Paustovsky “Basket with fir cones. Pictures on the theme “K.G. Paustovsky “Basket with fir cones Drawing for the story fir cones
All forests are good with their mushroom air and rustling leaves. But the mountain forests near the sea are especially good. You can hear the sound of the surf in them. Fog constantly blows in from the sea, and moss grows wildly due to the abundance of moisture. It hangs from the branches in green strands all the way to the ground.
In addition, in the mountain forests lives like a mockingbird, a cheerful echo. It is just waiting to pick up any sound and throw it over the rocks.
One day Grieg met in the forest a little girl with two pigtails - the daughter of a forester. She was collecting in a basket fir cones.
It was autumn. If it were possible to collect all the gold and copper that is on earth, and forge thousands of thousands of thin leaves from them, then they would make up an insignificant part of that autumn outfit that lay on the mountains. In addition, forged leaves would seem rough compared to real ones, especially aspen leaves. Everyone knows that aspen leaves tremble even from a bird whistle.
What's your name, girl? - asked Grig.
What a disaster! - said Grig. - I have nothing to give you. I don’t carry dolls, ribbons, or velvet bunnies in my pocket.
“I have my mother’s old doll,” the girl answered. - Once upon a time she closed her eyes. Like this!
The girl slowly closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Grieg noticed that her pupils were greenish and the foliage sparkled in them.
“And now she sleeps with her eyes open,” Dagny added sadly. - Old people have bad sleep. Grandpa also groans all night.
Listen, Dagny, - said Grig, - I came up with an idea. I'll give you one interesting thing. But not now, but in ten years.
Dagny even clasped her hands.
Oh, how long!
You see, I still need to do it.
What is this?
You'll find out later.
“Can you really make only five or six toys in your entire life,” Dagny asked sternly?
Grieg was embarrassed.
“No, that’s not true,” he objected hesitantly. - I'll do it maybe in a few days. But such things are not given to small children. I make gifts for adults.
“I won’t break it,” Dagny said pleadingly and pulled Grig by the sleeve. - And I won’t break it. You'll see! Grandpa has a toy glass boat. I dust it off and have never chipped off even the smallest piece.
“She completely confused me, this Dagny,” Grieg thought with annoyance and said what adults always say when they find themselves in an awkward position in front of children:
You are still small and don’t understand much. Learn patience. Now give me the basket. You can barely drag it. I'll take you with you and we'll talk about something else.
Dagny sighed and handed Grig the basket. She was really heavy. Fir cones contain a lot of resin, and therefore they weigh much more than pine cones.
When the forester's house appeared among the trees, Grieg said:
Well, now you can run there yourself, Dagny Pedersen. There are many days in Norway with a first and last name like yours. What is your father's name?
Hagerup,” Dagny answered and, wrinkling her brow, asked: “Won’t you come and see us?” We have a net embroidered tablecloth, a red cat and a glass lodha. Grandfather will allow you to take it in your hands.
Thank you. Now I have no time. Goodbye Dagny!
Grieg smoothed the girl's hair and walked towards the sea. Dagny looked after him, frowning. She held the basket sideways, and pine cones fell out of it.
“I’ll write music,” Grieg decided. - On the title page I will order to print: “Dagny Pedersen - daughter of the forester Hagerup Pedersen, when she turns eighteen years old.”
In Bergen everything was the same.
Grieg had long ago removed everything that could muffle the sounds - carpets, curtains and upholstered furniture - from the house. All that was left was the old sofa. It could accommodate up to a dozen guests, and Grieg did not dare to throw it away.
Friends said that the composer’s house looked like a woodcutter’s home. It was decorated only with a piano. If a person was endowed with imagination, then he could hear magical things among these white walls - from the roar of the northern ocean, which rolled waves from the darkness and wind, which whistled its wild saga over them, to the song of a girl cradling a rag doll.
The piano could sing about everything - about the impulse of the human spirit to the great and about love. The white and black keys, escaping from under Grieg’s strong fingers, yearned, laughed, thundered with storm and anger, and then suddenly fell silent.
