Chamomile by Hans Christian Andersen read. Topic: “A bright and wonderful world of nobility. Fairy tale by G.H. Andersen "Chamomile". Hans Christian Andersen - Chamomile: A Tale

Hans Christian Andersen

Listen to this!

Outside the city, right next to the road, there was a dacha. You must have seen her? In front of it is another small garden, surrounded by a painted wooden lattice.

Not far from the dacha, right next to the ditch, a chamomile grew in the soft green grass. The sun's rays warmed and caressed it along with the luxurious flowers that bloomed in the garden in front of the dacha, and our chamomile grew by leaps and bounds. One fine morning she completely blossomed - her yellow, round heart, like the sun, was surrounded by the radiance of dazzling white small petal rays. Chamomile didn’t care at all that she was such a poor, simple flower that no one sees or notices in the thick grass; no, she was happy with everything, greedily reached out to the sun, admired it and listened to a lark singing somewhere high, high in the sky.

Chamomile was so cheerful and happy, as if today was Sunday, but in fact it was only Monday; all the children sat quietly on the school benches and learned from their teachers; our chamomile also sat quietly on its stem and learned from the clear sun and from all the surrounding nature, learned to recognize the goodness of God. Chamomile listened to the lark singing, and it seemed to her that in his loud, sonorous songs he heard exactly what was hidden in her heart; Therefore, the chamomile looked at the happy fluttering songbird with some special respect, but did not envy her at all and was not sad that she herself could neither fly nor sing. “I see and hear everything! - she thought. The sun caresses me, the breeze kisses me! How happy I am!”

Many lush, proud flowers bloomed in the garden, and the less fragrant they were, the more important they became. The peonies were puffing out their cheeks - they all wanted to become bigger than the roses; Is it really a matter of size? There was no one more colorful and elegant than tulips, they knew this very well and tried to stay as straight as possible in order to be more conspicuous. None of the proud flowers noticed the small daisy growing somewhere near the ditch. But Chamomile often looked at them and thought, “How elegant and beautiful they are! A lovely songbird will certainly come to visit them! Thank God that I’m growing up so close - I’ll see everything and admire it to my heart’s content!” Suddenly there was a sound of “queer-queer-wit!”, and the lark descended... not into the garden to the peonies and tulips, but straight into the grass, to the modest chamomile! Chamomile was completely at a loss with joy and simply didn’t know what to think or what to do!

The bird jumped around the daisy and sang. “Oh, what nice soft grass! What a cute little flower in a silver dress with a golden heart!”

The yellow heart of the chamomile really shone like gold, and the dazzling white petals shone with silver.

Chamomile was so happy, so glad that it was impossible to say. The bird kissed her, sang a song to her and again soared towards the blue sky. A good quarter of an hour passed before the chamomile recovered from such happiness. She looked joyfully and shyly at the lush flowers - after all, they saw what happiness befell her, who should appreciate it if not them! But the tulips stretched out, puffed up and turned red with annoyance, and the peonies were just ready to burst! It’s good that they didn’t know how to speak - the daisy would have gotten it from them.” The poor thing immediately realized that they were out of sorts and was very upset.

At this time, a girl appeared in the kindergarten with a sharp shiny knife in her hands. She went straight to the tulips and began to cut them one by one. Chamomile gasped. "Horrible! Now they are finished!” Having cut the flowers, the girl left, and the chamomile was glad that it grew in the thick grass, where no one saw or noticed it. The sun set, she rolled up the petals and fell asleep, but in her dreams she kept seeing a cute bird and a red sun.

In the morning, the flower again straightened its petals and extended them, like a child’s little hand, towards the bright sun. At that same moment the voice of a lark was heard; the bird sang, but how sad! The poor thing had fallen into a trap and was now sitting in a cage hanging by the open window. The lark sang about the vastness of the sky, about the fresh green fields, about how good and free it was to fly in freedom! The poor bird's heart was very heavy - she was in captivity!

Romashka wanted to help the captive with all her heart, but with what? And the chamomile forgot to think about how nice it was around, how nicely the sun warmed, how its silver petals sparkled; she was tormented by the thought that she could do nothing to help the poor bird.

Suddenly two boys came out of the kindergarten; one of them had in his hands a knife as large and sharp as the one with which the girl cut the tulips. The boys went straight to the chamomile, which could not understand what they needed here.

