In m garshin a toad and a rose to read. Folk wisdom and works of Garshin

A rose and a toad lived in the world. The rose bush, on which the rose blossomed, grew in a small semicircular flower garden in front of the village house. The flower garden was very neglected; weeds grew densely in the old flowerbeds grown into the ground and along the paths, which no one had cleaned or sprinkled with sand for a long time. A wooden lattice with pegs trimmed in the form of tetrahedral spikes, once painted with green oil paint, is now completely peeled off, dried up and fell apart; the pikes were stolen by village boys to play soldiers, and to fight off an angry watchdog with a company of other dogs, peasants approached the house.

And the flower garden from this destruction became no worse. Hops, dodder with large white flowers, and mouse peas, hanging in whole pale green bunches, with pale purple tassels of flowers scattered here and there, were braided with the remains of the lattice. The prickly thistles on the oily and damp soil of the flower garden (there was a large shady garden around it) reached such large sizes that they almost seemed like trees. The yellow mulleins raised their flower-studded arrows even higher than them. Nettles occupied a whole corner of the flower garden; it burned, of course, but it was possible to admire its dark greenness from a distance, especially when this greenery served as a backdrop for the delicate and luxurious pale rose flower.

It blossomed on a fine May morning; when she opened her petals, the departed morning dew left a few clean, transparent tears on them. Rose was crying. But everything around her was so good, so pure and clear on that beautiful morning, when she saw the blue sky for the first time and felt the fresh morning breeze and the rays of the shining sun, penetrating her thin petals with a pink light; in the flower garden it was so peaceful and calm that if she could really cry, it would not be from grief, but from happiness. She couldn't speak; she could only, bowing her head, spread around her a delicate and fresh scent, and that scent was her words, her tears, and her prayer.

And below, between the roots of the bush, on the damp earth, as if clinging to it with a flat belly, sat a rather fat old toad, which hunted worms and midges all night and sat down in the morning to rest from work, choosing a place shady and damp. She sat with her toad-like eyes covered with membranes, and barely perceptibly breathed, puffing out her dirty gray warty and sticky sides and putting one ugly paw to the side: she was too lazy to move it to her belly. She did not rejoice in the morning, or the sun, or good weather; She had already eaten and was going to rest.

But when the breeze ceased for a moment and the smell of the rose did not drift away, the toad felt it, and this caused her a vague anxiety; however, for a long time she was too lazy to see where the smell was coming from.

No one went to the flower garden where the rose grew and where the toad sat for a long time. Last year in the autumn, on the very day when the toad, having found a good gap under one of the foundation stones of the house, was about to climb there for hibernation, a little boy entered the flower garden for the last time, who spent the whole summer sitting in it every clear day under the window of the house. A grown girl, his sister, was sitting by the window; she was reading a book or sewing something, and from time to time looked at her brother. He was a little boy of about seven, with big eyes and a big head on a thin body. He was very fond of his flower garden (it was his flower garden, because, apart from him, almost no one went to this abandoned place) and, having come to it, sat down in the sun, on an old wooden bench that stood on a dry sandy path that had survived near the very at home, because they went to close the shutters along it, and began to read the book he had brought with him.

Vasya, do you want me to throw a ball to you? the sister asks from the window. Maybe you can run with him?

No, Masha, I'd rather do it this way, with a book.

And he sat for a long time and read. And when he got tired of reading about the Robinsons, and wild countries, and sea robbers, he left the open book and climbed into the thicket of the flower garden. Here he was familiar with every bush and almost every stem. He squatted down in front of a thick mullein stem, surrounded by shaggy whitish leaves, which was three times taller than he, and for a long time watched how the ant people ran up to their cows - grass aphids, how the ant delicately touches the thin tubes sticking out of the aphids on the back, and picks up clean droplets of sweet liquid that appear on the tips of the tubes. He watched the dung beetle busily and diligently dragging its ball somewhere, like a spider, spreading a cunning rainbow net, guarding flies, like a lizard, opening its blunt muzzle, sitting in the sun, shining with green shields of its back; and once, in the evening, he saw a live hedgehog! Here, too, he could not restrain himself from joy and almost screamed and clapped his hands, but fearing to frighten off the prickly animal, he held his breath and, widening his happy eyes, watched in delight as he, snorting, sniffed the roots of the rose bush with his pig snout, looking for worms between them, and comically fingered his plump paws, similar to bears.

Vasya, dear, go home, it's getting damp, - my sister said loudly.

And the hedgehog, frightened by the human voice, quickly pulled his prickly fur coat over his forehead and on his hind legs and turned into a ball. The boy softly touched his thorns; the animal shrank even more, and puffed muffledly and hastily, like a small steam engine.

Then he got to know this hedgehog a little. He was such a weak, quiet, and meek boy that even various small animal species seemed to understand this and soon got used to him. What a joy it was when the hedgehog tasted milk from a saucer brought by the owner of the flower garden!

This spring the boy could not go out to his favorite corner. As before, his sister was sitting beside him, but no longer by the window, but by his bed; she read the book, but not for herself, but aloud to him, because it was difficult for him to lift his emaciated head from the white pillows and it was difficult for him to hold even the smallest volume in his skinny hands, and his eyes soon got tired from reading. He must never go out to his favorite corner again.

Masha! he suddenly whispers to his sister.

What, honey?

What's good in kindergarten now? Have the roses bloomed?

His sister leans down and kisses him on his pale cheek, wiping away a tear in the process.

Okay, my dear, very good. And the roses bloomed. On Monday we will go there together. The doctor will let you out.

The boy doesn't answer and takes a deep breath. The sister starts reading again.

Already will. I'm tired. I'll sleep better.

