A Christmas Story for Teens. Cautionary tale "Christmas Eve"

Stories about Christmas by 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 little Christ was born, and the Virgin Mary, having swaddled Him, laid Him in a simple manger on the hay, Angels flew from heaven to look at Him. Seeing how simple and wretched the cave and manger were, they quietly whispered to each other:

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

And so one Angel flew to the south to look for something to decorate the cave with. It's always warm in the south, and they're always blooming beautiful flowers. And so the Angel picked a lot of roses as red as the dawn; lilies, white as snow; cheerful colorful hyacinths, azaleas; picked tender mimosas, magnolias, camellias; He also picked several large yellow lotuses... And he brought all these flowers to the cave.

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

“Perhaps it’s okay that this tree is so simple.” Let it, the only one of all the plants of the north, look at 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 decorated with flowers! The flowers looked curiously into the manger where Christ slept and whispered to each other:

- Shh!.. 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 simple?” How happy all these wonderful flowers must be! But I have nothing to wear myself on such a holiday, nothing to decorate the cave with...

And she cried bitterly.

When the Virgin Mary saw this, She felt sorry for the tree. And She thought: “Everyone should be happy on this day, this Christmas tree shouldn’t be sad.”

She smiled and made a sign 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 remaining branches. How suddenly it became light and cheerful in the cave! Woke up from bright light little Christ, sleeping in the manger, and, smiling, reached out to the Christmas tree sparkling with lights.

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

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

And the Christmas tree felt quite happy. Since then, people decorate Christmas trees for little children every year 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... Neighboring friends look at it with envy: “Who was such a beauty born into?..” The friends do not notice that a disgusting, ugly branch has grown at the very root of the Christmas tree, which is very spoiling elegant young Christmas tree. But the Christmas tree itself knows about this branch, moreover, it hates it and grieves and complains about fate in every possible way: why did it reward it with such an ugly branch - a slender, pretty, young Christmas tree?

Christmas Eve has arrived. In the morning, Santa Claus decorated the Christmas trees with a lush snowy veil, covered them with frost - and they stand decorated like brides, standing and waiting... After all, today is a great day for Christmas trees... Today people will come to the forest to pick them up. They will cut down the Christmas trees and take them to Big city to the market... And there they will buy Christmas trees as gifts for children.

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

The runners creaked and heavy peasant sleighs appeared. A man in a warm sheepskin coat came out of them, with an ax tucked into his belt, walked up to the Christmas tree and hit its slender trunk with all his might with the ax.

The Christmas tree sighed quietly and sank heavily to the ground, rustling its green branches.

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

- Noble Christmas tree! - he said.

And suddenly his eyes stopped on a gnarled twig, sticking out quite inappropriately at the side of our beauty.

- We need to level the tree! - said Ignat, and in one minute he swung away a gnarled branch with an ax and threw it to the side.

The beautiful Christmas tree sighed with relief.

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

Lackey Ignat once again carefully examined the Christmas 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 within an hour it was transformed. Countless candles shone on its branches... Dear bonbonnieres*, golden stars, colorful balls, elegant trinkets and sweets decorated her from top to bottom.

When the last decoration—silver and golden rain—streamed along the green needles of the Christmas tree, the doors of the hall swung open and a lovely girl ran into the room.

The Christmas tree expected that the little princess would clasp her hands at the sight of such a beauty, and would jump and gallop in delight at the sight of a lush tree.

But the pretty princess only glanced briefly at the tree and said, pouting her lips slightly:

-Where is the doll? I asked dad so much that he give me a talking doll, like Cousin Lily’s. Only the Christmas tree is boring... you can’t play with it, but I have enough sweets and toys without it!..

Suddenly the pretty princess's gaze fell on an expensive doll sitting under the Christmas tree...

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

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

The beautiful Christmas tree was perplexed.

After all, the ugly branch that had so disgraced her was chopped off. Why didn’t she - a lush, green-haired beauty - cause delight in the little princess?

And the gnarled branch lay in the yard until a thin, poor woman, exhausted from everyday hard work, approached him...

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

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

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

The poor woman found a bottle in the corner and stuck a gnarled Christmas tree branch into it. Then she took out the wax cinders stored in her shrine, which she brought to different time from the church, carefully attached them to a thorny branch and lit them.

The Christmas tree lit up with welcoming lights, spreading the pleasant smell of pine needles around it.

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

- She's so sweet! What a nice Christmas tree! Thank you, my dear mother, for her... I somehow felt better when I saw the cute lit tree.

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

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

- Give me alms, for Christ's sake! Give 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 standing alone on the corner of a busy city street.

- Give me some alms!

Passers-by hurriedly walked past her, carriages rushed noisily along the snowy road. Laughter and animated conversation could be heard all around.

The holy, great night of the Nativity of Christ fell to earth. It shone like stars and shrouded the city in a mysterious haze.

“I’m asking for alms not for myself, but for my children...” The woman’s voice suddenly broke off, and she began to cry quietly. Trembling under her rags, she wiped away her tears with numb fingers, but they again flowed down her emaciated cheeks. Nobody cared about her...

