Andersen's tales

Summary of the tale "The Old Street Lamp"

Andersen's fairy tale "The Old Street Lamp" is an interesting tale about one very old lantern that stood on the street for many years, regularly serving. And then, one fine day, the main people of the city had to decide what to do with him next. Leave them there, send them somewhere to the provinces, or, worst of all, to be melted down. The old lantern anxiously awaited the decision, and he was lucky - the old lamplighter begged the old street lamp for his home. Since then, the lantern lived happily, in coziness and comfort.

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Have you heard the story about the old street lamp? It's not that interesting, but it doesn't hurt to listen to it once. Well, once upon a time there was this venerable old street lamp; he served honestly for many, many years and finally had to retire.

Last evening the lantern hung on its pole, illuminating the street, and his soul felt like that of an old ballerina who is performing on stage for the last time and knows that tomorrow she will be forgotten by everyone in her closet.

Tomorrow terrified the old servant: he had to appear at the town hall for the first time and appear before the “thirty-six city fathers,” who would decide whether he was still fit for service or not. Perhaps he will be sent to illuminate some bridge, or he will be sent to the provinces to some factory, or perhaps he will simply be melted down, and then anything can come out of him. And so he was tormented by the thought: will he retain the memory of having once been a street lamp. One way or another, he knew that in any case he would have to part with the night watchman and his wife, who had become like family to him. Both of them - the lantern and the watchman - entered service at the same time. The watchman's wife then aimed high and, passing by the lantern, deigned to look at it only in the evenings, and never during the day. In recent years, when all three - the watchman, his wife, and the lantern - were old, she also began to take care of the lantern, clean the lamp and pour blubber into it. These old men were honest people, they never deprived the lantern one bit.

So, he spent the last evening on the street, and in the morning he had to go to the town hall. These gloomy thoughts did not give him peace, and it is not surprising that he was not burning well. However, other thoughts flashed through his mind; he saw a lot, he had a chance to shed light on a lot, perhaps he was not inferior in this to all the “thirty-six city fathers.” But he was silent about this too. After all, he was a venerable old lantern and did not want to offend anyone, much less his superiors.

Meanwhile, he remembered a lot, and from time to time his flame flared up as if from thoughts like this:

“Yes, and someone will remember about me! If only that handsome young man... Many years have passed since then. He came up to me with a letter in his hands. The letter was on pink paper, thin, with a gold edge, and written in elegant feminine handwriting. He read it twice, kissed me and looked up at me with shining eyes. “I am the happiest person in the world!” they said, “Yes, only he and I knew what his beloved wrote in his first letter.”

I remember other eyes too... It's amazing how thoughts jump around! A magnificent funeral procession was moving along our street. A beautiful young woman was carried in a coffin on a carriage upholstered in velvet. How many wreaths and flowers there were! And there were so many torches burning that they completely eclipsed my light. The sidewalks were filled with people accompanying the coffin. But when the torches were out of sight, I looked around and saw a man standing at my post and crying. “I will never forget the look of his mournful eyes looking at me!”

And the old street lamp remembered a lot of things on this last evening. The sentry who is relieved from his post at least knows who will take his place, and can exchange a few words with his comrade. But the lantern did not know who would replace him, and could not tell about rain and bad weather, nor about how the moon illuminates the sidewalk and from which direction the wind blows.

At that time, three candidates for the vacant position appeared on the bridge over the drainage ditch, believing that the appointment to the position depended on the lantern itself. The first was a glow-in-the-dark herring head; she believed that her appearance on the pillar would significantly reduce the consumption of blubber. The second was rotten fish, which also glowed and, according to her, even brighter than dried cod; besides, she considered herself the last remnant of the entire forest. The third candidate was the firefly; The lantern could not understand where it came from, but nevertheless the firefly was there and also glowed, although the herring head and the rotten swearing swore that it only shines from time to time, and therefore does not count.

The old lantern said that none of them shined bright enough to serve as street lamps, but, of course, they did not believe him. And having learned that the appointment to the position did not depend on him at all, all three expressed deep satisfaction - after all, he was too old to make the right choice.

At this time, a wind came from around the corner and whispered to the lantern under the hood:

What's happened? They say you're resigning tomorrow? And this is the last time I see you here? Well, here's a gift from me to you. I will ventilate your skull, and you will not only clearly and distinctly remember everything that you saw and heard yourself, but also see in reality everything that will be told or read in front of you. That's how fresh your head will be!

I don’t know how to thank you! - said the old lantern. - Just to avoid being melted down!

“That’s still a long way off,” answered the wind. - Well, now I’ll clear your memory. If you received many such gifts, you would have a pleasant old age.

Just to avoid being melted down! - repeated the lantern. - Or maybe you will preserve my memory in this case too? - Be reasonable, old lantern! - said the wind and blew.

At that moment the moon appeared.

What will you give? - asked the wind.

“Nothing,” answered the month. “I’m at a loss, and besides, the lanterns never shine for me, I’m always for them.”

And the month hid behind the clouds again - he didn’t want to be bothered. Suddenly a drop dripped onto the iron cap of the lantern. She seemed to roll

It fell from the roof, but the drop said that it fell from gray clouds, and also like a gift, perhaps even the best.

“I will pierce you,” said the drop, “so that you will gain the ability, any night you wish, to turn into rust and crumble into dust.”

This gift seemed bad to the lantern, and so did the wind.

Who will give more? Who will give more? - he made as much noise as he could.

And at that very moment a star rolled down from the sky, leaving behind a long luminous trail.

What is this? - the herring head screamed. - No way, a star fell from the sky? And it seems right at the lamppost. Well, if such high-ranking persons are coveting this position, all we can do is bow out and go home.

All three did so. And the old lantern suddenly flashed especially brightly.

A venerable thought, said the wind. “But you probably don’t know that this gift comes with a wax candle.” You won't be able to show anyone anything if the wax candle doesn't burn inside you. That's what the stars didn't think about. They take you and everything that glows for wax candles. “Well, now I’m tired, it’s time to lie down,” said the wind and lay down.

