Read in bad company. IN

Title of the work: IN bad society
Korolenko Vladimir
Year of writing: 1885
Genre: story
Main characters: Vasya- son of a judge Sonya- Vasya’s sister, Outrigger- son of Tyburtsiy, Marusya- sister Valeka, Tyburtsy- the head of the “bad society”, Vasya's father- city judge.

A penetrating and very adult story, which you can get acquainted with through summary story “In Bad Society” for a reader’s diary.

Plot

When his mother died, Vaska was left without a caretaker. The father, stricken with grief, does not devote time to his son and is immersed in work. Near the city there is a chapel and a dungeon in which homeless people live, the so-called “bad society”. Vaska climbs into the chapel and meets Valek and Marusya there. The children are friends. One day Valek says that their father loves them very much. Vaska replies that he cannot say such things about his father, who, on the contrary, does not like him. Valek notes that his father is fair and honest. Marusya is sick. Vasya brings her the Sonechka doll. The girl is happy. The judge hears rumors about his son's association with bad society. Vaska is locked up, but he escapes. Tyburtsy comes to the judge with a doll and talks about the friendship of the children. The judge and son become closer. Marusya is dying. Children often come to her grave.

Conclusion (my opinion)

Vasya made friends with the children of Tyburtsiy despite the labels attached to the inhabitants of the dungeon. He does not care about the attitude of those around him. He is a very humane and kind boy, not spoiled by prejudice and cruelty. Thanks to his generosity, he brings shame to his father’s callous heart and becomes close to him. Marusya becomes a memory for everyone and a sad example and victim of human inequality.

My mother died when I was six years old. My father, completely absorbed in his grief, seemed to completely forget about my existence. Sometimes he caressed my little sister and took care of her in his own way, because she had her mother’s features. I grew up like a wild tree in a field - no one surrounded me with special care, but no one constrained my freedom.

The place where we lived was called Knyazhye-Veno, or, more simply, Knyazh-gorodok. It belonged to one seedy but proud Polish family and represented all the typical features of any of the small towns of the South-Western region, where, among the quietly flowing life of hard work and petty fussy Jewish gesheft, the pitiful remains of the proud lordly greatness live out their sad days.

If you approach the town from the east, the first thing that catches your eye is the prison, the best architectural decoration of the city. The city itself lies below sleepy, moldy ponds, and you have to go down to it along a sloping highway, blocked by a traditional “outpost”. A sleepy invalid, a figure russet in the sun, the personification of a serene slumber, lazily raises the barrier, and - you are in the city, although, perhaps, you do not notice it right away. Gray fences, vacant lots with heaps of all sorts of rubbish are gradually interspersed with dim-sighted huts sunk into the ground. Further, the wide square gapes in different places with the dark gates of Jewish “visiting houses”; government institutions are depressing with their white walls and barracks-like lines. A wooden bridge spanning a narrow river groans, trembles under the wheels, and staggers like a decrepit old man. Beyond the bridge stretched a Jewish street with shops, benches, little shops, tables of Jewish money changers sitting under umbrellas on the sidewalks, and with awnings of kalachniki. The stench, the dirt, the heaps of kids crawling in the street dust. But another minute and you are already outside the city. The birch trees whisper quietly over the graves of the cemetery, and the wind stirs the grain in the fields and rings with a sad, endless song in the wires of the roadside telegraph.

The river over which the aforementioned bridge was thrown flowed from a pond and flowed into another. Thus, the town was fenced from the north and south by wide expanses of water and swamps. The ponds became shallower year by year, overgrown with greenery, and tall, dense reeds waved like the sea in the huge swamps. There is an island in the middle of one of the ponds. There is an old, dilapidated castle on the island.

I remember with what fear I always looked at this majestic decrepit building. There were legends and stories about him, each more terrible than the other. They said that the island was built artificially, by the hands of captured Turks. “The old castle stands on human bones,” the old-timers said, and my frightened childhood imagination pictured thousands of Turkish skeletons underground, supporting with their bony hands the island with its tall pyramidal poplars and the old castle. This, of course, made the castle seem even scarier, and even in clear days When, encouraged by the light and the loud voices of birds, we came closer to him, he often brought on us fits of panic horror - the black hollows of the long-broken windows looked so scary; in the empty halls there was a mysterious rustling sound: pebbles and plaster, breaking away, fell down, awakening a echo, and we ran without looking back, and behind us for a long time there was knocking, stomping, and cackling.