Then in the silence for a long time only one small string sounded, as if it was Cinderella crying, offended by her sisters.
Grieg, leaning back, listened until this last sound died away in the kitchen, where the cricket had settled for a long time.
You could hear the water dripping from the tap, counting down the seconds with the precision of a metronome. The drops insisted that time was running out and we had to hurry up to do everything we had planned.
Grieg wrote music for Dagny Pedersen for more than a month. Winter has begun. The fog covered the city up to its neck. Rusty steamships came from different countries and dozed by the wooden piers, quietly snoring the steam.
Soon it began to snow. Grieg saw from his window how he flew obliquely, clinging to the treetops.
It is, of course, impossible to convey music in words, no matter how rich our language is.
Grieg wrote about the deepest charm of girlhood and happiness. He wrote and saw a girl with green shining eyes running towards him, gasping for joy. She hugs him by the neck and presses her hot cheek against his gray, unshaven cheek. "Thank you!" - she says, not yet knowing why she is thanking him.
“You are like the sun,” Grieg tells her. - Like a gentle wind and early morning. Bloomed in your heart white flower and filled your entire being with the fragrance of spring. I have seen life. No matter what they tell you about her, always believe that she is amazing and beautiful. I am an old man, but I gave my life, my work, my talent to the youth. I gave everything away without return. That's why I may even be happier than you, Dagny.
You - white night with its mysterious light. You are happiness. You are the sparkle of dawn. Your voice makes my heart tremble.
Blessed be everything that surrounds you, that touches you and that you touch, that makes you happy and makes you think.”
Grieg thought so and played about everything he thought. He suspected that he was being eavesdropped. He even guessed who was doing it. These were tits in a tree, sailors from the port on a spree, a washerwoman from a neighboring house, a cricket, snow falling from the overhanging sky, and Cinderella in a mended dress.
Everyone listened differently.
The tits were worried. No matter how they spun, their chatter could not drown out the piano.
The sailors who had gone on a spree sat down on the steps of the house and listened, sobbing. The washerwoman straightened her back, wiped her red eyes with her palm and shook her head. The cricket crawled out of the crack in the tiled stove and looked through the crack at Grieg.
The falling snow stopped and hung in the air to listen to the ringing that flowed in streams from the house. And Cinderella looked, smiling, at the floor. Crystal slippers stood near her bare feet. They shuddered, colliding with each other, in response to the chords coming from Grieg's room.
Grieg valued these listeners more than smart and polite concertgoers.
At eighteen, Dagny graduated from school.
On this occasion, her father sent her to Christiania to stay with her sister Magda. Let the girl (her father considered her still a girl, although Dagny was already a slender girl, with heavy brown braids) look at how the world works, how people live, and have a little fun.
Who knows what the future holds for Dagny? Maybe an honest and loving, but stingy and boring husband? Or the job of a saleswoman in a village shop? Or service in one of the many shipping offices in Bergen?
Magda worked as a theater dressmaker. Her husband Nils served as a hairdresser at the same theater.
They lived in a room under the roof of the theater. From there one could see the motley maritime flags bay and monument to Ibsen.
The steamboats shouted through the open windows all day. Uncle Nils studied their voices so much that, according to him, he unmistakably knew who was buzzing - “Norderney” from Copenhagen, “Scottish singer” from Glasgow or “Joan of Arc” from Bordeaux.
In Aunt Magda's room there were many theatrical things: brocade, silk, tulle, ribbons, lace, old felt hats with black ostrich feathers, gypsy shawls, gray wigs, boots with copper spurs, swords, fans and silver shoes worn at the crease. All this had to be hemmed, mended, cleaned and ironed.
On the walls hung pictures cut out from books and magazines: gentlemen of the times Louis XIV, beauties in crinolines, knights, Russian women in sundresses, sailors and Vikings with oak wreaths on their heads.
You had to climb a steep staircase to get to the room. There was always a smell of paint and gilding varnish.