His sister straightened his pillows and white blanket, he turned with difficulty to the wall and fell silent. The sun shone through the window overlooking the flower garden, and cast bright rays on the bed and on the little body lying on it, illuminating the pillows and blanket and gilding the short-cropped hair and thin neck of the child.

Rose knew none of this; she grew and flaunted; on the next day it should have blossomed in full bloom, and on the third day it should begin to wither and crumble. That's the whole pink life! But even in this short life she had a chance to experience a lot of fear and grief. The toad noticed her.

When she first saw the flower with her evil and ugly eyes, something strange stirred in the toad's heart. She could not tear herself away from the delicate rose petals and kept looking and looking. She really liked the rose, she felt a desire to be closer to such a fragrant and beautiful creature. And to express her tender feelings, she did not think of anything better than these words:

Wait, - she croaked, - I'll gobble you up!

Rose shuddered. Why was she attached to her stem? Free birds, chirping around her, jumped and flew from branch to branch; sometimes they were carried away somewhere far away, where the rose did not know. Butterflies were also free. How she envied them! Had she been like them, she would have fluttered and flown away from the evil eyes that pursued her with their gaze. Rosa did not know that toads sometimes lie in wait for butterflies.

I will devour you! - repeated the toad, trying to speak as gently as possible, which came out even more terrible, and crawled closer to the rose.

I will devour you! she repeated, still looking at the flower.

And the poor creature saw with horror how nasty sticky paws cling to the branches of the bush on which it grew. However, it was difficult for the toad to climb: its flat body could crawl freely and jump only on level ground. With every effort she looked up, where the flower swayed, and the rose froze.

God! - she prayed, - if only to die a different death!

And the toad kept climbing higher. But where the old trunks ended and the young branches began, she had to suffer a little. The dark green smooth bark of the rose bush was all planted with sharp and strong thorns. The toad broke its paws and belly about them and, bloodied, fell to the ground. She looked at the flower with hatred...

I said I'll eat you! she repeated.

Evening came; it was necessary to think about supper, and the wounded toad trudged along to lie in wait for careless insects. Anger didn't stop her from stuffing her stomach like she always did; her scratches were not very dangerous, and she decided, after resting, to again reach the flower that attracted her and hated her.

She rested for quite some time. Morning came, noon passed, the rose almost forgot about her enemy. She had already fully blossomed and was the most beautiful creature in the flower garden. There was no one to come to admire her: the little master lay motionless on his bed, his sister did not leave him and did not appear at the window. Only birds and butterflies scurried around the rose, and the bees, buzzing, sometimes sat down in its open corolla and flew out from there, completely shaggy from the yellow flower dust. The nightingale flew in, climbed into the rose bush and sang his song. How different it was from the wheezing of a toad! Rosa listened to this song and was happy: it seemed to her that the nightingale was singing for her, but maybe it was true. She did not see how her enemy climbed the branches unnoticed. This time the toad spared neither its paws nor its belly: the blood covered it, but it bravely climbed all the way up - and suddenly, amid the sonorous and gentle rumble of the nightingale, the rose heard a familiar wheezing: - I said that I will gobble up, and I will gobble up!

Toad eyes stared at her from a nearby branch. The evil animal had only one move to grab the flower. Rosa realized that she was dying ...

The little master had been lying motionless on the bed for a long time. The sister, who was sitting in an armchair by the head of the bed, thought he was asleep. She had an open book in her lap, but she did not read it. Little by little her tired head bowed: the poor girl did not sleep for several nights, not leaving her sick brother, and now she dozed off a little.

Masha, he suddenly whispered.

The sister was startled. She dreamed that she was sitting at the window, that her little brother was playing, as last year, in the flower garden and was calling her. Opening her eyes and seeing him in bed, thin and weak, she sighed heavily.

What's cute?

Masha, you told me that roses have blossomed! Can I... have one?

You can, baby, you can! She went to the window and looked at the bush. There grew one, but very magnificent rose.

A rose has blossomed just for you, and what a glorious one! Would you like to put it here on the table in a glass? Yes?

Yes, on the table. I would like to.

The girl took the scissors and went out into the garden. She had not left the room for a long time; the sun blinded her, and the fresh air made her dizzy a little. She came to the bush at the very moment when the toad wanted to grab the flower.

Ah, what a mess! she cried.

And seizing a branch, she shook it violently: the toad fell to the ground and flopped on its belly. In a rage, she jumped at the girl, but could not jump above the edge of the dress and immediately flew far away, thrown back by the toe of her shoe. She did not dare to try again and only from a distance saw how the girl carefully cut the flower and carried it into the room.

When the boy saw his sister with a flower in her hand, for the first time after a long time he smiled weakly and with difficulty made a movement with his thin hand.

Give it to me, he whispered. - I'll sniff.

The sister put the stem into his hand and helped him to move it to his face. He breathed in a gentle scent and, smiling happily, whispered:

Ah, how nice...

Then his face became serious and motionless, and he fell silent ... forever. The rose, although it was cut before it began to crumble, felt that it had been cut for a reason. She was placed in a separate glass near a small coffin.

There were whole bouquets of other flowers, but, to tell the truth, no one paid any attention to them, and the young girl, when she put it on the table, raised it to her lips and kissed it. A small tear fell from her cheek onto the flower, and this was the best incident in the life of a rose. When it began to wither, they put it in a thick old book and dried it, and then, after many years, they gave it to me. That's why I know the whole story.

A rose and a toad lived in the world.

The rose bush, on which the rose blossomed, grew in a small semicircular flower garden in front of the village house. The flower garden was very neglected; weeds grew densely in the old flowerbeds grown into the ground and along the paths, which no one had cleaned or sprinkled with sand for a long time. A wooden lattice with pegs trimmed in the form of tetrahedral peaks, once painted with green oil paint, is now completely peeled off, dried out and fell apart; the pikes were stolen by village boys to play soldiers, and to fight off an angry watchdog with a company of other dogs, peasants approached the house.