The next morning... no, we’d better skip the next day - the next evening the lantern was lying in the chair, and who had it? At the old night watchman's. For his long faithful service, the old man asked the "thirty-six city fathers" for an old street lamp. They laughed at him, but gave him the lantern. And now the lantern was lying in a chair near the warm stove and it seemed as if it had grown from this - it occupied almost the entire chair. The old men were already sitting at dinner and looking affectionately at the old lantern: they would willingly have it at the table with them.

True, they lived in the basement, several cubits underground, and to get into their closet, you had to go through a brick-paved hallway, but in the closet itself it was warm and cozy. The doors were lined with felt around the edges, the bed was hidden behind a canopy, curtains hung on the windows, and two outlandish flower pots stood on the window sills. They were brought by the sailor Christian either from the East Indies or from the West Indies. These were clay elephants with a depression on the back, into which earth was poured. In one elephant a wonderful leek grew - it was the old people's garden; in the other, geraniums bloomed luxuriantly - this was their garden. On the wall hung a large oil painting depicting the Congress of Vienna, which was attended by all the emperors and kings. The ancient clock with heavy lead weights ticked incessantly and always ran forward, but it was better than if it fell behind, the old men said.

So now they were having dinner, and the old street lamp lay, as said above, in a chair near the warm stove, and it seemed to him as if the whole world had turned upside down. But then the old watchman looked at him and began to remember everything that they had experienced together in rain and bad weather, on clear, short summer nights and in snowy snowstorms, when you just feel drawn to the basement - and the old lantern seemed to wake up and see everything it's like reality.

Yes, the wind ventilated it nicely!

The old men were hard-working and inquisitive people; not a single hour was wasted among them. On Sundays after lunch, some book would appear on the table, most often a description of a trip, and the old man would read aloud about Africa, about its huge forests and wild elephants that roam free. The old woman listened and looked at the clay elephants that served as flower pots.

I'm imagining! - she said.

And the lantern so wanted a wax candle to burn in it - then the old woman, like himself, would see everything in reality: tall trees with thick intertwining branches, and naked black people on horses, and whole herds of elephants trampling reeds with their thick feet and bush.

What good are my abilities if there is no wax candle? - the lantern sighed. “The old people only have blubber and tallow candles, and that’s not enough.”

But in the basement there was a whole bunch of wax cinders. The long ones were used for lighting, and the short ones were used by the old woman to wax the thread when she sewed. The old people now had wax candles, but it never occurred to them to insert even one stub into the lantern.

The lantern, always cleaned and neat, stood in the corner, in the most visible place. People, however, called it old trash, but the old people ignored such words - they loved the old lantern.

One day, on the old watchman’s birthday, the old woman came up to the lantern, smiled and said:

Now we will light the illuminations in his honor!

The lantern rattled its cap with joy. "It finally dawned on them!" - he thought.

But again he got blubber, and not a wax candle. He had been burning all evening and now knew that the gift of the stars - a most wonderful gift - would never be of use to him in this life.

And then the lantern dreamed - with such abilities it is not surprising to dream - that the old people died, and he himself was melted down. And he was scared, like that time when he had to appear at the town hall for a review of the “thirty-six city fathers.” And although he has the ability to crumble into rust and dust at will, he did not do this, but fell into the melting furnace and turned into a wonderful iron candlestick in the form of an angel with a bouquet in his hand. A wax candle was inserted into the bouquet, and the candlestick took its place on the green cloth of the desk. The room is very cozy; all the shelves are filled with books, the walls are hung with magnificent paintings. The poet lives here, and everything he thinks and writes about unfolds before him, as if in a panorama. The room becomes either a dense dark forest, or sunlit meadows along which a stork walks, or the deck of a ship sailing on a stormy sea...

Oh, what abilities are hidden in me! - said the old lantern, waking up from his dreams. - Really, I even want to be melted down. However, no! While the old people are alive, there is no need. They love me for who I am, I am like their own son to them. They clean me, fill me with blubber, and I’m no worse off here than all those high-ranking people at the congress.

Since then, the old street lamp has found peace of mind - and he deserves it.

OLD STREET LAMP

Have you heard the story about the old street lamp? It's not that funny, but you can still listen to it once.

Well, there lived a venerable old street lamp; For many years he served honestly, but now they decided to fire him. He knew that he was sitting on a pole and illuminating the street for the last evening, and his feeling could be compared with the feeling of an old ballet dancer who dances on stage for the last time and knows that tomorrow she will be kicked out of the theater. The lantern looked forward to tomorrow in horror: tomorrow he had to appear for inspection at the town hall and introduce himself to the “thirty-six city fathers,” who would decide whether he was still fit for service or not.

Yes, tomorrow the question will be decided: will he be sent to shine somewhere in the suburbs on a bridge, will he be sent to a village or to a factory, or straight to the smelter. Anything could come out of him, but he was terribly tormented by the unknown: will he retain the memory of having once been a street lamp or not? However, be that as it may, he, in any case, will have to part with the night watchman and his wife, whom he looked upon as family. Both of them - the lantern and the watchman - entered service on the same day. The watchman's wife in those days was a proud woman: and, when passing by a lantern, she would dignify it with a glance only in the evenings, and never during the day. But in recent years, when all three of them - the watchman, his wife, and the lantern - were already old, she also began to look after the lantern, clean the lamp and pour blubber into it. These old men were honest people, they never deprived the lantern one bit!

So, the lantern illuminated the street for the last evening, and the next day it was supposed to go to the town hall. These two gloomy thoughts haunted him; so you can imagine how it burned. Sometimes other thoughts flashed through his mind - he had seen a lot, he had to shed light on a lot; in this respect, he stood, perhaps, above the “thirty-six city fathers” themselves! But he didn’t even talk about it: the venerable old lantern didn’t want to offend anyone, much less his superiors. The lantern remembered a lot of things, and from time to time its flame flared up impulsively, as if the following thoughts were stirring in it: “Yes, and someone will remember about me! If only that handsome young man... Many years have passed since then. He came up to me with a written piece of pink, thin paper with a gold edge. The letter was written so elegantly, as if by a lady's pen! He read it twice, kissed it and looked up at me with shining eyes that said: “I am the happiest person in the world!” Yes, only he and I knew what his beloved wrote in that first letter. I also remember another pair of eyes... It’s amazing how thoughts jump around! A magnificent funeral procession was moving along our street; the body of a young, beautiful woman was being carried in a coffin on a velvet hearse. How many flowers and wreaths there were! There were so many torches burning that my light was completely lost. The sidewalk was filled with people - so many people were following the coffin. But when the torches were out of sight, I looked around and saw a man standing at my post and crying. I will never forget the mournful look he gave me.”

