Analysis of the work Caucasian prisoner by Sasha Cherny. Brief retelling. "Prisoner of the Caucasus" by Sasha Cherny

Sasha Cherny.

Caucasian prisoner

It was so much fun in the garden! The bird cherry tree was in bloom, raising foamy clusters of flowers high in the air. The catkins on the birch trees had already faded, but young, still emerald foliage swayed in the wind like a through lace tent. On the old larch tree near the pier, all the paws had fresh green bunches of soft needles, and between them there were scarlet dots - color. In the flowerbed, peony leaves that had not yet unfurled emerged from the warm soil like dark morels. Sparrows flew in flocks from maple to birch, from birch to the roof of the barn: they screamed, tumbled, fought, just like that, out of excess of life, like schoolchildren fighting when they run home after school.

Above the birdhouse, as if glued to a maple branch, a starling sat, looking at the sun, at the cheerful ripples, little rivers... On such a wonderful day, no household worries entered the bird’s head. And along the lattice fence that separated the garden from the neighboring estate, dogs were running madly: on the other side, stretched out almost to the ground, a chocolate-black dachshund, on this side - the mongrel Tuzik, a shaggy gray muff with a tail in the shape of a question mark...

They reached the edge of the fence, turned around and quickly rushed back. Until, with their tongues hanging out, they fell to the ground in exhaustion. The sides were shaking, the eyes were winking merrily. Rush forward... There is no greater dog pleasure in the world!

Below, behind the still seedy lilac bushes, the pier swayed on Krestovka. Few of the St. Petersburg residents knew that in the capital itself such a remote river runs out to the Elagin Bridge, washing the northern edge of Krestovsky Island. And the river was glorious... The water shimmered with sunny scales. Microscopic fish danced around the colorful piles in front of the houses. In the middle, a narrow spit lined with bird cherry trees stretched its entire length.

Opposite the middle of the spit rose a large barn and a yellow slope sloping towards the water: an English rowing club. From the barn, six thin young men in white sweatshirts and caps carried out a long, long, light gig, as if a sawfish with twelve legs had gone for a swim. They lowered the boat into the water, sat down and rushed to Elagin Island, smoothly, in time with the rowing, rolling back on the movable seats for a new stroke... The washerwoman’s son, who was helping his mother on the shore putting laundry in a basket, looked after him and kicked himself with pleasure.

At the pier, below, a boat desperately creaked on its chain and splashed on the water. And how could she not creak and splash when a trio of mischievous boys climbed over the fence along the shallows, climbed into the boat and began to rock it with all their might. Right - left, right - left... The edge is about to scoop up water all the way to the side!

An old man in a crimson scarf, sailing on a flat-bottomed boat, lazily rummaged through the coastal bushes with his eyes. Here and there, logs, logs or fragments of boards washed up on the shore swayed... The old man pulled up the prey with a hook, laid it across the canoe and slowly splashed further on the water... He looked at the distant old willows along the outskirts of the road of Elagin Island, listened to the hum of hooves on the bridge on the right , crossed his arms and rakes and forgot about his firewood.

And a new company sailed into Krestovka from the Neva: clerks with accordions, girls with colored ones that looked like children’s balloons with umbrellas... A light song accompanied by a selection of cheerful frets swept along the river, light waves floated along the banks in light humps. A starling in the garden on a maple branch carefully bowed his head: a familiar song! Last year he heard it here - isn’t that the same company sailing in the boats?..

Everyone was having fun that spring day: the sparrows on the roof of the barn, the dachshund and the mongrel resting at the gate after a race along the set, the unknown boys in a tied boat, the young Englishmen sailing on a gig to Strelka, the clerks and girls on Krestovka. Even someone's old old grandmother, resting on the other side of the garden in a wicker chair on the balcony, exposed her palm to the light wind, moved her fingers and smiled: the river sparkled so peacefully through the green peaks, voices sounded so smoothly on the river, so cheerfully, leaving the general’s tail in the wind, the red-haired man walked across the yard a rooster passes the very nose of a cat sprawled on a warm log...