And the flower garden from this destruction became no worse. Hops, dodder with large white flowers, and mouse peas, hanging in whole pale green heaps, with pale purple tassels of flowers scattered here and there, plaited the remains of the trellis. The prickly thistles on the oily and damp soil of the flower garden (there was a large shady garden around it) reached such large sizes that they almost seemed like trees. Yellow mulleins raised their flower-studded arrows even higher than them. Nettles occupied a whole corner of the flower garden; it burned, of course, but it was possible to admire its dark greenness from a distance, especially when this greenery served as a backdrop for the delicate and luxurious pale rose flower.

It blossomed on a fine May morning; when she opened her petals, the departed morning dew left a few clean, transparent tears on them. Rose was crying. But everything around her was so good, so clean and clear on this beautiful morning, when she saw the blue sky for the first time and felt the fresh morning breeze and the rays of the shining sun, penetrating her thin petals with a pink light; in the flower garden it was so peaceful and calm that if she could really cry, it would not be from grief, but from happiness. She couldn't speak; she could only, bowing her head, spread around her a delicate and fresh scent, and this scent was her words, her tears, and her prayer.

And below, between the roots of the bush, on the damp earth, as if clinging to it with a flat belly, sat a rather fat old toad, which hunted worms and midges all night and sat down in the morning to rest from work, choosing a place shady and damp. She sat with her toad eyes covered with membranes, and barely perceptibly breathed, inflating her dirty gray warty and sticky sides and putting one ugly paw to the side: she was too lazy to move it to her belly. She did not rejoice in the morning, or the sun, or good weather; She had already eaten and was going to rest.

But when the breeze ceased for a moment and the smell of the rose did not drift away, the toad felt it, and this caused her a vague anxiety; however, for a long time she was too lazy to see where this smell was coming from.

No one went to the flower garden where the rose grew and where the toad sat for a long time. Last year in autumn, on the very day when the toad, having found a good gap under one of the foundation stones of the house, was about to climb there for hibernation, a little boy entered the flower garden for the last time, who spent the whole summer sitting in it every clear day under the window of the house. A grown girl, his sister, was sitting by the window; she was reading a book or sewing something, and from time to time looked at her brother. He was a little boy of about seven, with big eyes and a big head on a thin body. He was very fond of his flower garden (it was his flower garden, because, apart from him, almost no one went to this abandoned place) and, having come to it, sat down in the sun, on an old wooden bench that stood on a dry sandy path that had survived near the very at home, because they went to close the shutters along it, and began to read the book he had brought with him.

Vasya, do you want me to throw a ball to you? the sister asks from the window. Maybe you can run with him?

No, Masha, I'd rather do it this way, with a book.

And he sat for a long time and read. And when he got tired of reading about the Robinsons, and wild countries, and sea robbers, he left the open book and climbed into the thicket of the flower garden. Here he was familiar with every bush and almost every stem. He squatted down in front of a thick mullein stem, surrounded by shaggy whitish leaves, which was three times taller than he, and for a long time watched how the ant people ran up to their cows - grass aphids, how the ant delicately touches the thin tubes sticking out of the aphids on the back, and picks up clean droplets of sweet liquid that appear on the tips of the tubes. He watched the dung beetle busily and diligently dragging its ball somewhere, like a spider, spreading a cunning rainbow net, guarding flies, like a lizard, opening its blunt muzzle, sitting in the sun, shining with green shields of its back; and once, in the evening, he saw a live hedgehog! Here, too, he could not restrain himself from joy and almost screamed and clapped his hands, but fearing to frighten off the prickly animal, he held his breath and, widening his happy eyes, watched in delight as he, snorting, sniffed the roots of the rose bush with his pig snout, looking for worms between them, and comically fingered his plump paws, similar to bears.

Vasya, dear, go home, it's getting damp, - my sister said loudly.

And the hedgehog, frightened by the human voice, quickly pulled a prickly fur coat over his forehead and on his hind legs and turned into a ball. The boy softly touched his thorns; the animal shrank even more and puffed muffledly and hastily, like a small steam engine.

Then he got to know this hedgehog a little. He was such a weak, quiet, and meek boy that even various small animal species seemed to understand this and soon got used to him. What a joy it was when the hedgehog tasted milk from a saucer brought by the owner of the flower garden!

This spring the boy could not go out to his favorite corner. As before, his sister was sitting beside him, but no longer by the window, but by his bed; she read the book, but not for herself, but aloud to him, because it was difficult for him to lift his emaciated head from the white pillows and it was difficult for him to hold even the smallest volume in his skinny hands, and his eyes soon got tired from reading. He must never go out to his favorite corner again.

Masha! he suddenly whispers to his sister.

What, honey?

What's good in kindergarten now? Have the roses bloomed?

The sister leans down, kisses him on the pale cheek, and at the same time quietly wipes away a tear.

Okay, my dear, very good. And the roses bloomed. Here on Monday we will go there together. The doctor will let you out.

The boy doesn't answer and takes a deep breath. The sister starts reading again.

Already will. I'm tired. I'll sleep better.

His sister straightened his pillows and white blanket, he turned with difficulty to the wall and fell silent. The sun shone through the window overlooking the flower garden, and cast bright rays on the bed and on the little body lying on it, illuminating the pillows and the blanket, and gilding the short-cropped hair and thin neck of the child.

Rose knew none of this; she grew and flaunted; on the next day it should have blossomed in full bloom, and on the third day it should begin to wither and crumble. That's the whole pink life! But even in this short life she had a chance to experience a lot of fear and grief.

The toad noticed her.

When she first saw the flower with her evil and ugly eyes, something strange stirred in the toad's heart. She could not tear herself away from the delicate rose petals and kept looking and looking. She really liked the rose, she felt a desire to be closer to such a fragrant and beautiful creature. And to express her tender feelings, she did not think of anything better than these words:

Wait, - she croaked, - I'll gobble you up!