And there was a lot more that the old street lamp remembered on this last evening. The sentry who is relieved from his post still knows his successor and can exchange a word with him; the lantern did not know who would replace him, otherwise he, too, could have given him some instructions about inclement weather, about how far the rays of the moon reach onto the sidewalk and from which direction the wind usually blows.

On the bridge spanning the drainage ditch, there were at that time three persons who were vying to replace the lantern; they thought that the choice of a successor depended on the lantern itself. One of these individuals was a herring head that glowed in the dark; she believed that her appearance on the lamppost would lead to a great saving of blubber. The second was rotten fish, which also glowed and, in her own words, even brighter than dried cod; Moreover, she was the last remnant of a tree that had once been the beauty of the entire forest. The third candidate was the firefly; where it came from - the lantern could not guess, but the firefly was there and also glowed, although the rotten and the herring head swore with one voice that it shines only at a certain time, which is why it should not be taken into account.

The old lantern replied that none of them shined bright enough to take his place, but of course they did not believe it. Having learned that the transfer of the position did not depend on the lantern itself, all three expressed great pleasure - after all, he was too old to make the right choice.

At this time, the wind blew from around the corner and whispered into the lantern:

What do I hear! Are you leaving tomorrow? Is this the last evening that we meet here? Well, here's a gift from me to you! I will ventilate your skull, so much so that you will not only clearly and accurately remember everything that you have ever heard and seen yourself, but you will see with your own eyes what others will tell or read in front of you - this is what you will have bright head!

“I don’t know how to thank you,” said the old lantern. - If only they wouldn’t melt me ​​down!

“That’s still a long way off,” answered the wind. - Well, now I’ll clear your memory. If you receive many gifts like mine, you will spend your old age very, very pleasantly!

If only they wouldn't melt me ​​down! - Maybe you can vouch for my memory in this case too?

Eh, old lantern, be reasonable! - said the wind and blew.

At that moment the moon appeared.

What will you give? - the wind asked him.

“Nothing,” answered the month, “I’m at a disadvantage, and besides, the lanterns never shine for me, - I’m always for them.” - And the month hid behind the clouds again - he didn’t want to be bothered.

Suddenly a raindrop fell on the iron cap of the lantern, as if from the roof; but the drop itself said that it came from a gray cloud, and also as a gift, perhaps even the best.

I will pierce you, and you, whenever you wish, can rust and crumble into dust in one night!

This seemed like a bad gift to the lantern; the wind too.

Surely no one will give anything better? - he made a noise with all his might.

And at that very moment a star rolled down from the sky, leaving behind a long luminous trail.

What's this? - cried the herring head. - As if a star fell from the sky? and, it seems, right into the lantern! Well, if such high-ranking persons are coveting this position, then we have nothing to do here, we can only bow out.

All three did so. The old lantern suddenly flared up somehow especially brightly.

“Wonderful idea,” said the wind. - But you don’t know that this gift of yours depends on a wax candle. You won’t be able to show anyone anything if the wax candle doesn’t burn inside you: that’s something the stars didn’t think about. They think that where the light comes from, there is certainly at least a wax candle. But now I'm tired, it's time to lie down! - the wind added and settled down.

The next day... no, we’d better jump over it, - the next evening the lantern was lying in the chair. Guess where? In the old night watchman's room. The old man asked the “thirty-six city fathers” as a reward for his long, faithful service... an old lantern. They laughed at his request, but gave him the lantern; and now the lantern was lying pompously in the chair near the warm stove and, really, it seemed to have grown so that it occupied almost the entire chair. The old men were already sitting at dinner and looking affectionately at the old lantern: they would willingly have it with them at the table.

True, they lived in the basement, several feet underground, and to get into their closet you had to go through a hallway paved with bricks, but the closet itself was very clean and cozy. The doors were lined at the edges with strips of felt, the bed was hidden behind a canopy, curtains hung on the windows, and two outlandish flower pots stood on the window sills. They were brought by the sailor Christian from the East or West Indies. The pots were made of clay and depicted elephants without a back; instead of a back they had a depression filled with earth; in one elephant grew the most wonderful leeks, and in the other - blooming geraniums. The first elephant was the old people's garden, the second was the flower garden. On the wall hung a painted engraving depicting the Congress of Vienna, where all the kings and sovereigns at once showed off in front of the old people. The ancient clock with heavy lead weights ticked incessantly and always ran forward. “It’s better to hurry than to lag behind,” the old men said.

And so they had dinner, and the old street lamp lay, as we know, in a chair, near the warm stove, and it seemed to him as if the whole world had turned upside down. But then the old watchman looked at him and began to remember everything that they had experienced together, in rain and bad weather, on clear and short summer nights and in snowy snowstorms, when you just want to go home to the basement; and the lantern came to his senses and saw all this as if in reality.

Yes, the wind ventilated it nicely!

The old men were so hard-working and hard-working; Not a single hour was wasted on them. On Sundays after dinner, some book would appear on the table, most often a description of a trip, and the old man would read aloud about Africa, about the huge forests and wild elephants that roam there. The old woman listened and looked at the clay elephants that served as flower pots.

I can imagine it! - she said.

And the lantern sincerely wished that a wax candle would be inserted into it - then the old woman, like himself, would see everything with her own eyes: tall trees tangled with thick branches, and naked black people on horseback and whole herds of elephants crushing with their thick legs reeds and bushes.

What good are my abilities if I don’t have a wax candle in me! - the lantern sighed. “My owners only have blubber and tallow candles, and that’s not enough.”

Once the old people had a whole bunch of wax cinders; the largest ones were burned, and the old woman waxed the short ones when she sewed. The old people now had wax candles, but it never occurred to them to insert even a single candle into the lantern.

