Feedback on the story of A.I. Kuprin "Sapsan" (School compositions)

window clerk and did not interfere with him, and he did not notice us at all, but continued to play for himself, and from under his fingers very quickly jumped out different sounds. They splashed, and it turned out something very friendly and joyful. I really liked it, and I could have sat and listened like that for a long time, but Boris Sergeevich soon stopped playing. He closed the lid of the piano, and saw us, and cheerfully said: - Oh! What people! Sitting like two sparrows on a branch! Well, so what do you say? I asked: - What are you playing, Boris Sergeevich? He replied: - This is Chopin. I love him so much. I said: - Of course, since you are a singing teacher, you love different songs. He said: - This is not a song. Although I love songs, but this is not a song. What I played is called a much bigger word than just "song". I said: - What is it? In a word? He answered seriously and clearly: - Mu-zy-ka. Chopin - a great composition He composed wonderful music. And I love music more than anything. Then he looked at me carefully and said: - Well, what do you like? More than anything else? I answered: - I like a lot of things. And I told him what I love. And about the dog, and about planing, and about the baby elephant, and about the red cavalrymen, and about the little doe on pink hooves, and about the ancient warriors, and about the cool stars, and about the horse's faces, everything, everything ... He listened to me attentively , he had a thoughtful face as he listened, and then he said: - Look! And I didn't know. Honestly, you're still small, don't be offended, but look - you love how much! Mishka intervened at this point. He pouted and said: - And I love different varieties even more than Deniska! Think! Boris Sergeevich laughed: - Very interesting! Come on, tell me the secret of your soul. Now it's your turn, take the baton! So get started! What do you love? The bear fidgeted on the windowsill, then cleared his throat and said: - I love rolls, buns, loaves and cake! I love bread, and cake, and cakes, and gingerbread, even Tula, even honey, even glazed. I love drying too, and donuts, bagels, pies with meat, jam, cabbage and rice. I really love dumplings, and especially cheesecakes, if they are fresh, but stale is also okay. Can oat cookies and vanilla crackers. And I also love sprats, saury, pike perch in marinade, gobies in tomato, a part in their own juice, eggplant caviar, sliced zucchini and fried potatoes. I love boiled sausage right madly, if it’s doctor’s, I’ll bet that I’ll eat a whole kilo! And I love the dining room, and tea, and brawn, and smoked, and semi-smoked, and raw smoked! I love this one the most. I really like pasta with butter, noodles with butter, horns with butter, cheese with holes and without holes, with red or white rind - it doesn't matter. I love dumplings with cottage cheese, salty, sweet, sour cottage cheese; I like apples grated with sugar, and then the apples alone, and if the apples are peeled, then I like to eat an apple first, and only then, for a snack - the peel! I love liver, meatballs, herring, bean soup, green pea, boiled meat, toffee, sugar, tea, jam, borzhom, soda with syrup, soft-boiled eggs, hard-boiled, in a bag, mogu and raw. I love sandwiches with just about anything, especially if you spread it thickly mashed potatoes or millet porridge. So ... Well, I won’t talk about halva - what fool does not like halva? I also love duck, goose and turkey. Oh yes! I love ice cream with all my heart. For seven, for nine. Thirteen, fifteen, nineteen. Twenty-two and twenty-eight. Mishka looked around the ceiling and took a breath. Apparently, he was already very tired. But Boris Sergeevich looked at him intently, and Mishka drove on. He muttered: - Gooseberries, carrots, salmon, pink salmon, turnips, borscht, dumplings, although I already said dumplings, broth, bananas, persimmons, compote, sausages, sausage, although I also said sausage ... The bear was exhausted and fell silent. It was clear from his eyes that he was waiting for Boris Sergeevich to praise him. But he looked at Mishka a little displeasedly and even seemed to be stern. He, too, seemed to be waiting for something from Mishka: what else Mishka would say. But Mishka was silent. It turned out that they both expected something from each other and were silent. The first could not stand Boris Sergeevich. “Well, Misha,” he said, “you love a lot, no doubt about it, but everything you love is somehow the same, too edible, or something. It turns out that you love the whole grocery store. And only ... And the people? Who do you love? Or from animals? Here Mishka was all startled and blushed. “Oh,” he said embarrassedly, “I almost forgot! More kittens! And grandma! 1 task. What more than anything else Deniska loves 1. Animal world. 2. Mom and dad. 3. People, animals, books and much more - the whole world. 2 task. How do you understand the words of the author Mishka went on? 1. He began to list further what he would love. 2 Continue on your way. 3. I went to the next stop. 3 task. Did Deniska like the game of Boris Sergeevich? Write down the words that helped you answer.