Rose shuddered. Why was she attached to her stem? Free birds, chirping around her, jumped and flew from branch to branch; sometimes they were carried away somewhere far away, where the rose did not know. Butterflies were also free. How she envied them! If she were like them, she would flutter and fly away from the evil eyes that pursued her with their gaze. Rosa did not know that toads sometimes lie in wait for butterflies.

I will devour you! - repeated the toad, trying to speak as gently as possible, which came out even more terrible, and crawled closer to the rose.

I will devour you! she repeated, still looking at the flower.

And the poor creature saw with horror how nasty sticky paws cling to the branches of the bush on which it grew. However, it was difficult for the toad to climb: its flat body could freely crawl and jump only on level ground. With every effort she looked up, where the flower swayed, and the rose froze.

God! - she prayed, - if only to die a different death!

And the toad kept climbing higher. But where the old trunks ended and the young branches began, she had to suffer a little. The dark green smooth bark of the rose bush was all planted with sharp and strong thorns. The toad broke its paws and belly about them and, bloodied, fell to the ground. She looked at the flower with hatred...

I said I'll eat you! she repeated.

Evening came; it was necessary to think about supper, and the wounded toad trudged along to lie in wait for careless insects. Anger didn't stop her from stuffing her stomach like she always did; her scratches were not very dangerous, and she decided, after resting, to again get to the flower that attracted her and hated her.

She rested for quite some time. Morning came, noon passed, the rose almost forgot about her enemy. She had already fully blossomed and was the most beautiful creature in the flower garden. There was no one to come to admire her: the little master lay motionless on his bed, his sister did not leave him and did not appear at the window. Only birds and butterflies scurried around the rose, and the bees, buzzing, sometimes sat down in its open corolla and flew out from there, completely shaggy from the yellow flower dust. The nightingale flew in, climbed into the rose bush and sang his song. How different it was from the wheezing of a toad! Rosa listened to this song and was happy: it seemed to her that the nightingale was singing for her, but maybe it was true. She did not see how her enemy quietly climbed up the branches. This time, the toad no longer spared either its paws or its belly: the blood covered it, but it bravely climbed all the way up - and suddenly, amid the sonorous and gentle roar of the nightingale, the rose heard a familiar wheezing:

I said I'll eat it, and I'll eat it!

Toad eyes stared at her from a nearby branch. The evil animal had only one move to grab the flower. Rosa realized that she was dying ...

The little master had been lying motionless on the bed for a long time. The sister, who was sitting in an armchair by the head of the bed, thought he was asleep. She had an open book in her lap, but she did not read it. Little by little her tired head bowed: the poor girl did not sleep for several nights, not leaving her sick brother, and now she dozed off a little.

Masha, he suddenly whispered.

The sister was startled. She dreamed that she was sitting at the window, that her little brother was playing, as last year, in the flower garden and was calling her. Opening her eyes and seeing him in bed, thin and weak, she sighed heavily.

What's cute?

Masha, you told me that roses have blossomed! Can I... have one?

You can, baby, you can! She went to the window and looked at the bush. There grew one, but very magnificent rose.

A rose has blossomed just for you, and what a glorious one! Would you like to put it here on the table in a glass? Yes?

Yes, on the table. I would like to.

The girl took the scissors and went out into the garden. She had not left the room for a long time; the sun blinded her, and the fresh air made her dizzy a little. She came to the bush at the very moment when the toad wanted to grab the flower.

Ah, what a mess! she cried.

And seizing a branch, she shook it violently: the toad fell to the ground and flopped on its belly. In a rage, she jumped at the girl, but could not jump above the edge of the dress and immediately flew far away, thrown back by the toe of her shoe. She did not dare to try again and only from a distance saw how the girl carefully cut the flower and carried it into the room.

When the boy saw his sister with a flower in her hand, for the first time after a long time he smiled weakly and with difficulty made a movement with his thin hand.

Give it to me,” he whispered. - I'll sniff.

The sister put the stalk into his hand and helped him move it to his face. He breathed in a gentle scent and, smiling happily, whispered:

Ah, how nice...

Then his face became serious and motionless, and he fell silent ... forever.

The rose, although it was cut before it began to crumble, felt that it had been cut for a reason. She was placed in a separate glass near a small coffin. There were whole bouquets of other flowers, but, to tell the truth, no one paid attention to them, and the young girl, when she put it on the table, raised it to her lips and kissed it. A small tear fell from her cheek onto the flower, and this was the best incident in the life of a rose. When it began to wither, they put it in a thick old book and dried it, and then, after many years, they gave it to me. That's why I know the whole story.

Information for parents: In the instructive tale "About the Toad and the Rose" Garshin tries to tell children about beauty and evil, good and bad. The rose, despite its short flowering, brings beauty and joy to everyone around. And the sick dying boy rejoices at the cut rose. And the toad in the fairy tale "About the Toad and the Rose" tries to eat a beautiful flower. This fairy tale is recommended to read to children from 5 to 8 years.

Read the story about the toad and the rose

A rose and a toad lived in the world. The rose bush, on which the rose blossomed, grew in a small semicircular flower garden in front of the village house. The flower garden was very neglected; weeds grew densely in the old flowerbeds grown into the ground and along the paths, which no one had cleaned or sprinkled with sand for a long time. A wooden lattice with pegs trimmed in the form of tetrahedral peaks, once painted with green oil paint, is now completely peeled off, dried out and fell apart; the pikes were stolen by the village boys to play soldiers, and to fend off an angry watchdog with a company of other dogs, the peasants approached the house.

