Paustovsky “Collection of Miracles. Collection of miracles Story of collection of miracles

Paustovsky Gift for a reader's diary

The work tells how the boy gave the author a birch tree. The boy knew that the author was very homesick for the passing summer. He hoped that the birch could be planted at home. There she would delight the author with her green foliage and remind of summer.

The story teaches its readers kindness, as well as the need to help the people around them. Especially if a person is sad or experiences misfortune, then he must be supported.

Summary Paustovsky Gift

The author was very sad about the passing summer. Then the boy gave him a gift - a birch tree. He thought the author would put her in his own house. The birch tree was supposed to grow, and please the author with its green foliage all year round. But as soon as autumn began, the tree began to change its bright green cover. The leaves began to turn yellow a little, and later completely fall off. Everyone around this was very surprised, because the tree grew in the house, and not on the street.

Later, the neighbor's grandfather came and explained everything. He said that the tree lost its foliage due to the fact that he was ashamed in front of all his friends. After all, the birch tree had to spend the whole cold winter in warmth and comfort, and her friends - on the street, where it was frosty. Many people need to take an example from this very birch tree.

Picture or drawing Gift

Pechorin is a very mysterious person who can be impetuous or coldly calculating. But it is far from simple, but in this case - in Taman, he was circled around the finger. It is there that Pechorin stops an old woman in the house

The pig, under a huge oak tree, which is more than one hundred years old, has eaten plenty of acorns. After such a good and nourishing dinner, she fell asleep, right under the same tree.

The Savin family lives in an old apartment in Moscow. Mother - Klavdia Vasilievna, Fyodor - the eldest son, defended his candidate, got married.

the main hero of the novel Fyodor Ivanovich Dezhkin. He comes to the city in order to check the work of the department staff with his colleague - Vasily Stepanovich Tsvyakh. They were both instructed to check information about illegal and prohibited activities of students.

Summary of Paustovsky Collection of miracles for a reader's diary

In the story of K.G. Paustovsky, the hero sets off on a journey to Lake Borovoe together with the village boy Vanya, an ardent defender of the forest. Their path lies through the field and the village of Polkovo with surprisingly tall peasants, grenadiers, through a mossy forest, through a swamp and pegs. Local residents do not see anything special in this lake and discourage them from going to it, they are used to local boring places and do not see any miracles in them.

Only those who are truly attached to its beauty and see beauty in every corner of their country manage to see the wonders in nature. The old secret boyish dream of our hero is coming true - to get to Borovoe Lake.

Paustovsky. Summaries of works

Picture or drawing of a collection of miracles

Summary of Paustovsky's works

Watercolor paints

Badger nose

White rainbow

Black bear

Yellow light

Tenants of the old house

Caring flower

Hare paws

Golden Rose

Golden line

Isaac Levitan

Lump sugar

Basket with fir cones

Thief cat

Meshcherskaya side

The story of life

Farewell to summer

River floods

Disheveled sparrow

The birth of a story

Squeaky floorboards

Collection of miracles

Steel ring

Old chef

Warm bread

A summary of Paustovsky's stories

The work of Konstantin Georgievich Paustovsky is remarkable in that it absorbs a large amount of life experience that the writer diligently accumulated over the years, traveling and covering various fields of activity.

The first works of Paustovsky, which were written by him while studying at the gymnasium, were published in various magazines.

"Romantics" is the first novel of the writer, the work on which lasted for 7 long years. In the opinion of Paustovsky himself, a characteristic feature of his prose was precisely the romantic orientation.

Real fame for Konstantin Georgievich was brought by the story "Kara-Bugaz", published in 1932. The success of the work was overwhelming, which the author himself did not even know for some time. It was this work, according to critics, that allowed Paustovsky to become one of the leading Soviet writers of that time.

However, Paustovsky considered his main work to be the autobiographical Story of Life, which includes six books, each of which is associated with a certain stage in the author's life.

Fairy tales and stories written for children also occupy an important place in the writer's bibliography. Each of the works teaches that kind and light that is so necessary for a person in adulthood.