The long outbuilding adjacent to the garden was also joyful and cozy. In the office, a ginger kitten was sitting on the desk and, listening in surprise, touched the bass string of the mandolin with its paw. In the closet, the spines of books meekly glittered in gold letters. They were resting... And on the wall, above the old sofa that looked like a soft guitar, hung portraits of those who once wrote these books: curly-haired, supportive Pushkin, gray-haired, bearded Turgenev and Tolstoy, hussar Lermontov with an upturned nose...

The doors and frames were painted in the clear color of the blue-cube wallpaper. The wind through the window blew the tulle curtain, as if inflating a sail. He doesn't care, just to have fun. The alien ficus raised its freshly washed leaves to the window and looked into the garden: “What kind of spring is it like here in St. Petersburg?”

Behind the drawn curtains one could see the lovely terracotta-colored dining room. On the eaves of the tiled stove sat a goggle-eyed, ruddy matryoshka doll: one foot was bare, as if it had been sucked, the other was in a luxurious velvet felt boot. To the side lay an oak sideboard with an upper floor on lion's paws. Behind the cut glass shone my great-grandmother's tea set, dark blue with golden grapes. Above, young spring flies fluttered along the window, worried, looking for a way out into the garden. On the oval table lay a children's book, open in the picture.

It must have been painted by children's hands: people's fists were blue, their faces were green, and their jackets and hair were flesh-colored - sometimes it's so nice to paint something completely different from how life is supposed to be. From the kitchen came the cheerful, rhythmic sound of chopping: the cook was chopping meat for cutlets and, in time with the knocking and ticking of the wall clock, she was purring some kind of cutlet polka.

In front of the closed glass door leading from the dining room to the garden, two girls, two sisters stood with their noses pressed to the glass. If anyone from the garden looked at them, they would immediately see that they were the only ones in the whole garden and house who were sad on this sunny spring day. The eldest Valya even had a tear glistening on her cheek, about to drop onto her apron. And the youngest, Katyusha, pouting, pouting, looked angrily at the starling, knitting her plump eyebrows, as if the starling had pecked her doll or carried away her donut with poppy seeds through the window.

The point, of course, is not the donut. They had just read, for the first time in their lives, page by page, one by one, Tolstoy’s “Prisoner of the Caucasus” and became terribly excited. Once it’s written, it means it’s the real truth. This is not a children's fairy tale about Baba Yaga, which, perhaps, adults deliberately invented to scare children...

There were no elders: my mother went on a horse-drawn horse to the St. Petersburg side for shopping, my father was at the bank and at work. The cook, of course, doesn’t know about “The Prisoner of the Caucasus”, the nanny has gone to visit, her godfather has a birthday... It would be possible to tell the nanny everything in her own words, after all, her son serves as a sergeant major in the Caucasus, he writes letters to her. Maybe she will find out from him: is it true? do they torture people like that? Or was it once tortured, but now it’s forbidden?..

Well, after all, he escaped safely in the end,” Katyusha said with a sigh.

She was already tired of sulking - the day was so bright. And since the ending is good, it means there’s no need to grieve too much.

Maybe Zhilin and his soldiers later ambushed and captured the very Tatars who tormented him... Really?

And painfully, very painfully he ordered them to be flogged! - Valya was delighted. - Nettle! Here you go, here you go! So that they don’t torture, so that they don’t put me in a hole, so that they don’t put stocks on... Don’t scream! Don't you dare shout... Otherwise you'll get more.

However, Valya immediately changed her mind:

No, you know, there is no need to flog them. Zhilin would only look at them contemptuously and say: “Russian officers are generous... March!” On all four sides. And kill yourself on your Caucasian nose... If you dare to put the Russians in a hole again, I’ll shoot you all out of here from a cannon, like... I’ll chop cabbage! Do you hear!.. To the Tatar girl Dina, who fed me flatbreads, give the St. George medal and this Russian alphabet, so that she can learn Russian literacy and can read “Prisoner of the Caucasus” herself. Now get out of my sight!

Out! - Katyusha screamed and stomped her heel on the floor.

Wait, don't shout. - Vala said. - And so, when she learned to read Russian, she quietly ran away to Zhilin... AND THEN she married him...

Katyusha even squealed with pleasure, she liked this ending so much. Now that they had dealt with the Tatars and arranged the fate of Dina and Zhilin so well, it became a little easier for them. They put on galoshes knitted blouses, the two of them barely opened the swollen door and howled onto the porch.