The lantern, cleaned to a shine, always lay in the corner, in the most visible place. People, however, called it old trash, but the old people did not pay attention to it - they loved the lantern.

One day, on the old man’s birthday, the old woman came up to the lantern, smiled slyly and said:

Wait a minute, I’m about to arrange some illumination for the sake of the holiday!

The lantern rattled with joy. “It finally dawned on them!” - he thought. But they poured blubber into it, and there was no mention of a wax candle. He was burning all evening, but now he knew that his best gift would forever remain in him, with such a life, as dead capital. And so he dreamed - with such abilities it is no wonder to dream - that the old people died, and he was melted down. The lantern was just as scared as the time when he had to appear for inspection at the town hall. But although he could have rusted and crumbled into dust at will, he did not do this, but fell into the melting furnace and turned into a most wonderful iron candlestick in the form of an angel, who was holding a bouquet in one hand. A wax candle was inserted into this bouquet, and the candlestick took its place on the green cloth of the desk. The room was very cozy; all the shelves here were lined with books, and the walls were hung with magnificent paintings. The poet lived here, and everything he thought and wrote about unfolded before him, as if in a panorama. The room became either a dense forest illuminated by the sun, or meadows along which a stork walked, or the deck of a ship sailing on a stormy sea...

Oh, what abilities are hidden in me! - exclaimed the old lantern, waking up from his dreams. - Really, I even want to be melted down! However, no! While the old people are alive, there is no need. They love me as I am, I am like a child for them. They cleaned me, gave me blubber, and I live here no worse than the “congress”. What more could you want!

And from then on, the lantern found peace of mind, and the venerable old lantern deserved it.

Have you heard the story about the old street lamp? It's not that interesting, but it doesn't hurt to listen to it once. Well, once upon a time there was this venerable old street lamp; he served honestly for many, many years and finally had to retire.

Last evening the lantern hung on its pole, illuminating the street, and his soul felt like that of an old ballerina who is performing on stage for the last time and knows that tomorrow she will be forgotten by everyone in her closet.

Tomorrow terrified the old servant: he had to appear at the town hall for the first time and appear before the “thirty-six city fathers,” who would decide whether he was still fit for service or not. Perhaps he will be sent to illuminate some bridge, or he will be sent to the provinces to some factory, or perhaps he will simply be melted down, and then anything can come out of him. And so he was tormented by the thought: will he retain the memory of having once been a street lamp. One way or another, he knew that in any case he would have to part with the night watchman and his wife, who had become like family to him. Both of them - the lantern and the watchman - entered service at the same time. The watchman's wife then aimed high and, passing by the lantern, deigned to look at it only in the evenings, and never during the day. In recent years, when all three - the watchman, his wife, and the lantern - were old, she also began to take care of the lantern, clean the lamp and pour blubber into it. These old men were honest people, they never deprived the lantern one bit.

So, he spent the last evening on the street, and in the morning he had to go to the town hall. These gloomy thoughts did not give him peace, and it is not surprising that he was not burning well. However, other thoughts flashed through his mind; he saw a lot, he had a chance to shed light on a lot, perhaps he was not inferior in this to all the “thirty-six city fathers.” But he was silent about this too. After all, he was a venerable old lantern and did not want to offend anyone, much less his superiors.

Meanwhile, he remembered a lot, and from time to time his flame flared up as if from thoughts like this:

“Yes, and someone will remember me! If only that handsome young man... Many years have passed since then. He came up to me with a letter in his hands. The letter was on pink paper, very thin, with a gold edge, and written in an elegant feminine handwriting. He read it twice, kissed it and looked up at me with shining eyes. “I am the happiest person in the world!” they said. Yes, only he and I knew what his beloved wrote in her first letter.

I remember other eyes too... It's amazing how thoughts jump around! A magnificent funeral procession was moving along our street. A beautiful young woman was carried in a coffin on a carriage upholstered in velvet. How many wreaths and flowers there were! And there were so many torches burning that they completely eclipsed my light. The sidewalks were filled with people accompanying the coffin. But when the torches were out of sight, I looked around and saw a man standing at my post and crying. “I will never forget the look of his mournful eyes looking at me!”

And the old street lamp remembered a lot of things on this last evening. The sentry who is relieved from his post at least knows who will take his place, and can exchange a few words with his comrade. But the lantern did not know who would replace him, and could not tell about rain and bad weather, nor about how the moon illuminates the sidewalk and from which direction the wind blows.

At that time, three candidates for the vacant position appeared on the bridge over the drainage ditch, believing that the appointment to the position depended on the lantern itself. The first was a glow-in-the-dark herring head; she believed that her appearance on the pillar would significantly reduce the consumption of blubber. The second was rotten fish, which also glowed and, according to her, even brighter than dried cod; besides, she considered herself the last remnant of the entire forest. The third candidate was the firefly; The lantern could not understand where it came from, but nevertheless the firefly was there and also glowed, although the herring head and the rotten swearing swore that it only shines from time to time, and therefore does not count.

The old lantern said that none of them shined bright enough to serve as street lamps, but, of course, they did not believe him. And having learned that the appointment to the position did not depend on him at all, all three expressed deep satisfaction - after all, he was too old to make the right choice.

At this time, a wind came from around the corner and whispered to the lantern under the hood:

What's happened? They say you're resigning tomorrow? And this is the last time I see you here? Well, here's a gift from me to you. I will ventilate your skull, and you will not only clearly and distinctly remember everything that you saw and heard yourself, but also see in reality everything that will be told or read in front of you. That's how fresh your head will be!

I don’t know how to thank you! - said the old lantern. - Just to avoid being melted down!

“That’s still a long way off,” answered the wind. - Well, now I’ll clear your memory. If you received many such gifts, you would have a pleasant old age.

Just to avoid being melted down! - repeated the lantern. - Or maybe you will preserve my memory in this case too? - Be reasonable, old lantern! - said the wind and blew.

At that moment the moon appeared.

What will you give? - asked the wind.

“Nothing,” answered the month. “I’m at a loss, and besides, the lanterns never shine for me, I’m always for them.”