Yes, she didn’t even think about herself, that she was completely cold, that she hadn’t eaten a crumb since the morning. Her whole thought belonged to the children, her heart ached for them.

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

What should she do? What to do? All Lately she worked as hard as she could, worked hard last strength. Then she fell ill and lost last job. The holiday approached, she had nowhere to get a piece of bread.

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

"Alms, good people, serve it! Give it to me, for Christ’s sake!”

And as if in response to her despair, the bell for the all-night vigil was heard nearby. Yes, we need to go pray. Perhaps prayer will ease her soul. She will pray earnestly for them, for the children. With unsteady steps she made her way to the church.

The temple is illuminated, filled with lights. There are a lot of people everywhere, everyone has cheerful, happy faces. Hiding in a corner, she fell to her knees and froze. All limitless mother's love, all her grief for her children poured out in fervent prayer, in dull, mournful sobs. "God help me! Help! - she cries. And who, if not the Lord, Patron and Protector of the weak and unfortunate, should pour out all his grief, all his mental pain to her? She prayed quietly in the corner, and tears streamed down her pale face.

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

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

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

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

- Woe! My kids are hungry; they haven’t eaten since morning. Tomorrow is such a great holiday...

- Didn’t you eat? Are you hungry? — Horror showed on the girl’s face. - Nanny, what is this? The children didn't eat anything! And tomorrow they will be hungry! Nanny! How is this possible?

A small child's hand slid into the muff.

- Here, take it, there is money here... how much, I don’t know... feed the children... for God’s sake... Oh, nanny, this is terrible! They didn't eat anything! Is this possible, nanny?

Large tears welled up in the girl’s eyes.

- Well, Manechka, let’s do it! They are poor! And they sit, poor people, in hunger and cold. They are waiting to see if the Lord will help them!

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

- My husband died - it will be about six months. There are three guys left. I couldn’t work, I was sick all the time. So I had to walk around the world with my hand. We live not far away, right here, in the basement, on the corner, in the large stone house of the merchant Osipov.

- Nanny, almost next to us, but I didn’t even know! Let's go quickly, now I know what to do!

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

The poor woman mechanically followed them. In the wallet she was holding, there was a five-ruble note. Forgetting everything except that she could now warm and feed her children, she went into the store, bought provisions, bread, tea, sugar and ran home. There are still enough wood chips left to heat the stove.

She ran home as fast as she could.

Here is the dark kennel. Three childish figures rushed towards her.

- Mama! I'm hungry! Did you bring it? Dear!

She hugged all three of them.

- The Lord sent! Nadya, light the stove, Petyusha, put on the samovar! Let's warm up, let's eat, for the sake of the great holiday!

In the kennel, damp and gloomy, a holiday began. The children were cheerful, warm and chatting. The mother rejoiced at their animation and their chatter. Only occasionally did a sad thought come to mind - what next? What's next?

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

Little Nadya quietly approached her mother, pressed herself close to her and spoke.

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

The boys also approached their mother. And, wanting to console 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 a Christmas tree, mom?

- And a Christmas tree, children, a good, shiny Christmas tree! Someone knocked on the basement door. The children rushed to open the door. A man appeared with a small green tree in his hands. Behind him was a pretty blond girl with a basket, accompanied by a nanny who was carrying various bundles and packages behind her. The children timidly clung to their mother.

- Is this an Angel, mom, is this an Angel? - they whispered quietly, looking reverently at the pretty, smart girl.

The tree had been on the floor for a long time. The old nanny untied the bags and pulled them out delicious buns, pretzels, cheese, butter, eggs, decorated the Christmas tree with candles and gifts. The children still could not come to their senses. They admired the "Angel". And they were silent, not moving from their place.

- Here you go, have a merry Christmas! - a child's voice sounded. - Happy holiday!

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

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

At home, Manya’s mother was waiting, warmly hugged her and pressed her to 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 heart of gold! God will reward you.

Manya was left without a Christmas tree or gifts, but she was all beaming with happiness. She really looked like a Christmas Angel.

“There are holidays that have their own smell. At Easter, Trinity and Christmas there is something special in the air. Even non-believers love these holidays. My brother, for example, interprets that there is no God, but on Easter he is the first to run to matins” (A.P. Chekhov, story “On the Way”).

Orthodox Christmas is just around the corner! The celebration of this bright day (and even several - Christmastide) is associated with many interesting traditions. In Rus', it was customary to devote this period to serving one’s neighbor and deeds of mercy. Everyone knows the tradition of caroling - singing songs in honor of the born Christ. The winter holidays have inspired many writers to create magical Christmas stories.

There is even special genre Christmas story. 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 and 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, both Russian and foreign writers. Read and enjoy, let festive mood will last longer!

"The Gift of the Magi", O. Henry

A well-known story about sacrificial love who will give her last for the happiness of her neighbor. A story about tremulous feelings that 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 lives for each other. greatest treasures" But the author does not make excuses, 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 sages of our days that of all the givers these two were the wisest. Of all those 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 wise man.”

“Nikolka”, Evgeniy Poselyanin

The plot of this Christmas story is very simple. At Christmas time, the stepmother acted very meanly to her stepson; he should have died. At the Christmas service, a woman experiences belated repentance. But on a bright holiday night a miracle happens...

