Collection of Christmastide stories for children. Instructive tale "On the Eve of Christmas

Stories about the Nativity of L. Charskaya, E. Ivanovskaya.

Interesting and educational Christmas stories for children of primary and secondary school age.

The legend of the first Christmas tree

When the little Christ was born, and the Virgin Mary, wrapped in swaddling clothes, laid Him in a simple manger on hay, angels flew down from heaven to look at Him. Seeing how simple and wretched the cave and the manger were, they quietly whispered to each other:

- He sleeps in a cave in a simple manger? No, you can't! It is necessary to decorate the cave: let it be as beautiful and elegant as possible - after all, Christ Himself sleeps in it!

And then one Angel flew to the south to look for something to decorate the cave. It is always warm in the south and beautiful flowers always bloom. And so the Angel picked up many roses as red as dawn; lilies as white as snow; cheerful multi-colored hyacinths, azaleas; collected tender mimosas, magnolias, camellias; he also plucked several large yellow lotuses ... And he brought all these flowers into the cave.

Another Angel flew north. But it was winter there just at that time. Fields and forests are covered with a heavy cover of snow. And the Angel, not finding any flowers, wanted to fly back. Suddenly he saw a Christmas tree sadly green among the snow, thought and whispered:

- Perhaps nothing that this tree is so simple. Let it, the only one of all the plants of the north, look at the little Christ.

And he took with him a modest northern Christmas tree. How beautiful and elegant it became in the cave when the walls, floor and manger were adorned with flowers! Flowers with curiosity looked into the manger where Christ slept, and whispered to each other:

- Hush! .. Hush! He fell asleep!

The little Christmas tree saw such beautiful flowers for the first time and was saddened.

- Oh, - she said sadly, - why am I so ugly and unpretentious? How happy all these wonderful flowers must be! And I have nothing to dress myself with on such a holiday, nothing to decorate the cave with ...

And she wept bitterly.

When the Virgin Mary saw this, She felt sorry for the tree. And She thought: "It is necessary for everyone to be happy on this day, it is not necessary for this Christmas tree to be sad."

She smiled and gestured with her hand. And then a miracle happened: a bright star quietly descended from the sky and adorned the top of the tree. And others followed her and decorated the rest of the branches. Suddenly it became bright and cheerful in the cave! Little Christ, sleeping in a manger, woke up from the bright light, and, smiling, reached out to the sparkling Christmas tree.

And the flowers looked at her in surprise and whispered to each other:

- Oh, how pretty she has become! Isn't she more beautiful than all of us?

And the tree felt quite happy. Since then, people have been decorating trees for young children every year at Christmas in memory of the first tree - the one that was decorated with real stars from the sky.

In a dense forest stands a beautiful, lush, young Christmas tree ... Neighbors-friends glance at her with envy: "Who was such a beauty born into? .." an elegant young Christmas tree. But the Christmas tree itself knows about this bitch, moreover, she hates him and in every possible way grieves and laments his fate: why did she reward her with such an ugly branch - a slender, pretty, young Christmas tree?

Christmas Eve came up. Santa Claus in the morning dressed the trees with a lush snow veil, silvered them with hoarfrost - and they stand decorated like brides, stand and wait ... After all, today is a great day for Christmas trees ... Today people will come to the forest for them. They will cut down the Christmas trees, take them to the big city to the market ... And there they will buy Christmas trees as a gift for children.

And the beautiful Christmas tree is waiting for her fate ... She can't wait, is there something waiting for her?

Here the runners creaked, the heavy peasant sledges appeared. A man in a warm sheepskin coat came out of them, with an ax tucked into his belt, went up to the tree and with all his might struck with an ax on its slender trunk.

The Christmas tree groaned softly and sank heavily to the ground, rustling its green branches.

- A wonderful tree! - said the old footman Ignat, looking at the beautiful Christmas tree from all sides, which he had just bought in the market on behalf of the owner, a rich prince, for the little princess.

- Noble Christmas tree! He said.

And suddenly his eyes rested on a gnarled knot sticking out quite inappropriately on the side of our beauty.

- We must level the tree! - said Ignat and in one minute he brushed aside a gnarled branch with an ax and threw it aside.

The beautiful Christmas tree sighed with relief.

Thank God, she was relieved of the ugly branch that so spoiled her fabulous beauty, now she is quite pleased with herself ...

Lackey Ignat once again carefully looked at the tree from all sides and carried it upstairs - to the huge and luxuriously furnished princely apartment.

In the elegant living room, the Christmas tree was surrounded on all sides, and at some hour it was transformed. Countless candles shone on its branches ... Dear bonbonnieres *, golden stars, colorful balls, graceful trinkets and sweets adorned it from top to bottom.

When the last decoration - silver and gold rain poured down the green needles of the Christmas tree, the doors of the hall swung open, and a pretty girl ran into the room.

The Christmas tree expected that the little princess would throw up her hands at the sight of such a beauty, would be delighted to jump and jump at the sight of a lush tree.

But the pretty princess only glanced briefly at the tree and said, pouting a little:

- Where is the doll? I asked Dad so that he would give me a talking doll, like my cousin Lily's. Only the Christmas tree is boring ... you can't play with it, but I have enough sweets and toys even without it! ..

Suddenly the gaze of the pretty princess fell on an expensive doll sitting under the tree ...

- Ah! - the girl cried joyfully, - this is wonderful! Dear dad! He thought of me. What a lovely doll. My sweetheart!

And the little princess kissed the doll, completely forgetting about the tree.

The beautiful Christmas tree was perplexed.

After all, the nasty, so disgraceful twig was chopped off. Why, then, she - a magnificent, green-haired beauty - did not cause delight in the little princess?

And the gnarled twig lay in the yard until a thin poor woman, exhausted by her daily hard work, approached him ...

- God! No branch from the Christmas tree! - she cried, swiftly bending over the gnarled knot.

She carefully lifted it from the ground, as if it were not a gnarled twig, but some kind of precious thing, and, carefully covering it with a handkerchief, carried it to the basement, where she rented a tiny closet.

In the closet, on a dilapidated bed, covered with an old wadded blanket, lay a sick child. He was in oblivion and did not hear his mother come in with a Christmas tree branch in her hands.

The poor woman found a bottle in the corner, stuck a gnarled Christmas tree branch into it. Then she took out the wax cinders that she had kept in her shrine, brought by her at different times from the church, carefully attached them to a prickly branch and lit them.

The Christmas tree lit up with friendly lights, spreading around itself a pleasant smell of pine needles.

The child suddenly opened his eyes ... Joy lit up in the depths of his pure, childish gaze ... He stretched out his emaciated arms to the tree and whispered, all beaming with happiness:

- She's so sweet! What a glorious Christmas tree! Thank you, my dear mommy, for her ... It suddenly became easier for me when I saw a cute lit tree.

And he stretched out his little hands to the gnarled bitch, and the gnarled twig blinked and smiled at him with all his joyful lights. I did not know the gnarled twig that brought so much joy to the poor patient on a bright Christmas Eve.

* Bonbonniere - a box for sweets. (Ed.)

- Give, for Christ's sake, alms! Alms, for Christ's sake! ..

No one heard these plaintive words, no one paid attention to the tears that sounded in the words of a poorly dressed woman who stood alone at the corner of a busy city street.

- Give me alms!

Passers-by hurriedly walked past her, carriages rushed noisily along the snowy road. There was laughter and lively talk all around.

The holy, great night of the Nativity of Christ fell to the ground. She shone with stars, shrouded the city in a mysterious darkness.

