Bianchi works for children list. Bianchi V
The heavy door opened, and a wonderful world appeared before the eyes of the amazed boy.
There are two right in front of him brown bear cub hugged each other. Their older brother-nanny did not take his eyes off the mischief-makers, and the mother bear lounged on a hillock and dozed.
Here, high in the air, an eagle froze motionless. Now the duck has taken off and froze over the nest; there are eggs in the nest. The boy quickly extended his hand behind them - and his fingers hit something hard and cold...
Glass. All the animals and birds are behind glass!
Are they really not alive? Then, probably, they are enchanted, like in a fairy tale. Would like to know this Magic word to revive everyone at once. Who will teach him this word?
The boy ended up in the Zoological Museum of the Academy of Sciences. His father, a Russian naturalist, worked here. In the house opposite, a boy was born in 1894 - the future writer Vitaly Valentinovich Bianki.
His father introduced him to nature. He took his son with him hunting and for walks. I named him every grass, every bird and animal. He taught him to recognize birds by their flight, animals by their tracks, and - most importantly - taught his son to write down his observations.
By the age of twenty-seven, Vitaly Valentinovich Bianchi had accumulated entire volumes of diaries. And again, as in childhood, he wanted to find that magic word that would make all these birds and animals come to life.
This word became the artistic word of the storyteller-writer.
The first V.V. Bianki for children - “Forest Houses” - was published in 1923. Over the twenty-five years of his literary work, Bianchi wrote about two hundred fairy tales, short stories, and stories. Young readers are well aware of his collections: “Fairy Tales”, “Forest Newspaper”, “Following the Footsteps”, “Where Crayfish Winter”, “Hunting Stories”, “The Last Shot” and many others.
His works were published in twenty-eight languages of the peoples of our Motherland. For many foreign languages his books have been translated.
Knowing very well and passionately loving his native nature, Bianchi spends most of his life in the forest with a gun, binoculars, notebook. And his stories, fairy tales, tales reveal pictures of living nature to young readers. In the most ordinary things, he knows how to show something new that we have not noticed.
Bianchi leads the young reader along the hunting trails of Altai, climbs with him without roads through the Caucasus Mountains, wanders through the taiga, tundra, steppe...
But most of all, Bianchi loves to talk about those animals and plants that anyone can meet in their garden, on the banks of a neighboring river, in the forests and fields of the northern and central Russian strip of our Motherland.
The writer opens his young reader's eyes to the world, answers his questions.
Many mysteries of nature have already been revealed by our scientists. Even more needs to be studied, unraveled, understood.
And Bianchi’s books invite the young reader to observe, compare, think, to be a good tracker, researcher. Bianchi not only shows, he teaches the young reader to reveal the secrets of the forest, to solve small and large mysteries from the life of animals and birds.
After all, only those who know nature well can manage it, turning its wealth to the benefit of the Motherland.
The Soviet man is the master of his forests, fields, rivers, lakes, and he must know his economy well.
The young reader will learn a lot by reading Bianchi's stories and fairy tales. He will learn to observe, he will become a thrifty owner of wealth native nature, he will love her.
The writer's artistic word will help him with this.
Gr. Grodensky
FAIRY TALES
First hunt
The puppy is tired of chasing chickens around the yard.
“I’ll go,” he thinks, “to hunt for wild animals and birds.”
He slipped into the gateway and ran across the meadow.
Saw him wild animals, birds and insects, and everyone thinks to themselves.
The bittern thinks: “I’ll deceive him!”
The hoopoe thinks: “I’ll surprise him!”
The spinner thinks: “I’ll scare him!”
The lizard thinks: “I’ll get away from him!”
Caterpillars, butterflies, grasshoppers think: “We will hide from him!”
“And I’ll drive him away!” - thinks the Bombardier Beetle.
“We all know how to stand up for ourselves, each in our own way!” - they think to themselves.
And the Puppy has already run to the lake and sees: a bittern standing by the reeds on one leg, knee-deep in water.
“I’ll catch her now!” - the Puppy thinks, and is completely ready to jump on her back.
And Bittern glanced at him and stepped into the reeds.
The wind runs across the lake, the reeds sway. The reeds sway
back and forth,
back and forth.
The puppy has yellow and brown stripes swaying in front of his eyes
back and forth,
back and forth.
And the Bittern stands in the reeds, stretched out - thin, thin, and all painted with yellow and brown stripes. Standing, swaying
back and forth,
back and forth.
The puppy's eyes bulged, looked, looked, but did not see the Bittern in the reeds.
“Well,” he thinks, “Bittern deceived me. I shouldn’t jump into empty reeds! I’ll go catch another bird.”
He ran out onto the hill and looked: Hoopoe was sitting on the ground, playing with his crest, and then he would unfold it, then he would fold it.
“Now I’ll jump on him from the hill!” - thinks the Puppy.
And the Hoopoe fell to the ground, spread its wings, spread its tail, and raised its beak up.
The Puppy looks: there is no bird, but a motley rag lies on the ground, and a crooked needle sticks out of it.
The Puppy was surprised: where did the Hoopoe go? “Did I really mistake this motley rag for him? I’ll go quickly and catch the little bird.”
He ran up to the tree and saw: a small bird, Vertishika, sitting on a branch.
He rushed towards her, and Vertishika dashed into the hollow.
“Yeah! - thinks the Puppy. - Gotcha!
Climbed to hind legs, looked into the hollow, and in the black hollow the snake wriggled and hissed terribly.
The Puppy recoiled, raised its fur on end, and ran away.
And Whirlwind hisses after him from the hollow, twists her head, and a stripe of black feathers wriggles along her back.
“Ugh! How scared! I barely carried my legs away. I won't hunt birds anymore. I’d better go catch the Lizard.”
The lizard was sitting on a stone, closed its eyes, basking in the sun.
A puppy quietly crept up to her - jump! - and grabbed him by the tail.
And the Lizard dodged, left its tail in its teeth, and went under the stone itself!
The Puppy's tail wriggles in his teeth,
The Puppy snorted, threw his tail - and followed her. Yes where there! The lizard has been sitting under a stone for a long time, growing a new tail.
“Well,” the Puppy thinks, “if the Lizard got away from me, then at least I’ll catch some insects.”
I looked around, and there were beetles running on the ground, grasshoppers jumping in the grass, caterpillars crawling along the branches, butterflies flying through the air.