Dagny often went to the theater. It was an exciting activity. But after the performances, Dagny did not fall asleep for a long time and sometimes even cried in her bed.
Aunt Magda, frightened by this, calmed Dagny. She said that you cannot blindly believe what is happening on stage. But Uncle Nils called Magda a “mother hen” for this and said that, on the contrary, in the theater you have to trust Yesem. Otherwise people would not need any theaters. And Dani believed.
But still, Aunt Magda insisted on going to the concert for a change.
Nils did not argue against this. “Music,” he said, “is the mirror of genius.”
Niels liked to express himself sublimely and vaguely. He said about Dagny that she was like the first chord of an overture. And Magda, according to him, had witchcraft power over people. It was expressed in the fact that Magda sewed theatrical costumes. And who doesn’t know that every time a person puts on a new suit, he changes completely. This is how it turns out that the same actor yesterday was a vile murderer, today he became an ardent lover, tomorrow he will be a royal jester, and the day after tomorrow he will be a folk hero.
“Dagny,” Aunt Magda shouted in such cases, “close your ears and don’t listen to this terrible chatter!” He himself doesn’t understand what he’s saying, this attic philosopher!
It was a warm June. The nights were white. The concerts took place in an open-air city park.
Dagny went to the concert with Magda and Nils. She wanted to wear her only white dress. But Nils said that a beautiful girl should be dressed in such a way as to stand out from her surroundings. In general, his long speech on this issue boiled down to the fact that on white nights you must be in black and, conversely, on dark nights, sparkle with white dresses.
It was impossible to argue with Nils, and Dagny put on a black dress made of silky soft velvet. Magda brought this dress from the costume department.
When Dagny put on this dress, Magda agreed that Nils was probably right - nothing set off the stern pallor of Dagny’s face and her long braids, with a reflection of old gold, more than this mysterious velvet.
“Look, Magda,” Uncle Nils said in a low voice, “Dagny is so good, it’s as if she’s going on a first date.”
- That's it! - answered Magda. - For some reason I didn’t see the crazy handsome man around me when you came on your first date with me. You're just a chatterbox to me.
And Magda kissed Uncle Nils on the head.
The concert began after the usual evening cannon firing at the port. The shot meant sunset.
Despite the evening, neither the conductor nor the orchestra members turned on the lights above the consoles. The evening was so bright that the lanterns burning in the linden foliage were obviously lit only to add elegance to the concert.
Dagny listened to symphonic music for the first time. It had a strange effect on her. All the shimmer and thunder of the orchestra evoked in Dagny many pictures that looked like dreams.
Then she shuddered and looked up. She thought that the thin man in a tailcoat, who was announcing the concert program, called her name.
- Did you call me, Nils? - Dagny asked Uncle Nils, looked at him and immediately frowned.
Uncle Nils looked at Dagny with either horror or admiration. And Aunt Magda looked at her the same way, holding a handkerchief to her mouth.
- What's happened? - asked Dagny.
Magda grabbed her hand and whispered:
- Listen!
Then Dagny heard the man in the tailcoat say:
- Listeners from the last rows ask me to repeat. So, now the famous musical piece by Edvard Grieg will be performed, dedicated to the daughter of the forester Hagerup Pedersen, Dagny Pedersen, on the occasion of her eighteenth birthday.
Dagny sighed so deeply that her chest hurt. She wanted to hold back the tears that were rising in her throat with this sigh, but it did not help. Dagny bent down and covered her face with her hands.
She downloaded and didn’t hear anything. There was a storm inside her. Then she finally heard the shepherd's horn singing in the early morning and in response to it, hundreds of voices, trembling slightly, responded to the string orchestra.
The melody grew, rose, raged like the wind, rushed along the tops of the trees, tore off leaves, shook the grass, hit the face with cool splashes. Dagny felt the rush of air coming from the music and forced herself to calm down.
Yes! This was her forest, her homeland! Her mountains, the songs of her horns, the sound of her sea!