“I’m asking for a charity, for my children ...” The woman’s voice suddenly broke off, and she began to cry softly. Trembling under her rags, she wiped her tears with numb fingers, but they again poured down her emaciated cheeks. Nobody cared about her ...

Yes, she herself did not think about herself, that she was completely frozen, that she had not eaten a crumb in the morning. Her whole thought belonged to the children, her heart ached for them.

They sit, poor, there, in a cold dark kennel, hungry, chilled, and wait for her. What will she bring or what will she say? Tomorrow is a great holiday, all the children have fun, and her poor children are hungry and unhappy.

What should she do? What to do? All the last time she worked as best she could, straining her last strength. Then she fell ill and lost her last job. A holiday has come, she has nowhere to take a piece of bread.

For the sake of the children, she decided, for the first time in her life, to beg for alms. The hand did not rise, the tongue did not turn. But the thought that her children were hungry, that they would meet the holiday hungry, unhappy — this thought tormented her. She was ready for anything. And in a few hours she managed to collect a few kopecks.

“Give me a charity, good people! Give it, for Christ's sake! "

And as if in response to her despair, the gospel for the All-night Vigil was heard nearby. Yes, you have to go and pray. Perhaps prayer will ease her soul. She will pray earnestly for them, for the children. With the wrong steps she made her way to the church.

The temple is lit up, flooded with lights. Everywhere there are a lot of people, all have cheerful, contented faces. Hiding in a corner, she fell to her knees and froze. All the boundless, motherly love, all her grief for the children poured out in fervent prayer, in dull sorrowful sobs. "God help me! Help! " She cries. And who, if not the Lord, Patron and Protector of the weak and the unfortunate, pour out all his grief, all his heartache to her? She prayed quietly in a corner, and tears poured down her pale face.

She did not notice how the all-night vigil ended, did not see how someone approached her.

- What are you crying about? - came a gentle voice behind her.

She woke up, looked up and saw in front of her a small, richly dressed girl. Clear children's eyes gazed at her with sweet sympathy. Behind the girl stood an old nanny.

- Are you in grief? Yes? Poor you, poor! - These words, spoken in a gentle, childish voice, deeply touched her.

- Woe! My kids are hungry, they haven't eaten in the morning. Tomorrow is such a great holiday ...

- Didn't eat? Are you hungry? - The girl's face expressed horror. - Nanny, what is it? The children ate nothing! And tomorrow they will be hungry! Nanny! How is it?

A small child's hand slid into the sleeve.

- Here, take, there is money ... how much, I don't know ... feed the children ... for God's sake ... Ah, nanny, this is awful! They ate nothing! How can this be, nanny?

Large tears welled up in the eyes of the girl.

- Well, Manechka, do it! Poverty with them! And they sit, poor, in hunger and in the cold. They are waiting for the Lord to help them!

- Oh, nanny, I feel sorry for them! Where do you live, how many children do you have?

- My husband died - he will be in half a year. Three guys remained in my arms. She could not work, she was ill all the time. So I had to walk around the world with my hand. We live nearby, right here, in the basement, on the corner, in the large stone house of the merchant Osipov.

- Nanny, almost next to us, but I did not know! Let's go quickly, now I know what to do!

The girl quickly left the church, accompanied by an old woman.

The poor woman followed them mechanically. In the wallet that she was in her hands was a five-ruble piece of paper. Forgetting everything except that she can now warm and feed her children, she went into the shop, bought provisions, bread, tea, sugar and ran home. There are still enough chips left, enough to heat the stove with them.

She ran home with all her might.

Here is the dark kennel. Three children’s figures rushed to meet her.

- Mamma! I'm hungry! Did you bring? Dear!

She hugged all three of them.

- The Lord sent! Nadia, light the stove, Petusha, turn on the samovar! Let's get warm, eat, for the sake of a great holiday!

In the kennel, damp and gloomy, a holiday has come. The children were cheerful, warm and chatting. Mother rejoiced at their revival, their chatter. Only from time to time came a sad thought - what next? What will happen next?

- Well, the Lord will not leave! She said to herself, placing all her hope in God.

Little Nadya quietly walked over to her mother, pressed herself to her and spoke.

- Tell me, mom, is it true that on Christmas night a Christmas Angel flies from the sky and brings gifts to poor children? Tell me, mom!

The boys also approached their mother. And, wanting to comfort the children, she began to tell them that the Lord takes care of poor children and sends them His Angel on the great Christmas night, and this Angel brings them gifts and gifts!

- And the tree, mom?

- And a tree, kids, a good, shiny tree! Someone knocked on the cellar door. The children rushed to open it. A man appeared with a small green tree in his hands. Behind him was a pretty blonde girl with a basket, accompanied by a nanny who carried various parcels and packages behind her. The children hugged their mother timidly.

- This is an Angel, mother, is it an Angel? They whispered softly, looking reverently at the pretty, well-dressed girl.

The tree had already stood on the floor for a long time. The old nanny untied the packages, pulled out delicious buns, pretzels, cheese, butter, eggs, cleaned the tree with candles and gifts. The children still could not come to their senses. They admired the Angel. And they were silent, not moving.

- Here you have a merry Christmas! - a child's voice sounded. - Happy Holidays!

The girl put the basket on the table and disappeared before the children and mother came to their senses and came to their senses.

The "Christmas Angel" flew in, brought the children a tree, gifts, joy and disappeared like a radiant vision.

At home, my mother was waiting for Manyu, warmly hugged her and hugged her.

- My good girl! She said, kissing her daughter's happy face. - You yourself gave up the Christmas tree, the gifts and gave everything to the poor children! You have a golden heart! God will reward you.

Manya was left without a tree and gifts, but everyone was shining with happiness. She really looked like a Christmas Angel.

For children of primary and secondary school age. Stories by M. Zoshchenko, O. Verigin, A. Fedorov-Davydov.

Christmas tree

This year, guys, I turned forty. So it turns out that I have seen the Christmas tree forty times. It's a lot!

Well, the first three years of my life, I probably did not understand what a tree is. Probably, my mother carried me out on the arms. And, probably, with my black eyes I was looking without interest at the painted tree.

And when I, children, hit five years old, I already perfectly understood what a tree is.

And I was looking forward to this happy holiday. And even peeped through the crack of the door as my mother decorates the tree.

And my sister Lele was at that time seven years old. And she was an exceptionally lively girl.

She once told me:

- Minka, mom went to the kitchen. Let's go to the room where the tree is and see what is going on there.

So my sister Lelya and I entered the room. And we see: a very beautiful tree. And there are gifts under the tree. And on the tree there are colorful beads, flags, lanterns, golden nuts, pastilles and Crimean apples.

My little sister Lyolya says:

- Let's not look at the gifts. Instead, let's eat one lozenge at a time.

And so she comes up to the tree and instantly eats one lozenge hanging on a string. I'm talking:

- Lyolya, if you have eaten a lozenge, then I will also eat something now.

And I go to the tree and bite off a small piece of apple. Lyolya says:

- Minka, if you have bitten off an apple, then I will now eat another lozenge and in addition I will take this candy for myself.

And Lyolya was a very tall, long-knit girl. And she could reach high.

She stood on tiptoe and with her big mouth began to eat the second lozenge.

And I was surprisingly small. And I almost could not get anything, except for one apple, which hung low. I'm talking:

- If you, Lyolishcha, ate the second lozenge, then I will take another bite of this apple.