The Puppy rushed to catch them, and suddenly it became all around, like in a mysterious picture: everyone was here, but no one was visible - everyone was hiding.
Green grasshoppers in green grass hid.
The caterpillars on the branches stretched out and froze: you couldn’t tell them apart from the twigs.
The butterflies sat on the trees, folded their wings - you couldn’t tell where the bark was, where the leaves were, where the butterflies were.
One tiny Bombardier Beetle walks along the ground, not hiding anywhere.
Vitaly Valentinovich Bianki (1894 — 1959) – Russian writer, author of numerous children's works.
It is best to begin a child’s first acquaintance with the natural world with the help of the works of Vitaly Bianchi. The author was able to describe in great detail and fascinatingly the inhabitants of forests, fields, rivers and lakes. After reading his stories, children will begin to recognize the birds and animals that can be found both in the city park and in more natural environment a habitat.
Thanks to the creativity of the talented author, kids will easily penetrate the dense canopy of trees, where tits, kinglets, woodpeckers, crows and many other feathered creatures live. Each writer's work is filled with details Everyday life all the inhabitants of the forest. After getting acquainted with the stories of V. Bianchi, the child will receive a large number of entertaining information about the world around us.
Read stories by Vitaly Bianchi online
The author paid considerable attention to the habits of living creatures and their places of residence. Kids will learn how difficult it is for tiny creatures to survive if a formidable hunter has settled nearby. They will also understand that mutual assistance exists not only among people. Vitaly Bianki's fascinating stories can be read on our website; they are designed for children of all ages.
Vitaly Bianchi "First Hunt"
The puppy is tired of chasing chickens around the yard. “I’ll go,” he thinks, “to hunt for wild animals and birds.”
He slipped into the gateway and ran across the meadow.
Wild animals, birds and insects saw it and each thought to himself.
The bittern thinks: “I’ll deceive him.”
The hoopoe thinks: “I will surprise him.”
The spinner thinks: “I’ll scare him.”
The lizard thinks: “I’ll get away from him.”
Caterpillars, butterflies, grasshoppers think: “We will hide from him.”
“And I’ll drive him away,” thinks the bombardier beetle.
“We all know how to stand up for ourselves, each in our own way,” they think to themselves.
And the puppy has already run to the lake and sees: a bittern standing by the reeds on one leg, knee-deep in water.
“I’ll catch her now!” - the puppy thinks and is completely ready to jump on her back.
And the bittern looked at him and stepped into the reeds.
The wind runs across the lake, the reeds sway. The reeds sway back and forth, back and forth...
The puppy has yellow and brown stripes in front of his eyes, swaying back and forth, back and forth...
And the bittern stands in the reeds, stretched out very thin and all painted with yellow and brown stripes. Standing rocking back and forth, back and forth...
The puppy's eyes bulged, looked, looked - the bittern was not visible in the reeds. “Well,” he thinks, “the bittern deceived me. I shouldn’t jump into empty reeds! I’ll go catch another bird.”
He ran up the hill, looked - the hoopoe was sitting on the ground, playing with his crest: he would unfold it, then fold it.
“Now I’ll jump on him from the hill,” the puppy thinks.
And the hoopoe fell to the ground, spread its wings, spread its tail, and raised its beak up. The puppy looks: there is no bird, but a motley rag lies on the ground and a crooked needle sticks out of it.
The puppy was surprised: “Where did the hoopoe go? Did I really mistake this colorful rag for him? I’ll go quickly and catch the little bird.”
He ran up to the tree and saw a small whirligig bird sitting behind the stump.
He rushed towards her, and the whirligig rushed into the hollow.
“Aha,” the puppy thinks, “I got it!”
He stood up on his hind legs, looked into the hollow, and in the black hollow black snake wriggles and hisses terribly.
The puppy recoiled, raised its fur on end, and ran away.
And the whirligig hisses after him from the hollow, twists her head—a strip of black feathers snakes along her back.
“Ugh, I scared you so much! I barely carried my legs away. I won't hunt birds anymore. I’d better go catch a lizard.”
The lizard was sitting on a stone, closed its eyes, basking in the sun.
The puppy quietly crept up to her, jumped and grabbed her tail.
And the lizard dodged, leaving its tail in its teeth - and went under the stone itself.
The puppy snorted, threw his tail - and followed her. Yes where there! The lizard has been sitting under a stone for a long time, growing a new tail.
“Well,” the puppy thinks, “if the lizard got away, at least I’ll catch some insects.”
I looked around, and there were beetles running on the ground, grasshoppers jumping in the grass, caterpillars crawling along the branches, butterflies flying through the air. The puppy rushed to catch them - and suddenly it became like a mysterious picture: everyone was there, but no one was visible, everyone was hiding.
Green grasshoppers are hiding in the green grass.
The caterpillars on the branches stretched out and froze: you couldn’t tell them apart from the twigs.
The butterflies sat on the trees, folded their wings - you couldn’t tell where the bark was, where the leaves were, where the butterflies were.
Only one tiny bombardier beetle walks along the ground, not hiding anywhere.
The puppy caught up with him and wanted to grab him, but the bombardier beetle stopped and fired at him with a flying, caustic stream - it hit him right in the nose.
The puppy squealed, tucked his tail, turned - across the meadow, and into the gateway...
He's huddled in a kennel and is afraid to stick his nose out.
And the animals, birds and insects all went back to their business.
Vitaly Bianchi “Who Sings What”
Do you hear the music booming in the forest?
Listening to it, you might think that all the animals, birds and insects in the world were born singers and musicians.
Maybe this is so: after all, everyone loves music, and everyone wants to sing. But not everyone has a voice.
The frogs on the lake started early in the night.
They inflated bubbles behind their ears, stuck their heads out of the water, and opened their mouths slightly.
- Kwa-a-a-a! - the air left them in one breath.
The Stork from the village heard them and was happy:
“A whole choir! I’ll have something to profit from!”
And he flew to the lake for breakfast.
He flew in and sat down on the shore. He sat down and thought:
“Am I really worse than frogs? They sing without a voice. Dyka and I’ll try.”
He raised his long beak, knocked, and rattled one half of it against the other, now quieter, now louder, now less often, now more often: a wooden rattle is cracking, and that’s all! I was so excited that I forgot about my breakfast.
And Bittern stood in the reeds on one leg, listened and thought:
And I came up with:
“Let me play on the water!”