Glass ships foamed the water. The wind blew in their gear. This sound imperceptibly turned into the ringing of forest bells, into the whistle of birds tumbling in the air, into the hooting of children, into a song about a girl - her beloved threw a handful of sand at her window at dawn. Dagny heard this song in her mountains.
So, that means it was him! That gray-haired man who helped her carry a basket of fir cones home. It was Edvard Grieg, a wizard and a great musician! And she reproached him that he did not know how to work quickly.
So this is the gift that he promised to give her in ten years!
Dagny cried openly, with tears of gratitude. By that time, music filled all the space between the ground and the clouds hanging over the city. Light ripples appeared on the clouds from the melodic waves. The stars shone through it.
The music no longer sang. She called. She called for her to that country where no sorrows could cool love, where no one takes away each other’s happiness, where the sun burns like a crown in the hair of a fairy-tale good sorceress.
In the influx of sounds, a familiar voice suddenly appeared. “You are happiness,” he said. “You are the sparkle of dawn!”
The music stopped. Slowly at first, then increasingly growing, applause began to thunder.
Dagny stood up and quickly walked towards the exit of the park. Everyone looked back at her. Maybe some of the listeners got the idea that this girl was the Dagny Pedersen to whom Grieg dedicated his immortal piece.
“He died! - thought Dagny. - For what?" If only I could see him! If only he had appeared here! With what a rapidly beating heart she would run to meet him, hug him by the neck, press her cheek wet with tears to his cheek and say only one word: “Thank you!” - "For what?" - he would ask. “I don’t know...” Dagny would answer. - Because you haven't forgotten me. For your generosity. For the fact that you have revealed to me the beautiful things that a person should live by.”
Dagny walked along the deserted streets. She did not notice that behind her, trying not to catch her eye, was Nils, sent by Magda. He swayed like a drunk and muttered something about the miracle that had happened in their little life.
The darkness of the night still lay over the city. But the northern dawn was already beginning to glow faintly in the windows.
Dagny went out to the sea. It lay in deep sleep, without a single splash.
Dagny clenched her hands and groaned from a feeling of the beauty of this world that was still unclear to her, but which gripped her entire being.
“Listen, life,” Dagny said quietly, “I love you.”
And she laughed, looking with wide open eyes at the lights of the steamers. They bobbed slowly in the clear gray water.
Nils, standing at a distance, heard her laugh and went home. Now he was calm about Dagny. Now he knew that her life would not be in vain.
Please note that in the corner there is a small piano, only five octaves, on the music stand of which are the notes of Edvard Grieg, the famous Norwegian composer, and on the piano there is a small basket with fir cones...
A basket of fir cones standing on a children's piano is a symbol of love for life. Unwittingly, getting acquainted with the plot of the story “Basket with Fir Cones” by Konstantin Paustovsky, every visitor will imagine himself in the place of the little Norwegian girl Dagny Pedersen and believe that miracles come true...
Edvard Grieg often left Bergen, where he lived, to the village - to the forests, to the fields - to eat, see enough, breathe for future creativity. And on one of these walks he meets a little eight-year-old girl, she is carrying a basket of fir cones. Grieg took the girl's basket to help her and decided to accompany her. On the way they got to talking, he really liked the girl, her attitude to life, to native land.
The composer wanted to leave something as a souvenir for her, so that she would remember this meeting the same way he would already remember it. But, unfortunately, the composer has nothing in his pocket at the moment, and in those days, 120-130 years ago, a girl would have been delighted with colored glass and pebbles, and, perhaps, would have kept them all her life in a box.
The girl assures the stranger that she won’t lose anything, won’t break anything... the child is expecting some kind of gift, an object. But the composer says that he will give her a gift, but in ten years.
- Oh, how long!.. Can you really make only five or six toys in your entire life? – the girl is surprised (she is expecting a toy).
“No, that’s not true,” he objected hesitantly. “I’ll do it maybe in a few days.” But such things are not given to small children. I make gifts for adults...
They parted, perhaps slightly disappointed with each other. But in parting, Grig asked the girl to name her full name.