And again I take this apple with my hands and again bite it off a little. Lyolya says:

- If you bit off an apple for the second time, then I will no longer stand on ceremony and now I will eat the third lozenge and, in addition, I will take a cracker and a nut as a souvenir.

Then I almost roared. Because she could reach everything, but I could not.

I tell her:

- And I, Lyolishcha, how I will put a chair to the tree and how I will get myself something, besides an apple.

And so I began to pull a chair to the tree with my thin little hands. But the chair fell on me. I wanted to lift a chair. But he fell again. And right for gifts. Lyolya says:

- Minka, you seem to have broken the doll. And there is. You knocked the porcelain handle off the doll.

Then my mother’s footsteps were heard, and Lyolya and I ran into another room. Lyolya says:

- Now, Minka, I can’t guarantee that mom will not pull you out.

I wanted to cry, but at that moment guests came. There are many children with their parents.

And then our mother lit all the candles on the tree, opened the door and said:

- All come in.

And all the children entered the room where the tree stood. Our mom says:

- Now let each child come to me, and I will give everyone a toy and a treat.

And so the children began to approach our mother. And she gave everyone a toy. Then she took an apple, a lozenge and a candy from the tree and also gave it to the child.

And all the children were very happy. Then my mother took the apple that I bit off in her hands and said:

- Lyolya and Minka, come here. Which of you two has bitten off this apple?

Lyolya said:

- This is Minka's work. I pulled Lyolya's pigtail and said:

- Lelka taught me that. Mom says:

- I'll put Lyolya in the corner with my nose, and I wanted to give you a clockwork engine. But now I will give this groovy little engine to the boy to whom I wanted to give a bitten off apple.

And she took a little train and gave it to one four-year-old boy. And he immediately began to play with him.

And I got angry with this boy and hit him on the arm with a toy. And he roared so desperately that his own mother took him in her arms and said:

- From now on I will not come to visit you with my boy.

And I said:

- You can leave, and then the locomotive will remain for me.

And that mother was surprised at my words and said:

- Probably your boy will be a robber. And then my mother took me in her arms and said to that mother:

“Don't you dare talk about my boy like that. Better leave with your scrofulous child and never come to us again.

And that mom said:

- I will. To be found with you - what to sit in nettles.

And then another, third mother, said:

- And I'll leave too. My girl didn't deserve to be given a doll with a broken arm.

And my little sister Lyolya shouted:

- You can also go with your scrofulous child. And then the doll with the broken handle will remain for me.

And then I, sitting in my mother's arms, shouted:

- In general, you can all leave, and then all the toys will remain for us.

And then all the guests began to leave. And our mother was surprised that we were left alone. But suddenly our dad entered the room. He said:

“This kind of upbringing is ruining my children. I do not want them to fight, quarrel and drive out guests. It will be difficult for them to live in the world, and they will die alone.

And dad went to the tree and put out all the candles. Then he said:

- Go to bed instantly. And tomorrow I will give all the toys to the guests.

And now, guys, thirty-five years have passed since then, and I still remember this tree well.

And for all these thirty-five years, I, children, have never again eaten someone else's apple and never hit someone who is weaker than me. And now the doctors say that is why I am so comparatively cheerful and good-natured.

Grandmother is sitting by the window, waiting and waiting for her granddaughter Agasha - still she is not there ... But it is already late evening and the frost is fierce.

Grandmother cleaned everything secretly from her granddaughter and arranged a tiny Christmas tree, bought sweets, a simple doll. Just now, as she was equipping the girl, she said:

- Come quickly back from the gentlemen, Agasha. I will please you.

And she answered:

- I'll stay with the gentlemen. The young lady called me to the tree. I will be fine there too ...

Okay, okay. And the grandmother is still waiting - maybe the girl will change her mind and remember her. But the granddaughter has forgotten! ..

Passers-by are walking past the window, it is impossible to disassemble them through the frosty windows; snow creaks from the frost loudly under their feet: "Kry-kry-kry ...". And there is no Agasha ...

Agasha had been trying to get to visit the young lady for a long time. When young lady Katya was sick, Agasha was demanded from the basement to her - to console the young lady and amuse ... None of the children were allowed to see the young lady, only Agasha ...

And the young lady Katya and Agasha became very friendly while she was sick. But she recovered - and as if she was not there ...

Only one day before Christmas we met in the yard, young lady Katya and says:

- We will have a Christmas tree, Agasha, come. Have some fun.

Agasha was delighted! How many nights are not

I slept - I kept thinking about the young lady's tree ...

Agasha wanted to surprise her grandmother.

- And me, - he says, - the young lady Katya called to the tree! ..

- Look, what kind! .. But where are you going to go? There, go, there will be important guests, smart ... I called - tell her thanks, yes, okay ...

Agasha pouted like a mouse on a rump.

- I'll go. She called!

Grandma shook her head.

- Well, go, check it out ... But if only you didn't get some grief, resentment.

- What more!..

Agasha glanced at her grandmother with regret. She doesn't know anything, understands nothing - the man is old! ..

Grandma says on Christmas Eve:

- Go, Agasha, to the gentlemen, take down the linen. Don't stay too long. I myself neither get up nor sit down. And you will put on the samovar, we will have some tea for the holiday, and I will amuse you.

Agasha needs only that. She took the bundle - and to the gentlemen.

Didn't get to the kitchen. Here, at first they drove her from everywhere, and then - who will rinse the pan, who will wipe the plates, - someone else ...

It was already completely dark. Guests began to come to the gentlemen. Agasha made her way into the hall - to see the young lady.

And in the hall there was a hustle and bustle - and guests, guests ... And all discharged! And young lady Katya is like an angel, all in lace and muslin, and golden curls scattered over her shoulders ...

Agasha rushed straight to her, it was, but just in time her maid grabbed her shoulder.

- Where are you going? Oh, grimy! ..

Agasha was dumbfounded, huddled in a corner, waited for the time, as the young lady ran past, called out to her. Katya looked around, winced, and was ashamed.

- Oh, is that you? .. She turned and ran away.

The music began to play - the dances began; The children are laughing in the hall, they run around the elegant Christmas tree, eat sweets, bite apples.

Agasha poked her head into the hall, - one of the servants wiped her off.

- Ksh ... you ... do not poke your head ... Look, he is climbing ... However, the lady saw, - she went up to her, affectionately took her hand.

- Go, go, dear, do not be afraid! .. She led me to some old lady.

- This, - says, - Katina nurse! Nice girl! ..

And the old lady smiled at Agasha, stroked the head, gave him a chocolate fish. Agasha looked around, - oh, how good! .. Wouldn't leave here ...

Oh, my grandmother would have looked! And they have both cold and dampness. Dark...

- Katya, Katya! .. - called the lady. - Your nurse has come! ..

And Katya came up, pouted her lips and said that over her shoulder:

- And it's you? Well, are you having fun? .. Phew, what a dirty trick you are, ”she snorted, turned and ran away ...

The good lady poured gifts into her apron, and led them to the door:

- Well, go home, Agasha, bow to your grandmother! ..

Both bitter and offensive for some reason Agasha. I was not expecting that: I thought that the young lady Katya would be the same as she was during her illness. Then she chatted with her, and caressed her, and shared every sweet piece with her ... And now, go, you won't approach! ..

Agasha's heart aches. Tears appear in her eyes, and now she has no time for gifts, even though they are, even though not, everything is the same ...

And here it is sickening, and reluctance to return home - my grandmother, go to bed, or she will grumble at her, that she hesitated for a long time with the gentlemen ... Oh, what a grief!