And in stormy autumn nights When the giant poplars swayed and hummed from the wind blowing from behind the ponds, horror spread from the old castle and reigned over the entire city. “Oh-vey-peace!” - the Jews said timidly; God-fearing old bourgeois women were baptized, and even our closest neighbor, the blacksmith, who denied the very existence of demonic power, went out into his yard at these hours and created sign of the cross and whispered to himself a prayer for the repose of the departed.

Old, gray-bearded Janusz, who, for lack of an apartment, took refuge in one of the basements of the castle, told us more than once that on such nights he clearly heard screams coming from underground. The Turks began to tinker under the island, rattling their bones and loudly reproaching the lords for their cruelty. Then weapons rattled in the halls of the old castle and around it on the island, and the lords called the haiduks with loud shouts. Janusz heard quite clearly, under the roar and howl of the storm, the tramp of horses, the clanking of sabers, the words of command. Once he even heard how the late great-grandfather of the current counts, glorified forever for his bloody exploits, rode out, clattering the hooves of his argamak, to the middle of the island and furiously swore: “Keep quiet there, laidaks, psya vyara!”

The descendants of this count left the home of their ancestors long ago. Most of the ducats and all sorts of treasures, from which the chests of the counts were previously bursting, went over the bridge, into the Jewish hovels, and the last representatives of the glorious family built themselves a prosaic white building on the mountain, away from the city. There their boring, but still solemn existence passed in contemptuously majestic solitude.

Occasionally only the old count, the same gloomy ruin as the castle on the island, appeared in the city on his old English nag. Next to him, in a black riding habit, stately and dry, his daughter rode through the city streets, and the horsemaster respectfully followed behind. The majestic countess was destined to remain a virgin forever. Suitors equal to her in origin, in pursuit of the money of merchant daughters abroad, cowardly scattered around the world, leaving their family castles or selling them for scrap to the Jews, and in the town spread out at the foot of her palace, there was no young man who would dare to look up at beautiful countess. Seeing these three horsemen, we little guys, like a flock of birds, took off from the soft street dust and, quickly scattering around the courtyards, watched with frightened and curious eyes the gloomy owners of the terrible castle.

Vladimir Korolenko

IN BAD SOCIETY

From my friend's childhood memories I

I. Ruins

My mother died when I was six years old. My father, completely absorbed in his grief, seemed to completely forget about my existence. Sometimes he caressed my little sister and took care of her in his own way, because she had her mother’s features. I grew up like a wild tree in a field - no one surrounded me with special care, but no one constrained my freedom.

The place where we lived was called Knyazhye-Veno, or, more simply, Knyazh-gorodok. It belonged to one seedy but proud Polish family and represented all the typical features of any of the small towns of the South-Western region, where, among the quietly flowing life of hard work and petty fussy Jewish gesheft, the pitiful remains of the proud lordly greatness live out their sad days.

If you approach the town from the east, the first thing that catches your eye is the prison, the best architectural decoration of the city. The city itself lies below sleepy, moldy ponds, and you have to go down to it along a sloping highway, blocked by a traditional “outpost”. A sleepy invalid, a figure russet in the sun, the personification of a serene slumber, lazily raises the barrier, and - you are in the city, although, perhaps, you do not notice it right away. Gray fences, vacant lots with heaps of all sorts of rubbish are gradually interspersed with dim-sighted huts sunk into the ground. Further, the wide square gapes in different places with the dark gates of Jewish “visiting houses”; government institutions are depressing with their white walls and barracks-like lines. A wooden bridge spanning a narrow river groans, trembles under the wheels, and staggers like a decrepit old man. Beyond the bridge stretched a Jewish street with shops, benches, little shops, tables of Jewish money changers sitting under umbrellas on the sidewalks, and with awnings of kalachniki. The stench, the dirt, the heaps of kids crawling in the street dust. But another minute and you are already outside the city. The birch trees whisper quietly over the graves of the cemetery, and the wind stirs the grain in the fields and rings with a sad, endless song in the wires of the roadside telegraph.

The river over which the aforementioned bridge was thrown flowed from a pond and flowed into another. Thus, the town was fenced from the north and south by wide expanses of water and swamps. The ponds became shallower year by year, overgrown with greenery, and tall, dense reeds waved like the sea in the huge swamps. There is an island in the middle of one of the ponds. There is an old, dilapidated castle on the island.