Here we can cut a nice piece of turf for our lark! - said one of the boys and, thrusting the knife deep into the ground, began to cut out a quadrangular piece of turf; the chamomile ended up right in the middle of it.

Let's pick a flower! - said another boy, and the daisy trembled with fear: if she was picked, she would die, but she wanted to live so much! Now she could get to the poor prisoner!

No, it's better to stay! - said the first of the boys. - It’s so beautiful!

And the daisy fell into the lark’s cage. The poor thing loudly complained about his captivity, rushed about and beat himself against the iron bars of the cage. But the poor daisy did not know how to speak and could not console him with a word. And how she wanted it! The whole morning went like this.

There's no water here! - the lark complained. - They forgot to give me something to drink, they left and didn’t leave me a sip of water! My throat is completely dry! I'm burning all over and I'm chilling! It's so stuffy here! Oh, I’m going to die, I’ll never see the red sun again, or fresh greenery, or God’s whole world!

To refresh himself at least a little, the lark plunged his beak deeply into the fresh, cool turf, saw a daisy, nodded his head to it, kissed it and said:

And you will wither here, poor flower! You and this piece of green turf - that's what they gave me in exchange for the whole world! Every blade of grass should now be a green tree for me, every petal of yours should be a fragrant flower. Alas! You just remind me what I've lost!

“Oh, how can I console him!” - thought the chamomile, but could not move a single leaf and only smelled stronger and stronger. The lark noticed this and did not touch the flower, although he plucked all the grass out of thirst.

So evening came, and no one brought water to the poor bird. Then she spread her short wings, fluttered them convulsively and squeaked pitifully several more times:

Drink! Drink!

Then her head tilted to the side and her heart burst from melancholy and torment.

Chamomile also could no longer roll up her petals and fall asleep like the day before: she was completely ill and stood with her head hanging sadly.

Only the next morning the boys came and, seeing the dead lark, cried bitterly, then they dug a grave for him and decorated it all with flowers, and put the lark himself in a beautiful red box - they wanted to bury him like a king! Poor bird! While she lived and sang, they forgot about her, left her to die in a cage from thirst, and now they gave her a magnificent funeral and shed bitter tears over her grave!

The turf and daisy was thrown onto the dusty road; no one thought about the one who still loved the poor bird most of all and with all her heart wanted to console her.

Listen to this!

Outside the city, right next to the road, there was a dacha. You must have seen her? In front of it is another small garden, surrounded by a painted wooden lattice.

Not far from the dacha, right next to the ditch, a chamomile grew in the soft green grass.

The sun's rays warmed and caressed it along with the luxurious flowers that bloomed in the garden in front of the dacha, and our chamomile grew by leaps and bounds. One fine morning she completely blossomed - her yellow, round heart, like the sun, was surrounded by the radiance of dazzling white small petal rays. Chamomile didn’t care at all that she was such a poor, simple flower that no one sees or notices in the thick grass; no, she was happy with everything, greedily reached out to the sun, admired it and listened to the lark singing somewhere high, high in the sky.

Chamomile was so cheerful and happy, as if today was Sunday, but in fact it was only Monday; all the children sat quietly on the school benches and learned from their teachers; our chamomile also sat quietly on its stem and learned from the clear sun and from all the surrounding nature, learned to recognize the goodness of God. Chamomile listened to the lark singing, and it seemed to her that in his loud, sonorous songs he heard exactly what was hidden in her heart; Therefore, the chamomile looked at the happy fluttering songbird with some special respect, but did not envy her at all and was not sad that she herself could neither fly nor sing. “I see and hear everything! - she thought. - The sun caresses me, the breeze kisses me! How happy I am!”

Many lush, proud flowers bloomed in the garden, and the less fragrant they were, the more important they became. The peonies were puffing out their cheeks - they kept wanting to become bigger than roses; Is it really a matter of size? There was no one more colorful and elegant than tulips, they knew this very well and tried to stay as straight as possible in order to be more conspicuous. None of the proud flowers noticed the small daisy growing somewhere near the ditch.

But Chamomile often looked at them and thought: “How elegant and beautiful they are! A lovely songbird will certainly come to visit them! Thank God that I’m growing so close - I’ll see everything and admire it to my heart’s content!” Suddenly there was a sound of “queer-queer-wit!”, and the lark descended... not into the garden to the peonies and tulips, but straight into the grass, to the modest chamomile! Chamomile was completely at a loss with joy and simply didn’t know what to think or what to do!