Paustovsky's contribution to literature can hardly be overestimated, because he wrote not only for people, but also about people: artists and painters, poets and writers. We can safely say that this talented person left behind a rich literary heritage.

Paustovsky's stories

Read online. Alphabetical list with summaries and illustrations

Warm bread

Summary of "Warm Bread":

Once cavalrymen passed through the village and left a black horse, wounded in the leg. The miller Pankrat cured the horse, and he began to help him. But it was hard for the miller to feed the horse, so the horse sometimes went to the village houses, where he was treated to tops, bread to bread, and sweet carrots.

In the village there lived a boy called Filka, nicknamed "Well, you" because that was his favorite expression. One day the horse came to Filka's house, hoping that the boy would give him something to eat. But Filka came out of the gate and threw the bread into the snow, shouting curses. This greatly offended the horse, he reared up and at the same moment a strong blizzard began. Filka barely found his way to the door of the house.

At home, his grandmother, crying, told him that now they will die of starvation, because the river that turned the mill wheel is frozen and now it will be impossible to make flour from grain to bake bread. And stocks of flour in the whole village remained for 2-3 days. Another grandmother told Filka a story that something like this had already happened in their village about 100 years ago. Then one greedy peasant regretted bread for a disabled soldier and threw him a moldy crust on the ground, although it was hard for the soldier to bend down - he had a wooden leg.

Filka got scared, but the grandmother said that the miller Pankrat knows how a greedy person can correct his mistake. At night, Filka ran to the miller Pankrat and told him how he offended the horse. Pankrat said that her mistake could be corrected and gave Filka 1 hour and 15 minutes so that he could figure out how to save the village from the cold. The magpie who lived with Pankrat overheard everything, then got out of the house and flew south.

Filka came up with the idea of \u200b\u200basking all the boys in the village to help him break the ice on the river with crowbars and shovels. And the next morning the whole village went out to fight the elements. They lit fires, chopped the ice with crowbars, axes and shovels. By lunchtime, a warm south wind was blowing from the south. And in the evening the guys broke through the ice and the river rushed into the mill chute, turning the wheel and millstones. The mill began to grind flour, and the women filled the bags with it.

In the evening, the forty returned and began to tell everyone that she flew south and asked the south wind to spare the people and help them melt the ice. But no one believed her. That evening, the women kneaded sweet dough and baked fresh, warm bread, there was such a smell of bread throughout the village that all the foxes got out of their holes and wondered how they could get at least a crust of warm bread.

And in the morning Filka took warm bread, other guys and went to the mill to treat the horse and apologize to him for his greed. Pankrat let go of the horse, but at first he did not eat bread from Filka's hands. Then Pankrat talked to the horse and asked him to forgive Filka. The horse listened to its master and ate the whole loaf of warm bread, and then rested its head on Filke's shoulder. Everyone immediately began to rejoice and have fun that warm bread reconciled Filka and the horse.

Everyone, even the most serious person, not to mention the boys, of course, has his own secret and slightly funny dream. I also had such a dream - to definitely get to Borovoye Lake.

The village where I lived that summer was only twenty kilometers from the lake. Everyone discouraged me from going - and the road was boring, and the lake was like a lake, there was only a forest all around, dry swamps and lingonberries. The picture is famous!

- Why are you rushing there, to this lake! - Semyon the garden watchman was angry. - Didn't you see what? What a fussy, grasping people went, Lord! You see, he has to claw everything with his hand, spy out with his own eye! What are you looking for there? One body of water. And nothing more!

- Have you been there?

- And why did he surrender to me, this lake! I have no other business, or what? Here they are sitting, all my business! - Semyon tapped his fist on his brown neck. - On the hump!

But I still went to the lake. Two village boys got along with me, Lyonka and Vanya. No sooner had we left the outskirts than the complete hostility of the characters of Lenka and Vanya was immediately revealed. Lyonka, everything that he saw around, thought for rubles.

- Look, - he said to me in his googly voice, - the gander is coming. How much do you think he pulls?

- How do I know!

“It’s a hundred rubles, perhaps,” Lyonka said dreamily and immediately asked: “But how much will this pine tree pull? Two hundred rubles? Or all three hundred?