I remember with what fear I always looked at this majestic decrepit building. There were legends and stories about him, each more terrible than the other. They said that the island was built artificially, by the hands of captured Turks. “The old castle stands on human bones,” the old-timers said, and my frightened childhood imagination pictured thousands of Turkish skeletons underground, supporting with their bony hands the island with its tall pyramidal poplars and the old castle. This, of course, made the castle seem even more terrible, and even on clear days, when, sometimes, encouraged by the light and loud voices of birds, we came closer to it, it often brought on us fits of panic horror - the black hollows of the long-dug out buildings looked so scary windows; in the empty halls there was a mysterious rustling sound: pebbles and plaster, breaking away, fell down, awakening a echo, and we ran without looking back, and behind us for a long time there was knocking, stomping, and cackling.

And on stormy autumn nights, when the giant poplar trees swayed and hummed from the wind blowing from behind the ponds, horror spread from the old castle and reigned over the entire city. “Oh-vey-peace!” - the Jews said timidly; God-fearing old bourgeois women were baptized, and even our closest neighbor, the blacksmith, who denied the very existence of demonic power, went out into his courtyard at these hours, made the sign of the cross and whispered to himself a prayer for the repose of the departed.

Old, gray-bearded Janusz, who, for lack of an apartment, took refuge in one of the basements of the castle, told us more than once that on such nights he clearly heard screams coming from underground. The Turks began to tinker under the island, rattling their bones and loudly reproaching the lords for their cruelty. Then weapons rattled in the halls of the old castle and around it on the island, and the lords called the haiduks with loud shouts. Janusz heard quite clearly, under the roar and howl of the storm, the tramp of horses, the clanking of sabers, the words of command. Once he even heard how the late great-grandfather of the current counts, glorified forever for his bloody exploits, rode out, clattering the hooves of his argamak, to the middle of the island and furiously swore: “Keep quiet there, laidaks, psya vyara!”

The descendants of this count left the home of their ancestors long ago. Most of the ducats and all sorts of treasures, from which the chests of the counts were previously bursting, went over the bridge, into the Jewish hovels, and the last representatives of the glorious family built themselves a prosaic white building on the mountain, away from the city. There their boring, but still solemn existence passed in contemptuously majestic solitude.

Occasionally only the old count, the same gloomy ruin as the castle on the island, appeared in the city on his old English nag. Next to him, in a black riding habit, stately and dry, his daughter rode through the city streets, and the horsemaster respectfully followed behind. The majestic countess was destined to remain a virgin forever. Suitors equal to her in origin, in pursuit of the money of merchant daughters abroad, cowardly scattered around the world, leaving their family castles or selling them for scrap to the Jews, and in the town spread out at the foot of her palace, there was no young man who would dare to look up at beautiful countess. Seeing these three horsemen, we little guys, like a flock of birds, took off from the soft street dust and, quickly scattering around the courtyards, watched with frightened and curious eyes the gloomy owners of the terrible castle.

On the western side, on the mountain, among decaying crosses and sunken graves, stood a long-abandoned Uniate chapel. It was own daughter spread out in the valley of the philistine city itself. Once upon a time, at the sound of a bell, townspeople in clean, although not luxurious, kuntushas gathered in it, with sticks in their hands instead of sabers, which rattled the small gentry, who also came to the call of the ringing Uniate bell from the surrounding villages and farmsteads.

From here the island and its dark, huge poplars were visible, but the castle was angrily and contemptuously closed off from the chapel by thick greenery, and only in those moments when the southwest wind burst out from behind the reeds and flew onto the island, did the poplars sway loudly, and because The windows glimmered through them, and the castle seemed to cast gloomy glances at the chapel. Now both he and she were corpses. His eyes were dull, and the reflections of the evening sun did not sparkle in them; its roof had collapsed in some places, the walls were crumbling, and, instead of a loud, high-pitched copper bell, the owls started playing their ominous songs in it at night.

// “In bad company”

Date of creation: 1881 - 1885.

Genre: story.

Subject: compassion for disadvantaged people.

Idea: the cruelty of social prejudices from which children suffer.

Issues. Social inequality.

Main characters: Vasya, Valek, Tyburtsy, Marusya.

Plot. Main character In the story, Vasya, whose father was a judge, grew up without much supervision. He was left without a mother early, from the age of six. The father, depressed by the death of his wife, did not pay due attention to his son. The boy grew up freely, wandered around the streets, observing the life of the city, and he imprinted these observations in his childhood mind.

On the outskirts of the city stood an abandoned count's castle. It was filled with local beggars. The society of beggars who inhabited the castle split. The former count's servant Janusz received the right to leave and expel those living in the castle at his discretion. Janusz gave preference to Catholics and former count servants. Everyone else had to seek refuge elsewhere. It was a cemetery dungeon near the old chapel. Their refuge remained a mystery.