She put her beak into the lake, took it full of water and how it blew into her beak! A loud roar echoed across the lake:
“Prumb-bu-bu-bumm!..” - like a bull roared.
“That's the song! - thought the Woodpecker, hearing the bittern from the forest. “I also have an instrument: why is a tree not a drum, and why is my nose not a stick?”
He leaned back with his back, leaned back with his front, swung his head - it was like hitting a branch with his nose! Exactly - drum roll!
A beetle with a very long mustache crawled out from under the bark.
He twisted it, twisted his head, his stiff neck creaked - a thin, thin squeak was heard.
The barbel squeaks, but it’s all in vain: no one hears its squeak.
He strained his neck, but he was pleased with his song.
And below, under the tree, a Bumblebee climbed out of its nest and flew to the meadow to sing.
It circles around the flower in the meadow, buzzing with its veiny, hard wings, like a string humming.
The bumblebee song woke up the green Locust in the grass.
Locust began to tune the violins. She has violins on her wings, and instead of bows there are long hind legs with her knees back. There are notches on the wings, and hooks on the legs.
The Locust rubs its legs on the sides, touches the hooks with its jagged edges, and chirps.
There are a lot of locusts in the meadow: a whole string orchestra.
“Eh,” thinks Long-nosed Snipe under a hummock, “I need to sing too!” Just what? My throat is no good, my nose is no good, my neck is no good, my wings are no good, my paws are no good... Eh! I wasn’t - I’ll fly, I won’t keep silent, I’ll scream something!”
He jumped out from under a hummock and flew right under the clouds. The tail spread like a fan, straightened its wings, turned its nose to the ground, and rushed down, turning from side to side, like a plank thrown from a height. His head cuts through the air, and in his tail the thin, narrow feathers are sorted by the wind.
And you could hear from the ground, as if in the heights a lamb began to sing and bleat.
And this is Bekas.
Guess what he sings with?
Vitaly Bianki "Owl"
The Old Man is sitting, drinking tea. He doesn't drink empty - he whitens it with milk. An owl flies past.
“Great,” he says, “friend!” And the Old Man told her:
- You, Owl, are a desperate head, ears sticking out, nose hooked. You hide from the sun, avoid people - what a friend I am to you!
The Owl got angry.
“Okay,” he says, “the old one!” I won’t fly into your meadow at night to catch mice—catch it yourself.
And the Old Man:
- Look, what did you want to scare me with? Get out while you're still alive.
The Owl flew away, climbed into the oak tree, and did not fly anywhere from the hollow.
Night has come. In the old meadow, mice in their holes whistle and call to each other:
- Look, godfather, isn’t the Owl flying - a desperate head, ears erect, nose hooked?
Mouse Mouse in response;
- Can't see the Owl, can't hear the Owl. Today we have freedom in the meadow, now we have freedom in the meadow.
The mice jumped out of their holes, the mice ran across the meadow.
And the Owl from the hollow:
- Ho-ho-ho, Old Man! Look, no matter how bad things turn out: the mice, they say, went hunting.
“Let them go,” says the Old Man. - Tea, mice are not wolves, they won’t kill heifers.
Mice roam the meadow, look for bumblebee nests, dig the ground, catch bumblebees.
And the Owl from the hollow:
- Ho-ho-ho, Old Man! Look, no matter how much worse it turns out: all your bumblebees have flown away.
“Let them fly,” says the Old Man. - What's the use of them: no honey, no wax, just blisters.
There is a foraging clover in the meadow, hanging with its head to the ground, and the bumblebees are buzzing, flying away from the meadow, not looking at the clover, and not carrying pollen from flower to flower.
And the Owl from the hollow:
- Ho-ho-ho, Old Man! Look, it wouldn’t have turned out worse: you wouldn’t have to carry the pollen from flower to flower yourself.
“And the wind will blow it away,” says the Old Man, and he scratches the back of his head.
The wind is blowing through the meadow, pollen is falling to the ground. If pollen does not fall from flower to flower, clover will not be born in the meadow; The Old Man doesn't like it.
And the Owl from the hollow:
Ho-ho-ho, Old Man! Your cow mooes and asks for clover; grass, listen, without clover is like porridge without butter.
The Old Man is silent, says nothing.
The Clover Cow was healthy, the Cow began to grow thin, and began to lose milk; The swill is licking, and the milk is getting thinner and thinner.
And the Owl from the hollow:
- Ho-ho-ho, Old Man! I told you: you will come to me to bow.
The old man scolds, but things don’t go well. The owl sits in an oak tree and does not catch mice. Mice are prowling the meadow, looking for bumblebee nests. Bumblebees walk in other people's meadows, but don't even look at the Old People's Meadow. Clover will not be born in the meadow. A cow without clover grows thin. The cow has little milk. So the Old Man had nothing to whiten his tea with.
The Old Man had nothing to whiten his tea with, so the Old Man went to bow to the Owl:
- You, Owl-Widow, help me out of trouble: I, the old one, have nothing with which to whiten tea.
And the Owl from the hollow with his eyes lup-lup, his legs dull-tap.
“That’s it,” says the old man. Being together is not burdensome, but apart at least throw it away. Do you think it’s easy for me without your mice?
The Owl forgave the Old Man, crawled out of the hollow, and flew to the meadow to scare the mice.
The owl flew off to catch mice.
The mice hid in their holes in fear.
The bumblebees buzzed over the meadow and began to fly from flower to flower.
The red clover began to swell in the meadow.
The cow went to the meadow to chew clover.
The cow has a lot of milk.
The Old Man began to whiten the tea with milk, whiten the tea, praise the Owl, invite him to visit him, respect him.
Vitaly Bianchi "Tails"
The Fly flew to the Man and said:
“You are the master of all animals, you can do anything.” Give me a tail.
- Why do you need a tail? - says the Man.
“And then I want a tail,” says the Fly, “why do all animals have it, for beauty.”
“I don’t know any animals that have a tail for beauty.” And you live well even without a tail.
The Fly got angry and started to bother the Man: it would sit on the sweet dish, then it would fly over his nose, then it would buzz at one ear, then at the other. I'm tired, I have no strength! The man tells her:
- OK! Fly, Fly, to the forest, to the river, to the field. If you find an animal, bird or reptile there whose tail is only hanging for beauty, you can take its tail for yourself. I allow.