- Accountant! - Vanya remarked contemptuously and sniffed. - At the very brains on a dime, and ask the price of everything. My eyes would not be looking at him.

After that Lyonka and Vanya stopped, and I heard a familiar conversation - a harbinger of a fight. It consisted, as is customary, only of questions and exclamations.

- Whose brains are they pulling for a dime? My?

- Probably not mine!

- Look!

- Look for yourself!

- Don't grab! The cap was not sewn for you!

- Oh, no matter how I pushed you in my own way!

- Don't scare me! Don't poke my nose!

The fight was short, but decisive, Lyonka picked up his cap, spat and went, offended, back to the village.

I began to shame Vanya.

- Of course! - said Vanya, embarrassed. - I got into a hot fight. Everyone is fighting with him, with Lyonka. He's kind of boring! Give him free rein, he hangs all the prices, as in a general store. For every spikelet. And he will certainly bring down the whole forest, chop it down for firewood. And I am more afraid than anything else when a forest is being cut down. How I fear passion!

- Why so?

- Oxygen from forests. The forests will be chopped down, the oxygen will become liquid, dry. And the earth will no longer be able to attract it, keep it close to itself. He will fly away to where! - Vanya pointed to the fresh morning sky. - There will be nothing for a person to breathe. The forester explained to me.

We climbed the path and entered an oak forest. Immediately, red ants began to seize us. They clung to their legs and fell from the branches by the collar. Dozens of sandy ant roads ran between oaks and junipers. Sometimes such a road passed, as if through a tunnel, under the gnarled roots of an oak tree and again rose to the surface. Ant traffic on these roads went on continuously. In one direction, the ants ran empty, and returned with goods - white grains, dry paws of beetles, dead wasps and a furry caterpillar.

- Vanity! - said Vanya. - As in Moscow. An old man comes to this forest from Moscow to get ant eggs. Every year. Takes away in sacks. This is the most bird food. And it's good to fish with them. The hook you need is tiny, tiny!

Behind an oak grove, at the edge, at the edge of a loose sandy road, stood a lopsided cross with a black tin icon. Along the cross were crawling red, speckled white ladybugs. A quiet wind blew in the face from the oat fields. The oats rustled, bent, a gray wave ran over them.

For the oat field, we went through the village of Polkovo. I noticed a long time ago that almost all regimental peasants differ from the neighboring inhabitants in their tall stature.

- A stately people in Polkov! - our Zaborievskys spoke with envy. - Grenadiers! Drummers!

In Polkov, we went to rest in the hut to Vasily Lyalin - a tall handsome old man with a piebald beard. Tufts of gray stuck out in disarray in his shaggy black hair.

When we entered the hut to Lyalin, he shouted:

- Bend your heads! Heads! They all smash my forehead against the lintel! It hurts tall people in Polkov, but they are slow-witted - the huts are put on low stature.

During a conversation with Lyalin, I finally learned why the regimental peasants were so tall.

- History! - said Lyalin. - Do you think we were in vain swung high? In vain, even the bugs-bug does not live. It also has its own purpose.

Vanya laughed.

- You wait to laugh! - Lyalin remarked sternly. - Still not learned enough to laugh. You listen. Was there such a wicked tsar in Russia - Emperor Paul? Or was it not?

- I was, - said Vanya. - We studied.

- Was and swam. And the business man made those that we still hiccup. The master was a fierce one. The soldier at the parade squinted his eyes in the wrong direction - he is now inflamed and begins to rattle: “To Siberia! To hard labor! Three hundred ramrods! " What a king he was! Well, it happened - the grenadier regiment did not please him. He shouts: “Walk a step in the indicated direction for a thousand miles! Hike! And after a thousand miles to stand for an eternal stand! " And shows the direction with his finger. Well, the regiment, of course, turned and walked. What can you do! Chagalls walked for three months and walked to this place. All around the forest is impassable. One wild. They stopped, began to cut huts, crush clay, lay stoves, dig wells. They built a village and named it Polkovo, as a sign that a whole regiment built it and lived in it. Then, of course, liberation came, but the soldiers settled down to this area, and, read it, everyone stayed here. The area, you see, is fertile. There were those soldiers - grenadiers and giants - our ancestors. Our growth is from them. If you don’t believe, go to the city, to the museum. They will show you the papers there. Everything is written in them. And just think - if only they had to walk two miles and come out to the river, there they would have stood there. So no, they didn't dare to disobey the order - they stopped as if. The people are still surprised. “Why are you, they say, the regiments, stared into the forest? Didn't you have a place by the river? They are terrifying, they say, brutes, but guessing in the head, it seems, is not enough. " Well, you explain to them how it was, then they agree. “They say you can't argue against an order! It is a fact!"