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 noble estates, childhood and joy.

"A Christmas Carol", Charles Dickens

Dickens's work is the story of a person's true spiritual rebirth. The main character, Scrooge, was a miser, became a merciful benefactor, and turned from a lone wolf into a sociable and friendly person. And this change was helped by the spirits who flew to him and showed him his possible future. Watching different situations from his past and future, the hero felt remorse for his wrong life.

“The Boy at Christ’s Christmas Tree”, F. M. Dostoevsky

A touching story with a sad (and joyful at the same time) ending. I doubt whether it is worth reading to children, especially sensitive ones. But for adults, perhaps it’s worth it. For what? I would answer with the words of Chekhov: “It is necessary that behind the door of everyone there is a happy happy person someone would stand with a hammer and constantly remind him by knocking that there are unfortunate people, that, no matter how happy he is, life will sooner or later show him its claws, trouble will happen - illness, poverty, losses, and no one will see him or will hear how now he does not see or hear others.”

Dostoevsky included it in the “Diary of a Writer” and he himself was surprised how this story came out of his pen. And the author’s writer’s intuition tells him that this could very well happen in reality. Like tragic story The main sad storyteller of all times, H. H. Andersen, also has it - “The Little Match Girl”.

"Gifts of the Christ Child" by George MacDonald

The story of a young family going through difficult times in their relationships, difficulties with a nanny, and alienation from their daughter. The last one is the sensitive, 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 work, composed of two letters from a mother and son, a real hymn of love. She is the one unconditional love, runs like a red thread through the entire work and is its main theme. It is this state that resists loneliness and defeats it.

“Whoever loves, his heart blooms and smells fragrant; and he gives his love just like a flower gives its 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 suffering. He doesn't have time to feel lonely or wonder whether he is lonely or not. In love a person forgets himself; he lives with others, he lives in others. And this is happiness.”

Christmas is a holiday of overcoming loneliness and alienation, it is the day of the manifestation of Love...

"God in the Cave", Gilbert Chesterton

We are accustomed to perceive Chesterton primarily as the author of detective stories about Father Brown. But he wrote in different genres: he has written several hundred poems, 200 short stories, 4000 essays, a number of plays, the novels “The Man Who Was Thursday”, “The Ball and the Cross”, “The Migratory Tavern” and much more. Chesterton was also 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 with a festive atmosphere. So, in the story “ Silver Blizzard“With awe and love, he shows the boy with his zeal for piety, on the one hand, and with mischief and pranks, on the other. Consider one apt phrase from the story: “These days I don’t want anything earthly, especially school!”

Holy Night, Selma Lagerlöf

Selma Lagerlöf's story continues the theme of childhood.

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

“Christ visiting a man”, “Unchangeable ruble”, “At Christmas they offended”, Nikolai 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 by the author have common features. This is both a fascinating story and general ideas mercy, forgiveness and doing good deeds. Examples of heroes from these works surprise, evoke admiration and a desire to imitate.

"Reader! be kind: intervene in our history too, remember what today’s Newborn taught you: to punish or to have mercy? To the One who gave you the "verbs" eternal life"...Think! This is very worth your thought, and the choice is not difficult for you... Do not be afraid to seem funny and stupid if you act according to the rule of the One who said to you: “Forgive the offender and gain yourself a brother in him” (N. S. Leskov, “Under Christmas was offended."

Many novels have chapters dedicated to Christmas, for example, “The Unquenchable Lamp” by B. Shiryaev, “Conduit and Schwambrania” by L. Kassil, “In the First Circle” by A. Solzhenitsyn, “The Summer of the Lord” by I. S. Shmelev.

The Christmas story, for all its apparent naivety, fabulousness and unusualness, has always been loved by adults. Maybe because Christmas stories are primarily about goodness, about faith in miracles and the possibility of human spiritual rebirth?

Christmas is truly a holiday of children's faith in miracles... Many Christmas stories are devoted to describing this pure joy of childhood. I will quote wonderful words from one of them: “The great holiday of Christmas, surrounded by spiritual poetry, is especially understandable and close to a child... The Divine Child was born, and to Him be praise, glory and honor of the world. Everyone rejoiced and rejoiced. And in memory of the Holy Child, on 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. When preparing this collection, I read a lot of Christmas stories, but, of course, not all of them in the world. I chose according to my taste those that seemed the most fascinating and artistically expressive. Preference was given to little-known works, which is why, for example, the list does not include N. Gogol’s “The Night Before Christmas” or Hoffmann’s “The Nutcracker.”

What are your favorite Christmas works, dear matrons?

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Since childhood, all children adore the New Year and Christmas holidays - a special cozy period when you can dream and believe in miracles, and a fabulous atmosphere reigns around. If the onset of the New Year is always interesting and understandable, then the story of Christmas for children is often quite confusing. Therefore, it is very important to correctly tell children what we celebrate on this day, and what mysterious event happened on the first Christmas. Child psychologists and teachers early development it has been proven that the best way presenting information for children's fairy tale. So try reading to your kids an interesting and educational story of a good Christmas angel.