The society of outcasts was headed by Tyburtsy Drab, a person of mysterious origin and dark in the past. He showed an education unusual for these places, quoting luminaries of antiquity at fairs. The local population considered him a sorcerer.

One day Vasya and his comrades tried to look into the chapel. The friends helped Vasya get inside, but, noticing someone’s presence in the chapel, they fled in fear, abandoning their friend. There were children in the chapel: a boy, Valek, nine years old, and little Marusya, four years old. Vasya became friends with them and began to often visit new friends in the absence of Tyburtsy. The boy kept this acquaintance a secret. He told his friends who had abandoned him that he had seen something unclean.

Vasya has younger sister Sonya is four years old, an active, cheerful child. Vasya is very attached to his sister, but her nanny is opposed to them playing together, because in her eyes Vasya is a bad boy. Vasya’s father fully shares this opinion. His paternal feelings are directed towards Sonya, who resembles his late wife, and he treats his son coolly.

In a conversation with friends, Vasya learns that Tyburtsy treats these children with love. Vasya is offended that his father is cold towards him, but he hears from Valek about the honesty and justice of his father as a judge. The boy looked at his father in a new way.

Vasya became attached to these disadvantaged children, treating them to apples that ripened in abundance in his garden. Valek was distinguished by his seriousness and intelligence. Marusya was sharply different from his sister Sonya, who was the same age as her. There was no liveliness or gaiety in her. Valek explained this by the destructive influence of the gray stone.

The news for Vasya was that his friend Valek was engaged in theft: he was stealing food for the exhausted Marusya. It’s hard for Vasya to realize this, but he cannot condemn his friend.

Valek takes Vasya to the dungeon, and while there are no adults, they play blind man's buff there. Suddenly Tyburtsy arrives. The friends were scared, because the leader was not aware of their acquaintance. But Tyburtsy does not interfere with friendship with Vasya, he only made the boy promise not to tell anyone about their place of residence.

With the arrival of autumn, Marusya fell ill. Vasya wants to please the girl with something and asks Sonya for her favorite doll. Sonya didn't mind. For Marusya, this doll turned out to be a great joy. The girl seemed to be on the mend.

Meanwhile, Vasya’s house was running out of dolls. He is not released anywhere, but he manages to escape. And Marusya is fading away. The inhabitants of the dungeon tried to quietly take the doll away from the girl, but she saw it and cried bitterly. Vasya did not take the doll from Marusya.

Once again the hero of the story is prohibited from leaving the house. He admitted that he took the doll, but does not tell his father where he took it. The father is angry. And then Tyburtsy comes. He returns the doll and explains to the judge what his son did. The father saw his son in a new light, realized that he a kind person, a true friend, not a spoiled brat. Tyburtsy brought Vasya the sad news of Marusya’s death. The boy is allowed to say goodbye to her. In addition, his father gave Vasya some money for Tyburtsy and asked him to tell him that it was preferable for the leader of the “bad society” to leave the city.

After that, almost all the inhabitants of the dungeon disappeared somewhere. Marusya was buried not far from the old chapel. Vasya and Sonya come to her grave, sometimes together with their father. The time has come for the children to leave this city, and they take vows over Marusya’s grave.

Review of the work. It is very useful for the development of the soul in childhood to sympathize with someone unfortunate and help as much as possible. Then a person will grow up with a hot heart in his chest, and not with a cold stone.

The hero's childhood took place in small town Knyazhye-Veno of the South-Western Territory. Vasya - that was the boy's name - was the son of the city judge. The child grew up: the mother died when the son was only six years old, and the father, absorbed in his grief, paid little attention to the boy. Vasya wandered around the city all day long, and pictures of city life left a deep imprint on his soul.

The city was surrounded by ponds. In the middle of one of them, on the island, stood an ancient castle that once belonged to a count's family. There were legends that the island was filled with captured Turks, and the castle still stood. The owners left this gloomy dwelling a long time ago, and it gradually collapsed. Its inhabitants were urban beggars who had no other shelter. But there was a split among the poor. Old Janusz, one of the count's former servants, received some right to decide who can live in the castle and who cannot. He left there only: Catholics and the former count's servants. The exiles found refuge in a dungeon under an ancient crypt near an abandoned Uniate chapel that stood on the mountain. However, no one knew their whereabouts.