Vasily Lyalin volunteered to accompany us to the forest, to show us the path to Borovoe Lake. First we went through a sandy field overgrown with immortelle and wormwood. Then thickets of young pines ran out to meet us. A pine forest greeted us after the hot fields with silence and coolness. High in the sun's slanting rays, blue jays fluttered as if on fire. Clear puddles stood on the overgrown road, and clouds floated through these blue puddles. It smelled of wild strawberries, heated stumps. Drops of either dew or yesterday's rain glittered on the leaves of the hazel. Bumps fell loudly.

- Great forest! - Lyalin sighed. - The wind will blow, and these pines will hum like bells.

Then the pines were replaced by birches, and behind them the water gleamed.

- Borovoe? I asked.

- No. Until Borovoe one more step and step. This is the Larino lake. Come on, look into the water, look at it.

The water in the Larin lake was deep and clear to the very bottom. Only at the shore did it shudder a little, - there a spring flowed into the lake from under the mosses. Several large dark trunks lay at the bottom. They gleamed with a faint and dark fire when the sun reached them.

- Black oak, - said Lyalin. - Stained, age-old. We pulled out one, but it's hard to work with him. Breaks saws. But if you make a thing - a rolling pin or, say, a rocker - so forever! Heavy tree, drowning in water.

The sun shone in the dark water. Under it lay ancient oaks, as if cast from black steel. Butterflies were flying over the water, reflected in it yellow and purple petals.

Lyalin took us to a back road.

“Go straight ahead,” he showed, “until you run into a dry swamp. And the trail will go along the mountains to the lake itself. Just walk carefully - there are many pegs.

He said goodbye and left. Vanya and I went along the forest road. The forest grew higher, more mysterious and darker. Golden tar froze in streams on the pines.

At first, the ruts were still visible, long ago overgrown with grass, but then they disappeared, and the pink heather covered the whole road with a dry, cheerful carpet.

The road led us to a low cliff. Under it lay the moss - dense and warmed up to the roots birch and aspen woodlands. The trees were growing out of deep moss. Small yellow flowers were scattered over the moss here and there, and dry branches with white lichens were scattered about.

A narrow path led through the moshary. She walked around high bumps. At the end of the trail, the water shone black blue - Borovoe Lake.

We walked cautiously across the balls. From under the moss sticking sharp, like spears, pegs - the remains of birch and aspen trunks. Lingonberry thickets began. One cheek on each berry - the one facing south - was completely red, while the other was just beginning to turn pink. A heavy capercaillie jumped out from behind a hummock and ran into the small forest, breaking dry wood.

We went out to the lake. The grass stood above the waist along its banks. Water splashed in the roots of old trees. A wild duckling jumped out from under the roots and, with a desperate squeak, ran across the water.

The water in Borovoye was black and clean. Islands of white lilies bloomed on the water and smelled sickly. The fish struck, and the lilies swayed.

- Here is grace! - said Vanya. - Let's live here until our crackers run out.

I agreed. We stayed at the lake for two days. We saw sunsets and twilight and a tangle of plants emerging in front of us in the light of the fire. We heard the cries of wild geese and the sounds of the night rain. He walked for a short time, about an hour, and quietly tinkled along the lake, as if stretching between the black sky and the water thin, like a cobweb, trembling strings.

That's all I wanted to tell you. But since then, I will not believe anyone that there are boring places on our earth that do not provide any food for the eye, hearing, imagination, or human thought.

Only in this way, exploring a piece of our country, you can understand how good it is and how our hearts are tied to each of its paths, springs and even to the timid squeak of a forest bird.