The story before Christmas: what the Christmas angel told us

Christmas was approaching. Small fluffy snowflakes were circling outside the windows, the delicious aroma of kuti and dumplings was felt in the house, mother was completing the last preparations in the kitchen, and little Vanya was reading The Night Before Christmas. The story about the stingy Scrooge had already been read and put aside by that time, and the famous “Christmas Box” was still waiting for its turn. As you can see, this year Vanya decided to properly prepare for Christmas, planning to read as much as possible more books about this holiday, and also watch a lot of themed films. He really wanted to know what exactly we were celebrating on this day, but the holiday was approaching, and the mystery remained unsolved. The boy became sad and put the book aside. Suddenly his gaze stopped on a small Christmas tree decoration - it was a beautiful angel holding a star in his hands.
- That's who knows for sure real story Christmas! “It is important for children to believe in miracles, so Vanya said these words almost in all seriousness, although later he himself laughed out of his naivety.
Imagine his surprise when the little toy angel answered him:
- Of course I know! After all, it was I who lit the bright Christmas star, which told the world about the birth of the Savior!
- About whose birth? - asked the surprised boy. He tried his best to convince himself that everything that was happening was just a dream. After all, since when Christmas decorations can they talk? But his good and tender heart told him to listen to the words of the little angel and believe in the fairy tale. After all, Christmas is just around the corner.
“If you’re interested,” the angel continued, “I’ll share this fascinating story with you.
- Certainly! “I so dreamed of finding out what happened the night before Christmas, why this holiday is so special,” said Vanya, completely forgetting that just a moment ago he doubted the reality of what was happening.
“Then sit back and listen.”

Christmas: the history of the holiday for children

This was many years ago. More than 2000! Life was difficult for people in those days, so they believed that one day a Savior would come to earth who could change their lives for the better and free them from captivity. And now this day has come. Then I was still a very little angel and understood little, but I remembered that significant night well.
All the angels living in heaven were very worried and were preparing for something grandiose. And I was only tasked with lighting the star. At first I was sad, because there was nothing interesting in this - I lit stars every night: big and small. But then the elder angel explained that it would be an unusual star - it was the one that should announce to the world the birth of the Messiah.
After a star shone in the sky with extreme clarity, an angelic choir descended to earth and began to sing songs that praised the born Savior of the world. With irresistible interest I made my way forward to see this one too. brave hero, who was going to save the whole world. Imagine my surprise when what appeared before my eyes was not a majestic palace and a knight on a white horse, but a small manger with a small child. I felt sad again, but the elder angels explained to me that that night not just a child was born, but the hope of all humanity. Hope for better life, justice and victory of good!
Vanya was very happy. Now he knew what was celebrated every Christmas.

We have created more than 300 cat-free casseroles on the Dobranich website. Pragnemo perevoriti zvichaine vladannya spati u native ritual, spovveneni turboti ta tepla.Would you like to support our project? We will continue to write for you with renewed vigor!

On Christmas days, the whole world, childishly frozen in anticipation of a miracle, looks with hope and trepidation into the winter sky: when will that same Star appear? We are preparing Christmas gifts for our nearest and dearest, friends and acquaintances. Nikeya also prepared for her friends wonderful gift- a series of Christmas books.

Several years have passed since the release of the first book in the series, but every year its popularity is only growing. Who doesn't know these cute books with a Christmas pattern that have become an attribute of every Christmas? This is always a timeless classic.

Topelius Sacarias

Nicaea: a Christmas gift

Odoevsky Vladimir Fedorovich

Nicaea: a Christmas gift

Leskov Nikolay Semenovich

Nicaea: a Christmas gift

It would seem that what could be interesting? All works are united by one theme, but as soon as you start reading, you immediately understand that each new story — new story, not like all the others. The exciting celebration of the holiday, many destinies and experiences, sometimes difficult life trials and an unchanging belief in goodness and justice - this is the basis of the works of Christmas collections.

We can safely say that this series set a new direction in book publishing and rediscovered an almost forgotten literary genre.

Tatyana Strygina, compiler of Christmas collections The idea belongs to Nikolai Breev, to CEO publishing house "Nikeya" - He is the inspirer of the wonderful campaign "Easter Message": on the eve of Easter, books are distributed... And in 2013, I wanted to make a special gift for readers - collections of classics for spiritual reading, for the soul. And then “Easter Stories of Russian Writers” and “Easter Poems of Russian Poets” came out. Readers immediately liked them so much that it was decided to release Christmas collections as well.”

Then the first Christmas collections were born - Christmas stories by Russian and foreign writers and Christmas poems. This is how the “Christmas Gift” series turned out, so familiar and beloved. From year to year, the books were reprinted, delighting those who did not have time to read everything last Christmas or wanted to buy as a gift. And then Nikeya prepared another surprise for readers - Christmas collections for children.

We began to receive letters from readers asking us to publish more books on this topic, shops and churches expected new products from us, people wanted new things. We simply could not disappoint our reader, especially since there were still many unpublished stories. Thus, first a children’s series was born, and then Christmas stories,” recalls Tatyana Strygina.