The Fly was delighted and flew out the window.
She flies through the garden and sees a slug crawling along a leaf. The Fly flew up to the Slug and shouted:
- Give me your tail, Slug! You have it for beauty.
- What are you, what are you! - says Slime. “I don’t even have a tail: it’s my belly.” I squeeze it and unclench it, and that’s all I can do to crawl. I am a gastropod.
She flew to the river, and in the river there were Fish and Cancer, both with tails. Fly to Fish:
- Give me your tail! You have it for beauty.
“Not for beauty at all,” answers Fish. - My tail is my rudder. You see: I need to turn right - I turn my tail to the right. You have to go to the left - I put my tail to the left. I can't give you my tail.
Fly to Cancer:
- Give me your tail, Cancer!
“I can’t give it away,” answers Cancer. “My legs are weak, thin, I can’t row with them.” And my tail is wide and strong. As soon as I slap my tail on the water, it will throw me up. Slap, splash - and I float where I need to. I have a tail instead of an oar.
- Give me your tail, Woodpecker! You have it only for beauty.
- What an eccentric! - says Woodpecker. - How am I going to cut down trees, look for food for myself, and make nests for children?
“And your nose,” says Mukha.
“It’s your nose,” answers the Woodpecker, “but you can’t do without a tail.” Look how I hammer.
The Woodpecker rested his strong, stiff tail against the bark, swung his whole body, and when he hit the branch with his nose, only the chips flew!
The fly sees: it’s true that the Woodpecker sits on the tail when he chisels, he can’t live without a tail. The tail serves as a support for him.
He sees: A deer in the bushes with her fawns. And Deer has a tail - a small, fluffy, white tail. The fly buzzes:
- Give me your tail, Deer!
The deer got scared.
- What are you, what are you! - speaks. - If I give you my tail, my fawns will disappear.
- Why do fawns need your tail? — Mukha was surprised.
“But of course,” says Olenukha. - The Wolf will chase us. I’ll rush into the forest to hide. And the fawns are behind me. Only they can’t see me between the trees. And I wave my white tail at them like a handkerchief: “Run here, here!” They see a little white thing flashing ahead, and they run after me. So we will all run away from the Wolf.
“Well,” thinks the Fly, “this will be my tail.”
She flew up to the Fox and shouted:
- Give me your tail!
- What are you talking about, Mukha! - answers the Fox. - Yes, without a tail I will be lost. The dogs will chase me, they will quickly catch me, tailless. And with my tail I will deceive them.
“How can you,” asks the Fly, “deceive them with your tail?”
- And when the dogs start to overtake me, I’ll start wagging my tail! - tail to the right, herself to the left. The dogs will see that my tail is darting to the right, and they will rush to the right. By the time they figure out that they made a mistake, I’m too far away.
The Fly sees: all animals have a tail for business, there are no extra tails either in the forest or in the river.
There is nothing to do, the Fly flew home. She thinks:
“I’ll pester the Man, I’ll bother him until he makes a tail for me.”
The man was sitting at the window, looking at the yard.
A fly landed on his nose. Man bang himself in the nose! - and the Fly had already moved onto his forehead. Man bang on the forehead! - and the Fly is already on the nose again.
- Leave me alone, Fly! - the Man begged.
“I won’t leave you alone,” buzzes the Fly. - Why did you laugh at me and send me to look for free tails? I asked all the animals - all animals have a tail for business.
The man sees: he can’t get rid of the Fly - he’s so annoying! He thought and said:
- Fly, Fly, and there’s a Cow in the yard. Ask her why she needs a tail.
“Okay,” says the Fly, “I’ll ask the Cow.” And if the Cow doesn’t give me her tail, I will kill you, Man, from the light.
A Fly flew out the window, sat on the Cow’s back and started buzzing and asking:
- Cow, Cow, why do you need a tail? Cow, Cow, why do you need a tail?
The cow was silent, silent, and then she slapped herself on the back with her tail - and slapped the Fly.
The Fly fell to the ground - his spirit was out and his legs were up.
And the Man says from the window:
- That’s what you need, Fly - don’t pester people, don’t pester animals, I’m tired of it.
Vitaly Bianki “Forest bun - prickly side”
Once upon a time there lived an old man and an old woman - the same ones from whom Kolobok rolled away. They went into the forest. The old man says to the old woman:
- Look, old woman, is our Kolobok lying under the bush?
The old man couldn’t see well, and the old woman’s eyes were watering. She bent down to pick up Kolobok - and stumbled upon something prickly. The old woman: “Oh!” - and Kolobok jumped up on his short legs and rolled along the path.
Kolobok is rolling along the path - the Wolf meets him.
- Do not eat me, Gray wolf, I'll sing you a song:
I'm not scratching the box,
I haven’t hit the ground running,
Doesn't mix with sour cream.
I grew up under a bush,
All overgrown with thorns,
I don't feel good to the touch
You can't take me with your bare hands!
I left my grandfather
I left my grandmother
I'll leave you soon, Wolf!
The wolf got angry - grab him with his paw. The thorns dug into the Wolf's paw - oh, it hurts! And Kolobok jumped up and rolled along the path, only the Wolf saw him!
Kolobok is rolling and the Bear is meeting him.
- Kolobok, Kolobok, I will eat you!
- Where can you, clubfoot, eat me!
I am the forest Kolobok - Prickly Side!
I'm not scratching the box,
I haven’t hit the ground running,
Doesn't mix with sour cream.
I grew up under a bush,
All overgrown with thorns,
I taste bad
You can't put me in your mouth!
I left my grandfather
I left my grandmother
I left the Wolf
I'll leave you soon, Bear!
The bear got angry, wanted to grab him in the mouth, pricked his lips - oh, it hurts! And Kolobok rolled again - only the Bear saw him!
Kolobok is rolling and the Fox is meeting him.
- Kolobok, Kolobok, where are you going?
- I'm rolling along the path.
- Kolobok, Kolobok, sing me a song! Kolobok sang:
I am the forest Kolobok - Prickly Side!
I'm not scratching the box,
I haven’t hit the ground running,
Doesn't mix with sour cream.
I grew up under a bush,
All overgrown with thorns,
I'm no good all around
How will you take me?
I left my grandfather
I left my grandmother
I left the Wolf
Left the Bear
It’s easy to get away from you, Lisa!