And the month hid behind the clouds again - he didn’t want to be bothered. Suddenly a drop dripped onto the iron cap of the lantern. She seemed to roll

fell from the roof, but the drop said that it fell from gray clouds, and also like a gift, perhaps even the best.

“I will pierce you,” said the drop, “so that you will gain the ability, any night you wish, to turn into rust and crumble into dust.”

This gift seemed bad to the lantern, and so did the wind.

Who will give more? Who will give more? - he made as much noise as he could.

And at that very moment a star rolled down from the sky, leaving behind a long luminous trail.

What is this? - the herring head screamed. - No way, a star fell from the sky? And it seems right at the lamppost. Well, if such high-ranking persons are coveting this position, all we can do is bow out and go home.

All three did so. And the old lantern suddenly flashed especially brightly.

A venerable thought, said the wind. “But you probably don’t know that this gift comes with a wax candle.” You won't be able to show anyone anything if the wax candle doesn't burn inside you. That's what the stars didn't think about. They take you and everything that glows for wax candles. “Well, now I’m tired, it’s time to lie down,” said the wind and lay down.

The next morning... no, we’d better skip the next day - the next evening the lantern was lying in the chair, and who had it? At the old night watchman's. For his long faithful service, the old man asked the "thirty-six city fathers" for an old street lamp. They laughed at him, but gave him the lantern. And now the lantern was lying in a chair near the warm stove and it seemed as if it had grown from this - it occupied almost the entire chair. The old men were already sitting at dinner and looking affectionately at the old lantern: they would willingly have it at the table with them.

True, they lived in the basement, several cubits underground, and to get into their closet, you had to go through a brick-paved hallway, but in the closet itself it was warm and cozy. The doors were lined with felt around the edges, the bed was hidden behind a canopy, curtains hung on the windows, and two outlandish flower pots stood on the window sills. They were brought by the sailor Christian either from the East Indies or from the West Indies. These were clay elephants with a depression on the back, into which earth was poured. In one elephant a wonderful leek grew - it was the old people's garden; in the other, geraniums bloomed luxuriantly - this was their garden. On the wall hung a large oil painting depicting the Congress of Vienna, which was attended by all the emperors and kings. The ancient clock with heavy lead weights ticked incessantly and always ran forward, but it was better than if it fell behind, the old men said.

So now they were having dinner, and the old street lamp lay, as said above, in a chair near the warm stove, and it seemed to him as if the whole world had turned upside down. But then the old watchman looked at him and began to remember everything that they had experienced together in rain and bad weather, on clear, short summer nights and in snowy snowstorms, when you just feel drawn to the basement - and the old lantern seemed to wake up and see everything it's like reality.

Yes, the wind ventilated it nicely!

The old men were hard-working and inquisitive people; not a single hour was wasted among them. On Sundays after lunch, some book would appear on the table, most often a description of a trip, and the old man would read aloud about Africa, about its huge forests and wild elephants that roam free. The old woman listened and looked at the clay elephants that served as flower pots.

I'm imagining! - she said.

And the lantern so wanted a wax candle to burn in it - then the old woman, like himself, would see everything in reality: tall trees with thick intertwining branches, and naked black people on horses, and whole herds of elephants trampling reeds with their thick feet and bush.

What good are my abilities if there is no wax candle? - the lantern sighed. “The old people only have blubber and tallow candles, and that’s not enough.”

But in the basement there was a whole bunch of wax cinders. The long ones were used for lighting, and the short ones were used by the old woman to wax the thread when she sewed. The old people now had wax candles, but it never occurred to them to insert even one stub into the lantern.

The lantern, always cleaned and neat, stood in the corner, in the most visible place. People, however, called it old trash, but the old people ignored such words - they loved the old lantern.

One day, on the old watchman’s birthday, the old woman came up to the lantern, smiled and said:

Now we will light the illuminations in his honor!

The lantern rattled its cap with joy. “It finally dawned on them!” - he thought.

But again he got blubber, and not a wax candle. He had been burning all evening and now knew that the gift of the stars - a most wonderful gift - would never be of use to him in this life.

And then the lantern dreamed - with such abilities it is not surprising to dream - that the old people died, and he himself was melted down. And he was scared, like that time when he had to appear at the town hall for a review of the “thirty-six city fathers.” And although he has the ability to crumble into rust and dust at will, he did not do this, but fell into the melting furnace and turned into a wonderful iron candlestick in the form of an angel with a bouquet in his hand. A wax candle was inserted into the bouquet, and the candlestick took its place on the green cloth of the desk. The room is very cozy; all the shelves are filled with books, the walls are hung with magnificent paintings. The poet lives here, and everything he thinks and writes about unfolds before him, as if in a panorama. The room becomes either a dense dark forest, or sunlit meadows along which a stork walks, or the deck of a ship sailing on a stormy sea...

Oh, what abilities are hidden in me! - said the old lantern, waking up from his dreams. - Really, I even want to be melted down. However, no! While the old people are alive, there is no need. They love me for who I am, I am like their own son to them. They clean me, fill me with blubber, and I’m no worse off here than all those high-ranking people at the congress.

Since then, the old street lamp has found peace of mind - and he deserves it.

Andersen Hans Christian

A+ A-

Old street lamp - Hans Christian Andersen

A good tale about an oil lantern that faithfully served the city. And now it's time for him to resign. He is sad about this, but time cannot be stopped. The stars noticed the lantern and gave him the ability to show those he loved everything he remembered and saw. The old lantern escaped being melted down, the lamplighter took it to him and settled it in his house...

Old street lamp read

Have you heard the story about the old street lamp? It's not that interesting, but it doesn't hurt to listen to it once. Well, once upon a time there was this venerable old street lamp; he served honestly for many, many years and finally had to retire.

Last evening the lantern hung on its pole, illuminating the street, and his soul felt like that of an old ballerina who is performing on stage for the last time and knows that tomorrow she will be forgotten by everyone in her closet.

