The main idea of ​​the work is Galosh Zoshchenko. Aristocrat - story - Mikhail Zoshchenko

Of course, it’s not difficult to lose a galosh on a tram. Especially if they push you from the side, and from behind some Arkharovite steps on your backdrop - that’s why you don’t have galoshes.

Losing a galosh is nothing at all.

They took my galoshes off in no time. You could say I didn’t have time to gasp.

I got on the tram - both galoshes were in place, as I remember now. I also touched it with my hand when I climbed in - was it there?

And I got off the tram - I looked: one galosh is here, how cute, but the other is missing. The boot is here. And the sock, I see, is here. And the underpants are in place. But there are no galoshes.

But, of course, you can’t run after the tram.

He took off the rest of his galoshes, wrapped them in newspaper and went like that. “After work,” I think, “I’ll go looking for him. Don't let the goods go to waste. I’ll dig it up somewhere.”

After work I went looking. First of all, I consulted with an acquaintance of a carriage driver.

That's exactly how he reassured me.

“Tell me,” he says, “thank you for losing me on the tram.” In another public place, I can’t guarantee, but getting lost on a tram is a sacred thing. We have such a camera for lost things. Come and take it. Holy cause!

“Well,” I say, “thank you.” Straight up, a load off your shoulders. The main thing is that the galoshes are almost brand new. I'm only wearing it for the third season.

The next day I went to the cell.

“Is it possible,” I say, “brothers, to get my galoshes back?” Filmed on the tram.

“It’s possible,” they say. - What kind of galoshes?

“Galoshes,” I say, “the usual kind.” Size - number twelve.

“We,” they say, “have number twelve, maybe twelve thousand.” Tell me the signs.

“Signs,” I say, “the usual ones: the back, of course, is frayed, there’s no bike inside—the bike has been worn out.”

“We have,” they say, “maybe more than a thousand such galoshes.” Are there any special signs?

“There are special signs,” I say. The sock seems to be completely torn off and is barely holding on. And the heel, I say, is almost gone. The heel came off. And the sides, I say, are okay, so far they’ve held up.

“Sit,” they say, “here.” Let's see.

Suddenly they take out my galosh.

That is, I was terribly happy. I was really touched. “Here,” I think, “the device works nicely. And what, I think, ideological people - how much trouble they took on themselves because of one galosh.”

“Thank you,” I say, “friends for life.” Let's get her here quickly. I'll put it on now.

“No,” they say, “dear comrade, we can’t give it.” We, they say, don’t know, maybe it wasn’t you who lost.

“Yes,” I say, “I lost it.”

“Very,” they say, “probably, but we can’t give it.” Bring proof that you really lost your galosh. Let the house management certify this fact, and then we will issue it without unnecessary red tape.

“Brothers,” I say, “holy comrades, but in the house they don’t know about this fact.” Maybe they won't give such paper.

“They will,” they say, “it’s their business to give.”

I looked at the galoshes again and went out.

The next day I went to the chairman.

“Come on,” I say, “the paper.” The galosh is dying.

“Is that right,” he says, “lost it?” Or do you twist it?

“By God,” I say, “I lost it.”

“Write,” he says, “a statement.”

I wrote a statement. The next day I received my official ID.

I went to the cell with this ID. And without hassle, without red tape, they give me a galosh.

Only when I put the galoshes on my foot did I feel complete tenderness. “Here,” I think, “the device is working! Yes, in some backward country, would they bother with my galoshes for so much time? Yes, they would throw her off the tram - that’s all there is to it. And then I didn’t bother for a week, they give me back. This is the device!

One annoying thing is that this week, during the troubles, I lost my first galosh. I carried it under my arm all the time in a bag - and I don’t remember where I left it. The main thing is that it’s not on the tram. It's a shame that it's not on the tram. Well, where to look for it?

But, on the other hand, I have a different galosh. I put it on the chest of drawers. Another time it becomes boring - you look at the galoshes - and somehow your soul becomes light and harmless. “Here,” I think, “is the device!”