Old Janusz, meeting Vasya, invites him to come into the castle, because it is there now. But the boy prefers the exiles from the castle: Vasya takes pity on them.

Many members are well known in the city. This is a half-mad elderly man who always mutters something quietly and sadly; the ferocious and pugnacious bayonet-cadet Zausailov; drunken retired official Lavrovsky, telling everyone implausible tragic stories about your life. And Turkevich, who calls himself General, is famous for the fact that respectable townspeople (police officer, secretary of the district court and others) are right under their windows. He does this in order to get money for vodka, and achieves his goal: they rush to pay him off.

The leader of the entire community is Tyburtsy Drab. His origins and past are unknown to anyone. Others assume that he is an aristocrat, but his appearance is common. He is known for his extraordinary scholarship. At fairs, Tyburtsy entertains the public with lengthy speeches from ancient authors. He is considered a sorcerer.

One day Vasya and three friends come to the old chapel: he wants to look there. Friends help Vasya get inside through a high window. But when they see that there is someone else in the chapel, the friends run away in horror, leaving Vasya to the mercy of fate. It turns out that Tyburtsiya’s children are there: nine-year-old Valek and four-year-old Marusya. Vasya begins to often come to the mountain to visit his new friends, bringing them apples from his garden. But he only walks when Tyburtius cannot find him. Vasya does not tell anyone about this acquaintance. He tells his cowardly friends that he saw devils.

Vasya has a sister, four-year-old Sonya. She, like her brother, is a cheerful and playful child. Brother and sister love each other very much, but Sonya's nanny prevents them from noisy games: she considers Vasya a bad, spoiled boy. Brother and sister love each other very much, but Sonya's nanny prevents their noisy games: she considers Vasya a bad, spoiled boy. My father shares the same view. He finds no place in his soul for love for a boy. Father loves Sonya more because she looks like her late mother.

One day, in a conversation, Valek and Marusya tell Vasya that Tyburtsy loves them very much. Vasya speaks of his father with resentment. But he unexpectedly learns from Valek that the judge is a very fair and honest person. Valek is a very serious and smart boy. Marusya is not at all like the frisky Sonya, she is weak, thoughtful,... Valek says that.

Vasya learns that Valek is stealing food for his hungry sister. This discovery makes a grave impression on Vasya, but still he does not condemn his friend.

Valek shows Vasya the dungeon where all the members live. In the absence of adults, Vasya comes there and plays with his friends. During a game of blind man's buff, Tyburtsy unexpectedly appears. The children are scared - after all, they are friends without the knowledge of the formidable head. But Tyburtsy allows Vasya to come, making him promise not to tell anyone where they all live. Tyburtsy brings food, prepares dinner - according to him, Vasya understands that the food is stolen. This, of course, confuses the boy, but he sees that Marusya is so happy about the food: Now Vasya comes to the mountain without hindrance, and the adult members also get used to the boy and love him.

Autumn comes, and Marusya falls ill. In order to somehow entertain the sick girl, Vasya decides to ask Sonya for a while for a large beautiful doll, a gift from her late mother. Sonya agrees. Marusya is delighted with the doll, and she even feels better.

Old Janusz comes to the judge several times with denunciations of the members. He says that Vasya communicates with them. The nanny notices the doll is missing. Vasya is not allowed out of the house, and after a few days he runs away secretly.

Marusya is getting worse. The inhabitants of the dungeon decide that the doll needs to be returned, and the girl will not even notice. But seeing that they want to take the doll, Marusya cries bitterly: Vasya leaves her the doll.

And again Vasya is not allowed to leave the house. The father is trying to get his son to confess where he went and where the doll went. Vasya admits that he took the doll, but says nothing more. Father is angry: And at the most critical moment Tyburtsy appears. He is carrying a doll.

Tyburtsy tells the judge about Vasya’s friendship with his children. He is amazed. The father feels guilty before Vasya. It's like a wall has collapsed for a long time shared father and son, and they felt like close people. Tyburtsy says that Marusya died. The father lets Vasya go to say goodbye to her, while he passes through Vasya money for Tyburtsy and a warning: it is better for the leader to hide from the city.

Soon almost everyone disappears somewhere. Only the old man and Turkevich remain, to whom the judge sometimes gives work. Marusya is buried in the old cemetery near the collapsed chapel. Vasya and his sister are taking care of her grave. Sometimes they come to the cemetery with their father. Sometimes they come to the cemetery with their father. When the time comes for Vasya and Sonya to leave their hometown, they pronounce their vows over this grave.