V. P. Priklonsky

I am a peregrine falcon, a big and strong dog rare breed, red-sand suit, four years old, and weigh about six and a half pounds. Last spring, in someone else's huge shed, where there were a little more than seven of us dogs (I can't count further), they hung a heavy yellow cake around my neck, and everyone praised me. However, the cake did not smell of anything. I'm medelian! A friend of the Boss says that this name is corrupted. You should say "weeks". In ancient times, fun was arranged for the people once a week: they played bears with dogs. Hence the word. My great-great-great-grandfather Sapsan I, in the presence of the formidable Tsar John IV, took the bear-vulture "in place" by the throat, threw him to the ground, where he was pinned by a korytnik. In honor and memory of him, the best of my ancestors bore the name of Sapsan. Few commended earls can boast of such a pedigree. What brings me closer to the representatives of ancient human surnames is that our blood, in the opinion knowledgeable people, blue color. The name Sapsan is Kyrgyz, which means it is a hawk.
The first being in the whole world is the Master. I am not his slave at all, not even a servant or watchman, as others think, but a friend and patron. People these walkers on hind legs, naked animals wearing other people's skins are ridiculously unstable, weak, awkward and defenseless, but they have some kind of incomprehensible to us, wonderful and a little terrible power, and most of all - the Master. I love this strange power in him, and he appreciates in me strength, dexterity, courage and intelligence. This is how we live.
The owner is ambitious. When we walk side by side along the street, I am at his right foot, - flattering remarks are always heard behind us: “That’s so doggie ... a whole lion ... what a wonderful muzzle” and so on. By no means do I let the Boss know that I hear these praises and that I know to whom they refer. But I feel how his ridiculous, naive, proud joy is transmitted to me through invisible threads. Freak. Let it be fun. I like him even more with his little weaknesses.
I am strong. I am stronger than all dogs in the world. They will recognize it even from afar, by my smell, by sight, by look. I see their souls from a distance, lying on their backs in front of me, with their paws raised up. Strict rules dog martial arts forbid me the beautiful, noble joy of fighting. And how sometimes you want to! .. However, the big tiger dog from the next street completely stopped leaving the house after I taught him a lesson for impoliteness. And I, passing by the fence behind which he lived, no longer smell his smell.

The story "Peregrine Falcon" was written by the famous Russian writer A. I. Kuprin (1870 - 1938) in 1917. His history is like this. Once the author received as a gift from a famous cynologist a puppy of a rare breed of medallions, which is now lost. There is a photograph of Kuprin with an already adult Peregrine Falcon, who became the main character of the story. Its first title is "Peregrine Falcon's Thoughts on People, Animals, Objects and Events".

What is this story about, what is it main idea? We, people and animals, are very different, but they need us, and we need them.

We are part of nature, we live on the same land and therefore we must treat each other with love and understanding, we have a lot to learn from our “smaller brothers” and become better.

Peregrine Falcon Thirty-Sixth - amazing dog. Genetic memory is better developed in animals than in humans, and the Peregrine Falcon remembers all its ancestors. This name was given to his ancestor Sapsan II, who during the time of Ivan the Terrible took a bear by the throat and threw it to the ground, for which he was awarded a medal. Since then only best dogs clan bore this proud name.

The peregrine falcon is noble, kind, devoted, he is attached to the owner, adores his youngest daughter. He is friends with the cat and admires her little kittens.

He is very strong, but he is not proud of it, ambition is not characteristic of him, not like people. But the owner is not indifferent to the praise of his pet. As Sapsan says, “I feel how his funny, naive, proud joy is transmitted to me through invisible threads.” Our hero has no worthy rivals, there is not even anyone to measure strength with, and he never touches the weak.

And Sapsan also has a very developed intuition: he seems to see people through and through and therefore loves children very much for their purity, clarity, gullibility. It hurts him to realize that people offend the weak, that they, including the youngest, have a tired and angry look. Even his best, most beloved, kind owner “beats” other people with words, and then Sapsan becomes ashamed and sorry. He himself will never harm anyone.

Evil is what he does not accept physically, it causes a feeling of horror in Sapsan. Once he was brought to visit the house where a small dog lived: “all of her, with her thin, shaky legs and wet, bulging black eyes, looked like some kind of shaking spider.” And was the strong, huge dog really scared of this pug? No, of course, he was frightened by her unfounded malice and ferocity, so he huddled in a corner. But the brave Peregrine Falcon was able to resist evil if it was necessary to protect someone, and it was he who saved the owner's little daughter from a mad dog. From the horror of the “pungent smell of madness and boundlessly rabid malice”, his hair stood up, but he overcame himself - with an accurate throw he knocked over the dog, lifted it up and threw it to the ground. Probably, his ancestor Peregrine Falcon II would have been proud of him then.