Vintage magazines, libraries, funds, card indexes - all year round the editors of Nikeya work to give their readers a gift for Christmas - new collection Christmas series. All authors are classics, their names are well-known, but there are also not so famous authors who lived in the era of recognized geniuses and published with them in the same magazines. This is something that has been tested by time and has its own “quality guarantee”.

Reading, searching, reading and reading again,” Tatiana laughs. — When in a novel you read a story about how it is celebrated New Year and Christmas, often in the plot this does not seem to be the main point, so you don’t focus your attention on it, but when you immerse yourself in the topic and begin to purposefully search, these descriptions, one might say, fall into your hands. Well in ours Orthodox heart the story of Christmas immediately resonates, is immediately imprinted in the memory.”

Another special, almost forgotten genre in Russian literature is Christmas stories. They were published in magazines, publishers specially ordered stories famous authors. Christmastide is the period between Christmas and Epiphany. IN Christmas stories traditionally there is a miracle, and the heroes joyfully do the difficult and wonderful work of love, overcoming obstacles, and often the machinations of “evil spirits.”

According to Tatyana Strygina, in Christmas literature there are stories about fortune-telling, about ghosts, and incredible afterlife stories...

These stories are very interesting, but it seemed that they did not fit the festive, spiritual theme of Christmas, did not fit with other stories, so I just had to put them aside. And then we finally decided to publish such an unusual collection - “Scary Christmas Stories.”

This collection includes Christmas “horror stories” from Russian writers, including little-known ones. The stories are united by the theme of Christmas time - mysterious winter days, when miracles seem possible, and the heroes, having suffered fear and calling on everything holy, dispel the obsession and become a little better, kinder and braver.

The theme of a scary story is very important from a psychological point of view. Children tell each other horror stories, and sometimes adults also like to watch horror films. Every person experiences fear, and it is better to experience it together with literary hero than to get into a similar situation yourself. It is believed that scary stories compensate for the natural feeling of fear, help overcome anxiety and feel more confident and calm,” emphasizes Tatyana.

I would like to note that the exclusively Russian theme is harsh winter, a long journey on a sleigh, which often becomes deadly, snowy roads, snowstorms, snowstorms, Epiphany frosts. The trials of the harsh northern winter provided vivid subjects for Russian literature.

The idea for the collection “New Year’s and Other Winter Stories” was born from Pushkin’s “Blizzard,” notes Tatyana. “This is such a poignant story that only a Russian person can feel.” In general, Pushkin’s “Blizzard” left a huge mark on our literature. Sollogub wrote his “Blizzard” precisely with an allusion to Pushkin; Leo Tolstoy was haunted by this story, and he also wrote his “Blizzard”. The collection began with these three “Blizzards” because it interesting topic in the history of literature... But in the final composition only the story of Vladimir Sollogub remained. The long Russian winter with Epiphany frosts, blizzards and blizzards, and the holidays - New Year, Christmas, Christmastide, which fall at this time, inspired writers. And we really wanted to show this feature of Russian literature.”

Current page: 1 (book has 21 pages in total)

Compiled by Tatyana 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 IS 13-315-2235

Fyodor Dostoevsky (1821–1881)

Boy at Christ's Christmas tree

Boy with a pen

Children are strange people, they dream and imagine. Before the Christmas tree and right before Christmas, I kept meeting on the street, on a certain corner, one boy, no more than seven years old. IN terrible frost he was dressed almost like summer clothes, but his neck was tied with some old clothes, which means that someone had equipped him when they sent him. He walked “with a pen”; This is a technical term and means to beg for alms. The term was invented by these boys themselves. There are many like him, they spin on your road and howl something they have learned by heart; but this one did not howl and spoke somehow innocently and unusually and looked trustingly into my eyes - therefore, he was just starting a profession. In response to my questions, he said that he had a sister who was unemployed and ill; maybe it’s true, but only I found out later that there are a lot of these boys: they are sent out “with a pen” even in the most terrible frost, and if they don’t get anything, then they will probably be beaten. Having collected kopecks, the boy returns with red, numb hands to some basement, where some gang of negligent workers are drinking, the same ones who, “having gone on strike at the factory on Sunday on Saturday, return to work no earlier than on Wednesday evening.” . There, in the basements, their hungry and beaten wives are drinking with them, and their hungry babies are squealing right there. Vodka, and dirt, and debauchery, and most importantly, vodka. With the collected pennies, the boy is immediately sent to the tavern, and he brings more wine. For fun, sometimes they pour a scythe into his mouth and laugh when, with his breathing stopped, he falls almost unconscious on the floor,

...and I put bad vodka in my mouth
Ruthlessly poured...

When he grows up, he is quickly sold off to a factory somewhere, but everything he earns, he is again obliged to bring to the careless workers, and they again drink away. But even before the factory, these children become complete criminals. They wander around the city and know places in different basements where they can crawl into and where they can spend the night unnoticed. One of them spent several nights in a row with one janitor in some kind of 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 - for only one thing, for freedom, and run away from their careless people to wander away from themselves. This wild creature sometimes does not understand anything, neither where he lives, nor what nation he is, whether there is a God, whether there is a sovereign; even such people convey things about them that are incredible to hear, and yet they are all facts.