The bird jumped around the daisy and sang: “Oh, what nice soft grass! What a cute little flower in a silver dress with a golden heart!”

The yellow heart of the chamomile really shone like gold, and the dazzling white petals shone with silver.

Chamomile was so happy, so glad that it was impossible to say. The bird kissed her, sang a song to her and again soared towards the blue sky. A good quarter of an hour passed before the chamomile recovered from such happiness. She looked joyfully and shyly at the lush flowers - after all, they saw what happiness befell her, who should appreciate it if not them! But the tulips stretched out, puffed up and turned red with annoyance, and the peonies were just ready to burst! It’s good that they didn’t know how to speak - the chamomile would have gotten it from them! The poor thing immediately realized that they were out of sorts and was very upset.

At this time, a girl appeared in the kindergarten with a sharp shiny knife in her hands. She went straight to the tulips and began to cut them one by one. Chamomile gasped. "Horrible! Now they are finished!” Having cut the flowers, the girl left, and the chamomile was glad that it grew in the thick grass, where no one saw or noticed it. The sun set, she rolled up the petals and fell asleep, but in her dreams she kept seeing a cute bird and a red sun.

In the morning, the flower again straightened its petals and extended them, like a child’s little hand, towards the bright sun. At that same moment the voice of a lark was heard; the bird sang, but how sad! The poor thing had fallen into a trap and was now sitting in a cage hanging by the open window. The lark sang about the vastness of the sky, about the fresh green fields, about how good and free it was to fly in freedom! The poor bird's heart was very heavy - she was in captivity!

Romashka wanted to help the captive with all her heart, but with what? And the chamomile forgot to think about how nice it was around, how nicely the sun warmed, how its silver petals sparkled; she was tormented by the thought that she could do nothing to help the poor bird.

Suddenly two boys came out of the kindergarten; one of them had in his hands a knife as large and sharp as the one with which the girl cut the tulips. The boys went straight to the chamomile, which could not understand what they needed here.

Here we can cut out a nice piece of turf for our lark! - said one of the boys and, thrusting the knife deep into the ground, began to cut out a quadrangular piece of turf; the chamomile ended up right in the middle of it.

Let's pick a flower! - said another boy, and the daisy trembled with fear: if she was picked, she would die, but she wanted to live so much! Now she could get to the poor prisoner!

No, it's better to stay! - said the first of the boys. - It’s so beautiful!

And the daisy fell into the lark’s cage. The poor thing loudly complained about his captivity, rushed about and beat himself against the iron bars of the cage. But the poor daisy did not know how to speak and could not console him with a word. And how she wanted it! The whole morning went by like this.

There's no water here! - the lark complained. - They forgot to give me something to drink, they left and didn’t leave me a sip of water! My throat is completely dry! I'm burning all over and I'm chilling! It's so stuffy here! Oh, I’m going to die, I’ll never see the red sun again, or fresh greenery, or God’s whole world!

To refresh himself at least a little, the lark plunged his beak deeply into the fresh, cool turf, saw a daisy, nodded his head to it, kissed it and said:

And you will wither here, poor flower! You and this piece of green turf - that's what they gave me in exchange for the whole world! Every blade of grass should now be a green tree for me, every petal of yours should be a fragrant flower. Alas! You just remind me what I've lost!

“Oh, how can I console him!” - thought the chamomile, but could not move a single leaf and only smelled stronger and stronger. The lark noticed this and did not touch the flower, although he plucked all the grass out of thirst.

So the evening passed, and no one brought the poor bird water. Then she spread her short wings, fluttered them convulsively and squeaked pitifully several more times:

Drink! Drink!

Then her head tilted to the side and her heart burst from melancholy and torment.

Chamomile also could no longer roll up her petals and fall asleep like the day before: she was completely ill and stood with her head hanging sadly.

Only the next morning the boys came and, seeing the dead lark, cried bitterly, then they dug a grave for him and decorated it all with flowers, and put the lark himself in a beautiful red box - they wanted to bury him like a king! Poor bird! While she lived and sang, they forgot about her, left her to die in a cage from thirst, and now they gave her a magnificent funeral and shed bitter tears over her grave!

