. This sparrow must have been very old or unhappy, because he had already acquired a great mind from grief, misfortune and longevity.

For several days the sparrow did not appear on the boulevard; In the meantime, pure snow fell and it froze. The old man, before going to the boulevard, daily crumbled soft warm bread into the violin case. Standing at the height of the foot of the monument, playing a gentle melody, the old man constantly followed his open case, the nearby paths and the dead flower bushes in the summer flowerbed. The musician expected the sparrow and yearned for it: where does it sit now and keep warm, what does it eat in the cold snow? Quietly and brightly, the lanterns around the monument to Pushkin burned, beautiful clean people, illuminated by electricity and snow, gently passed by the monument, moving away on their important and happy business. The old man played on, concealing in himself a miserable feeling of sadness for a small, zealous bird, which now lived somewhere and was exhausted.

But another five days passed, and the sparrow still did not fly to visit the monument to Pushkin. The old violinist still left an open case with crumbled bread for him, but the musician's senses were already weary of waiting, and he began to forget the sparrow. The old man had to forget a lot in his life forever. And the violinist stopped crumbling the bread, now he was lying in a case in a whole piece, and only the musician left the lid open.

In the depths of winter, near midnight, one day a snowstorm began. The old man was playing Schubert's "Winter Road" with the last piece and then was going to retire. At that hour, out of the middle of the wind and snow, the familiar gray sparrow appeared. He sat down with thin, insignificant paws on the frosty snow; then he walked a little around the case, blowing whirlwinds all over his body, but indifferent to them and fearless, and flew into the case. There the sparrow began to peck at the bread, almost burrowing into its warm flesh. He ate for a long time, probably for half an hour; already the blizzard had almost completely covered the room with snow, and the sparrow was still stirring inside the snow, working on its food. So he knew how to eat for a long time. The old man went up to the case with the violin and the bow and waited a long time in the midst of the whirlwind for the sparrow to free the case. Finally, the sparrow got out, cleaned himself in a small snowdrift, briefly said something and ran away on foot to his lodging for the night, not wanting to fly in the cold wind, so as not to waste his strength in vain.

The next evening, the same sparrow again arrived at the monument to Pushkin; he immediately sank into the case and began to peck at the finished bread. The old man looked at him from the height of the foot of the monument, played music on the violin from there and felt good in his heart. This evening the weather was calm, as if tired after yesterday's caustic snow. Having eaten, the sparrow flew high from the case and muttered a small song in the air ...

It didn't dawn for a long time in the morning. Waking up in his room, the retired musician heard the singing of a blizzard outside the window. Frosty, hard snow rushed down the lane and blotted out the daylight. Even at night, in the darkness, frozen forests and flowers of an unknown magical land lay on the window glass. The old man began to admire this inspired play of nature, as if nature, too, languished for better happiness, like man and music.

You won't have to go to play on Tverskoy Boulevard today. Today the storm sings, and the sounds of the violin will be too weak. Nevertheless, towards evening the old man dressed himself in a coat, tied a shawl around his head and neck, crumbled some bread into his pocket, and went out. With difficulty, out of breath from the hardened cold and wind, the musician went along his lane to Tverskoy Boulevard. The icy branches of the trees on the boulevard creaked desertedly, and the monument itself rustled dejectedly from the flying snow rubbing over it. The old man wanted to put the lumps of bread on the steps of the monument, but he saw that it was useless: the storm would immediately take away the bread, and the snow would cover it. All the same, the musician left his bread on the step and saw how he disappeared into the dusk of the storm.

In the evening the musician sat at home alone; he played his violin, but there was no one to listen to him, and the melody sounded bad in the emptiness of the room, it touched only one single soul of the violinist, and this was not enough, or his soul became poor from old age. He stopped playing. There was a torrent of a hurricane in the street - it’s probably bad now for the sparrows. The old man went to the window and listened to the strength of the storm through the frozen glass. Is the gray-haired sparrow even now not afraid to fly to the monument to Pushkin to eat bread from a case?

The gray-haired sparrow was not afraid of a snow storm. Only he did not fly to Tverskoy Boulevard, but went on foot, because it was a little quieter downstairs and you could hide behind local snowdrifts and various passing objects.