Where to go now?

She went downstairs, swallowing tears, - pushed the hated door - and was stunned ...

Light in the room, cozy ...

There is a small Christmas tree on the table, and the candles on it are burning out. Where is the tree from, pray tell?

Agasha rushed to her grandmother - as if she hadn't seen her for a hundred years ...

- Grandma, dear, golden!

The old woman hugged her, and Agasha was trembling and crying, and she herself does not know why ...

- I was longing for you, Agashenka, - says the grandmother, - all the candles have burned out. Are you staying like a gentleman's, or was it painfully kindly received?

Agasha mutters something - you can't make out - and cries ... Grandma shook her head ...

- Full of you to nurse something, for the sake of the holiday. What are you, the Lord is with you! .. I said - do not go there. Better another time ... And you - all yours. And you look - you and I have such a curly Christmas tree ... But don't hold your heart against them: they have their own, you have your own, - every grain has its own furrow ... You are nice for me, you are good for me - you won a proud young lady! ..

Grandmother speaks well, affectionately, comfortingly.

Agasha raised her buried face, looked at her grandmother and said:

- The lady led me into the hall by the hand, but the young lady doesn't even want to know ...

- That's it, young, green ... ashamed - don't know what ... And you, I say, don't hold your heart against her, - beat the young lady ... That's good for you - oh, how good it is, God! ..

Agasha smiled at her grandmother.

- Well her, - he says, - let her! .. I'm nothing ...

Agasha looked around and threw up her hands.

- But there is no samovar ... My grandmother was longing for me. Sitting without tea, dear ...

She rushed into the kitchen, rattled the bucket, rattled the pipe ...

Grandmother is sitting. She smiles - she waited for her granddaughter: she herself, after all, she came, laid out her own soul - now she will stay with her grandmother.

How good! - thought Katerinka, falling asleep, - tomorrow is Christmas and Sunday - you can not go to school and in the morning, until the church itself, calmly play with new toys that someone will put under the merry tree ... Only now I have to put my surprise there - gifts for dad and mom, and for that you have to wake up early. "

And stamping her foot six times so as not to oversleep for six hours, Katerinka curled up in a ball and immediately fell asleep in a deep and joyful sleep.

But soon, soon, something woke her up. She heard from all sides vague rustles, sighs, steps and some kind of quiet conversations.

“What language is it spoken? - she thought. - Somehow it doesn't look like anything, but I still understand - it means: "Hurry, hurry, the star is already shining!" Oh, but they are talking about the Christmas star! " She exclaimed and opened her eyes wide.

And what? The room was gone. She stood in the open air, dry grass swayed around, stones glittered, a quiet, warm wind breathed, and along barely noticeable paths thousands of animals walked somewhere, dragging her along.

“Where am I? Thought Katerinka. - And why are there only animals? What am I doing among them? Or am I a beast too? "

She looked at her legs in white boots, at her hands and a colorful skirt and calmed down that she remained the same as before.

- Go, so go! - she said. - But where?

- Star ... star ... - someone squeaked nearby.

Katerinka raised her head and saw a low one,

bright, shiny, but not blinding, but some kind of soft, kind star.

Christmas, she thought, and we go to the manger. But why me, and not Nikolik, Irina, Sandrik. They are all better than me, and, of course, little Mike is better than everyone. "

- Better, better! - someone rang out in her ear.

- Better, of course, - the mouse squeaked at her feet, - but we all, we all asked for you!

My Angel, she thought. "Only he is with me and the animals."

And in the distance, behind the trees, the lights of Bethlehem were already flickering, and the cave on which the star was descending was softly darkening.

- Why am I here? - asked Katerinka.

“The beasts asked for you,” said the Angel. - You somehow saved the mouse from the cat, and he bit you. You took the wasp out of the water so that it would not choke, and the wasp stung you. The animals did not forget their sin before you and wanted to take you with them into their brightest night. But look ...

Katerinka saw the descent into the cave and the high nursery in it. And suddenly such a light flooded her soul and such joy filled her that she no longer asked anything more, but only bowed low and low at the feet of the Infant among Angels, birds and animals ...

“There are holidays that have their own smell. On Easter, Trinity and Christmas, the air smells like something special. Even non-believers love these holidays. My brother, for example, interprets that there is no God, and on Easter he is the first to run to Matins "(AP Chekhov, story" On the Way ").

Orthodox Christmas is on the doorstep! Many interesting traditions are associated with the celebration of this bright day (and even several - Christmastide). In Russia, it was customary to devote this period to serving one's neighbor, deeds of mercy. Everyone knows the tradition of caroling - singing hymns in honor of the born Christ. The winter holidays have inspired many writers to create magical Christmas pieces.

There is even a special genre of Christmas tales. The plots in it are very close to each other: often the heroes of Christmas works find themselves in a state of spiritual or material crisis, the resolution of which requires a miracle. Christmas stories are imbued with light, hope, and only a few of them have a sad ending. Especially often Christmas stories are dedicated to the triumph of mercy, compassion and love.

Especially for you, dear readers, we have prepared a selection of the best Christmas stories by both Russian and foreign writers. Read on and enjoy, let the festive mood last longer!

"Gifts of the Magi", O. Henry

A story known to many about sacrificial love, which will give the last for the happiness of its neighbor. A story about quivering feelings, which cannot but surprise and delight. In the finale, the author ironically remarks: "And here I told you an unremarkable story about two stupid children from an eight-dollar apartment, who in the most unwise way sacrificed their greatest treasures for each other." But the author does not justify himself, he only confirms that the gifts of his heroes were more important than the gifts of the Magi: “But let it be said for the edification of the wise men of our day that of all the donors, these two were the wisest. Of all who offer and receive gifts, only those like them are truly wise. Everywhere and everywhere. They are the Magi. " As Joseph Brodsky said, "at Christmas, everyone is a little magician."

"Nikolka", Evgeny Poselyanin

The plot of this Christmas story is very simple. At Christmas, the stepmother acted very meanly with her stepson, he had to die. At Christmas service, a woman experiences belated remorse. But on a bright festive night a miracle occurs ...

By the way, Evgeny Poselyanin has wonderful memories of his childhood experience of Christmas - "Yule days". You read - and you are immersed in the pre-revolutionary atmosphere of noble estates, childhood and joy.

A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens

Dickens's work is the story of a real spiritual rebirth of man. The main character, Scrooge, was a curmudgeon, became a merciful benefactor, from a lone wolf turned into a sociable and friendly person. And the spirits that flew to him and showed his possible future helped such a change. Observing different situations from his past and future, the hero felt remorse for his wrongly lived life.

"A boy at Christ's on the tree", F. M. Dostoevsky

A touching story with a sad (and joyful at the same time) ending. I doubt whether it is worth reading it to children, especially sensitive ones. But for adults - perhaps worth it. What for? I would answer with the words of Chekhov: “It is necessary that at the door of every contented, happy person there should be someone with a hammer and constantly remind with a knock that there are unfortunate people, that, no matter how happy he is, life will sooner or later show him its claws , disaster strikes - illness, poverty, losses, and no one will see or hear him, just as now he does not see and hear others. "

Dostoevsky included it in the "Diary of a Writer" and himself wondered how this story came out from under his pen. And his writer's intuition tells the author that this could very well have happened in reality. The main sad storyteller of all times, G. H. Andersen, has a similar tragic story - "Girl with matches".