The constant adjutant Tuzik, wagging his shaggy tail, ran up to the girls. The sisters jumped off the porch and walked along the damp paths around the garden. There really is no point in indulging the robbers!

In the corner of the garden, near an old abandoned greenhouse, the girls stopped over a hole. At the bottom, last year’s compacted leaves lay humped... They looked at each other and understood each other without words.

Where will we take prisoners? - asked the youngest, with pleasure squeezing an empty flowerpot into the depths with her heel.

Let's put the bear...

Well. Certainly! Who will be Dina?

No, I!..

The sisters thought about it and decided that there was no point in arguing. Of course, it is better to be Dina than a ferocious Tatar. But first they will both be Tatars and capture the bear. And then Valya will become Dina, and Katyushka will become her friend, and both will help the prisoners escape. Who will be the second prisoner, Kostylin?

Tuzik obsequiously wagged his tail at the girl’s feet. What else should we look for?

Misha!

Bear!..

Little mouse!

What do you need! - the janitor boy Misha loudly responded from the street.

Go play! A minute later, Misha stood in front of his sisters, chewing the last of his bagel. He was still very small, a boy about the size of a finger, with a cap pulled down to his very nose, and was accustomed to obeying the girls from the outbuilding in everything.

What will we play? “In “Prisoner of the Caucasus,” Valya explained. “Yes, swallow your steering wheel quickly!” You're like Zhilin, a Russian officer. It’s like you’re riding from a fortress to your mother on horseback. She has found a bride for you, she is good and smart, and she has property. And we will take you prisoner and put you in a pit. Understood?

Plant it, then.

And Tuzik is with you. Like a comrade. And we will shoot the horse under you.

Shoot, okay.

The bear sat astride the rod and galloped along the path, kicking up the dirt with its hooves...

Pow! Bang-bang! - the girls shouted from both sides. - Why don’t you fall?! Fall off your horse, fall off this very minute...

We didn't hit! - The bear snorted impudently, kicked his leg and rushed along the fence.

Pow! Pow!

Didn't hit...

What are you going to do with such a slow-witted boy? The sisters rushed towards Mishka, pulled him off the horse and, urging him on with slaps, dragged him to the pit. Still resisting! What came over him today...

Wait, wait! - Valya flew to the outbuilding and rushed back like an arrow with a bed rug so that it would be softer for Mishka to sit on the bottom.

The bear jumped down and sat down. Tuzik is behind him - he immediately understood what the game was.

“What should we do now?” asked Mishka from the pit, wiping his nose with a cotton sleeve.

Katyusha thought about it.

Ransom? But Zhilin is poor. And he will deceive you anyway...What can we take from him? And Tuzik? After all, he is Kostylin, he is rich...

The girls sat down in the greenhouse on a chipped step and with a stub of a pencil scribbled everything that followed for Tuzik on a tablet: “I fell into their clutches. Send five thousand coins. Your loving captive." The board was immediately delivered to the janitor Semyon, who was chopping wood in the yard, and, without waiting for an answer, they ran to the pit.

The prisoners behaved very strangely. At least they tried to escape or something... They rolled happily on the rug, with their legs and paws in the air, and doused each other with armfuls of rusty leaves.

Stop! - Valya screamed. - Now I’ll sell you to the red-haired Tatar...

Sell, okay,” Mishka responded indifferently. - How to continue playing?

It’s like you’re making dolls and throwing them up at us... We are now Tatar girls... And we’ll throw cakes at you for this.

What to sculpt from?

Indeed. Not from leaves. Valya flew home again and brought in a basket a stuffed elephant, a rubber camel, a nesting doll, a legless clown and a clothes brush - everything that she had hastily collected in the nursery. Yes, I begged three pies with cabbage from the cook (even tastier than flatbreads!).

They left toys for Mishka, but he threw them all back in a whirlwind.

Not so soon! What a scarecrow...

Okay, let's have some scones!

It didn’t turn out very well with the “flatbreads” either. Tuzik caught the first pie on the fly and swallowed it with the speed of a magician. The eel escaped from under Mishka's armpit and swallowed the second one... And only the third one was handed over to the Caucasian prisoner on a stick.