And the flower garden from this destruction became no worse. Hops, dodder with large white flowers, and mouse peas, hanging in whole pale green heaps, with pale purple tassels of flowers scattered here and there, plaited the remains of the trellis. The prickly thistles on the oily and damp soil of the flower garden (there was a large shady garden around it) reached such large sizes that they almost seemed like trees. Yellow mulleins raised their flower-studded arrows even higher than them. Nettles occupied a whole corner of the flower garden; it burned, of course, but it was possible to admire its dark greenness from a distance, especially when this greenery served as a backdrop for the delicate and luxurious pale rose flower.

It blossomed on a fine May morning; when she opened her petals, the departed morning dew left a few clean, transparent tears on them. Rose was crying. But everything around her was so good, so clean and clear on that beautiful morning, when she saw the blue sky for the first time and felt the fresh morning breeze and the rays of the shining sun, penetrating her thin petals with a pink light; in the flower garden it was so peaceful and calm that if she could really cry, it would not be from grief, but from happiness. She couldn't speak; she could only, by bowing her head, spread around her a delicate and fresh smell, and this smell was her words, tears and prayer.

And below, between the roots of the bush, on the damp earth, as if clinging to it with a flat belly, sat a rather fat old toad, which hunted worms and midges all night and sat down in the morning to rest from work, choosing a place shady and damp. She sat with her toad eyes covered with membranes, and barely perceptibly breathed, inflating her dirty gray warty and sticky sides and putting one ugly paw to the side: she was too lazy to move it to her belly. She did not rejoice in the morning, or the sun, or good weather; She had already eaten and was going to rest.

But when the breeze ceased for a moment and the smell of the rose did not drift away, the toad felt it, and this caused her a vague anxiety; however, for a long time she was too lazy to see where this smell was coming from.

No one went to the flower garden where the rose grew and where the toad sat for a long time. Last year in autumn, on the very day when the toad, having found a good gap under one of the foundation stones of the house, was about to climb there for hibernation, a little boy entered the flower garden for the last time, who spent the whole summer sitting in it every clear day under the window of the house. A grown girl, his sister, was sitting by the window; she was reading a book or sewing something, and from time to time looked at her brother. He was a little boy of about seven, with big eyes and a big head on a thin body. He was very fond of his flower garden (it was his flower garden, because, apart from him, almost no one went to this abandoned place) and, having come to it, sat down in the sun, on an old wooden bench that stood on a dry sandy path that had survived near the very at home, because they went to close the shutters along it, and began to read the book he had brought with him.

- Vasya, do you want me to throw a ball to you? the sister asks from the window. Maybe you can run with him?

- No, Masha, I'd rather like this, with a book.

And he sat for a long time and read. And when he got tired of reading about the Robinsons, and wild countries, and sea robbers, he left the open book and climbed into the thicket of the flower garden. Here he was familiar with every bush and almost every stem. He squatted down in front of a thick mullein stem, surrounded by shaggy whitish leaves, which was three times taller than he, and for a long time watched how the ant people ran up to their cows - grass aphids, how the ant delicately touches the thin tubes sticking out of the aphids on the back, and picks up clean droplets of sweet liquid that appear on the tips of the tubes. He watched the dung beetle busily and diligently dragging its ball somewhere, like a spider, spreading a cunning rainbow net, guarding flies, like a lizard, opening its blunt muzzle, sitting in the sun, shining with green shields of its back; and once, in the evening, he saw a live hedgehog! Here, too, he could not restrain himself from joy and almost screamed and clapped his hands, but fearing to frighten off the prickly animal, he held his breath and, widening his happy eyes, watched in delight as he, snorting, sniffed the roots of the rose bush with his pig snout, looking for worms between them, and comically fingered his plump paws, similar to bears.

“Vasya, dear, go home, it’s getting damp,” my sister said loudly.

And the hedgehog, frightened by the human voice, quickly pulled a prickly fur coat over his forehead and on his hind legs and turned into a ball. The boy softly touched his thorns; the animal shrank even more and puffed muffledly and hastily, like a small steam engine.

Then he got to know this hedgehog a little. He was such a weak, quiet, and meek boy that even various small animal species seemed to understand this and soon got used to him. What a joy it was when the hedgehog tasted milk from a saucer brought by the owner of the flower garden!

This spring the boy could not go out to his favorite corner. As before, his sister was sitting beside him, but no longer by the window, but by his bed; she read the book, but not for herself, but aloud to him, because it was difficult for him to lift his emaciated head from the white pillows and it was difficult for him to hold even the smallest volume in his skinny hands, and his eyes soon got tired from reading. He must never go out to his favorite corner again.

- Masha! he suddenly whispers to his sister.

- What, honey?

- What, is it good in the kindergarten now? Have the roses bloomed?

His sister leans down and kisses him on his pale cheek, wiping away a tear in the process.

“Very well, my dear, very well. And the roses bloomed. Here on Monday we will go there together. The doctor will let you out.

The boy doesn't answer and takes a deep breath. The sister starts reading again.

- It will already be. I'm tired. I'll sleep better.

His sister straightened his pillows and white blanket, he turned with difficulty to the wall and fell silent. The sun shone through the window overlooking the flower garden, and cast bright rays on the bed and on the little body lying on it, illuminating the pillows and the blanket, and gilding the short-cropped hair and thin neck of the child.

Rose knew none of this; she grew and flaunted; on the next day it should have blossomed in full bloom, and on the third day it should begin to wither and crumble. That's the whole pink life! But even in this short life she had a chance to experience a lot of fear and grief. The toad noticed her.

When she first saw the flower with her evil and ugly eyes, something strange stirred in the toad's heart. She could not tear herself away from the delicate rose petals and kept looking and looking. She really liked the rose, she felt a desire to be closer to such a fragrant and beautiful creature. And to express her tender feelings, she did not think of anything better than these words:

"Wait," she croaked, "I'll eat you up!"