And as soon as he rolled along the path, the Fox quietly pushed him into the ditch with just his claws! Kolobok - plop! - in water. He immediately turned around, started using his paws, and swam. Then everyone saw that this was not Kolobok at all, but a real forest hedgehog.
Vitaly Bianchi "The Adventures of an Ant"
An ant climbed up a birch tree, climbed to the top, looked down, and there, on the ground, his native anthill was barely visible.
The ant sat on a leaf and thought:
“I’ll rest a little and then go down.”
The Ants are strict: when the sun sets, everyone runs home. The sun will set, the ants will close all the passages and exits - and sleep. And whoever is late can at least spend the night on the street.
The sun was already descending towards the forest.
An ant sits on a piece of paper and thinks:
“It’s okay, I’ll hurry: we’ll go down quickly.”
But the leaf was bad: yellow, dry. The wind blew and tore it off the branch.
A leaf flies through the forest, over the river, over the village.
An ant flies on a leaf, sways - almost alive from fear.
The wind carried the leaf to a meadow outside the village and dropped it there.
A leaf fell on a stone and the ant knocked off its legs.
“My little head is gone! I can't get home now. The area is flat all around. If I were healthy, I would run straight away, but the trouble is, my legs hurt. It’s a shame, even if you bite the ground!”
An ant looks and a surveyor caterpillar lies nearby. A worm is a worm, only in front of the legs and behind the legs. The ant says to the surveyor:
- Land surveyor, surveyor, carry me home! My legs hurt.
- Aren’t you going to bite?
- I won’t bite.
- Well, sit down, I’ll give you a ride.
The ant climbed onto the surveyor's back. He bent in an arc, put his hind legs to his front, his tail to his head. Then he suddenly stood up to his full height and lay down on the ground with a stick. He measured out on the ground how tall he was, and again hunched himself into an arc. So he went, and so he went to measure the land. The ant flies to the ground, then to the sky - sometimes upside down, sometimes upside down.
“I can’t take it anymore,” he shouts, “stop!” Otherwise I'll bite you.
The surveyor stopped and stretched out along the ground. The ant got down and could barely catch his breath.
I looked around. He sees a meadow ahead, there is mown grass in the meadow. And a haymaker spider walks across the meadow; the legs are like stilts, the head swings between the legs.
- Spider, oh spider, take me home! My legs hurt.
- Well, sit down, I’ll give you a ride.
The ant had to climb up the spider's leg to the knee, and from the knee down to the spider's back: the haymaker's knees stick out higher than his back.
The spider began to rearrange its stilts - one leg here, the other there; all eight legs, like spokes, flashed in the ant’s eyes. But the spider does not walk quickly, its belly scratches along the ground. The ant is tired of this kind of driving. He almost got bitten by a spider. Yes, here, fortunately, they came out on a smooth path. The spider stopped.
“Get down,” he says. - There's a ground beetle running; She's faster than me.
The ant tears up.
- Groundhog, groundbird, take me home! My legs hurt.
- Sit down, I’ll give you a ride.
As soon as the ant had time to climb onto the ground beetle’s back, it began to run! Her legs are straight, like a horse's. A six-legged horse runs, runs, does not shake, as if flying through the air.
We quickly reached a potato field.
“Now get down,” says the ground beetle, “don’t jump over the potato beds with my feet.” Take another horse.
I had to get down.
Potato tops are a dense forest for an ant. Here you can run all day with healthy legs, and the sun is already low.
Suddenly the ant hears someone squeaking:
“Come on, ant, climb on my back and let’s jump.”
The ant turned around and saw a flea beetle standing nearby, just visible from the ground.
- Yes, you are small! You can't lift me up.
- And you’re big! Climb, I say.
Somehow the ant fit on the flea's back. I just installed the legs.
- Well, I got in.
- And you got in, so hold on.
The flea picked up his thick hind legs, and they folded like springs - and click! — straightened them. Look, he's already sitting in the garden. Click! - another. Click! - on third.
This is how the flea broke out all over the garden, right up to the fence.
The ant asks:
-Can you go through the fence?
“I can’t cross the fence: it’s very tall.” Just ask a grasshopper: he can do it.
me home! My legs hurt.
- Sit on the scruff of the neck.
An ant sat on the grasshopper's neck.
The grasshopper folded its long hind legs in half, then straightened them at once, as if shooting itself into the air. With a crash, the wings unfolded, carried him over the fence and quietly lowered him to the ground.
- Stop! - says the grasshopper. - We've arrived.
The ant looks ahead, and there is a river: if you swim along it for a year, you won’t be able to cross it. And the sun is even lower. Grasshopper says:
- Grasshopper, grasshopper, take it down
“I can’t even jump over the river: it’s too wide.” Wait a minute, I’ll call the water strider: there will be a carrier for you.
It crackled in its own way, and lo and behold, a boat with legs was running across the water.
She ran up.
No, not a boat, but a bug water strider.
- Water meter, water meter, carry me home! My legs hurt.
- Okay, sit down, I’ll move you. The ant sat down. Water meter
jumped up and walked on the water as if it were dry land.
And the sun is very low.
- Darling, better! - asks the ant. “They won’t let me go home.”
“We could do better,” says the water meter.
Yes, how he will let it go! He pushes off, pushes off with his legs and rolls and glides through the water as if on ice. I quickly found myself on the other side.
-Can’t you do it on the ground? - asks the ant.
“It’s difficult for me on the ground: my legs don’t slide.” And look: there’s a forest ahead. Look for another horse.
The ant looked ahead and saw: there was a tall forest above the river, up to the sky. And the sun had already disappeared behind him. No, the ant can't get home!
“Look,” says the water-man, “here comes the horse.” An ant sees: a May beetle is crawling past - a heavy beetle, a clumsy beetle. Can you ride far on such a horse? Still, I listened to the water meter:
- Khrushchev, Khrushchev, carry me home! My legs hurt.
- And where did you live?
- In an anthill behind the forest.
- Far away... Well, what should we do with you? Sit down, I'll take you there. An ant climbed up the hard side of the beetle.
- Sat down, or what?
-Where did you sit?
- On the back.
- Eh, stupid! Get on your head.
An ant climbed onto a beetle's head. And it’s good that he didn’t stay on his back: the beetle broke its back in two and raised two rigid wings. The beetle’s wings are like two inverted troughs, and from under them other wings climb out and unfold: thin, transparent, wider and longer than the upper ones.