Then the girls, puffing and pushing each other, lowered a long pole into the hole so that the prisoners would finally escape.

But neither Mishka nor Tuzik even moved! Is it bad to be in a warm pit? Overhead, the clouds are breaking through the birch trees, and Mishka also found a piece of bread in his pocket. Tuzik began to look for fleas, and then he sat down next to the boy - softly on the rug - and curled up like a hedgehog. Where else can I run?

The girls screamed, got angry, gave orders. It ended with them jumping into the pit, sitting down next to the prisoners and also starting to look at the clouds. After all, there could have been four prisoners. But you’re still not supposed to run during the day. It’s written by Tolstoy: “The stars are visible, but the month has not yet risen”... There is still time. And we need to fill the stocks for everyone - they found a whole armful of planks in the greenhouse.

About two hours later, the girls’ mother returned from the St. Petersburg side. I went through all the rooms and there were no daughters. I looked into the garden: no! She called the nanny, but remembered that the nanny went to see her godfather in Galernaya Harbor today. The cook doesn't know anything. The janitor showed a tablet: “five thousand coins”... What is it? And his Mishka has gone to God knows where.

She got alarmed and went out onto the porch...

Children! Aw... Valya! Ka-tu-sha!

And suddenly, from the end of the garden, as if from underground, children’s voices:

We're here!

Where here?!

In the greenhouse...

What are you doing here?

We are Caucasian prisoners.

What kind of prisoners are there! After all, it’s damp here... Now go home!

The girls climbed up the pole, Mishka followed them, and Tuzik managed without the pole.

They go home to their mother on both sides, like kittens, huddling together. They themselves don’t even understand how the “Prisoner of the Caucasus” upset them so much this morning? After all, it’s a really funny joke.

Drumming on fresh leaves.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Alexander Mikhailovich Glickberg (1880 – 1932)

Nickname (Greek "false" + "name")- a fictitious name used by a person in public activities instead of his real one.

Well, - such a poet rushed to you: E then your humble servant, He is called “Sasha Black”... Why? I don't know myself. (poem “For Children”, 1920)

Let's create a questionnaire. Sasha Cherny. (textbook pages 158-159)

(1 (13) October 1880.

Year of birth:
Place of birth :
Childhood :
Youth :
Beginning of writing activity :

Real creativity:
First book :
Journalist :
Emigration :

Odessa.

city of Bila Tserkva.

Zhytomyr.

Zhytomyr. Newspaper "Volynsky Herald".

Petersburg.

collection of poems "Native Motifs".

magazine "Satyricon".

1918 Lithuania. Germany. France.

What do all the pictures have in common?

Sasha Cherny is a children's writer.

Choose words that express your attitude to these quotes?

“The sparrows...screamed, tumbled, fought...simply from an excess of life...”

“No household worries went into the bird’s head...”

“...mongrel Tuzik, a shaggy gray muff with a tail in the shape of a question mark...”.

Choose funny quotes from the text, think about what makes phrases funny? (pp. 159-161)

Antonyms. Epithets.

Metaphor.

“A remote little river... But the river was glorious... The water shimmered with sunny scales.”

“...they brought out a long, long light gig, as if a fish was drinking...she went for a swim...”.

Comparison.

Gichka-boat (CM!)

A colloquial word.

“The washerwoman’s son…kicked himself in pleasure…”

“The starling...on a branch carefully bowed his head: a familiar song! Last year I heard..."

Personification.

“In the closet, the spines of books meekly glittered in gold letters. They were resting..." What picture do you imagine?

“...curly-haired, supportive Pushkin.”

“...hussar Lermontov with an upturned nose...”

“...gray-haired, bearded Turgenev and Tolstoy...”

What conclusions can be drawn about the main characters by reading such characteristics of writers?

Read the description of the characters and determine the main detail of the portrait. Does the portrait reveal character traits?

“... in front of the glass door... stood with their noses pressed to the glass, two girls, two sisters. If anyone from the garden looked at them, they would immediately see that they were the only ones in the whole garden and house who were sad on this sunny day. The eldest Valya even had a tear glistening on her cheek, about to drop onto her apron.
And the youngest, Katyusha, pouting, pouting, looked angrily at the starling, knitting her plump eyebrows, as if the starling had pecked her doll or carried away her donut with poppy seeds through the window.”