Tomorrow terrified the old servant: he had to appear at the town hall for the first time and appear before the “thirty-six city fathers,” who would decide whether he was still fit for service or not. Perhaps he will be sent to illuminate some bridge, or he will be sent to the provinces to some factory, or perhaps he will simply be melted down, and then anything can come out of him. And so he was tormented by the thought: will he retain the memory of having once been a street lamp. One way or another, he knew that in any case he would have to part with the night watchman and his wife, who had become like family to him. Both of them - the lantern and the watchman - entered service at the same time. The watchman's wife then aimed high and, passing by the lantern, deigned to look at it only in the evenings, and never during the day. In recent years, when all three - the watchman, his wife, and the lantern - were old, she also began to take care of the lantern, clean the lamp and pour blubber into it. These old men were honest people, they never deprived the lantern one bit.

So, he spent the last evening on the street, and in the morning he had to go to the town hall. These gloomy thoughts did not give him peace, and it is not surprising that he was not burning well. However, other thoughts flashed through his mind; he saw a lot, he had a chance to shed light on a lot, perhaps he was not inferior in this to all the “thirty-six city fathers.” But he was silent about this too. After all, he was a venerable old lantern and did not want to offend anyone, much less his superiors.

Meanwhile, he remembered a lot, and from time to time his flame flared up as if from thoughts like this:

“Yes, and someone will remember me! If only that handsome young man... Many years have passed since then. He came up to me with a letter in his hands. The letter was on pink paper, very thin, with a gold edge, and written in an elegant feminine handwriting. He read it twice, kissed it and looked up at me with shining eyes. “I am the happiest person in the world!” - they said. Yes, only he and I knew what his beloved wrote in her first letter.

I remember other eyes too... It's amazing how thoughts jump around! A magnificent funeral procession was moving along our street. A beautiful young woman was carried in a coffin on a carriage upholstered in velvet. How many wreaths and flowers there were! And there were so many torches burning that they completely eclipsed my light. The sidewalks were filled with people accompanying the coffin. But when the torches were out of sight, I looked around and saw a man standing at my post and crying. “I will never forget the look of his mournful eyes looking at me!”

And the old street lamp remembered a lot of things on this last evening. The sentry who is relieved from his post at least knows who will take his place, and can exchange a few words with his comrade. But the lantern did not know who would replace him, and could not tell about rain and bad weather, nor about how the moon illuminates the sidewalk and from which direction the wind blows.

At that time, three candidates for the vacant position appeared on the bridge over the drainage ditch, believing that the appointment to the position depended on the lantern itself. The first was a glow-in-the-dark herring head; she believed that her appearance on the pillar would significantly reduce the consumption of blubber. The second was rotten fish, which also glowed and, according to her, even brighter than dried cod; besides, she considered herself the last remnant of the entire forest. The third candidate was the firefly; The lantern could not understand where it came from, but nevertheless the firefly was there and also glowed, although the herring head and the rotten swearing swore that it only shines from time to time, and therefore does not count.

The old lantern said that none of them shined bright enough to serve as street lamps, but, of course, they did not believe him. And having learned that the appointment to the position did not depend on him at all, all three expressed deep satisfaction - after all, he was too old to make the right choice.

At this time, a wind came from around the corner and whispered to the lantern under the hood:

What's happened? They say you're resigning tomorrow? And this is the last time I see you here? Well, here's a gift from me to you. I will ventilate your skull, and you will not only clearly and distinctly remember everything that you saw and heard yourself, but also see in reality everything that will be told or read in front of you. That's how fresh your head will be!

I don’t know how to thank you! - said the old lantern. - Just to avoid being melted down!

“That’s still a long way off,” answered the wind. - Well, now I’ll clear your memory. If you received many such gifts, you would have a pleasant old age.

Just to avoid being melted down! - repeated the lantern. - Or maybe you will preserve my memory in this case too? - Be reasonable, old lantern! - said the wind and blew.

At that moment the moon appeared.

What will you give? - asked the wind.

“Nothing,” answered the month. “I’m at a loss, and besides, the lanterns never shine for me, I’m always for them.”

And the month hid behind the clouds again - he didn’t want to be bothered. Suddenly a drop dripped onto the iron cap of the lantern. She seemed to roll

fell from the roof, but the drop said that it fell from gray clouds, and also like a gift, perhaps even the best.

“I will pierce you,” said the drop, “so that you will gain the ability, any night you wish, to turn into rust and crumble into dust.”

This gift seemed bad to the lantern, and so did the wind.

Who will give more? Who will give more? - he made as much noise as he could.

And at that very moment a star rolled down from the sky, leaving behind a long luminous trail.

What is this? - the herring head screamed. - No way, a star fell from the sky? And it seems right at the lamppost. Well, if such high-ranking persons are coveting this position, all we can do is bow out and go home.

All three did so. And the old lantern suddenly flashed especially brightly.

A venerable thought, said the wind. “But you probably don’t know that this gift comes with a wax candle.” You won't be able to show anyone anything if the wax candle doesn't burn inside you. That's what the stars didn't think about. They take you and everything that glows for wax candles. “Well, now I’m tired, it’s time to lie down,” said the wind and lay down.

The next morning... no, we’d better skip the next day - the next evening the lantern was lying in the chair, and who had it? At the old night watchman's. For his long faithful service, the old man asked the "thirty-six city fathers" for an old street lamp. They laughed at him, but gave him the lantern. And now the lantern was lying in a chair near the warm stove and it seemed as if it had grown from this - it occupied almost the entire chair. The old men were already sitting at dinner and looking affectionately at the old lantern: they would willingly have it at the table with them.

True, they lived in the basement, several cubits underground, and to get into their closet, you had to go through a brick-paved hallway, but in the closet itself it was warm and cozy. The doors were lined with felt around the edges, the bed was hidden behind a canopy, curtains hung on the windows, and two outlandish flower pots stood on the window sills. They were brought by the sailor Christian either from the East Indies or from the West Indies. These were clay elephants with a depression on the back, into which earth was poured. In one elephant a wonderful leek grew - it was the old people's garden; in the other, geraniums bloomed luxuriantly - this was their garden. On the wall hung a large oil painting depicting the Congress of Vienna, which was attended by all the emperors and kings. The ancient clock with heavy lead weights ticked incessantly and always ran forward, but it was better than if it fell behind, the old men said.