- Dagny Pedersen, daughter of forester Hagerup Pedersen. – she answered sadly.
Edvard Grieg returned to his home and immediately sat down at the piano. He decided to write music, beautiful music filled with light and dedicate it to this girl...
Ten years have passed. Dagny, an 18-year-old girl, comes to Bergen to arrange her life. She stays with her uncle, who gives her a gift, takes her to a symphony music concert, they sit in the very last rows, since tickets are cheaper there. They listen to performance after performance and, suddenly, in one of the announcements of the next numbers, Dagny thinks she hears her name.
She raises her head, looks at her uncle, thinking that it was he who called her, but sees his surprised eyes directed at her. And at this time, they announce from the stage: “The listeners from the last rows ask me to repeat. So, now the famous musical piece by Edvard Grieg will be performed, dedicated to the daughter of the forester Hagerup Pedersen, Dagny Pedersen, on the occasion of her eighteenth birthday.”
The composer fulfilled his promise, given ten years ago to a little eight-year-old girl... And Konstantin Georgievich Paustovsky brought this story to the audience. “Life, I love you!” - the words spoken by the heroine of the story by K.G. Paustovsky’s “Basket with Fir Cones” are the life-affirming basis of all the writer’s works. Faith in goodness, admiration for the beauty of the world, love for native land, the ability to see beauty in completely seemingly ordinary things - this is what is special and amazing that distinguishes Paustovsky’s work.
Basket with fir cones
Konstantin Paustovsky
Basket with fir cones
1
Composer Edvard Grieg spent the autumn in the forests near Bergen.All forests are good with their mushroom air and rustling leaves. But the mountain forests near the sea are especially good. You can hear the sound of the surf in them. Fog constantly blows in from the sea, and moss grows wildly due to the abundance of moisture. It hangs from the branches in green strands all the way to the ground.
In addition, in the mountain forests, a cheerful echo lives like a mockingbird. It is just waiting to pick up any sound and throw it over the rocks.
One day Grieg met in the forest a little girl with two pigtails - the daughter of a forester. She was collecting fir cones in a basket.
It was autumn. If it were possible to collect all the gold and copper that is on earth, and forge thousands of thousands of thin leaves from them, then they would make up an insignificant part of that autumn outfit that lay on the mountains. In addition, forged leaves would seem rough compared to real ones, especially aspen leaves. Everyone knows that aspen leaves tremble even from a bird whistle.
-What's your name, girl? – asked Grig.
“Dagny Pedersen,” the girl answered in a low voice.
She answered in a low voice, not out of fear, but out of embarrassment. She could not be afraid, because Grieg’s eyes were laughing.
- What a problem! - said Grig. - I have nothing to give you. I don’t carry dolls, ribbons, or velvet bunnies in my pocket.
“I have my mother’s old doll,” the girl answered. “Once upon a time she closed her eyes. Like this!
The girl slowly closed her eyes. When she opened them again, Grieg noticed that her pupils were greenish and the foliage sparkled in them.
“And now she sleeps with her eyes open,” Dagny added sadly. – Old people have bad sleep. Grandpa also groans all night.
“Listen, Dagny,” said Grig, “I came up with an idea.” I'll give you one interesting thing. But not now, but in ten years.
Dagny even clasped her hands.
- Oh, how long!
- You see, I still need to do it.
-What is this?
- You'll find out later.
“Can you really make only five or six toys in your entire life,” Dagny asked sternly?
Grieg was embarrassed.
“No, that’s not true,” he objected hesitantly. “I’ll do it maybe in a few days.” But such things are not given to small children. I make gifts for adults.
“I won’t break it,” Dagny said pleadingly and pulled Grieg by the sleeve. - And I won’t break it. You'll see! Grandpa has a toy glass boat. I wipe the dust off it and have never chipped off even the smallest piece.
“She completely confused me, this Dagny,” Grieg thought with annoyance and said what adults always say when they find themselves in an awkward position in front of children:
– You are still small and don’t understand a lot, learn patience. Now give me the basket. You can barely drag it. I'll take you with you and we'll talk about something else.