Rose shuddered. Why was she attached to her stem? Free birds, chirping around her, jumped and flew from branch to branch; sometimes they were carried away somewhere far away, where the rose did not know. Butterflies were also free. How she envied them! If she were like them, she would flutter and fly away from the evil eyes that pursued her with their gaze. Rosa did not know that toads sometimes lie in wait for butterflies.

- I'll devour you! - repeated the toad, trying to speak as gently as possible, which came out even more terrible, and crawled closer to the rose.

- I'll devour you! she repeated, still looking at the flower.

And the poor creature saw with horror how nasty sticky paws cling to the branches of the bush on which it grew. However, it was difficult for the toad to climb: its flat body could freely crawl and jump only on level ground. With every effort she looked up, where the flower swayed, and the rose froze.

- God! she prayed, “if only I could die a different death!”

And the toad kept climbing higher. But where the old trunks ended and the young branches began, she had to suffer a little. The dark green smooth bark of the rose bush was all planted with sharp and strong thorns. The toad broke its paws and belly about them and, bloodied, fell to the ground. She looked at the flower with hatred...

“I said I would eat you!” she repeated.

Evening came; it was necessary to think about supper, and the wounded toad trudged along to lie in wait for careless insects. Anger didn't stop her from stuffing her stomach like she always did; her scratches were not very dangerous, and she decided, after resting, to again get to the flower that attracted her and hated her.

She rested for quite some time. Morning came, noon passed, the rose almost forgot about her enemy. She had already fully blossomed and was the most beautiful creature in the flower garden. There was no one to come to admire her: the little master lay motionless on his bed, his sister did not leave him and did not appear at the window. Only birds and butterflies scurried around the rose, and the bees, buzzing, sometimes sat down in its open corolla and flew out from there, completely shaggy from the yellow flower dust. The nightingale flew in, climbed into the rose bush and sang his song. How different it was from the wheezing of a toad! Rosa listened to this song and was happy: it seemed to her that the nightingale was singing for her, but maybe it was true. She did not see how her enemy quietly climbed up the branches. This time, the toad spared neither its paws nor its belly: the blood covered it, but it bravely climbed all the way up - and suddenly, amid the sonorous and gentle roar of the nightingale, the rose heard a familiar wheezing: - I said that I would gobble it up, and I will gobble it up!

Toad eyes stared at her from a nearby branch. The evil animal had only one move to grab the flower. Rosa realized that she was dying ...

The little master had been lying motionless on the bed for a long time. The sister, who was sitting in an armchair by the head of the bed, thought he was asleep. She had an open book in her lap, but she did not read it. Little by little her tired head bowed: the poor girl did not sleep for several nights, not leaving her sick brother, and now she dozed off a little.

“Masha,” he suddenly whispered.

The sister was startled. She dreamed that she was sitting at the window, that her little brother was playing, as last year, in the flower garden and was calling her. Opening her eyes and seeing him in bed, thin and weak, she sighed heavily.

- What's cute?

- Masha, you told me that roses have blossomed! Can I... have one?

- You can, my dear, you can! She went to the window and looked at the bush. There grew one, but very magnificent rose.

- Just for you, a rose has blossomed, and what a glorious one! Would you like to put it here on the table in a glass? Yes?

Yes, on the table. I would like to.

The girl took the scissors and went out into the garden. She had not left the room for a long time; the sun blinded her, and the fresh air made her dizzy a little. She came to the bush at the very moment when the toad wanted to grab the flower.

- Oh, what a mess! she cried.

And seizing a branch, she shook it violently: the toad fell to the ground and flopped on its belly. In a rage, she jumped at the girl, but could not jump above the edge of the dress and immediately flew far away, thrown back by the toe of her shoe. She did not dare to try again and only from a distance saw how the girl carefully cut the flower and carried it into the room.

When the boy saw his sister with a flower in her hand, for the first time after a long time he smiled weakly and with difficulty made a movement with his thin hand.

“Give it to me,” he whispered. - I'm sniffing.

The sister put the stalk into his hand and helped him move it to his face. He breathed in a gentle scent and, smiling happily, whispered:

- Oh, how good ...

Then his face became serious and motionless, and he fell silent ... forever. The rose, although it was cut before it began to crumble, felt that it had been cut for a reason. She was placed in a separate glass near a small coffin.

There were whole bouquets of other flowers, but, to tell the truth, no one paid attention to them, and the young girl, when she put it on the table, raised it to her lips and kissed it. A small tear fell from her cheek onto the flower, and this was the best incident in the life of a rose. When it began to wither, they put it in a thick old book and dried it, and then, after many years, they gave it to me. That's why I know the whole story.

It rarely happens that the author can combine, on the one hand, a small amount, and on the other hand, a deep meaning. Not all stories meet both of these parameters at once. In this sense, reading fairy tales, for example, by Andersen or Garshin, is a special pleasure. "The Tale of the Toad and the Rose" caught our attention today. Let's talk about her.

A rose amid the general desolation

The tale immediately begins as a parable. A beautiful rose bloomed in a small flower garden in front of the village house. It was also surprising because no one had been engaged in a flower garden for a long time. And no one expected such an unexpected appearance of such a beautiful plant.

One of the main characters of the work "The Tale of the Toad and the Rose" was born in May. The desire to live overwhelmed her, and if the newcomer to the world could somehow show her feelings, she would cry from the fullness and joy of being.

Of course, no heart-moving story is complete without some confrontation between good and evil. In our fairy tale, good is the Rose, and evil is the Toad.