So now they were having dinner, and the old street lamp lay, as said above, in a chair near the warm stove, and it seemed to him as if the whole world had turned upside down. But then the old watchman looked at him and began to remember everything that they had experienced together in rain and bad weather, on clear, short summer nights and in snowy snowstorms, when you just feel drawn to the basement - and the old lantern seemed to wake up and see everything it's like reality.

Yes, the wind ventilated it nicely!

The old men were hard-working and inquisitive people; not a single hour was wasted among them. On Sundays after lunch, some book would appear on the table, most often a description of a trip, and the old man would read aloud about Africa, about its huge forests and wild elephants that roam free. The old woman listened and looked at the clay elephants that served as flower pots.

I'm imagining! - she said.

And the lantern so wanted a wax candle to burn in it - then the old woman, like himself, would see everything in reality: tall trees with thick intertwining branches, and naked black people on horses, and whole herds of elephants trampling reeds with their thick feet and bush.

What good are my abilities if there is no wax candle? - the lantern sighed. “The old people only have blubber and tallow candles, and that’s not enough.”

But in the basement there was a whole bunch of wax cinders. The long ones were used for lighting, and the short ones were used by the old woman to wax the thread when she sewed. The old people now had wax candles, but it never occurred to them to insert even one stub into the lantern.

The lantern, always cleaned and neat, stood in the corner, in the most visible place. People, however, called it old trash, but the old people ignored such words - they loved the old lantern.

One day, on the old watchman’s birthday, the old woman came up to the lantern, smiled and said:

Now we will light the illuminations in his honor!

The lantern rattled its cap with joy. “It finally dawned on them!” - he thought.

But again he got blubber, and not a wax candle. He had been burning all evening and now knew that the gift of the stars - a most wonderful gift - would never be of use to him in this life.

And then the lantern dreamed - with such abilities it is not surprising to dream - that the old people died, and he himself was melted down. And he was scared, like that time when he had to appear at the town hall for a review of the “thirty-six city fathers.” And although he has the ability to crumble into rust and dust at will, he did not do this, but fell into the melting furnace and turned into a wonderful iron candlestick in the form of an angel with a bouquet in his hand. A wax candle was inserted into the bouquet, and the candlestick took its place on the green cloth of the desk. The room is very cozy; all the shelves are filled with books, the walls are hung with magnificent paintings. The poet lives here, and everything he thinks and writes about unfolds before him, as if in a panorama. The room becomes either a dense dark forest, or sunlit meadows along which a stork walks, or the deck of a ship sailing on a stormy sea...

Oh, what abilities are hidden in me! - said the old lantern, waking up from his dreams. - Really, I even want to be melted down. However, no! While the old people are alive, there is no need. They love me for who I am, I am like their own son to them. They clean me, fill me with blubber, and I’m no worse off here than all those high-ranking people at the congress.

Since then, the old street lamp has found peace of mind - and he deserves it.

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Have you heard the story about the old street lamp? It's not that interesting, but it doesn't hurt to listen to it once. Well, once upon a time there was this venerable old street lamp; he served honestly for many, many years and finally had to retire.

Last evening the lantern hung on its pole, illuminating the street, and his soul felt like that of an old ballerina who is performing on stage for the last time and knows that tomorrow she will be forgotten by everyone in her closet.

Tomorrow terrified the old servant: he had to appear at the town hall for the first time and appear before the “thirty-six city fathers,” who would decide whether he was still fit for service or not. Perhaps he will be sent to illuminate some bridge, or he will be sent to the provinces to some factory, or perhaps he will simply be melted down, and then anything can come out of him. And so he was tormented by the thought: will he retain the memory of having once been a street lamp. One way or another, he knew that in any case he would have to part with the night watchman and his wife, who had become like family to him. Both of them - the lantern and the watchman - entered service at the same time. The watchman's wife then aimed high and, passing by the lantern, deigned to look at it only in the evenings, and never during the day. In recent years, when all three - the watchman, his wife, and the lantern - were old, she also began to take care of the lantern, clean the lamp and pour blubber into it. These old men were honest people, they never deprived the lantern one bit.

So, he spent the last evening on the street, and in the morning he had to go to the town hall. These gloomy thoughts did not give him peace, and it is not surprising that he was not burning well. However, other thoughts flashed through his mind; he saw a lot, he had a chance to shed light on a lot, perhaps he was not inferior in this to all the “thirty-six city fathers.” But he was silent about this too. After all, he was a venerable old lantern and did not want to offend anyone, much less his superiors.

Meanwhile, he remembered a lot, and from time to time his flame flared up as if from thoughts like this:

“Yes, and someone will remember me! If only that handsome young man... Many years have passed since then. He came up to me with a letter in his hands. The letter was on pink paper, very thin, with a gold edge, and written in an elegant feminine handwriting. He read it twice, kissed it and looked up at me with shining eyes. “I am the happiest person in the world!” - they said. Yes, only he and I knew what his beloved wrote in her first letter.

I remember other eyes too... It's amazing how thoughts jump around! A magnificent funeral procession was moving along our street. A beautiful young woman was carried in a coffin on a carriage upholstered in velvet. How many wreaths and flowers there were! And there were so many torches burning that they completely eclipsed my light. The sidewalks were filled with people accompanying the coffin. But when the torches were out of sight, I looked around and saw a man standing at my post and crying. “I will never forget the look of his mournful eyes looking at me!”

And the old street lamp remembered a lot of things on this last evening. The sentry who is relieved from his post at least knows who will take his place, and can exchange a few words with his comrade. But the lantern did not know who would replace him, and could not tell about rain and bad weather, nor about how the moon illuminates the sidewalk and from which direction the wind blows.

At that time, three candidates for the vacant position appeared on the bridge over the drainage ditch, believing that the appointment to the position depended on the lantern itself. The first was a glow-in-the-dark herring head; she believed that her appearance on the pillar would significantly reduce the consumption of blubber. The second was rotten fish, which also glowed and, according to her, even brighter than dried cod; besides, she considered herself the last remnant of the entire forest. The third candidate was the firefly; The lantern could not understand where it came from, but nevertheless the firefly was there and also glowed, although the herring head and the rotten swearing swore that it only shines from time to time, and therefore does not count.