Boy at Christ's Christmas tree

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

I imagine there was a boy in the basement, but he was still very small, about six years old or even younger. This boy woke up in the morning in a damp and cold basement. He was dressed in some kind of robe and was shaking. His breath flew out in white steam, and he, sitting in the corner on a chest, out of boredom, deliberately let this steam out of his mouth and amused himself by watching it fly out. But he really wanted to eat. Several times in the morning he approached the bunk, where his sick mother lay on a thin bedding like a pancake and on some kind of bundle under her head instead of a pillow. How did she end up here? She must have arrived with her boy from a foreign city and suddenly fell ill. The owner of the corners was captured by the police two days ago; the tenants scattered, it was a holiday, and the only one left, the robe, had been lying dead drunk for the whole day, without even waiting for the holiday. In another corner of the room, some eighty-year-old old woman, who had once lived somewhere as a nanny, but was now dying alone, was moaning from rheumatism, groaning, grumbling and grumbling at the boy, so that he was already afraid to come close to her corner. He got something to drink somewhere in the hallway, but couldn’t find a crust anywhere, and for the tenth time he already went to wake up his mother. He finally felt terrified in the darkness: evening had already begun long ago, but the fire had not been lit. Feeling his mother’s face, he was amazed that she did not move at all and became as cold as a wall. “It’s very cold here,” he thought, stood for a while, unconsciously forgetting his hand on the dead woman’s shoulder, then he breathed on his fingers to warm them, and suddenly, rummaging for his cap on the bunk, slowly, gropingly, 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, which had been howling all day at the neighbors' doors. But the dog was no longer there, and he suddenly went outside.

Lord, what a city! He had never seen anything like this before. Where he came from, it was so dark at night, there was only one lantern on the entire street. Low wooden houses are closed with shutters; on the street, as soon as it gets dark, there is no one, everyone shuts up in their homes, and only whole packs of dogs howl, hundreds and thousands of them, howl and bark all night. But there it was so warm and they gave him something to eat, but here - Lord, if only he could eat! and what knocking and thunder there is, what light and people, horses and carriages, and frost, frost! Frozen steam rises from the driven horses, from their hot breathing muzzles; Through the loose snow, the horseshoes ring on the stones, and everyone is pushing so hard, and, Lord, I really want to eat, even just a piece of something, and my fingers suddenly feel so painful. A peace officer walked by and turned away so as not to notice the boy.

Here is the street again - oh, how wide! Here they will probably be crushed like that; how they all scream, run and drive, 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 wood up to the ceiling; this is a Christmas tree, and on the tree there are so many lights, so many golden pieces of paper and apples, and all around there are dolls and little horses; and children are running around the room, dressed up, clean, laughing and playing, and eating, and drinking something. This girl started dancing with the boy, what a pretty girl! Here comes the music, you can hear it through the glass. The boy looks, marvels, and even laughs, but his fingers and toes are already hurting, and his hands have become completely red, they no longer bend and it hurts to move. And suddenly the boy remembered that his fingers hurt so much, he began to cry and ran on, and now again he sees through another glass a room, again there are trees, but on the tables there are all kinds of pies - almond, red, yellow, and four people are sitting there rich ladies, and whoever comes, they give him pies, and the door opens every minute, many gentlemen come in from the street. The boy crept up, suddenly opened the door and entered. Wow, how they shouted and waved at him! One lady quickly came up and put a penny in his hand, and she opened the door to the street for him. How scared he was! and the 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 as quickly as possible, but he didn’t know where. He wants to cry again, but he’s too afraid, and he runs and runs and blows on his hands. And melancholy takes over him, because he suddenly felt so lonely and terrible, and suddenly, Lord! So what is this again? People are standing in a crowd and marveling: on the window behind the glass there are three dolls, small, dressed in red and green dresses and very, very lifelike! Some 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 talk, they really talk - only now You can't hear it because of the glass. And at first the boy thought that they were alive, but when he realized that they were dolls, he suddenly laughed. He had never seen such dolls and did not know that such existed! and he wants to cry, but the dolls are so funny. Suddenly it seemed to him that someone grabbed him by the robe from behind: a big, angry boy stood nearby and suddenly hit him on the head, tore off his cap, and kicked him from below. The boy rolled to the ground, then they screamed, he was stupefied, he jumped up and ran and ran, and suddenly he ran into he doesn’t know where, into a gateway, into someone else’s yard, and sat down behind some firewood: “They won’t find anyone here, and it’s dark.”

He sat down and huddled, but he couldn’t catch his breath from fear, and suddenly, quite suddenly, he felt so good: his arms and legs suddenly stopped hurting and it became so warm, so warm, like on a stove; Now he shuddered all over: oh, but he was about to fall asleep! How nice it is to fall asleep here: “I’ll sit here and go look at the dolls again,” the boy thought and grinned, remembering them, “just like life!..” and suddenly he heard his mother singing a song above him. “Mom, I’m sleeping, oh, how good it is to sleep here!”

“Let’s go to my Christmas tree, boy,” a quiet voice suddenly whispered above him.