The beetle began to puff and puff: oof, oof, oof! It's like the engine is starting.
“Uncle,” the ant asks, “quickly!” Darling, live up!
The beetle doesn't answer, it just puffs: oof, oof, oof!
Suddenly the thin wings fluttered and started working - zhzhzh! knock-knock-knock!.. The Khrushchev rose into the air. Like a cork, the wind threw him up, above the forest.
The ant from above sees: the sun has already touched the ground with its edge.
As the Khrushchev rushed off, it even took the ant’s breath away.
Lzhzh! Knock-Knock! The beetle rushes, drilling the air like a bullet. The forest flashed beneath him and disappeared.
And here is the familiar birch tree, an anthill under it.
Just above the top of the birch tree the beetle turned off the engine and - plop! - sat down on a branch.
- Uncle, dear! - the ant begged. - How can I go down? My legs hurt, I’ll break my neck.
The beetle folded its thin wings along its back. Covered the top with hard troughs. The tips of the thin wings were carefully placed under the troughs. He thought and said:
“I don’t know how you can get down.” I won’t fly into an anthill: you ants bite too painfully. Get there as best you can.
The ant looked down, and there, right under the birch tree, was his home. I looked at the sun - the sun had already sunk waist-deep into the ground.
He looked around him - branches and leaves, leaves and twigs. Don't let the ant get home, even if you throw yourself upside down! Suddenly he sees: a leaf roller caterpillar is sitting on a leaf nearby, pulling a silk thread from itself, pulling it and winding it on a twig.
- Caterpillar, caterpillar, take me home! I have one last minute left - they won’t let me go home to spend the night.
- Leave me alone! You see, I’m doing the job - spinning yarn.
- Everyone felt sorry for me, no one drove me away, you are the first!
The ant couldn’t resist and rushed at her and bit her!
Out of fright, the caterpillar tucked its legs and somersaulted off the leaf! - and flew down. And the ant was hanging on it, clinging tightly.
They only fell for a short time: something came from above them - a tug!
And they both swayed on a silk thread: the thread was wound on a twig.
An ant swings on a leaf roller, like on a swing. And the thread becomes longer, longer, longer: it unwinds from the belly of the leaf roller, stretches, and does not break. The ant and the leaf roller are falling lower, lower, lower.
And below, in the anthill, the ants are busy and in a hurry: the entrances and exits are closed
Everything was closed, only one - the last - entrance remained.
Ant from the caterpillar - somersault! - and go home.
Then the sun went down.
Vitaly Bianki "Teremok"
There was an oak tree in the forest. Fat, very fat, old, old.
A spotted woodpecker has arrived, with a red hat and a sharp nose.
Jump-jump along the trunk, tap-tap with your nose - tap, listen, and let’s dig a hole. Hollowed-hollowed, hollowed-hollowed - hollowed out a deep hollow. He lived in it for the summer, took the children out and flew away.
Winter has passed, summer has come again.
Starling found out about that hollow. Arrived. He sees an oak tree, and there is a hole in the oak tree. Why is Starling not a mansion?
Asks:
No one from the hollow answers; the tower stands empty.
The Starling brought hay and straw into the hollow, began to live in the hollow, and took out the children.
One year lives, another lives - the old oak dries and crumbles; The larger the hollow, the wider the hole.
In the third year, the yellow-eyed Owl found out about that hollow.
Arrived. He sees an oak tree, in the oak tree there is a hole with a cat’s head.
Asks:
- Once upon a time there lived a Spotted Woodpecker with a sharp nose, now I live - the Starling - the first singer in the grove. And who are you?
- I am Owl - if you fall into my claws - don’t whine. I’ll fly in at night—whoops! - and I’ll swallow it. Get out of the mansion while you're still alive!
The Starling Owl got scared and flew away.
Owl did not train anything, he began to live in the hollow: on his feathers.
One year lives, another lives - the old oak crumbles, the hollow becomes wider.
In the third year I learned about the Belka hollow. I galloped up. He sees an oak tree, in the oak tree there is a hole with a dog’s head. Asks:
Terem-teremok, who lives in the tower?
- There lived a Spotted Woodpecker with a sharp nose, there lived a Starling - the first singer in the grove, now I live - an Owl. If you fall into my claws, don’t whine. And who are you?
“I’m Belka, a rope jumper on branches, a nurse in hollows.” My teeth are long and sharp as needles. Get out of the mansion while you're still alive!
Squirrel Owl got scared and flew away.
The squirrel brought moss and began to live in the hollow.
In the third year, Marten found out about that hollow. She came running and saw an oak tree, in the oak tree there was a hole with a man’s head. Asks:
- Terem-teremok, who lives in the tower?
- Once upon a time there lived a Spotted Woodpecker - a sharp nose, there lived a Starling - the first singer in the grove, there lived an Owl - if you fall into his claws - don’t whine - now I live - a Squirrel - a jump rope along the branches, a nurse in the hollows. And who are you?
- I am Marten - a killer of all small animals. I’m scarier than Khorya, don’t argue with me in vain. Get out of the mansion while you're still alive!
The Marten Squirrel got scared and galloped away.
Marten did not train anything, she began to live like this in the hollow: on her own fur.
It lives for a year, it lives for another - the old oak crumbles, the hollow becomes wider.
In the third year, the bees learned about that hollow. We've arrived. They see an oak tree, in the oak tree there is a hole the size of a horse’s head. They circle, buzz, and ask:
- Terem-teremok, who lives in the tower?
- Once upon a time there lived a Spotted Woodpecker - a sharp nose, there lived a Starling - the first singer in the grove, there lived an Owl - you will fall into his claws - don’t whine, there lived a Squirrel - a jump rope along the branches, a nurse in the hollows, and now I live - Marten - killer of all small animals . And who are you?
- We are a swarm of bees - a mountain for each other. We circle, buzz, sting, threaten big and small. Get out of the mansion while you're still alive!
The Marten got scared of the bees and ran away.
The bees collected wax and began to live in the hollow. They live for a year, they live for another - the old oak crumbles, the hollow becomes wider.
In the third year, Bear found out about that hollow. I've arrived. He sees an oak tree, in the oak tree there are holes the size of a whole window. Asks:
Terem-teremok, who lives in the tower?