Such is he, the best dog in the world - kind, reflecting on life and infinitely devoted to people. Sometimes he looks at the moon and is sad, because at that moment he realizes that life is not eternal, that everything ends. And he would very much like the owner to be with him then, but in any case, his last thought will be about Him.

This is a wonderful and very touching story. After reading it, I want to take a better look at our pets: what do they think, dream about, how do they see people? Their life is not so long, and we must fill it with the same love that they love us.

Updated: 2018-01-24

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Peregrine Falcon's thoughts about people, animals, objects and events

V. P. Priklonsky

I am a Peregrine Falcon, a large and strong dog of a rare breed, red-sand color, four years old, and weigh about six and a half pounds. Last spring, in someone else's huge shed, where there were a little more than seven of us dogs (I can't count further), they hung a heavy yellow cake around my neck, and everyone praised me. However, the cake did not smell of anything. I'm medelian! A friend of the Boss says that this name is corrupted. You should say "weeks". In ancient times, fun was arranged for the people once a week: they played bears with dogs. Hence the word. My great-great-great-grandfather Sapsan I, in the presence of the formidable Tsar John IV, took the bear-vulture "in place" by the throat, threw him to the ground, where he was pinned by a korytnik. In honor and memory of him, the best of my ancestors bore the name of Sapsan. Few commended earls can boast of such a pedigree. What brings me closer to representatives of ancient human surnames is that our blood, according to knowledgeable people, is blue. The name Sapsan is Kyrgyz, and it means a hawk.

The first being in the whole world is the Master. I am not his slave at all, not even a servant or watchman, as others think, but a friend and patron. People, these walking on their hind legs, naked animals wearing other people's skins, are ridiculously unstable, weak, awkward and defenseless, but they have some kind of incomprehensible to us, wonderful and a little terrible power, and most of all - the Master. I love this strange power in him, and he appreciates in me strength, dexterity, courage and intelligence. This is how we live.

The owner is ambitious. When we walk side by side along the street - I'm at his right foot - flattering remarks are always heard behind us: "That's so doggie ... a whole lion ... what a wonderful muzzle" and so on. By no means do I let the Boss know that I hear these praises and that I know to whom they refer. But I feel how his ridiculous, naive, proud joy is transmitted to me through invisible threads. Freak. Let it be fun. I like him even more with his little weaknesses.

I am strong. I am stronger than all dogs in the world. They will recognize it even from afar, by my smell, by sight, by look. I see their souls from a distance, lying on their backs in front of me, with their paws raised up. The strict rules of dog combat forbid me the beautiful, noble joy of fighting. And how sometimes you want to! .. However, the big tiger dog from the next street completely stopped leaving the house after I taught him a lesson for impoliteness. And I, passing by the fence behind which he lived, no longer smell his smell.

People are not. They always crush the weak. Even the Boss, the kindest of people, sometimes beats so - not at all loud, but cruel - with the words of others, small and weak, that I feel ashamed and sorry. I softly poke him in the hand with my nose, but he does not understand and brushes it off.

We dogs, in the sense of nervous susceptibility seven times and many more thinner than people. People need to understand each other external differences, words, voice changes, glances and touches. I know their souls simply, with one inner instinct. I feel in secret, unknown, trembling ways how their souls blush, turn pale, tremble, envy, love, hate. When the Master is not at home, I know from afar whether happiness or misfortune has befallen him. And I am happy or sad.

They say about us: such and such a dog is good or such and such is evil. No. Angry or kind, brave or cowardly, generous or stingy, trusting or secretive, only a person can be. And according to him, the dogs living with him under the same roof.

I let people pet me. But I prefer if they give me an open hand first. I don't like claws up. Many years of canine experience teaches that a stone can lurk in it. (The little daughter of the Boss, my favorite, cannot pronounce "stone", but says "cabin".) A stone is a thing that flies far, hits accurately and hits painfully. I have seen this in other dogs. Of course, no one dares to throw a stone at me!

What nonsense people say, as if dogs cannot stand the human gaze. I can look into the Master's eyes for a whole evening without looking up. But we avert our eyes from the feeling of disgust. Most people, even young people, have a tired, dull and angry look, just like old, sick, nervous, spoiled, hoarse pugs. But in children, the eyes are clean, clear and trusting. When the children caress me, I can hardly keep myself from licking one of them right in the pink muzzle. But the Master does not allow, and sometimes even threatens with a whip. Why? I don't understand. Even he has his oddities.