He thought it was all his mother, but no, not her; He doesn’t see who called him, but someone bent over him and hugged him in the darkness, and he extended his hand and... And suddenly, - oh, what a light! Oh, what a tree! And it’s not a Christmas tree, he’s never seen such trees before! Where is he now: everything glitters, everything shines and there are dolls all around - 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 is looking and laughing at him joyfully.

- Mother! Mother! Oh, how nice it is here, mom! - the boy shouts to her, and again kisses 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 Christ’s Christmas tree,” they answer him. “Christ always has a Christmas tree on this day for little children who don’t have their own tree there...” And he found out that these boys and girls were all just like him, children, but some were still frozen in their baskets, in which they were thrown onto the stairs to the doors of St. Petersburg officials, others suffocated in the chukhonkas, from the orphanage while being fed, others died at the withered breasts of their mothers during the Samara famine, others suffocated in third-class carriages from the stench, and yet they are all here now, they are all now like angels, they are all with Christ, and He Himself is in the midst of them, and stretches out His hands to them, and blesses them and their sinful mothers... And the mothers of these children are all standing right there, on the sidelines, and crying; everyone recognizes their boy or girl, and they fly up to them and kiss them, wipe away their tears with their hands and beg them not to cry, because they feel so good here...

And downstairs the next morning, the janitors found the small corpse of a boy who had run and frozen to collect firewood; They also found his mother... She died before him; both met with the Lord God in heaven.

And why did I compose such a story, which does not fit into an ordinary reasonable diary, especially a writer’s? and also promised stories mainly about real events! But that’s the point, it seems and seems to me that all this could really happen - that is, what happened in the basement and behind the firewood, and there about the Christmas tree at Christ’s - I don’t know how to tell you , could it happen or not? That's why I'm a novelist, to invent things.

Anton Chekhov (1860–1904)

The tall, evergreen tree of fate is hung with the blessings of life... Careers hang from bottom to top, happy occasions, suitable games, winnings, buttered cookies, clicks on the nose, etc. Adult children crowd around the Christmas tree. Fate gives them gifts...

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

- To me! To me! - Hundreds of hands reach out for the merchant’s wife. - I want a merchant's wife!

- Don’t crowd, children, and don’t worry... Everyone will be satisfied... Let the young doctor take the merchant’s wife. A person who devotes himself to science and enrolls himself as a benefactor of humanity cannot do without a pair of horses, good furniture, etc. Take it, dear doctor! You're welcome... Well, now the next surprise! Place on Chukhlomo-Poshekhonskaya railway! Ten thousand salary, the same amount of bonuses, work three hours a month, an apartment of thirteen rooms and so on... Who wants it? Are you Kolya? Take it, honey! Next... Place of housekeeper for the lonely Baron Schmaus! Oh, don't tear like that, mesdames! Have patience!.. Next! A young, pretty girl, the daughter of poor but noble parents! Not a penny's dowry, but she has an honest, feeling, poetic nature! Who wants? (Pause.) No one?

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

- So no one wants it?

“Perhaps, let me take it... So be it...,” says the small, arthritic old man serving in the spiritual consistory. - Perhaps...

– Zorina’s handkerchief! Who wants?

- Ah!.. For me! Me!.. Ah! My leg was crushed! To me!

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

- I'm with! - says the second-hand bookseller Svinopasov. - Please, sir!

Svinopasov takes the library, selects for himself “Oracle”, “Dream Book”, “Writer Book”, “Handbook for Bachelors”... and throws the rest on the floor...

- Next! Portrait of Okrejc!

Loud laughter is heard...

“Give 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 torn down and the audience disperses... Only one employee of humor magazines remains near the tree...

- What do I need? - he asks fate. - Everyone received a gift, but at least I needed something. This is disgusting of you!

- Everything was taken apart, nothing was left... However, there was only one cookie with butter left... Do you want it?

– No need... I’m already tired of these cookies with butter... The cash registers of some Moscow editorial offices are full of this stuff. Isn't there something more significant?

- Take these frames...

- I already have them...

- Here's a bridle, reins... Here's a red cross, if you want... Toothache... Hedgehog gloves... 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

Yule story

There are times when winter, as if angry at human weakness, calls upon the harsh autumn to its aid and works together with it. Snow and rain swirl in the hopeless, foggy air. The wind, damp, cold, piercing, knocks on the windows and roofs with furious anger. He howls in the pipes and cries in the ventilation. There is a melancholy hanging in the soot-dark air... Nature is troubled... Damp, cold and eerie...

This was exactly the weather on the night before Christmas in one thousand eight hundred and eighty-two, when I was not yet in the prison companies, but served as an appraiser in the loan office of retired staff captain Tupaev.

It was twelve o'clock. The storeroom, in which, by the will of the owner, I had my night residence and pretended to be a guard dog, was dimly illuminated by a blue lamp light. It was a large square room, littered with bundles, chests, whatnots... on the gray wooden walls, from the cracks of which disheveled tow peeked out, hung rabbit fur coats, undershirts, guns, paintings, sconces, a guitar... I, obliged to guard this stuff at night, lay on a large red chest behind a display case with precious things and looked thoughtfully at the lamp light...