Galoshes and ice cream. Zoshchenko Story for children to read

When I was little, I really loved ice cream.
Of course, I still love him. But then it was something special - I loved ice cream so much.
And when, for example, an ice cream maker with his cart was driving down the street, I immediately began to feel dizzy: I wanted so much to eat what the ice cream maker was selling.
And my sister Lelya also exclusively loved ice cream.
And she and I dreamed that when we grew up big, we would eat ice cream at least three, or even four times a day.
But at that time we very rarely ate ice cream. Our mother did not allow us to eat it. She was afraid that we would catch a cold and get sick. And for this reason she did not give us money for ice cream.
And then one summer Lelya and I were walking in our garden. And Lelya found a galosh in the bushes. An ordinary rubber galosh. And very worn and torn. Someone must have thrown it because it burst.
So Lelya found this galosh and put it on a stick for fun. And he walks around the garden, waving this stick over his head.
Suddenly a rag picker walks down the street. He shouts: “I’m buying bottles, cans, rags!”
Seeing that Lelya was holding a galosh on a stick, the rag picker said to Lelya:
- Hey, girl, are you selling galoshes?
Lelya thought it was some kind of game and answered the rag picker:
- Yes, I'm selling. This galosh costs a hundred rubles.
The rag picker laughed and said:
- No, one hundred rubles is too expensive for this galosh. But if you want, girl, I’ll give you two kopecks for it, and you and I will part as friends.
And with these words, the rag picker pulled out his wallet from his pocket, gave Lela two kopecks, put our torn galosh into his bag and left.
Lelya and I realized that this was not a game, but in reality. And they were very surprised.
The rag picker has long since left, and we stand and look at our coin.
Suddenly an ice cream man walks down the street and shouts:
- Strawberry ice cream!
Lelya and I ran to the ice cream man, bought two scoops from him for a penny, ate them instantly and began to regret that we had sold the galoshes so cheaply.
The next day Lelya says to me:
- Minka, today I decided to sell another galosh to the rag picker.
I was delighted and said:
- Lelya, did you find a galosh in the bushes again?
Lelya says:
- There's nothing else in the bushes. But in our hallway there are probably, I think, at least fifteen galoshes. If we sell one, it won’t hurt us.
And with these words, Lelya ran to the dacha and soon appeared in the garden with one rather good and almost new galosh.
Lelya said:
- If a rag picker bought from us for two kopecks the same kind of rags that we sold him last time, then for this almost brand new galosh he will probably give at least a ruble. I can imagine how much ice cream I could buy with that money.
We waited a whole hour for the rag picker to appear, and when we finally saw him, Lelya said to me:
- Minka, this time you sell your galoshes. You are a man, and you are talking to a rag picker. Otherwise he’ll give me two kopecks again. And this is too little for you and me.
I put a galosh on the stick and began to wave the stick over my head.
The rag picker approached the garden and asked:
- What, galoshes are on sale again?
I whispered barely audibly:
- For sale.
The rag picker, examining the galoshes, said:
- What a pity, children, that you don’t sell me one galosh at a time. I'll give you a penny for this one galosh. And if you sold me two galoshes at once, you would receive twenty, or even thirty kopecks. Because two galoshes are immediately more necessary for people. And this makes them jump in price.
Lelya told me:
- Minka, run to the dacha and bring another galosh from the hallway.
I ran home and soon brought some very large galoshes.
The rag picker put these two galoshes side by side on the grass and, sighing sadly, said:
- No, children, you are completely upsetting me with your trading. One is a lady's galosh, the other is from a man's foot, judge for yourself: what do I need such galoshes for? I wanted to give you a penny for one galosh, but having put two galoshes together, I see that this will not happen, since the matter has worsened from the addition. Get four kopecks for two galoshes, and we will part as friends.
Lelya wanted to run home to bring some more galoshes, but at that moment her mother’s voice was heard. It was my mother who called us home, because my mother’s guests wanted to say goodbye to us. The rag picker, seeing our confusion, said:
- So, friends, for these two galoshes you could get four kopecks, but instead you will get three kopecks, since I deduct one kopeck for wasting time on empty conversation with children.
The rag picker gave Lela three kopeck coins and, hiding the galoshes in a bag, left.
Lelya and I immediately ran home and began to say goodbye to my mother’s guests: Aunt Olya and Uncle Kolya, who were already getting dressed in the hallway.
Suddenly Aunt Olya said:
- What a strange thing! One of my galoshes is here, under the hanger, but for some reason the second one is missing.
Lelya and I turned pale. And they stood motionless.
Aunt Olya said:
- I remember very well that I came in two galoshes. And now there is only one, and where the second one is is unknown.
Uncle Kolya, who was also looking for his galoshes, said:
- What nonsense is in the sieve! I also remember very well that I came in two galoshes, however, my second galoshes are also missing.
Hearing these words, Lelya, out of excitement, unclenched her fist in which she had money, and three kopeck coins fell to the floor with a clang.
Dad, who also saw off the guests, asked:
- Lelya, where did you get this money?
Lelya started to lie something, but dad said:
- What could be worse than a lie!
Then Lelya began to cry. And I cried too. And we said:
- We sold two galoshes to a rag picker to buy ice cream.
Dad said:
- Worse than a lie is what you did.
Hearing that the galoshes were sold to a rag picker, Aunt Olya turned pale and began to stagger. And Uncle Kolya also staggered and grabbed his heart with his hand. But dad told them:
- Don’t worry, Aunt Olya and Uncle Kolya, I know what we need to do so that you are not left without galoshes. I’ll take all Lelin’s and Minka’s toys, sell them to the rag picker, and with the money we get we’ll buy you new galoshes.
Lelya and I roared when we heard this verdict. But dad said:
- That's not all. For two years I have forbidden Lela and Minka from eating ice cream. And two years later they can eat it, but every time they eat ice cream, let them remember this sad story.
That same day, dad collected all our toys, called a rag picker and sold him everything we had. And with the money received, our father bought galoshes for Aunt Olya and Uncle Kolya.
And now, children, many years have passed since then. For the first two years, Lelya and I really never ate ice cream. And then we began to eat it, and every time we ate it, we involuntarily remembered what happened to us.
And even now, children, when I have become quite an adult and even a little old, even now, sometimes, when eating ice cream, I feel some kind of tightness and some kind of awkwardness in my throat. And at the same time, every time, out of my childhood habit, I think: “Did I deserve this sweet, did I lie or deceive someone?”
Nowadays, many people eat ice cream, because we have entire huge factories in which this pleasant dish is made.
Thousands of people and even millions eat ice cream, and I, children, would really like all people, when eating ice cream, to think about what I think about when I eat this sweet thing.