The Gifts of the Christ Child by George McDonald

The story of one young family going through difficult times in relationships, difficulties with a nanny, alienation from her daughter. The latter is a subtly feeling lonely girl Sophie (or Fosi). It was through her that joy and light returned to the house. The story emphasizes: the main gifts of Christ are not gifts under the tree, but love, peace and mutual understanding.

"Christmas letter", Ivan Ilyin

I would call this short piece, composed of two letters to mother and son, a real hymn of love. It is she, unconditional love, that runs like a red thread through the entire work and is its main theme. It is this state that opposes loneliness and conquers it.

“Whoever loves, his heart blooms and smells sweet; and he gives his love just like a flower scent. But then he is not alone, because his heart is with the one he loves: he thinks about him, cares about him, rejoices in his joy and suffers from his sufferings. He doesn't even have time to feel lonely or wonder if he is alone or not. In love, man forgets himself; he lives with others, he lives in others. And this is happiness. "

Christmas is after all a holiday of overcoming loneliness and alienation, this is the day of the manifestation of Love ...

God in the Cave by Gilbert Chesterton

We are used to thinking of Chesterton primarily as the author of detective stories about Father Brown. But he wrote in different genres: he penned several hundred poems, 200 stories, 4,000 essays, a number of plays, novels "The Man Who Was Thursday", "Ball and Cross", "Migratory tavern" and much more. Also, Chesterton was an excellent publicist and deep thinker. In particular, his essay "God in the Cave" is an attempt to comprehend the events of two thousand years ago. I recommend it to people with a philosophical mindset.

"Silver Blizzard", Vasily Nikiforov-Volgin

Nikiforov-Volgin in his work surprisingly subtly shows the world of children's faith. His stories are permeated through and through with a festive atmosphere. So, in the story "The Silver Blizzard", with trepidation and love, he shows the boy with his zeal for piety, on the one hand, and with mischief and pranks on the other. What is one apt phrase of the story: “These days I don't want anything earthly, and especially school”!

"Holy Night", Selma Lagerlöf

Selma Lagerlöf's story continues the theme of childhood.

Grandmother tells her granddaughter an interesting legend about Christmas. It is not canonical in the strict sense, but it reflects the immediacy of the popular faith. This is an amazing story about mercy and how "a pure heart opens the eyes, which a person can enjoy seeing the beauty of heaven."

"Christ is visiting a peasant", "Irreparable ruble", "Offended by Christmas", Nikolay Leskov

These three stories struck me to the core, so it was difficult to choose the best one. I discovered Leskov from some unexpected side. These works of the author have common features. This is both a fascinating plot and general ideas of mercy, forgiveness and doing good deeds. The examples of heroes from these works are surprising, arouse admiration and a desire to imitate.

"Reader! be gentle: intervene in our history too, remember what today's Newborn taught you: to punish or pardon? .. But you’ll sort it out, please. To the One Who gave you the “verbs of eternal life” ... Think! This is very worth your thought, and the choice is not difficult for you ... Do not be afraid to seem ridiculous and stupid if you follow the rule of the One Who told you: “Forgive the offender and get yourself your brother in him” (N. S. Leskov, “Under Christmas was offended ").

In many novels there are chapters dedicated to Christmas, for example, in "The inextinguishable lamp" by B. Shiryaev, "Conduit and Schvambrania" by L. Kassil, "In the first circle" by A. Solzhenitsyn, "Summer of the Lord" by IS Shmelev.

The Christmas story, with all its seeming naivety, fabulousness and uniqueness, has been loved by adults at all times. Maybe because Christmas stories are primarily about good, about faith in a miracle and in the possibility of a person's spiritual rebirth?

Christmas is really a holiday of children's faith in miracles ... Many Christmastide stories are dedicated to the description of this pure joy of childhood. I will cite wonderful words from one of them: “The great holiday of Christmas, surrounded by spiritual poetry, is especially understandable and close to a child ... A Divine Infant was born, and to Him be praise, glory and honor of the world. Everyone was jubilant and rejoicing. And in memory of the Holy Child in these days of bright memories, all children should have fun and rejoice. This is their day, a holiday of innocent, pure childhood ... "(Klavdiya Lukashevich," Christmas Holiday ").

P.S. In preparing this collection, I read a lot of Christmastide stories, but, of course, not all that are in the world. I chose the ones that seemed the most fascinating, artistically expressive to my taste. Preference was given to little-known works, therefore, for example, the list does not include N. Gogol's "Night before Christmas" or Hoffman's "The Nutcracker".

What are your favorite Christmas pieces, dear matrons?

Current page: 1 (the book has a total of 21 pages)

Compiled by Tatiana Strygina

Christmas stories by Russian writers

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Series "Christmas Gift"

Approved for distribution by the Publishing Council of the Russian Orthodox Church IP 13-315-2235

Fyodor Dostoevsky (1821-1881)

The boy at Christ's tree

Boy with pen

Children are a strange people, they dream and appear. In front of the Christmas tree and in the very Christmas tree before Christmas, I met everything on the street, at a famous corner, one boy, no more than seven years old. In the terrible frost, he was dressed almost like a summer, but his neck was tied with some kind of old-fashioned stuff, which means that someone was still equipping him when they sent him away. He walked "with a handle"; it is a technical term and means begging. The term was invented by these boys themselves. There are many like him, they spin on your road and howl something learned; but this one did not howl and spoke somehow innocently and unfamiliarly, and looked trustingly into my eyes - therefore, he was just beginning his profession. When I questioned him, he said that he had a sister, was out of work, sick; maybe it’s true, but only I learned later that these boys are dark and dark: they are sent out with a pen even in the most terrible frost, and if they don’t get anything, they will probably be beaten. Having collected kopecks, the boy returns with red, numb hands to some basement, where some gang of robe-gowns are drinking, one of those who, "having gone on strike at the factory on Sunday, Saturday, return to work no earlier than Wednesday evening." ... There, in the basements, their hungry and beaten wives drink with them, and their hungry nursing children immediately squeak. Vodka, and dirt, and debauchery, and most importantly, vodka. With the pennies he collected, the boy is immediately sent to the tavern, and he brings more wine. For fun, and he sometimes poured a kosushka into his mouth and laugh when he, with stopped breathing, falls almost unconscious on the floor,

... and bad vodka in my mouth
Poured mercilessly ...

When he grows up, he is quickly sold somewhere to the factory, but everything that he earns, he is again obliged to bring to the caretakers, and they drink again. But even before the factory, these children become complete criminals. They wander around the city and know places in different basements that you can crawl into and where you can spend the night unnoticed. One of them spent several nights in a row with a janitor in a basket, and he never noticed him. Of course, they become thieves. Theft turns into a passion even among eight-year-old children, sometimes even without any consciousness of the criminality of the action. In the end, they endure everything - hunger, cold, beatings - only for one thing, for freedom, and they run away from their robe to wander from themselves. This wild creature sometimes does not understand anything, neither where he lives, nor what nation he is, is there a God, is there a sovereign; even these convey things about them that are incredible to hear, and yet all the facts.

The boy at Christ's tree

But I am a novelist, and I think I composed one "story" myself. Why do I write: “it seems”, because I myself know for certain what I have composed, but I keep imagining that it happened somewhere and once, this is what happened just before Christmas, in some huge city and in a terrible freezing.