What happened to the heroines?

The girls independently read the story by L. N. Tolstoy “ Caucasian prisoner"and got excited .

“Once it’s written, it means it’s the real truth... And since the ending is good... there’s no need to grieve...”

What ending of the story did the girls come up with?

Zhilin and his soldiers captured the Tatars and flogged them.

"Russian officers are generous."

Give Dina the St. George medal and the Russian alphabet.

Wedding Zilina

and Dina

What “secrets” does the author use to draw our attention to the girls’ reasoning about the ending of the story?

“Zhilin...captured the Tatars who tortured him...Really?

Rhetorical questions.

“And it’s painful, very painful to flog!

Don't shout! …March!"

Rhetorical exclamation.

“Hit yourself on your Caucasian nose.”

“...I’ll chop the cabbage.”

Humor is a cheerful laugh.

Inaccuracy of phraseological units.

“I was delighted... I stamped my foot... I squealed with pleasure...”

Author's remarks, author's comments.

L.N. Tolstoy "Prisoner of the Caucasus".

How did the children reproduce the story in the game?

Actors.

Misha - Zhilin.

Tuzik - Kostylin.

Valya and Katya are Tatars.

Valya - Dina.

Katya is her friend.

What is good?

“I have often thought about what does it mean to be kind?” I think, kind person“This is a person who has imagination and understands how another feels, knows how to feel what another feels.”

J. Korczak.

How does this statement relate to our heroes? Give examples from the text?

“- No, you know, there is no need to flog them.... The fate of Dina and Zhilin was so well arranged, it became a little easier for them...”

They didn’t want to play the role of Kostylin - they didn’t want to be traitors.

Name words with the same root for the word “good”.

love

decency

soulful

act

cordiality

words

liking

GOOD

Homework.

Share yours good deeds, actions...

It was so much fun in the garden! The bird cherry tree was blooming, raising foamy clusters of flowers high in the air. The catkins on the birch trees had already faded, but young, still emerald foliage swayed in the wind like a through lace tent. On the old larch tree near the pier, all the paws had fresh green bunches of soft needles, and between them there were scarlet dots - color. In the flowerbed, peony leaves that had not yet unfurled emerged from the warm soil like dark morels. Sparrows flew in flocks from maple to birch, from birch to the roof of the barn: they screamed, tumbled, fought, just like that, out of excess of life, like schoolchildren fighting, running home after school. Above the birdhouse, as if glued to a maple branch, a starling sat, looking at the sun, at the cheerful ripples of the river... On such a wonderful day, no household worries entered the bird’s head. And along the lattice fence that separated the garden from the neighboring estate, dogs were running madly: on the other side, stretched out almost to the ground, a chocolate-black dachshund, on this side - the mongrel Tuzik, a shaggy gray muff with a tail in the shape of a question mark... They ran to the edge fences, turned and quickly rushed back. Until, with their tongues hanging out, they fell to the ground in exhaustion. The sides were shaking, the eyes were winking merrily. Rush forward... There is no greater dog pleasure in the world!

Below, behind the still see-through lilac bushes, the pier swayed on Krestovka. Few of the St. Petersburg residents knew that in the capital itself such a remote river runs out to the Elagin Bridge, washing the northern edge of Krestovsky Island. And the river was glorious... The water shimmered with sunny scales. Microscopic fish danced around the colorful piles in front of the houses. In the middle, a narrow spit lined with bird cherry trees stretched its entire length. Opposite the middle of the spit rose a large barn, and a yellow slope sloping down to the water: an English rowing club. From the barn, six thin young men in white sweatshirts and caps carried out a long, long, light gig, as if a sawfish with twelve legs had gone for a swim. They launched the boat into the water, sat down and rushed to Elagin Island, smoothly, in time with the rowing, rolling back on the movable seats for a new stroke... The washerwoman’s son, who was helping his mother on the shore putting the laundry in a basket, looked after him and kicked himself in pleasure .