- Once upon a time there lived a Spotted Woodpecker - a sharp nose, there lived a Starling - the first singer in the grove, there lived an Owl - if you fall into his claws - don’t whine, there lived a Squirrel - a jump rope along the branches, a nurse in the hollows, there lived a Marten - a killer of all small animals, now we live - a swarm of bees - like a mountain of each other. And who are you?
- And I’m a Bear, Mishka - your mansion is finished!
He climbed onto the oak tree, stuck his head into the hollow, and how he pressed!
The oak fell in half, and from it - just count how many years it accumulated:
yes to wax,
yes feathers,
yes dust -
yes phhhh!
The tower is no longer there.
Vitaly Bianchi "Terenty-Teterev"
He lived in the forest Teterev, his name was Terenty.
In the summer he had a good time: he hid in the grass, in the thick foliage from evil eyes. And winter has come, the bushes and trees have fallen off - and there is nowhere to hide.
So the forest animals, angry, began to argue about who would get Terenty-Teterev for dinner now. The fox says - to her. The marten says - to her.
Fox says:
- Terenty will sit down to sleep on the ground, in the bush. In the summer you can’t see him in the bush, but now here he is. I earn a living from below, I will eat it.
And Kunica says:
- No, Terenty will sit down to sleep on a tree. I make a living at the top, I’ll eat it.
Terenty-Teterev heard their argument and got scared. He flew to the edge of the forest, sat on the top of his head, and let’s think about how to deceive the evil animals. If you sit on a tree, the marten will catch you; if you fly to the ground, the fox will grab you. Where to spend the night?
I thought and thought and thought and thought, but came up with nothing and dozed off.
He dozed off and in his dream he saw that he was not sleeping on a tree, not on the ground, but in the air. A marten can’t reach it from a tree, and a fox can’t reach it from the ground: if you just tuck your legs under you, it won’t even be able to jump.
Terenty tucked his legs in his sleep and banged from a branch!
And the snow was deep, soft, like fluff. The Fox sneaks silently along it. He runs to the edge of the forest. And above, along the branches, the Marten is jumping and also to the edge. Both are in a hurry after Terenty-Teterev.
So Marten was the first to gallop up to the tree and look at all the trees, climb all the branches - no Terenty!
“Oh,” he thinks, “I’m late! Apparently he was sleeping on the ground in a bush. The fox probably got it."
And the Fox came running, looked around the entire edge of the forest, climbed all the bushes - no Terenty!
“Oh,” he thinks, “I’m late! Apparently he was sleeping in a tree. The marten apparently got it."
The Fox raised her head, and Marten - there she was: sitting on a branch, baring her teeth.
The fox got angry and shouted:
“You ate my Terenty, here I am for you!”
And Marten to her:
“You ate it yourself, and you’re talking about me.” Here I am for you!
And they started to fight. They fight hotly: the snow melts under them, shreds fly.
Suddenly - bang-ta-ta~tah! - Something black will come out from under the snow!
The Fox and the Marten are in their heels with fear. They rushed in different directions: Marten - into a tree, Fox - into the bushes.
And it was Terenty-Teterev who jumped out. He fell from a tree and fell asleep in the snow. Only the noise and the fight woke him up, otherwise he would probably be asleep right now.
Since then, all the black grouse sleep in the snow in winter: they feel warm and comfortable there, and safe from evil eyes.
Vitaly Bianchi "Foundling"
The boys destroyed the wheatear's nest and broke its testicles. Naked, blind chicks fell out of the broken shells.
I managed to take only one of the six testicles from the boys intact.
I decided to save the chick hidden in it.
But how to do that?
Who will hatch it from the egg?
Who will feed?
I knew the nest of another bird nearby - the Mocking Warbler. She just laid her fourth egg.
But will the remnant accept the foundling? The wheatear egg is pure blue. It is larger and does not at all look like mocking eggs: they are pink with black dots. And what will happen to the wheatear chick? After all, he is about to come out of the egg, and the little mockers will hatch only in another twelve days.
Will the mockingbird feed the foundling?
The mockingbird's nest was placed so low on the birch tree that I could reach it with my hand.
When I approached the birch tree, the mocking bird flew off its nest. She fluttered along the branches of neighboring trees and whistled pitifully, as if begging not to touch her nest.
I placed the blue egg with her pink ones, walked away and hid behind a bush.
Mockingbird did not return to the nest for a long time. And when she finally flew up, she didn’t immediately sit down in it: it was clear that she was looking at someone else’s blue egg with disbelief.
But still she sat in the nest. This means she accepted someone else’s egg. The foundling became an adopted child.
But what will happen tomorrow when the little wheatear hatches from the egg?
When I approached the birch tree in the morning the next day, a nose was sticking out on one side of the nest, and a mocking tail was sticking out on the other.
When she flew off, I looked into the nest. There were four pink eggs and next to them a naked blind wheatear chick.
I hid and soon saw a mocking bird fly in with a caterpillar in its beak and put it into the little wheatear’s mouth.
Now I was almost sure that the mocking would feed my foundling.
Six days have passed. Every day I approached the nest and every time I saw the mockingbird’s beak and tail sticking out of the nest.
I was very surprised how she managed to feed the wheatear and hatch her eggs.
I quickly moved away so as not to interfere with her in this important matter.
On the seventh day, neither beak nor tail stuck out above the nest.
I thought: “It's over! The mockingbird has left the nest. The little wheatear died of hunger.”
But no, there was a live wheatear in the nest. She was sleeping and didn’t even lift her head up or open her mouth: that meant she was full. She had grown so much these days that she covered the pink testicles barely visible from underneath with her body.
Then I guessed that the adopted son thanked his new mother: with the warmth of his little body he warmed her testicles and hatched her chicks. And so it was.
Mockingbird fed her fosterling, and the fosterling hatched her chicks.
He grew up and flew out of the nest before my eyes. And just by this time the chicks hatched from the pink eggs.
Mockingbird began to feed her own chicks and fed them well.
Vitaly Bianchi "Musician"
The old safecracker was sitting on the rubble and playing the violin. He loved music very much and tried to learn to play himself. He did poorly, but the old man was pleased that he had his own music. A collective farmer I knew passed by and said to the old man:
- Drop your violin and grab your gun. You're doing better with your gun. I just saw a bear in the forest.
The old man put down his violin and asked the collective farmer where he had seen the bear. He took the gun and went into the forest. The old man searched for the bear in the forest for a long time, but did not even find a trace of it.