It seems to me that there was a boy in the basement, but still very small, about six years old or even less. This boy woke up in the morning in a damp and cold basement. He was dressed in some kind of dressing gown and was trembling. His breath flew out in white steam, and he, sitting in the corner on the chest, out of boredom, deliberately let this steam out of his mouth and amused himself watching it fly out. But he really wanted to eat. Several times in the morning he approached the bunks, where his sick mother lay on a bed as thin as a pancake and on some knot under his head instead of a pillow. How did she get here? She must have arrived with her boy from a strange city and suddenly fell ill. The mistress of the corners was captured by the police two more days ago; the tenants dispersed, it was a festive affair, and the remaining one robe had been lying dead drunk for the whole day, not waiting for the holiday. In another corner of the room, an eighty-year-old woman was moaning with rheumatism, who had once lived somewhere in a nanny, and now she was dying alone, groaning, grumbling and grumbling at the boy, so that he was already afraid to come close to her corner. Somewhere he got a drink in the hallway, but he could not find a crust anywhere, and once in the tenth time he went to wake up his mother. Finally, it became terrifying for him in the darkness: the evening had already begun long ago, but no fire was lit. Feeling his mother's face, he marveled that she did not move at all and became as cold as a wall. "It's too cold here," he thought, stood for a while, unconsciously forgetting his hand on the shoulder of the deceased, then breathed on his fingers to warm them, and suddenly, groping for his cap on the bunk, slowly, groping, he walked out of the basement. He would have gone even earlier, but he was still afraid of the big dog upstairs, on the stairs, who howled all day at the neighbour's doors. But the dog was gone, and he suddenly went out into the street.

Lord, what a city! He had never seen anything like it. There, where he came from, there was such a black darkness at night, one lamp for the whole street. Low wooden houses are shuttered; on the street, it gets a little dark - no one, everyone closes in their homes, and only whole flocks of dogs howl, hundreds and thousands of them, howl and bark all night. But there it was so warm and he was allowed to eat, but here - God, if only to eat! and what a knock and thunder here, what light and people, horses and carriages, and frost, frost! Frozen steam comes down from the driven horses, from their hot breathing muzzles; through the loose snow, horseshoes clink on the stones, and everyone is pushing so hard, and, Lord, I really want to eat, even a piece of some, and all of a sudden my fingers hurt so much. The guardian of order passed by and turned away so as not to notice the boy.

Here is the street again - oh, how wide! Here it will probably be so crushed; how they all scream, run and ride, and the light, the light! and what's that? Wow, what a big glass, and behind the glass there is a room, and in the room there is a tree up to the ceiling; this is a tree, and there are many lights on the tree, how many golden pieces of paper and apples, and all around there are dolls, little horses; and children run around the room, smart and clean, laughing and playing, and eating and drinking something. This girl started dancing with the boy, what a pretty girl! Here is the music, you can hear it through the glass. The boy looks, marvels, he is already laughing, but his fingers and legs are already aching, and his hands have become completely red, they do not bend and it hurts to move. And suddenly the boy remembered that his fingers hurt so much, he cried and ran on, and then again he sees through another glass room, there are trees again, but on the tables there are pies, all sorts of almond, red, yellow, and there are four rich ladies, and whoever comes, they give him pies, and the door opens every minute, many gentlemen come in to them from the street. A boy crept up, suddenly opened the door and entered. Wow, how they shouted and waved at him! One lady came up as quickly as possible and thrust a penny into his hand, while she herself opened the door to the street for him. How frightened he was! and a penny immediately rolled out and rang down the steps: he could not bend his red fingers and hold it. The boy ran out and went quickly, quickly, but he doesn't know where. He wants to cry again, but he is really afraid, and runs, runs and blows on the arms. And longing takes him, because he suddenly became so lonely and terrible, and suddenly, Lord! What is this again? People are standing in a crowd and are amazed: there are three dolls on the window behind the glass, small ones dressed in red and green dresses and just like living things! An old man sits and seems to be playing a large violin, two others stand right there and play small violins, and shake their heads to the beat, and look at each other, and their lips move, they say, they say completely - only here you can't hear it from behind the glass. And the boy thought at first that they were alive, but when he completely guessed that they were dolls, he suddenly laughed. He had never seen such dolls and did not know that there were such dolls! and he wants to cry, but so funny, funny at the dolls. Suddenly it seemed to him that from behind him someone grabbed his robe: a big angry boy stood beside him and suddenly hit him on the head, tore off his cap, and kicked him from below with his foot. The boy rolled to the ground, then they screamed, he was stupefied, jumped up and run and run, and suddenly he ran, he doesn't know where, into the gateway, into a strange yard, and sat down behind the wood: "They won't find it, and it's dark."

He sat down and writhed, and he himself could not catch his breath from fear, and suddenly, all of a sudden, he felt so good: his arms and legs suddenly stopped hurting and it became so warm, so warm, as on a stove; so he shuddered all over: oh, why, he was asleep! How good it is to fall asleep here: “I'll sit here and go again to look at the dolls,” the boy thought and grinned, remembering them, “just like they are alive! ..” and suddenly he heard that his mother was singing a song over him. "Mom, I'm sleeping, oh, how good it is to sleep here!"

“Come to my tree, boy,” a quiet voice suddenly whispered over him.

He thought it was all his mother, but no, not her; who called him, he does not see, but someone bent over him and embraced him in the darkness, and he held out his hand to him and ... And suddenly - oh, what a light! Oh, what a tree! And it’s not a tree, he hasn’t seen such trees yet! Where is he now: everything shines, everything shines and everything around is dolls - but no, these are all boys and girls, only so bright, they all circle around him, fly, they all kiss him, take him, carry him with them, yes and he himself flies, and he sees: his mother looks and laughs at him joyfully.

- Mother! Mother! Oh, how good it is here, mom! - the boy shouts to her, and again kisses with the children, and he wants to tell them as soon as possible about those dolls behind the glass. - Who are you boys? Who are you girls? He asks, laughing and loving them.

- This is the "Christ's tree" - they answer him. - Christ always has a Christmas tree on this day for little children who do not have their own Christmas tree ... - And he learned that these boys and girls were all the same as him, children, but some were still frozen in their baskets, in which they were thrown on the stairs to the doors of St. Petersburg officials, others suffocated at the chukhonki, from the orphanage to feed, others died at the withered bosom of their mothers, during the Samara famine, the fourth suffocated in third-class carriages from the stench, and all of them are now here, all of them are now like angels, all are with Christ, and He Himself is in their midst, and stretches out his hands to them, and blesses them and their sinful mothers ... And the mothers of these children all stand right there, on the sidelines, crying; each one recognizes her boy or girl, and they fly up to them and kiss them, wipe their tears with their hands and beg them not to cry, because they feel so good here ...

And downstairs in the morning the janitors found a small corpse of a boy who had run in and was frozen to the ground for firewood; they also found his mother ... She died even before him; both met with the Lord God in heaven.

And why did I write such a story, which does not go so well in an ordinary reasonable diary, and even a writer? and he also promised stories mainly about real events! But that's the point, everything seems to me and it seems that all this could really happen - that is, what happened in the basement and behind the wood, and there about Christ's Christmas tree - I don't know how to tell you. , could it have happened or not? that's what I am a novelist, to invent.

Anton Chekhov (1860-1904)

A tall, evergreen tree of fate is hung with the blessings of life ... Careers, happy occasions, suitable games, winnings, cookies with butter, snaps on the nose and so on hang from bottom to top. Adult children crowd around the tree. Fate gives them gifts ...