The old lantern said that none of them shined bright enough to serve as street lamps, but, of course, they did not believe him. And having learned that the appointment to the position did not depend on him at all, all three expressed deep satisfaction - after all, he was too old to make the right choice.

At this time, a wind came from around the corner and whispered to the lantern under the hood:

What's happened? They say you're resigning tomorrow? And this is the last time I see you here? Well, here's a gift from me to you. I will ventilate your skull, and you will not only clearly and distinctly remember everything that you saw and heard yourself, but also see in reality everything that will be told or read in front of you. That's how fresh your head will be!

I don’t know how to thank you! - said the old lantern. - Just to avoid being melted down!

“That’s still a long way off,” answered the wind. - Well, now I’ll clear your memory. If you received many such gifts, you would have a pleasant old age.

Just to avoid being melted down! - repeated the lantern. - Or maybe you will preserve my memory in this case too? - Be reasonable, old lantern! - said the wind and blew.

At that moment the moon appeared.

What will you give? - asked the wind.

“Nothing,” answered the month. “I’m at a loss, and besides, the lanterns never shine for me, I’m always for them.”

And the month hid behind the clouds again - he didn’t want to be bothered. Suddenly a drop dripped onto the iron cap of the lantern. It seemed as if it had rolled off the roof, but the drop said that it had fallen from gray clouds, and also like a gift, perhaps even the best.

“I will pierce you,” said the drop, “so that you will gain the ability, any night you wish, to turn into rust and crumble into dust.”

This gift seemed bad to the lantern, and so did the wind.

Who will give more? Who will give more? - he made as much noise as he could.

And at that very moment a star rolled down from the sky, leaving behind a long luminous trail.

What is this? - the herring head screamed. - No way, a star fell from the sky? And it seems right at the lamppost. Well, if such high-ranking persons are coveting this position, all we can do is bow out and go home.

All three did so. And the old lantern suddenly flashed especially brightly.

A venerable thought, said the wind. “But you probably don’t know that this gift comes with a wax candle.” You won't be able to show anyone anything if the wax candle doesn't burn inside you. That's what the stars didn't think about. They take you and everything that glows for wax candles. “Well, now I’m tired, it’s time to lie down,” said the wind and lay down.

The next morning... no, we’d better skip the next day - the next evening the lantern was lying in the chair, and who had it? At the old night watchman's. For his long faithful service, the old man asked the "thirty-six city fathers" for an old street lamp. They laughed at him, but gave him the lantern. And now the lantern was lying in a chair near the warm stove and it seemed as if it had grown from this - it occupied almost the entire chair. The old men were already sitting at dinner and looking affectionately at the old lantern: they would willingly have it at the table with them.

True, they lived in the basement, several cubits underground, and to get into their closet, you had to go through a brick-paved hallway, but in the closet itself it was warm and cozy. The doors were lined with felt around the edges, the bed was hidden behind a canopy, curtains hung on the windows, and two outlandish flower pots stood on the window sills. They were brought by the sailor Christian either from the East Indies or from the West Indies. These were clay elephants with a depression on the back, into which earth was poured. In one elephant a wonderful leek grew - it was the old people's garden; in the other, geraniums bloomed luxuriantly - this was their garden. On the wall hung a large oil painting depicting the Congress of Vienna, which was attended by all the emperors and kings. The ancient clock with heavy lead weights ticked incessantly and always ran forward, but it was better than if it fell behind, the old men said.

So now they were having dinner, and the old street lamp lay, as said above, in a chair near the warm stove, and it seemed to him as if the whole world had turned upside down. But then the old watchman looked at him and began to remember everything that they had experienced together in rain and bad weather, on clear, short summer nights and in snowy snowstorms, when you just feel drawn to the basement - and the old lantern seemed to wake up and see everything it's like reality.

Yes, the wind ventilated it nicely!

The old men were hard-working and inquisitive people; not a single hour was wasted among them. On Sundays after lunch, some book would appear on the table, most often a description of a trip, and the old man would read aloud about Africa, about its huge forests and wild elephants that roam free. The old woman listened and looked at the clay elephants that served as flower pots.

I'm imagining! - she said.

And the lantern so wanted a wax candle to burn in it - then the old woman, like himself, would see everything in reality: tall trees with thick intertwining branches, and naked black people on horses, and whole herds of elephants trampling reeds with their thick feet and bush.

What good are my abilities if there is no wax candle? - the lantern sighed. “The old people only have blubber and tallow candles, and that’s not enough.”

But in the basement there was a whole bunch of wax cinders. The long ones were used for lighting, and the short ones were used by the old woman to wax the thread when she sewed. The old people now had wax candles, but it never occurred to them to insert even one stub into the lantern.

The lantern, always cleaned and neat, stood in the corner, in the most visible place. People, however, called it old trash, but the old people ignored such words - they loved the old lantern.

One day, on the old watchman’s birthday, the old woman came up to the lantern, smiled and said:

Now we will light the illuminations in his honor!

The lantern rattled its cap with joy. “It finally dawned on them!” - he thought.

But again he got blubber, and not a wax candle. He had been burning all evening and now knew that the gift of the stars - a most wonderful gift - would never be of use to him in this life.

And then the lantern dreamed - with such abilities it is not surprising to dream - that the old people died, and he himself was melted down. And he was scared, like that time when he had to appear at the town hall for a review of the “thirty-six city fathers.” And although he has the ability to crumble into rust and dust at will, he did not do this, but fell into the melting furnace and turned into a wonderful iron candlestick in the form of an angel with a bouquet in his hand. A wax candle was inserted into the bouquet, and the candlestick took its place on the green cloth of the desk. The room is very cozy; all the shelves are filled with books, the walls are hung with magnificent paintings. The poet lives here, and everything he thinks and writes about unfolds before him, as if in a panorama. The room becomes either a dense dark forest, or sunlit meadows along which a stork walks, or the deck of a ship sailing on a stormy sea...

Oh, what abilities are hidden in me! - said the old lantern, waking up from his dreams. - Really, I even want to be melted down. However, no! While the old people are alive, there is no need. They love me for who I am, I am like their own son to them. They clean me, fill me with blubber, and I’m no worse off here than all those high-ranking people at the congress.

Since then, the old street lamp has found peace of mind - and he deserves it.