The toad notices the rose

Let's get back to the plot. Of course, as we know that in places of desolation a lot of all kinds of abominations are bred. Here, too, the rose was not left alone by the author. Her pair (or anti-pair) was made up of a toad. For some time in The Tale of the Toad and the Rose, the nasty animal does not notice the beautiful flower, and everyone lives well. But then the Toad saw Rose and ... fell in love. And in her most tender voice she said: "I will eat you." It was she who thus showed the object of her adoration the utmost degree of love and devotion. Rosa, of course, did not imagine how deep the feelings of the Toad were, and therefore she was afraid that they would really eat her and disappear just like that.

Toad attempts to take possession of the flower

For Toad, the possession of a beautiful creature has become a real fix idea. She was trying to get to Rose. Fortunately, the plant, in addition to the flower, also had sharp thorns that served as a "security system". It was they who threw the vile creature from the beautiful creation of God. But the Toad did not stop trying, she just hid for a while and decided to get the flower in a different way.

Those who read Garshin's essay (“The Tale of the Toad and the Rose” means) will say: “Where is the boy? Was it a boy?" Yes, that is right. Let's move on to it, especially since this is a very important part of the story.

boy and flower garden

The flower garden was not always so hopelessly lonely and abandoned. Last year, a boy visited him, sat there and read a book, enjoying the wonderful company of plants and insects. Once even a hedgehog wandered into the flower garden. At first he was afraid of the boy, but then he got used to his company and even drank milk from the master's saucer. The young man was very glad that the prickly beast accepted him as his brother. In general, the boy considered the flower garden to be his, because no one else needed it.

When sister Masha suggested that her brother play with a ball instead of reading books in the flower garden, he told her that he would rather stay here. And now, a year later, he was lying in bed seriously ill. Doctors said he didn't have much time left. Now his sister read a book to him when he was awake. Another girl wept quietly about the fate of her unfortunate younger brother when the boy did not see her. Such a story was written by V.M. Garshin. "The Tale of the Toad and the Rose" turned out to be a very sad work.

The toad remains out of work, and the rose fulfills a great mission

If the reader remembers, then we left the Toad when she, all wounded after another attempt to get to the flower, fell to the ground. The nasty beast did not give up and decided to get to the beautiful creature through other, neighboring plants. At the same time, Rose, who was slightly naive and frivolous, thought that the Toad had lagged behind her, and completely forgot about her.

However, one fine sunny day, when the beauty of the Rose became almost blinding, she saw a Toad on a nearby branch. The stubborn beast had to give a hand (that is, a paw) to the desired beauty. Here, of course, Garshin's work "The Tale of the Toad and the Rose" makes the reader nervous and asks the question: "Well, will evil really win, and the Toad will achieve its goal?" Calm down, dear reader, remember the genre of the composition and don't worry. In the real world, evil can win, but never in a fairy tale!

When the Toad was ready to make the last jump, the boy suddenly woke up and called the girl Masha:

Sister, you said the roses were in bloom. Can I have one?

Of course, my dear, of course, - the young woman replied.

Masha looked out the window and saw a wonderful rose in the flower garden. Armed with scissors, the girl went outside. Approaching the flower, she quickly discovered the toad, shook it to the ground and kicked it with the toe of her shoe. I would like to say that the Toad, like evil in general, flew off to another galaxy, but this did not happen. She flew far enough away not to be remembered again. The rose, in turn, was cut off and served a good cause: when the boy saw her, he smiled sincerely for the last time in his life, and then calmed down forever.

There were many flowers at the sufferer's funeral, but only a rose from the flower garden attracted everyone's attention. It was she who sprinkled her tears with the sister of the recently deceased. And the flower, even though it was cut, felt as wonderful as ever.

Further, the author reports that the plant was kept in a thick book, and then the rose was presented to him. That is how he learned the whole story. Such is the tale of the toad and the rose. The summary was revealed to the reader. Now we just have to analyze it properly. Let's start with the heroes.

Main and secondary characters

The main intrigue of the work twists in the space between the toad and the rose. May the readers forgive us, but we will immediately, in order not to waste time, rush into the abyss of analyzing the work.

The rose means in the fairy tale the bright triad of Goodness-Beauty-Truth. The toad is a personified evil. The boy is the will to live or the will to live. And sister Masha is destiny. Thus, if we translate the text into the language of symbols, it will turn out that V.M. Garshin. "The Tale of the Toad and the Rose" (a summary also confirms this idea) tells us something like the following. Despite the fact that evil is better equipped in the world, it has more perfect adaptations, good still wins. And this is amazing, because he has nothing but beauty. In fact, good also wins because the Higher Power (God, Fate) and life itself fight on its side.

If we consider the work through the prism of such an interpretation, we get the following: the main characters here are Toad and Rose, and the secondary ones are a sick but good boy and his sister Masha. It is important that the interpretations may be different, but the characters of The Tale of the Toad and the Rose will remain the same.

Folk wisdom and works of Garshin

In fact, as in any fairy tale, there is perfect scope for the imagination of the one who reads. Therefore, everyone can have their own arsenal of proverbs. But few readers will argue that when you watch the confrontation between the main characters, the proverb immediately comes to mind (to "The Tale of the Toad and the Rose") "Not for Senka's hat." It means that a person gets involved in something other than his own, starts something without having special abilities for this.

For example, let's say the Toad really fell in love with Rose with all her heart. The reader sees that nothing good comes of this. This is because the Toad (in Garshin's work) has no heart, it only has a stomach. She can only "gobble up", but not fall in love.

"Don't dig another hole"

This is not to say that such a scenario is impossible in real life. For example, a person wants to "drown" another with all his might, but in the end he himself falls into his own trap. Then people say: "Don't dig another hole." This happened with the long-suffering evil Toad in Garshin's work. She climbed and climbed to Rosa. The thorns pierced her to the point of blood, but she still wanted to “devour” the flower, no matter what. Then Masha came and kicked her very far with her shoe. If someone asks the reader what kind of morality can be drawn and which proverb from the Tale of the Toad and the Rose best illustrates the moral message of the story, he will answer: “Do not dig another hole!”