- Children, which of you wants a rich merchant's wife? - she asks, taking off a red-cheeked merchant's wife from a branch, from head to toe strewn with pearls and diamonds ... - Two houses on Plyushchikha, three iron shops, one porter and two hundred thousand money! Who wants?

- To me! To me! - hundreds of hands reach out for the merchant's wife. - A merchant's wife for me!

- Do not crowd, children, and do not worry ... Everyone will be satisfied ... Let the young Aesculapius take the merchant's wife. A person who has devoted himself to science and enrolled in the benefactor of mankind cannot do without a couple of horses, good furniture, and so on. Take it, dear doctor! not at all ... Well, now the next surprise! A place on the Chukhlomo-Poshekhonskaya railway! Ten thousand salaries, the same amount of bonuses, three hours of work a month, an apartment of thirteen rooms, and so on ... Who wants to? You, Kolya? Take it, dear! More ... The place of the housekeeper at the lonely Baron Schmaus! Ah, don't break it like that, mesdames! Have patience! .. Next! A young, pretty girl, daughter of poor but noble parents! Not a penny dowry, but honest, feeling, poetic nature! Who wants? (Pause.) Nobody?

- I would take it, but there is nothing to feed! - the voice of the poet is heard from the corner.

- So nobody wants to?

- Perhaps, let me take it ... So be it ... - says a small, gouty old man, serving in the spiritual consistory. - Perhaps ...

- Zorina's handkerchief! Who wants?

- Ah! .. To me! Me! .. Ah! They crushed my leg! To me!

- Next surprise! A luxurious library containing all the works of Kant, Schopenhauer, Goethe, all Russian and foreign authors, a lot of old folios and so on ... Who wants?

- I'm with! - says the second-hand bookseller Swineherd. - Pazhalte, sir!

The swineherd takes the library, selects for himself the "Oracle", "Dream Interpretation", "Writer", "Handbook for Bachelors" ... he throws the rest on the floor ...

- Next! Portrait of Okreits!

Loud laughter is heard ...

- Let me ... - says the owner of the museum Winkler. - It will come in handy ...

The boots go to the artist ... in the end the tree is ripped and the audience disperses ... Only one employee of humorous magazines remains near the tree ...

- What is it to me? - he asks fate. - Everyone got a present, but I would have something. This is disgusting on your part!

- Everything was dismantled, there is nothing left ... There is, however, one fig with butter ... Do you want?

- No need ... I'm already tired of these cookies with butter ... The cash desks of some Moscow editions are full of this stuff. Isn't there anything more essential?

- Take these frames ...

- I already have them ...

- Here is the bridle, the reins ... Here is the red cross, if you want ... Toothache ... Hedgehog mittens ... A month in prison for defamation ...

- I already have all this ...

- Tin Soldier, if you want ... Map of the North ...

The comedian waves his hand and goes home with the hope of next year's Christmas tree ...

1884

Christmas story

There are weather, when winter, as if angry with human weakness, summons a harsh autumn to its aid and works together with it. Snow and rain swirl in the gloomy, misty air. The wind, damp, cold, piercing, knocks on the windows and roofs with fierce malice. He howls in the pipes and cries in the vents. Longing hangs in the air, dark as soot ... Nature is muddied ... Damp, cold and creepy ...

The weather was exactly the same on the night before Christmas in 1888, when I was not yet in the prison companies, but served as an appraiser in the loan office of the retired captain Tupaev.

It was twelve o'clock. The pantry, in which at the behest of the owner I had my dwelling place at night and pretended to be a guard dog, was dimly illuminated by a blue lamp. It was a large square room, littered with knots, chests, shelves ... on the gray wooden walls, from the cracks of which disheveled tow peeped, hare coats, jackets, guns, paintings, sconces, a guitar hung ... I, obliged to guard this good at night, lay on a large red chest behind a showcase with precious things and looked thoughtfully at the lamp light ...

For some reason, I felt fear. The things stored in the pantries of the loan offices are scary ... at night, in the dim light of the lamp, they seem alive ... Now, when the rain was murmuring outside the window, and the wind howling in the oven and over the ceiling, it seemed to me that they were making howling sounds. All of them, before getting here, had to go through the hands of the appraiser, that is, through mine, and therefore I knew everything about each of them ... I knew, for example, that for the money received for this guitar, powders for consumptive cough were bought ... that a drunkard had shot himself with this revolver; my wife hid the revolver from the police, pawned it with us and bought a coffin.

The bracelet, looking at me from the window, was laid by the man who stole it ... Two lace shirts, marked 178 No. illness, crime, corrupt debauchery ...

On the night before Christmas these things were somehow especially eloquent.

- Let us go home! .. - they cried, it seemed to me, along with the wind. - Let me go!

But it wasn't just things that aroused fear in me. When I poked my head out from behind the window and cast a timid glance at the dark, sweaty window, it seemed to me that human faces were looking into the pantry from the street.

“What nonsense! - I encouraged myself. - What stupid tenderness! "

The fact is that a person, endowed by nature with the nerves of an appraiser, was tormented by conscience on the night before Christmas - an incredible and even fantastic event. Conscience in the loan offices is only under the mortgage. Here it is understood as an object of sale and purchase, but other functions are not recognized for it ... It is surprising, where did it come from me? I tossed and turned from side to side on my hard chest and, screwing up my eyes from the flickering lamp, tried with all my might to drown out the new, unwelcome feeling in myself. But my efforts remained in vain ...

Of course, this was partly to blame for physical and moral fatigue after hard, whole-day work. On Christmas Eve, the poor piled into the loan office in droves. On a big holiday, and in addition, in bad weather, poverty is not a vice, but a terrible misfortune! at this time the drowning poor man looks for a straw in the loan office and receives a stone instead ... for the whole Christmas Eve we had so many people that three quarters of the mortgages, for lack of space in the pantry, we were forced to carry to the barn. From early morning to late evening, without stopping for a minute, I bargained with rags, squeezed pennies and pennies out of them, looked at tears, listened to vain pleas ... by the end of the day I could hardly stand on my feet: my body and soul were exhausted. It's no wonder that now I was awake, tossed and turned from side to side and felt terrible ...

Someone knocked gently on my door ... Following the knock, I heard the owner's voice:

- Are you sleeping, Pyotr Demyanych?

- Not yet, but what?

- I, you know, wondering whether to open the door for us early tomorrow morning? The holiday is big and the weather is fierce. The poor will flood like a fly to honey. So you don't go to mass tomorrow, but sit at the box office ... Good night!

“That’s why I’m so creepy,” I decided after the owner left, “that the lamp is flickering ... I must put it out ...”

I got out of bed and went to the corner where the lamp hung. The blue light, faintly flashing and flickering, apparently fought with death. Each glimpse for a moment illuminated the image, walls, knots, a dark window ... and in the window two pale faces, leaning against the glass, looked into the pantry.

"There is no one there ..." I reasoned. "It seems to me."

And when I, extinguishing the lamp, groped my way to my bed, there was a small incident that had a considerable influence on my further mood ... Suddenly, suddenly, there was a loud, frantically squealing crackling over my head, which lasted no more than a second. Something cracked and, as if feeling a terrible pain, screamed loudly.

Then the fifth burst on the guitar, but I, seized with panic, plugged my ears and, like a madman, stumbling over chests and knots, ran to the bed ... I buried my head under the pillow and, barely breathing, dying with fear, began to listen.

- Let us go! - howled the wind along with things. - For the sake of the holiday, let go! After all, you yourself are a poor man, you see! I experienced hunger and cold myself! Let go!