For some reason I felt afraid. The things stored in the storerooms of the loan offices are scary... at night, in the dim light of the lamp, they seem alive... Now, when the rain was grumbling outside the window, and the wind was howling pitifully in the stove and above the ceiling, it seemed to me that they were making howling sounds. All of them, before getting here, had to pass through the hands of an appraiser, that is, through mine, and therefore I knew everything about each of them... I knew, for example, that the money received for this guitar was used to buy powders for consumptive cough... I knew that a drunkard 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 pawned by the man who stole it... Two lace shirts, marked 178 No., were pawned by a girl who needed a ruble to enter the Salon, where she was going to earn money... In short, on each item I read hopeless grief, 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 not only things aroused a feeling of fear in me. When I stuck my head out from behind the display case and cast a timid glance at the dark, sweaty window, it seemed to me that human faces were looking into the storeroom from the street.

“What nonsense! - I invigorated myself. “What stupid tenderness!”

The fact is that a person endowed by nature with the nerves of an appraiser was tormented by his conscience on the night before Christmas - an incredible and even fantastic event. Conscience in loan offices is only under the mortgage. Here it is understood as an object of sale and purchase, but no other functions are recognized for it... It’s amazing where I could have gotten it from? I tossed from side to side on my hard chest and, squinting my eyes from the flickering lamp, tried with all my might to drown out a new, uninvited feeling within myself. But my efforts remained in vain...

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

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

– Are you sleeping, Pyotr Demyanich?

- Not yet, so what?

“You know, I’m wondering if we should open the door early tomorrow morning?” The holiday is big, and the weather is furious. The poor will swarm in like flies to honey. So you don’t go to mass tomorrow, but sit at the ticket office... Good night!

“That’s why I’m so scared,” I decided after the owner left, “because the lamp is flickering... I need to 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 struggled with death. Each flicker illuminated for a moment the image, the walls, the knots, the dark window... and in the window two pale faces, leaning against the glass, looked into the pantry.

“There’s no one there...” I reasoned. “That’s what I imagine.”

And when I, having put out the lamp, was groping my way to my bed, a small incident occurred that had a significant impact on my further mood... Suddenly, unexpectedly, a loud, furiously screeching crash was heard above my head, which lasted no longer than a second. Something cracked and, as if feeling terrible pain, it squealed loudly.

Then a fifth burst on the guitar, but I was overwhelmed panic fear, covered my ears and, like a madman, tripping over chests and bundles, ran to the bed... I buried my head under the pillow and, barely breathing, freezing with fear, began to listen.

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

Yes, I myself was a poor man and knew what hunger and cold meant. Poverty pushed me into this damned place as an appraiser; poverty made me despise grief and tears for the sake of a piece of bread. If it were not for poverty, would I have had the courage to value in pennies what is worth health, warmth, and holiday joys? Why does the wind blame me, why 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 sensitive... I heard the owner knocking on my door again, how they struck 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, the strings burst with a squeal, one after another, bursting endlessly... beggars, old women, prostitutes looked out the window, waiting for me to unlock the loan and return their things to them.

In my sleep I heard something scratching like a mouse. The scraping was long and monotonous. I tossed and shrank because the cold and dampness blew heavily on me. As I pulled the blanket 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 broke. A light flashed behind the display window, and the light began to play on the ceiling.

- Don't knock! – a whisper was heard. - You'll 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, wearing a torn soldier's coat and braces. A tall, thin guy with terribly long arms, wearing an untucked shirt and a short, torn jacket, approached him. They both whispered something and fidgeted around the display case.

“They’re robbing!” – flashed through my head.

Although I was sleeping, I remembered that there was always a revolver under my pillow. I quietly groped for it and squeezed it in my hand. The glass in the window tinkled.

- Hush, you'll wake me up. Then you will have to stab him.

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

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

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!

- Poverty! – the old man confirmed.

- Poverty! - the wind sang.

My heart sank with pain, and I pinched myself to wake up... But instead of waking up, I stood at the display 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!

Having filled my beggar's pockets, I tied the rest of the jewelry into a knot and threw it to the old woman. I handed the old woman a fur coat, a bundle with a black pair, lace shirts and, by the way, a guitar through the window. There are such strange dreams! Then, I remember, the door rattled. As if they had grown out of the ground, the owner, the policeman, and the policemen appeared before me. The owner is standing next to me, but I don’t seem to see and continue to knit knots.

- What are you doing, scoundrel?

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

Then the curtain falls, rises again, and I see new scenery. I am no longer in the pantry, but somewhere else. A policeman walks around me, sets me a mug of water at night and mutters: “Look! Look! What have you planned for the holiday!” When I woke up, it was already light. The rain no longer beat on the window, the wind did not howl. The festive sun played merrily on the wall. The first person to congratulate 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, out of the blue, give away other people’s things to thieves and scoundrels? And where has this been seen, to give away things without receiving a ransom? But the court accepted the dream as reality and convicted me. In prison companies, as you can see. Can't you, Your Honor, put in a good word for me somewhere? By God, it's not my fault.