Dagny sighed and handed Grig the basket. She was really heavy. Fir cones contain a lot of resin, and therefore they weigh much more than pine cones.
When the forester's house appeared among the trees, Grieg said:
- Well, now you can run there yourself, Dagny Pedersen. There are many girls in Norway with a first and last name like yours. What is your father's name?
“Hágerup,” Dagny answered and, wrinkling her brow, asked: “Won’t you come and see us?” We have a net, an embroidered tablecloth, a red cat and a glass boat. Grandfather will allow you to take it in your hands.
- Thank you. Now I have no time. Goodbye Dagny!
Grieg smoothed the girl's hair and walked towards the sea. Dagny looked after him, frowning. She was holding the basket sideways, and pine cones were falling out of it.
“I’ll write music,” Grieg decided. “On the title page I will order it to be printed: “Dagny Pedersen to the daughter of the forester Hagerup Pedersen, when she turns eighteen.”
2
In Bergen everything was the same.
Everything that could muffle the sounds - carpets, curtains and upholstered furniture - Grieg had long ago removed from the house. All that was left was the old sofa. It could accommodate up to a dozen guests, and Grieg did not dare to throw it away.
Friends said that the composer’s house looked like a woodcutter’s home. It was decorated only with a piano. If a person was endowed with imagination, then he could hear magical things among these white walls - from the roar of the northern ocean, which rolled waves from the darkness of the wind, which whistled its wild saga over them, to the song of a girl cradling a rag doll.
The piano could sing about everything - about the impulse of the human spirit to the great and about love. The white and black keys, escaping from under Grieg’s strong fingers, yearned, laughed, thundered with storm and anger, and suddenly fell silent.
Then in the silence for a long time only one small string sounded, as if it was Cinderella crying, offended by her sisters.
Grieg, leaning back, listened until this last sound died away in the kitchen, where the cricket had settled for a long time.
You could hear the water dripping from the tap, counting down the seconds with the precision of a metronome. The drops insisted that time was running out and we had to hurry up to do everything that was planned.
Grieg wrote music for Dagny Pedersen for more than a month.
Winter has begun. The fog covered the city up to its neck. Rusty steamships came from different countries and dozed at the wooden piers, quietly snoring steam.
Soon it started snowing. Grieg saw from his window how he flew obliquely, clinging to the treetops.
It is, of course, impossible to convey music in words, no matter how rich our language is.
Grieg wrote about the deepest charm of girlhood and happiness.
He wrote and saw a girl with green shining eyes running towards him, gasping for joy. She hugs him by the neck and presses her hot cheek against his gray, unshaven cheek. "Thank you!" - she says, not yet knowing why she thanks him.
“You are like the sun,” Grieg tells her. – Like a gentle wind and early morning. A white flower blossomed in your heart and filled your entire being with the fragrance of spring. I have seen life. No matter what they tell you about her, always believe that she is amazing and beautiful. I am an old man, but I gave my life, my work, my talent to the youth. I gave everything away without return. That's why I may even be happier than you, Dagny.You are the white night with its mysterious light. You are happiness. You are the sparkle of dawn. Your voice makes my heart tremble.
May everything that surrounds you, that touches you and that you touch, that makes you happy and makes you think, be blessed!”
Grieg thought so and played about everything he thought. He suspected that he was being overheard. He even guessed who was doing this. These were tits in a tree, sailors from the port on a spree, a washerwoman from a neighboring house, a cricket, snow falling from the overhanging sky, and Cinderella in a mended dress.
Everyone listened differently.
The tits were worried. No matter how they spun, their chatter could not drown out the piano.
The sailors who had gone on a spree sat down on the steps of the house and listened, sobbing. The washerwoman straightened her back, wiped her red eyes with her palm and shook her head. The cricket crawled out of the crack in the tiled stove and looked through the crack at Grieg.
The falling snow stopped and hung in the air to listen to the ringing that flowed in streams from the house. And Cinderella looked, smiling, at the floor. Crystal slippers stood near her bare feet. They shuddered, colliding with each other, in response to the chords coming from Grieg's room.