The story “Galosh” was written by Zoshchenko in 1926 and published in the magazine “Behemoth” No. 15 for 1927. The story was included in the “Blue Book” under the title “A Minor Incident from Personal Life.”

Literary direction and genre

Zoshchenko was endowed with the rare ability to see the funny or tragic in everyday events. His stories are realistic. The story "Galosh" is humorous. The author has a very warm attitude towards the person who suffered from the “device”. Zoshchenko's laughter is most often tinged with bitterness. Sympathy for the hero and bitterness are caused by the same phenomenon of Soviet reality - bureaucracy.

Problems of the story

The story was written in those blissful times when you could write and print whatever you wanted. The satirical focus of the story is to ridicule the care for people preached by Soviet officials. Perhaps in 10 years Soviet power The “apparatus” has only grown and has not become more humane.

Another problem of the story is the standard of living of Soviet people. In 1926, people still remembered the times when galoshes did not have to be worn out to holes.

An important problem in the story is the problem of values. For the hero, everything connected with the story of the lost and found galosh is dear. How unhappy must a person be who puts a tattered galosh on the chest of drawers as a dear reminder of the infallibility of the “apparatus”.

Heroes of the story

Zoshchenko's story is written in the first person. The hero-narrator is a simple Soviet man who finds himself in an impossible situation. The absurdity of the situation was associated with bureaucratic Soviet system. However, any overgrown bureaucratic system operates according to the same scheme. And Zoshchenko got acquainted with the bureaucracy Russian Empire even at the age of 12, when after the death of his father his mother sought help for eight orphans.

The hero of the story is an ordinary Soviet person. He - " younger brother"little people described by Pushkin, Gogol, Dostoevsky. The hero resigns himself to all Soviet orders, and even considers the Soviet bureaucratic machine, which a week later “spits out” the galosh he found “without hassle, without red tape,” a blessing.

The little Soviet man is grateful to the employees who simply carried out their duties, he is “terribly happy” about this and is even touched. He calls the workers of the Lost and Found Bureau ideological people only because they found his galoshes. Moreover, the hero compares his country, where the “apparatus” works, with backward countries, where his galosh would have been thrown away long ago.

The hero evokes sympathy from the reader. He is a naive and open to communication person. He calls bureaucrats friends, brothers and sees in them, first of all, people, and not employees and comrades. It turns out that his misfortune is that he does not know how to integrate into the Soviet impersonal system, although he sympathizes with it with all his soul.

Plot and composition

The story is written in the first person, which allows him to claim the truth of what is described. The story is based on an anecdotal situation: a man who lost his galosh on a tram miraculously finds it, but cannot get it back. The hero is very happy about the fact that there is a camera for things lost on the tram. He manages to get the found galosh only a week later, after talking with various government officials, from the workers of the lost things camera to the house management.

By that time, the hero loses his second galosh, which he always carried under his arm. Unfortunately, he does not lose it on the tram, so it is lost forever. The found galosh becomes a daily reminder of the operation of the “apparatus” and gives the hero a feeling of lightness and harmlessness.

Artistic originality

The main trope that creates a comic effect is irony. For example, the hero says that his galoshes are almost brand new; he has been wearing them for three years. The description of the “special features” of the galoshes is the only description in the short text: size twelve, the back is frayed, the bike is worn out. The shoes also had “special signs”: the toe was completely torn off and could barely hold on; the heel is almost gone - it's worn out.