About the bone. Who doesn't know that this is the most fascinating thing in the world. Veins, cartilage, the inside is spongy, tasty, soaked in the brain. You can willingly work on another entertaining mosolok from breakfast to dinner. And I think so: a bone is always a bone, even the most second-hand, and therefore, it is always not too late to have fun with it. And so I bury it in the ground in the garden or in the garden. In addition, I reflect: there was meat on it and there is none; why, if he is not, he should not be again?

And if anyone - a person, a cat or a dog - passes by the place where it is buried, I get angry and growl.

Will they suddenly guess? But more often I myself forget the place, and then I am out of sorts for a long time. The Master tells me to respect the Mistress. And I respect. But I don't. She has the soul of a pretender and a liar, small, small. And her face, when viewed from the side, is very similar to a chicken. The same preoccupied, anxious and cruel, with a round incredulous eye. In addition, it always smells badly of something sharp, spicy, caustic, suffocating, sweet - seven times worse than from the most fragrant flowers. When I smell it strongly, I lose the ability to understand other smells for a long time. And I'm sneezing.

Only Serge smells worse than her. The owner calls him a friend and loves him. My master, so smart, is often a big fool. I know that Serge hates the Boss, fears him and envies him. And Serge fawns over me. When he stretches out his hand towards me from a distance, I feel a sticky, hostile, cowardly tremor coming from his fingers. I will growl and turn away. I will never take bones or sugar from him. While the Boss is not at home, and Serge and the Mistress are hugging each other with their front paws, I lie on the carpet and look at them, intently, without blinking. He laughs stiffly and says: “The peregrine falcon is looking at us like it understands everything.” You're lying, I don't understand everything about human meanness. But I foresee all the sweetness of that moment when the will of the Master will push me and I will cling to your fat caviar with all my teeth. Arrgrra ... ghrr ... After the Master of all, closer to me dog heart"Little" - that's what I call His daughter. I would not forgive anyone but her if they thought of dragging me by the tail and by the ears, riding me or harnessing me to a wagon. But I endure everything and squeal like a three-month-old puppy. And it happens to me joyfully in the evenings to lie motionless when, having run over during the day, she suddenly dozes off on the carpet, crouching her head on my side. And she, when we play, is also not offended if I sometimes wag her tail and dump her on the floor.

Sometimes we drive with her, and she starts to laugh. I love it very much, but I don't know how. Then I jump up with all four paws and bark as loud as I can. And they usually drag me out by the collar into the street. Why? In the summer there was such a case in the country. The "little one" was still barely walking and was preposterous. We were walking together. She, me and the nanny. Suddenly everyone rushed about - people and animals. In the middle of the street a dog was rushing, black with white spots, with lowered head, with a trailing tail, covered in dust and foam. The nurse ran away screaming. "Little" sat down on the ground and squeaked. The dog was running straight at us. And from this dog immediately breathed on me a sharp smell of madness and boundlessly furious malice. I trembled with horror, but overcame myself and blocked the “Little” with my body. It was not single combat, but the death of one of us. I curled up into a ball, waited for a brief, precise moment, and with one push knocked the motley down to the ground. Then he lifted it up by the collar into the air and shook it. She lay down on the ground without moving, so flat and now not at all scary.

A. I. Kuprin

Kuprin Alexander Ivanovich 1870- 1938

Alexander Ivanovich Kuprin loved Russian nature, he perfectly knew the nature and habits of birds and animals. He wrote many stories about dogs, cats, elephants, birds, horses. Kuprin did not invent his stories about animals. All the animals he wrote about actually lived: many of them in Kuprin's house, others with friends, he learned about the fate of some from the newspapers.

One of the writer's friends recalled that he "never saw Kuprin walk past a dog on the street

and didn't stop to

don't pet him."

Kuprin created a whole series of stories about dogs: “ white poodle”,“ Pirate ”, "Dog Happiness" "Barbos and Zhulka", "Zavirayka", "Barry", Balt, Ralph, "Sapsan" and others.

purity

A.I. Kuprin managed to create such works about animals, in which "our smaller brothers" became the personification of earthly beauty, innocence and purity.

Kuprin talks about them with penetrating tenderness or spiritual bitterness, as if it were about people good or evil, cheerfully mischievous or gloomy, and most often sympathetic, naive and spontaneous in everything, like children, wise in their own way and understanding everything, but only not able to speak human language.

Pud - an old measure of weight, equal to 16 kg 300g
An ancestor is a distant ancestor. The prefix pra- in words has the meaning: more ancient.
Korytnichiy - servant in dog hunting.