Sparrow carefully examined the entire neighborhood around the monument to Pushkin and even rummaged through the snow with his legs, where an open case with bread usually stood. Several times he tried to take off to leeward on the bare, blown steps of the monument, to see if the hurricane had brought some crumbs or old grains there; they could be caught and swallowed. However, the storm immediately took the sparrow as soon as it broke off the snow, and carried it away until it hit a tree trunk or a tram mast, and then the sparrow quickly fell and burrowed into the snow to warm up and rest. Soon the sparrow stopped hoping for food. He dug deep into the hole in the snow, huddled in it and dozed off: if only he would not freeze and die, and the storm would someday end. Still, the sparrow slept carefully, sensitively, following the action of the hurricane in his sleep. In the midst of sleep and night, the sparrow noticed that the snowy mound in which he slept crawled along with him, and then all the snow around him collapsed, dissipated, and the sparrow was left alone in the hurricane.

The musician, in his old age, regularly comes to the monument in order to perform his melodies on the violin in front of the townspeople. People always come to listen to him, enjoy this magnificent and sensual music. The old man, in turn, also feels happiness and great joy from doing his own work.

The old man continued to play the violin until late in the evening and wanted to give everyone his melodious music, he played even for one listener. His goal was only to give everyone a little beauty and joy. At the same time, he never took money, and he poured all the coins (which the listeners left) onto the asphalt.

On one of these days, a sparrow with a large head and gray feathers sits near the musician. This little sparrow starts to peck nearby and eventually finds nothing and takes only the picked up coin with it. After that, the musician begins to bring some bread with him, which he pours into a case and the sparrow arrives on the fourth day.

The sparrow continues to fly on other days, but then disappears. When the sparrow was away, he flew off somewhere during a storm that took him far away, but to warmer lands. Then the sparrow began to miss his homeland and wanted to return back.

On the way back, the sparrow finds itself in a stream of stormy wind and flies near the territory where the musician played. Only the wind increased again and became cold, and the sparrow began to freeze and fell to the ground. The children found him and decided to sell him to the musician in exchange for his coins, the old man agreed and carried him home.

At home, the old man understands: the sparrow is the same friend of his who flew to him to feast on crumbs. The musician warmed it up, put it in a box with a turtle. In the morning, a deceased sparrow lay in this box, the old man saw him, began to play a sad melody.

Sparrow flew to stay at home. The old man was sad about him, the tortoise stretched its neck sympathetically.

Picture or drawing Love for the Motherland or Journey of the Sparrow

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The old violinist-musician loved to play at the foot of the monument to Pushkin. This monument stands in Moscow, at the beginning of Tverskoy Boulevard, poems are written on it, and marble steps rise up to it from all four sides. Climbing up these steps to the pedestal itself, the old musician turned his face to the boulevard, to the distant Nikitsky Gate, and touched the strings on the violin with his bow. Children, passers-by, newspaper readers from the local kiosk immediately gathered at the monument - and they all fell silent in anticipation of music, because music consoles people, it promises them happiness and a glorious life. The musician put the case from his violin on the ground against the monument, it was closed, and there was a piece of black bread and an apple in it, so that you could eat whenever you wanted.

Usually the old man went out to play in the evening, at first dusk. It was more useful for his music to make the world quieter and darker. He did not know troubles from his old age, because he received a pension from the state and was fed enough. But the old man was bored by the thought that he did not bring people any good, and therefore he voluntarily went to play on the boulevard. There, the sounds of his violin were heard in the air, in the dusk, and at least occasionally they reached the depths of the human heart, touching him with a gentle and courageous force, captivating him to live a higher, beautiful life. Some music listeners took out money to give it to the old man, but did not know where to put it: the violin case was closed, and the musician himself was high at the foot of the monument, almost next to Pushkin. Then people put dimes and kopecks on the lid of the case. However, the old man did not want to cover his need at the expense of the art of music; hiding the violin back in the case, he showered money from it on the ground, not paying attention to their value. He went home late, sometimes already at midnight, when the people became rare, and only some random lonely person listened to his music. But the old man could play for one person and played the piece to the end until the listener left, crying in the darkness to himself. Maybe he had his grief, disturbed now by the song of art, or maybe he felt ashamed that he was living wrong, or he just drank wine ...