Yes, I myself was a poor man and knew what hunger and cold meant. Poverty pushed me to this accursed appraiser position; poverty made me despise grief and tears for a piece of bread. If it were not for poverty, would I have had the courage to evaluate at a pittance what is worth health, warmth, and holiday joys? For what does the wind blame me, for what does my conscience torment me?

But no matter how my heart beat, no matter how fear and remorse tormented me, fatigue took its toll. I fell asleep. The dream was light ... I heard the owner knocking on me again, how they hit me for matins ... I heard the wind howling and the rain pounding on the roof. My eyes were closed, but I saw things, a shop window, a dark window, an image. Things crowded around me and, blinking, asked me to let them go home. On the guitar with a squeal, strings burst one after another, burst endlessly ... beggars, old women, prostitutes looked out the window, waiting for me to open the loan and return their things to them.

Through my sleep I heard something scrape like a mouse. It scraped for a long time, monotonously. I turned and cringed, because a strong cold and dampness blew on me. As I pulled the covers over myself, I heard rustling and human whispers.

“What a bad dream! I thought. - How creepy! I wish I could wake up. "

Something glass fell and shattered. A light flickered behind the window, and a light played on the ceiling.

- Don't knock! - there was a whisper. - Wake up that Herod ... Take off your boots!

Someone came up to the window, looked at me and touched the padlock. He was a bearded old man with a pale, worn-out face, in a torn soldier's coat and in garters. A tall, thin guy with terribly long arms, in an oversized shirt and a short, torn jacket, came up to him. Both of them whispered something and fiddled around the window.

"They are robbing!" - flashed through my head.

Although I was asleep, I remembered that there was always a revolver under my pillow. I felt it softly and squeezed it in my hand. Glass clinked in the window.

- Hush, wake up. Then you have to jab.

Then I dreamed that I screamed in a chesty, wild voice and, frightened by my voice, jumped up. The old man and the young guy, their arms outstretched, pounced on me, but when they saw the revolver, they backed away. I remember that a minute later they stood in front of me pale and, tearfully blinking their eyes, begged me to let them go. The wind beat violently through the broken window and played with the flame of a candle lit by thieves.

- Your honor! - Someone spoke under the window in a crying voice. - You are our benefactors! Merciful!

I looked at the window and saw an old woman's face, pale, emaciated, soaked in the rain.

- Don't touch them! Let go! She cried, looking at me with pleading eyes. - Poverty after all!

- Poverty! - confirmed the old man.

- Poverty! The wind sang.

My heart sank with pain, and to wake up, pinched myself ... But instead of waking up, I stood at the window, took things out of it and frantically shoved them into the pockets of the old man and the guy.

- Take it, quickly! I gasped. - Tomorrow is a holiday, and you are beggars! Take it!

Filling the beggarly pockets, I tied the rest of the jewels in a knot and tossed them to the old woman. I handed the old woman a fur coat, a knot with a black pair, lace shirts and, incidentally, a guitar to the old woman. There are such strange dreams! Then, I remember, the door crackled. As if having grown out of the earth, the owner appeared before me, the district police officer, the policemen. The owner is standing next to me, but I do not seem to see and continue to knit.

- What are you, you scoundrel, doing?

- Tomorrow is a holiday, - I answer. - They need to eat.

Then the curtain falls, rises again, and I see new scenery. I'm no longer in the pantry, but somewhere else. A policeman walks around me, puts a mug of water for me at night and mutters: “Look! Look you! What I have in mind for the holiday! " When I woke up, it was already light. The rain no longer knocked on the window, the wind did not howl. The festive sun played merrily on the wall. The first one who congratulated me on the holiday was the senior policeman.

A month later I was tried. For what? I assured the judges that it was a dream, that it was unfair to judge a person for a nightmare. Judge for yourself, could I have given someone else's things to thieves and scoundrels for no reason? And where has it been seen to give things away without receiving a ransom? But the court took the dream for reality and condemned me. In the prison companies, as you can see. Can't you, your honor, put in a good word for me somewhere? Honestly, not guilty.

The Christmas holidays came, and all the children were waiting for gifts under the Christmas tree. But Misha alone was not happy with the coming of the New Year and Christmas. He was sure that he would not be presented with a gift. After all, he behaved badly all year. He did not sleep in kindergarten, did not always listen to the teacher, did not finish the soup, and generally ate only one spoonful of tasteless milk porridge. A fairy tale about Christmas was coming for everyone. Reading about the holidays and hearing about them from everyone around for Misha was a real torment. He could not wait for all this to pass and spring will come.

A fairy tale about Christmas: read online about how Misha met the Snow Maiden

On the eve of Christmas, Misha was completely desperate. Mom asked him to help with the preparation of the holiday dishes, but he rudely answered her and did not want to take part in the general celebration. Dad asked to put things in order in the room. But Misha watched cartoons and littered even more. The closer Christmas was, the sadder the baby was. Then my sister decided to send Misha to the store for juice. It was very close to go, Misha was already allowed to go to the store himself, and he was always glad to have the opportunity to go out into the street. Now, even going outside did not make him happy. Nevertheless, Misha put on a hat, scarf, jacket and boots. And then he slowly wandered into the store. He decided to do everything slowly in order to be less at home and to make the whole family nervous.

Near the store, Misha decided to make a few circles around to stay even longer. He went behind the store building and found himself in a beautiful snowy meadow. He had never seen anything like it before. A beautiful snowman was molded on it, and there were also several ice sculptures. Misha walked over to one of the ice statues and peered at it for a long time. She was incredibly beautiful and you can admire her beauty for ages.
“How beautiful,” the boy said aloud. At that moment, the statue suddenly answered him.
- Thanks. - and then the resounding laugh of the statue rang out.
Misha got scared, but then he realized that it was some girl who froze in the pose of an ice sculpture and was just playing it out. Although it was very amazing how she managed to be like ice.
- How did you do that? - Misha asked, having cooled down a little.
- It's a secret. Grandpa won't let anyone tell you.
- I won't tell anyone. Trust me. After all, I don't want to talk to anyone because of these New Year's holidays.
- Why are you happy with the holidays? All children are very happy.
- Because I still won't get the present.
- How so?
- The teachers called me a bad child. I ate poorly in the garden, slept little, did not always listen in class. And I did not eat milk porridge at all. I didn't deserve a gift.


- Against! - objected the girl. - You defended your position and did not betray your tastes. Do not like milk porridge, do not choke on it, harming yourself? If I were you, I would have done the same. But forcing children to eat is definitely bad behavior. Those who will not receive gifts from your grandfather are your teachers.
- How do you know?
- Because I ... Because I ... Snow Maiden. - said the girl. Misha understood everything at that moment. Therefore, the girl managed to be invisible among the ice sculptures. - And now I have to run. Help grandpa. But you promise not to tell anyone about me?
- Promise! - said Misha.
He bought juice and quickly returned home. He apologized for taking so long to go to the store. I helped my mom cut the salads. I cleaned my room. And he waited. The Christmas tale was coming true. The chimes will strike a little more. A miracle will happen - the Birth of Jesus Christ. And all the good kids will receive gifts. Finally, the clock struck, and Misha saw gifts under the tree. The Snow Maiden was right. Misha was a wonderful child, although he did not eat porridge, slept little and sometimes was capricious.

We shot more than 300 koska-free kosoks on the Dobranich website. Pragnemo recapitalize the special contribution of the spati to the native ritual, the creation of the turbot and heat.Do you want to edit our project? Let us write, with new strength, we continue to write for you!