Thanks to this description, they are “objectified”, “reified” Soviet citizens, all similar to galoshes in the lost and found warehouse.

The comic effect is achieved through the use of cognate words with a close, but not synonymous meaning: the rest of the galosh instead of the remaining one.

In the speech of all Soviet people there are a lot of colloquialisms and colloquial words: podnaprut, arkharovets, ikhnee, twist (invent). They are simple people. They did not come up with the laws by which they live, but they are forced to obey them, without even realizing the gravity of their situation. That the hero is a common person from the people, evidenced by their use large quantity phraseological units: I didn’t have time to gasp, a weight off my shoulders, to the death of my life, a lost cause, that’s all I’m doing.

The hero literally prays for a just apparatus, for which Zoshchenko introduces church words into his speech, unimaginably combined with proletarian vocabulary. For example, the hero addresses the warehouse workers as “holy comrades.”

Of course, it’s not difficult to lose a galosh on a tram. Especially if there is pressure from the side, and from behind some Arkharovite steps on the backdrop - so you don’t have galoshes.

Losing a galosh is nothing at all.

They took my galoshes off in no time. You could say I didn’t have time to gasp.

I got on the tram - both galoshes were in place, as I remember now. I also touched it with my hand when I climbed in - was it there?

And I got off the tram - I looked: one galosh is here, how cute, but the other is missing. The boot is here. And the sock, I see, is here. And the underpants are in place. But there are no galoshes.

But, of course, you can’t run after the tram.

He took off the rest of his galoshes, wrapped them in newspaper and went like that. “After work,” I think, “I’ll go looking for him. Don't let the goods go to waste. I’ll dig it up somewhere.”

After work I went looking. First of all, I consulted with an acquaintance of a carriage driver.

That's exactly how he reassured me.

“Tell me,” he says, “thank you for losing me on the tram.” In another public place, I can’t guarantee, but getting lost on a tram is a sacred thing. We have such a camera for lost things. Come and take it. Holy cause!

“Well,” I say, “thank you.” Straight up, a load off your shoulders. The main thing is that the galoshes are almost brand new. I'm only wearing it for the third season.

The next day I went to the cell.

“Is it possible,” I say, “brothers, to get the galoshes back?” Filmed on the tram.

“It’s possible,” they say. - What kind of galoshes?

“Galoshes,” I say, “the usual kind.” Size - number twelve.

“We,” they say, “have number twelve, maybe twelve thousand.” Tell me the signs.

“Signs,” I say, “the usual ones: the back, of course, is frayed, there’s no bike inside—the bike has been worn out.”

“We have,” they say, “maybe more than a thousand such galoshes.” Are there any special signs?

“There are special signs,” I say. The sock seems to be completely torn off and is barely holding on. And the heel, I say, is almost gone. The heel came off. And the sides, I say, are okay, so far they’ve held up.

“Sit,” they say, “here.” Let's see.

Suddenly they take out my galosh.

That is, I was terribly happy. I was really touched. “Here,” I think, “the device works nicely. And what, I think, ideological people - how much trouble they took on themselves because of one galosh.”

“Thank you,” I say, “friends for life.” Let's get her here quickly. I'll put it on now.

“No,” they say, “dear comrade, we can’t give it.” We, they say, don’t know, maybe it wasn’t you who lost.

“Yes,” I say, “I lost it.”

“Very,” they say, “probably, but we can’t give it.” Bring proof that you really lost your galosh. Let the house management certify this fact, and then we will issue it without unnecessary red tape.

“Brothers,” I say, “holy comrades, but in the house they don’t know about this fact.” Maybe they won't give such paper.

“They will,” they say, “it’s their business to give.”

I looked at the galoshes again and went out.

The next day I went to the chairman.

“Come on,” I say, “the paper.” The galosh is dying.

“Is that right,” he says, “lost it?” Or do you twist it?

“By God,” I say, “I lost it.”

“Write,” he says, “a statement.”

I wrote a statement. The next day I received my official ID.

I went to the cell with this ID. And without hassle, without red tape, they give me a galosh.

Only when I put the galoshes on my foot did I feel complete tenderness. “Here,” I think, “the device is working! Yes, in some backward country, would they bother with my galoshes for so much time? Yes, they would throw her off the tram - that’s all there is to it. And then I didn’t bother for a week, they give me back. This is the device!

One thing is annoying: this week, during the troubles, I lost my first galosh. I carried it under my arm all the time in a bag - and I don’t remember where I left it. The main thing is that it’s not on the tram. It's a shame that it's not on the tram. Well, where to look for it?

But, on the other hand, I have a different galosh. I put it on the chest of drawers. Another time it becomes boring - you look at the galoshes - and somehow your soul becomes light and harmless. “Here,” I think, “is the device!”