The old violinist-musician loved to play at the foot of the monument to Pushkin. This monument stands in Moscow, at the beginning of Tverskoy Boulevard, poems are written on it, and marble steps rise up to it from all four sides. Climbing up these steps to the pedestal itself, the old musician turned his face to the boulevard, to the distant Nikitsky Gate, and touched the strings on the violin with his bow. Children, passers-by, newspaper readers from the local kiosk immediately gathered at the monument - and they all fell silent in anticipation of music, because music consoles people, it promises them happiness and a glorious life. The musician put the case from his violin on the ground against the monument, it was closed, and there was a piece of black bread and an apple in it, so that you could eat whenever you wanted.

Usually the old man went out to play in the evening, at first dusk. It was more useful for his music to make the world quieter and darker. He did not know troubles from his old age, because he received a pension from the state and was fed enough. But the old man was bored by the thought that he did not bring people any good, and therefore he voluntarily went to play on the boulevard. There, the sounds of his violin were heard in the air, in the dusk, and at least occasionally they reached the depths of the human heart, touching him with a gentle and courageous force, captivating him to live a higher, beautiful life. Some music listeners took out money to give it to the old man, but did not know where to put it: the violin case was closed, and the musician himself was high at the foot of the monument, almost next to Pushkin. Then people put dimes and kopecks on the lid of the case. However, the old man did not want to cover his need at the expense of the art of music; hiding the violin back in the case, he showered money from it on the ground, not paying attention to their value. He went home late, sometimes already at midnight, when the people became rare, and only some random lonely person listened to his music. But the old man could play for one person and played the piece to the end until the listener left, crying in the darkness to himself. Maybe he had his grief, disturbed now by the song of art, or maybe he felt ashamed that he was living wrong, or he just drank wine ...

In late autumn, the old man noticed that a sparrow sat on the case, which, as usual, lay at a distance on the ground. The musician was surprised that this bird was still awake and that even in the darkness of the evening it was busy working for its livelihood. True, it is difficult to feed oneself in a day now: all the trees have already fallen asleep for the winter, the insects have died, the land in the city is bare and hungry, because the horses rarely walk and the janitors immediately remove the manure after them. Where, in fact, to eat sparrows in autumn and winter? For even the wind in the city is weak and meager between houses; it does not hold the sparrow when it spreads its weary wings, so that the sparrow has to wave and labor all the time.

Sparrow, having examined the entire lid of the case, did not find anything useful on it for himself. Then he moved the money coins with his legs, took the smallest bronze kopeck out of them with his beak and flew away with it to no one knows where. So, it was not for nothing that he flew in - at least something, but he took it! Let him live and care, he also needs to exist.

The next evening, the old violinist opened the case in case that if yesterday's sparrow arrives, he can feed on the pulp of bread that lay at the bottom of the case. However, the sparrow did not appear, probably, he ate somewhere else, and the penny was not good for him anywhere.

The old man still patiently waited for the sparrow, and on the fourth day he saw him again. Sparrow, without interference, sat down on the bread in the case and began to peck at the prepared food in a businesslike manner. The musician stepped down from the monument, approached the case and quietly examined a small bird. The sparrow was disheveled, big-headed, and many of his feathers turned gray; from time to time he vigilantly glanced around, so as to accurately see enemy and friend, and the musician was surprised at his calm, reasonable eyes. This sparrow must have been very old or unhappy, because he had already acquired a great mind from grief, misfortune and longevity.

For several days the sparrow did not appear on the boulevard; In the meantime, pure snow fell and it froze. The old man, before going to the boulevard, daily crumbled soft warm bread into the violin case. Standing at the height of the foot of the monument, playing a gentle melody, the old man constantly followed his open case, the nearby paths and the dead flower bushes in the summer flowerbed. The musician expected the sparrow and yearned for it: where does it sit now and keep warm, what does it eat in the cold snow? Quietly and brightly, the lanterns around the monument to Pushkin burned, beautiful clean people, illuminated by electricity and snow, gently passed by the monument, moving away on their important and happy business. The old man played on, concealing in himself a miserable feeling of sadness for a small, zealous bird, which now lived somewhere and was exhausted.

But another five days passed, and the sparrow still did not fly to visit the monument to Pushkin. The old violinist still left an open case with crumbled bread for him, but the musician's senses were already weary of waiting, and he began to forget the sparrow. The old man had to forget a lot in his life forever. And the violinist stopped crumbling the bread, now he was lying in a case in a whole piece, and only the musician left the lid open.

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