"Where I was born, it came in handy there"

Let's leave the poor, evil, uneducated Toad alone for a while and talk about Rose. When the main character of the tale was born in such an unpresentable place, she had little hope that she could achieve something in life. But at the behest of fate, Rosa made a dizzying career, although the reason, it must be admitted, was rather sad. In addition, this very “career” helped the flower not to disappear into the mouth of a voracious toad.

People say “Where I was born, there I came in handy” with different intonations. Now, when you need to be “mobile” and “efficient”, this folk wisdom is perceived rather negatively than positively, although there is nothing wrong with it. She simply states the fact that a person has found a job for himself in the place in which he was lucky enough to be born. The same thing happened with Rose, about which Garshin wrote ("The Tale of the Toad and the Rose"). The proverb we cited earlier seems to fully reflect some of the meaning of the work of the Russian classic. Let's move on to the story.

Review

A rose and a toad lived in the world.

The rose bush, on which the rose blossomed, grew in a small semicircular flower garden in front of the village house. The flower garden was very neglected; weeds grew densely in the old flowerbeds grown into the ground and along the paths, which no one had cleaned or sprinkled with sand for a long time. A wooden lattice with pegs trimmed in the form of tetrahedral spikes, once painted with green oil paint, is now completely peeled off, dried up and fell apart; the pikes were stolen by village boys to play soldiers, and to fight off an angry watchdog with a company of other dogs, peasants approached the house.

And the flower garden from this destruction became no worse. Hops, dodder with large white flowers, and mouse peas, hanging in whole pale green bunches, with pale purple tassels of flowers scattered here and there, were braided with the remains of the lattice. The prickly thistles on the oily and damp soil of the flower garden (there was a large shady garden around it) reached such large sizes that they almost seemed like trees. The yellow mulleins raised their flower-studded arrows even higher. Nettles occupied a whole corner of the flower garden; it burned, of course, but it was possible to admire its dark greenness from a distance, especially when this greenery served as a backdrop for the delicate and luxurious pale rose flower.

It blossomed on a fine May morning; when she opened her petals, the departed morning dew left a few clean, transparent tears on them. Rose was crying. But everything around her was so good, so clean and clear on that beautiful morning, when she saw the blue sky for the first time and felt the fresh morning breeze and the rays of the shining sun, penetrating her thin petals with a pink light; in the flower garden it was so peaceful and calm that if she could really cry, it would not be from grief, but from happiness. She couldn't speak; she could only, bowing her head, spread around her a delicate and fresh scent, and this scent was her words and prayer.

And below, between the roots of the bush, on the damp earth, as if clinging to it with a flat belly, sat a rather fat old toad, which hunted worms and midges all night and sat down in the morning to rest from work, choosing a place shady and damp. She sat with her toad-like eyes covered with membranes, and barely perceptibly breathed, puffing out her dirty gray warty and sticky sides and putting one ugly paw to the side: she was too lazy to move it to her belly. She did not rejoice in the morning, or the sun, or good weather; She had already eaten and was going to rest.

But when the breeze ceased for a moment and the smell of the rose did not drift away, the toad felt it, and this caused her a vague anxiety; however, for a long time she was too lazy to see where the smell was coming from.

Nobody went to the flower garden where the rose grew and where the toad sat for a long time. Last year in the autumn, on the very day when the toad, having found a good gap under one of the foundation stones of the house, was about to climb there for hibernation, a little boy entered the flower garden for the last time, who spent the whole summer sitting in it every clear day under the window of the house. A grown girl, his sister, was sitting by the window; she was reading a book or sewing something, and from time to time looked at her brother. He was a little boy of about seven, with big eyes and a big head on a thin body. He loved his flower garden very much (it was his flower garden, because, apart from him, almost no one went to this abandoned place) and, having come to it, sat down in the sun, on an old wooden bench that stood on a dry sandy path that had survived near the house , because they went to close the shutters along it, and began to read the book he had brought with him.

- Vasya, do you want me to throw a ball to you? the sister asks from the window. Maybe you can run with him?

- No, Masha, I'd rather like this, with a book.

And he sat for a long time and read. And when he got tired of reading about Robinsons, and wild countries, and sea robbers, he left the open book and climbed into the thicket of the flower garden. Here he was familiar with every bush and almost every stem. He squatted down in front of a thick mullein stalk, surrounded by shaggy whitish leaves, which was three times taller than he was, and for a long time watched how the ant people ran up to their cows - grass aphids, how the ant delicately touches the thin tubes sticking out of the aphids on the back, and picks up clean droplets of sweet liquid that appear on the tips of the tubes. He watched the dung beetle busily and diligently dragging its ball somewhere, like a spider, spreading a cunning rainbow net, guarding flies, like a lizard, opening its blunt muzzle, sitting in the sun, shining with green shields of its back; and once, in the evening, he saw a live hedgehog! Here, too, he could not restrain himself from joy and almost screamed and clapped his hands, but, afraid to frighten off the prickly animal, he held his breath and, wide-opening his happy eyes, watched in delight as he, snorting, sniffed the roots of a rose bush with his pig's snout. , looking for worms between them, and comically fingered his plump paws, similar to bears.

“Vasya, dear, go home, it’s getting damp,” my sister said loudly.

And the hedgehog, frightened by the human voice, quickly pulled his prickly fur coat over his forehead and on his hind legs and turned into a ball. The boy softly touched his thorns; the animal shrank even more and puffed in a muffled, hasty way, like a small steam engine.

Then he got to know this hedgehog a little. He was such a weak, quiet, and meek boy that even various small animal species seemed to understand this and soon got used to him. What a joy it was when the hedgehog tasted milk from a saucer brought by the owner of the flower garden!