An old man in a crimson scarf, sailing on a flat-bottomed boat, lazily rummaged through the coastal bushes with his eyes. Here and there, logs, logs or fragments of boards washed up on the shore swayed... The old man pulled up the prey with a hook, laid it across the canoe and slowly splashed on the water further... He looked at the distant old willows along the outlying road of Elagin Island, listened to how On the bridge on the right, hooves are humming, he crossed his arms and oars and forgot about his firewood.

And she swam to Krestovka from the Neva new company: clerks with accordions, girls with colored umbrellas that looked like children's balloons... A light song accompanied by a selection of cheerful modes swept along the river, light waves floated to the shores in light humps. A starling in the garden on a maple branch carefully bowed his head: a familiar song! Last year he heard it here - isn’t that the same company sailing by in boats?..

Everyone was having fun on this spring day: the sparrows on the roof of the barn, the dachshund and the mongrel resting at the gate after a race along the fence, the unknown boys in a tied boat, the young Englishmen sailing on a gig to the Strelka 1 , clerks and girls on Krestovka. Even someone’s old, old grandmother, resting on the other side of the garden in a wicker chair on the balcony, exposed her palm to the light wind, moved her fingers and smiled: the river sparkled so peacefully through the green peaks, the voices sounded so smoothly on the river, so cheerfully, putting aside the general’s tail in the wind, a red rooster walked across the yard past the very nose of a cat sprawled on a warm log...

1 Arrow- Cape Vasilyevsky Island in St. Petersburg, dividing the Neva into two branches.

It was fun in the garden. Spring was in full swing: bird cherry and peonies were blooming, sparrows were jumping in the trees, starlings were basking in the sun, a black dachshund and the mongrel Tuzik were running around the estates. Off the coast of Elagin stretched a spit lined with bird cherry trees, in the middle of which there was a large barn - an English rowing club. From there, young men with a boat descended to the river to sail to Elagin Island. At the pier, three children were rocking in a boat. Everything around was happy on that sunny day.

There was an outbuilding adjoining the garden, the sun shining brightly through the windows. There was a red kitten sitting in the office. There were many books with gold bindings on the shelves. The wind was blowing through the rooms, twitching the curtains. In one of the rooms there was a book painted by children, with painted people. Noise was heard from the kitchen; the cook was preparing dinner. Everyone and everything around was happy, except for two girls standing with their noses buried in the glass door. These were two sisters Valya and Katyusha. They were very sad. Today they read Tolstoy’s “Prisoner of the Caucasus” and got very excited. They believed in every word written in the book, because these were not fairy tales about Baba Yaga.

Katyusha said that overall everything ended well. The girls began to think what happened next: maybe Zhilin then ambushed those Tatars who tormented him and flogged him with nettles. No, he showed nobility, threatened and let him go. And Dina learned Russian and ran away to Zhilin to marry him.

The girls were happy about this ending and decided to take a walk in the garden. In the corner, near an abandoned greenhouse, Valya and Katya saw a hole and decided to play at being a Caucasian prisoner. They decided that Mishka would be the prisoner. Each of them first wanted to play the role of Dina, but first they had to be cruel Tatars. They needed another prisoner - Kostylin; they took a yard dog - Tuzik - to play his role.

The girls persuaded Mishka to play with them and put him and the dog in a hole on a rug to keep it warm. The girls scribbled a message from Kostylin on a tablet, which they took to the janitor Semyon.

Then the girls brought some dolls from the nursery and exchanged them for pies. Then the girls threw a pole into the hole so that the prisoners could get out, but they felt good in the hole. Then the girls decided that they needed to escape from captivity at night and also climbed into the hole to watch the clouds. A few hours later, the girls’ mother returned from St. Petersburg. I went around the whole house looking for the girls, but didn’t find them. She let the nanny go that day; the janitor Semyon had not seen the children for a long time.

After calling her daughters several times in the garden, the woman heard the girls’ responses. Having found the children, the mother told them to get out quickly and led them into the house. The girls walked and did not understand why they were so upset in the morning, because it was very fun to be prisoners.

In this work, the author shows all the childish carelessness, thereby forcing everyone to think about the following: is it worth being upset about events that very soon will turn out to be completely unimportant.

Analysis of the work Caucasian prisoner by Sasha Cherny. Brief retelling. "Prisoner of the Caucasus" by Sasha Cherny

Picture or drawing Caucasian prisoner

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