Grieg valued these listeners more than smart and polite concertgoers.
3
At eighteen, Dagny graduated from school.
On this occasion, her father sent her to Christiania to stay with her sister Magda. Let the girl (her father considered her still a girl, although Dagny was already a slender girl with heavy brown braids) look at how the world works, how people live, and have a little fun.
Who knows what the future holds for Dagny? Maybe an honest and loving, but stingy and boring husband? Or the job of a saleswoman in a village shop? Or service in one of the many shipping offices in Bergen?
Magda worked as a theater dressmaker. Her husband Nils served as a hairdresser at the same theater.
They lived in a room under the roof of the theater. From there you could see the bay, colorful with sea flags, and the monument to Ibsen.
The steamboats shouted through the open windows all day. Uncle Nils studied their voices so much that, according to him, he unmistakably knew who was buzzing - “Norderney” from Copenhagen, “Scottish singer” from Glasgow or “Joan of Arc” from Bordeaux.
In Aunt Magda's room there was a lot of theatrical things: brocade, silk, tulle, ribbons, lace, old felt hats with black ostrich feathers, gypsy shawls, gray wigs, boots with copper spurs, swords, fans and silver shoes worn at the fold. All this had to be hemmed, mended, cleaned and ironed.
On the walls hung pictures cut out from books and magazines: gentlemen from the time of Louis XIV, beauties in crinolines, knights, Russian women in sundresses, sailors and Vikings with oak wreaths on their heads.
You had to climb a steep staircase to get to the room. There was always a smell of paint and gilding varnish.
4
Dagny often went to the theater. It was an exciting activity. But after the performances, Dagny did not fall asleep for a long time and sometimes even cried in her bed.
Aunt Magda, frightened by this, calmed Dagny. She said that you cannot blindly believe what is happening on stage. But Uncle Nils called Magda a “mother hen” for this and said that, on the contrary, in the theater you have to believe everything. Otherwise people would not need any theaters. And Dani believed.
But still, Aunt Magda insisted on going to the concert for a change.
Nils did not argue against this. “Music,” he said, “is the mirror of genius.”
Niels liked to express himself sublimely and vaguely. He said about Dagny that she was like the first chord of an overture. And Magda, according to him, had witchcraft power over people. It was expressed in the fact that Magda sewed theatrical costumes. And who doesn’t know that every time a person puts on a new suit, he changes completely. This is how it turns out that the same actor yesterday was a vile murderer, today he became an ardent lover, tomorrow he will be a royal jester, and the day after tomorrow he will be a folk hero.
“Dagny,” Aunt Magda shouted in such cases, “close your ears and don’t listen to this terrible chatter!” He himself doesn’t understand what he’s saying, this attic philosopher!
It was warm June. The nights were white. The concerts took place in an open-air city park.
Dagny went to the concert with Magda and Nils. She wanted to wear her only white dress. But Nils said that a beautiful girl should be dressed in such a way as to stand out from her surroundings. In general, his long speech on this issue boiled down to the fact that on white nights you must be in black and, conversely, on dark nights, sparkle with white dresses.
It was impossible to argue with Nils, and Dagny put on a black dress made of silky soft velvet. Magda brought this dress from the costume department.
When Dagny put on this dress, Magda agreed that Nils was probably right - nothing set off the stern pallor of Dagny’s face and her long braids, with a reflection of old gold, more than this mysterious velvet.
“Look, Magda,” Uncle Nils said in a low voice, “Dagny is so good, it’s as if she’s going on a first date.”
- That's it! – Magda answered. “Somehow I didn’t see the crazy handsome guy around me when you came on your first date with me.” You're just a chatterbox to me.
And Magda kissed Uncle Nils on the head.
The concert began after the usual evening cannon firing at the port. The shot meant sunset.
Despite the evening, neither the conductor nor the orchestra members turned on the lights above the consoles. The evening was so bright that the lanterns burning in the linden foliage were obviously lit only to add elegance to the concert.