The old man got tired and sat down on a tree stump to rest.
It was quiet in the forest. Not a twig will crack anywhere, not a bird will give a voice. Suddenly the old man heard: “Zenn!..” Such a beautiful sound, like a string singing.
A little later again: “Zenn!..”
The old man was surprised: “Who is that playing the string in the forest?”
And from the forest again: “Zenn!..” - so loudly, affectionately.
The old man stood up from the stump and carefully walked towards where the sound was heard. The sound was heard from the edge of the forest.
The old man crept up from behind the Christmas tree and saw: at the edge of the forest, a tree broken by a thunderstorm, with long splinters sticking out of it. And a bear sits under a tree, grabbing one sliver of wood with its paw. The bear pulled the sliver towards him and let it go. The sliver straightened up, trembled, and in the air there was a sound: “Zenn!..” - like a string sang.
The bear bowed his head and listens.
The old man listens too: the sliver sings well!
The sound stopped, and the bear did his thing again: he pulled back the sliver and let it go.
In the evening, a collective farmer I know once again passes by the safecracker’s hut. The old man was again sitting on the rubble with the violin. He plucked one string with his finger, and the string quietly sang: “Dzinn!..”
The collective farmer asked the old man:
- Well, did you kill the bear?
“No,” answered the old man.
- What’s so?
- How can we shoot at him when he is a musician like me?
And the old man told the collective farmer how the bear played on a tree split by a thunderstorm.
Vitaly Bianchi is a magician. Each of his stories is filled with magic. Do you want to look into the world of the forest, spy on the secrets of nature, see miracles in simple things? Follow the writer. Vitaly Bianchi's stories are written in an easy and colorful language - you can easily imagine the situation. But behind the vivid description is the knowledge of a biologist and naturalist. Gently and carefully, Bianchi encourages you to explore the world around you.
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For kids of all ages
Bianchi gave people about three hundred stories. He knew how to observe the world through the eyes of children. Thanks to this gift, young readers easily use their imagination while listening to his tales. Among his readers are the youngest children. For them - miniature humorous stories. At the core are curious, educational adventures. A whole series of stories is united under common name"My cunning son." At the center of the stories is a restless boy who discovers the secrets of nature while walking through the forest with his father.
Older children are interested in Bianchi's stories about animals. All of them are based on forest “travels”. As a child, Vitaly’s parents took him to the village of Lebyazhye, where there was a forest nearby. Having taken his first steps in this country, he became its devoted fan for life. My father taught me to take notes - to save observations. Over the years, they became forest stories. “Mouse Peak”, “Who sings about what” - in each there are thoughts about the importance of knowledge about nature.
Although it is believed that Bianchi's stories were written for children, the writer did not forget about adults. In the preface to one of the publications, he addressed them specifically. “I tried to write in such a way that fairy tales would be interesting to adults as well. But now I realized that I was creating for adults who kept a child in their souls.” An experienced eye will discern apt descriptions and facts in Bianchi's stories. He often went on scientific expeditions to Central Russia and the North - so he had something to say.
Non-fairy tales
Bianchi has works that he called unusually: non-fairy tales. There are no fairies, self-assembled tablecloths or sorceresses in them. But there are even more miracles in them. The writer introduces the ordinary badass sparrow in such a way that readers are only surprised: the bird is not easy. These stories by Bianchi are a pleasure to read. He reinterprets fairy tales. Instead of a bun, he has a hedgehog rolling along the path - a prickly barrel.
Bianchi wrote short and long stories. But they are all united by a love of nature. This animal writer created a whole movement in literature that continues to develop. Readers responded to him in kind - in coastal strip The natural landscape “Bianki Glade” was created in the Gulf of Finland.
IN Italy Valentinovich Bianchi is an outstanding Russian writer and author of popular children's works. Bianchi's works are excellent material for reading, raising and developing children.
Born in St. Petersburg on January 30 (February 11), 1894. The writer had German-Swiss roots. His father was an entomologist at the Zoological Museum of the Academy of Sciences. The writer's great-grandfather was outstanding opera singer. On one of his Italian tours, he changed his surname Weiss (from German “white”) to Bianchi (from Italian “white”). Vitaly was educated at Petrograd University at the Faculty of Physics and Mathematics.
In his youth, he was fond of football and even participated in the St. Petersburg city championships. In 1916 he was drafted into the army, and a year later he joined the Socialist Revolutionary Party. Since 1918, Vitaly Bianki worked in the Social Revolutionary propaganda newspaper “People”. Soon he was mobilized by the Russian army, from where he deserted. The writer hid under the surname Belyanin, which is why he had a double surname until the end of his life. In the 1920-1930s, he was arrested more than once for participation in non-existent underground organizations. M. Gorky and his first wife E. P. Peshkova interceded for him.
Bianchi did not participate in the Great Patriotic War due to developed heart disease. In 1949, he suffered a heart attack and then two strokes. The writer's work had an original literary form. The first story, "The Journey of the Red-headed Sparrow", appeared in 1923. It was followed by the book “Whose nose is better?” In his works, he revealed the world of nature and taught how to penetrate its secrets. All of Bianca's stories were written in easy and colorful language, accessible primarily to children.
Most of Bianchi's works are dedicated to the forest, which he knew well since childhood. Writer N.I. Sladkov speaks of him as a “discoverer,” and the author himself calls himself a “translator from the wordless.” Many of Bianchi's stories affirm the idea of vital practical significance knowledge of nature, the ability to observe it and navigate in it (“Following the Footsteps”, “How Uncle Volov Searched for Wolves”, “Tender Lake Sarykul”, “Ghost Lake”, etc.) Before us is not a boring moralizer, but a master of plot storytelling, dynamic, intense, with an unexpected turn of events (the mystery story “The Fatal Beast”, the adventure story “Mouse Peak”, the “biographical” description of the animal “On the Great Sea Route”, etc.) At the same time, they contain enormous educational material that is easily digestible child.
One of the innovations was the “Forest Newspaper for Every Year,” first published in 1928. It was a kind of calendar of forest life. The writer had a dacha in the Lebyazhy village, where he loved to gather the scientific society of St. Petersburg. During his life, he wrote more than three hundred stories, fairy tales, novellas, 120 books, etc. Bianchi's works were widely used in kindergartens and primary schools THE USSR. His followers were S.V. Sakharnov and N.I. Sladkov.