Dagny listened to symphonic music for the first time. It had a strange effect on her. All the shimmer and thunder of the orchestra evoked in Dagny many pictures that looked like dreams.
Then she shuddered and looked up. She thought that the thin man in a tailcoat, who was announcing the concert program, called her name.
“Did you call me, Nils?” – Dagny asked Uncle Nils, looked at him and immediately frowned.
Uncle Nils looked at Dagny with either horror or admiration. And Aunt Magda looked at her the same way, holding a handkerchief to her mouth.
- What's happened? – asked Dagny.
Magda grabbed her hand and whispered:
- Listen!
Then Dagny heard the man in the tailcoat say:
– Listeners from the last rows ask me to repeat. So, now the famous musical piece by Edvard Grieg will be performed, dedicated to the daughter of forester Hagerup Pedersen, Dagny Pedersen, on the occasion of her eighteenth birthday.
Dagny sighed so deeply that her chest hurt. She wanted to hold back the tears that were rising in her throat with this sigh, but it did not help. Dagny bent down and covered her face with her hands.
She downloaded and didn’t hear anything. There was a storm inside her. Then she finally heard the shepherd's horn singing in the early morning and in response to it, hundreds of voices, trembling slightly, responded to the string orchestra.
The melody grew, rose, raged like the wind, rushed along the tops of the trees, tore off leaves, shook the grass, hit the face with cool splashes. Dagny felt the rush of air coming from the music and forced herself to calm down.
Yes! This was her forest, her homeland! Her mountains, the songs of her horns, the sound of her sea!
Glass ships foamed the water. The wind blew in their gear. This sound imperceptibly turned into the ringing of forest bells, into the whistle of birds tumbling in the air, into the hooting of children, into a song about a girl - her beloved threw a handful of sand at her window at dawn. Dagny heard this song in her mountains.
So, that means it was him! That gray-haired man who helped her carry a basket of fir cones home. It was Edvard Grieg, a wizard and a great musician! And she reproached him that he did not know how to work quickly.
So this is the gift that he promised to give her in ten years!
Dagny cried openly, with tears of gratitude. By that time, music filled all the space between the ground and the clouds hanging over the city. Light ripples appeared on the clouds from the melodic waves. The stars shone through it.
The music no longer sang. She called. She called for her to that country where no sorrows could cool love, where no one takes away each other’s happiness, where the sun burns like a crown in the hair of a fairy-tale good sorceress.
In the influx of sounds, a familiar voice suddenly appeared. “You are happiness,” he said. “You are the sparkle of dawn!”
The music stopped. At first slowly, then increasingly growing, applause thundered.
Dagny stood up and quickly walked towards the exit of the park. Everyone looked back at her. Maybe some listeners got the idea that this girl was the Dagny Pedersen to whom Grieg dedicated his immortal work.
“He died! – thought Dagny. - For what?" If only I could see him! If only he had appeared here! With what a rapidly beating heart she would run to meet him, hug him by the neck, press her cheek wet with tears to his cheek and say only one word: “Thank you!” - "For what?" - he would ask. “I don’t know...” Dagny would answer. - Because you haven’t forgotten me. For your generosity. For the fact that you have revealed to me the beautiful things that a person should live by.”
Dagny walked along the deserted streets. She did not notice that behind her, trying not to catch her eye, was Nils, sent by Magda. He swayed like a drunk and muttered something about the miracle that had happened in their little life.
The darkness of the night still lay over the city. But the northern dawn was already beginning to glow faintly in the windows.
Dagny went out to the sea. It lay in deep sleep, without a single splash.
Dagny clenched her hands and groaned from a feeling of the beauty of this world that was still unclear to her, but which gripped her entire being.
“Listen, life,” Dagny said quietly, “I love you.”
And she laughed, looking with wide open eyes at the lights of the steamers. They bobbed slowly in the clear gray water.
Nils, standing at a distance, heard her laugh and went home. Now he was calm about Dagny. Now he knew that her life would not be in vain.
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