The turf and daisy was thrown onto the dusty road; no one thought about the one who still loved the poor bird most of all and with all her heart wanted to console her.

Current page: 1 (book has 1 pages in total)

Hans Christian Andersen
Chamomile

Listen to what I'm going to tell you.

Outside the city, right next to the road, there was a dacha. You've probably seen her? In front of it is a small garden with a flower bed, and around it is a painted wooden fence.

Not far from the dacha, right next to the ditch, a tiny chamomile grew in the soft green grass. The sun's rays warmed and caressed it in the same way as luxurious garden flowers, and our chamomile grew by leaps and bounds. One fine morning, its small, dazzling white petals finally opened and, like rays, surrounded the yellow heart in the middle. Chamomile didn’t care at all that no one could see her in the thick grass and that she was such a simple and inconspicuous flower - no, she was happy with everything; Turning to the sun, she admired it and listened to a lark singing somewhere high, high in the sky.

Chamomile was as happy as on a big holiday - and it was only Monday; all the children were sitting in school and learning something. Our chamomile also sat on its green stem and learned from the clear sun and from everything around and thought how God had arranged everything well. It seemed to Chamomile that the lark was singing so clearly and beautifully about how she herself felt; and she looked almost in awe at the happy bird as it flew and sang. But the chamomile itself was not at all sad that it could neither sing nor fly. “I see and hear! - she thought. – The sun illuminates me, the breeze kisses me. Oh, how much has been given to me!”

There were so many important, proud flowers blooming behind the fence, and the less fragrant they were, the more important they became. The peonies swelled - they wanted to become larger than the roses; but it’s not a matter of size at all. The tulips were the most colorful of all, they knew this very well and tried to stay as straight as possible in order to be more conspicuous. They all did not notice the young chamomile growing on the other side of the fence. But Chamomile often looked at them and thought: “How elegant and beautiful they are! A lovely bird will certainly come to visit them! Thank God that I grow so close and see all this splendor!” As soon as she thought it, “queerrevit” - and the lark descended... not into the garden to the peonies and tulips, but straight onto the grass to the modest chamomile! Chamomile was so overwhelmed with joy that she simply didn’t know what to think.

The bird jumped around the daisy and sang: “Oh, what soft grass! What a cute little flower in a silver dress with a golden heart!”

The yellow heart of the chamomile really shone like gold, and the dazzling white petals shone with silver.

Chamomile was so happy, so glad that it was impossible to say. The bird kissed her, sang a song to her and again soared into the blue sky. A good quarter of an hour passed before the chamomile came to its senses. Confused, but very happy in her heart, she looked at the flowers in the garden - they saw what happiness and what an honor she had received, who should appreciate it if not them! But the tulips became even more self-important and, offended, turned red with annoyance, and the thick-headed peonies pouted. It’s good that they didn’t know how to speak - the chamomile would have gotten it from them. The poor thing immediately realized that they were not in a good mood, and she felt sorry for them from the bottom of her heart.

At this time, a girl appeared in the kindergarten with a sharp, shiny knife in her hands. She went straight to the tulips and began to cut them one by one. Chamomile gasped: “What horror! Now they are finished!” After cutting the flowers, the girl left, and the chamomile was glad that it was growing behind the fence in the grass, where no one could see it. She thanked fate, and when the sun set, she rolled up the petals, fell asleep, and all night dreamed about the sun and a small bird.

In the morning, when the chamomile again spread its petals and extended them, like hands, towards the air and light, she recognized the voice of the lark: the bird was singing - but how sad! The poor thing had fallen into a trap and was now sitting in a cage hanging by the open window. The lark sang about how joyful it was to fly in freedom, over the fresh green fields, about how good and free it was for him to rise up on his wings. It was hard, it was hard in the poor bird’s heart - she was in captivity.

Romashka wanted to help the captive with all her heart, but how to do this? And she completely stopped noticing how nice it was around, how the sun warmed, how her white petals sparkled; she thought only about the poor bird and that she could do nothing to help her.

Suddenly two boys came out of the kindergarten; one of them had in his hands a knife as large and sharp as the one with which the girl cut the tulips. The boys went straight to the chamomile, which could not understand what they needed here.

“Here we can cut out a nice piece of turf for our lark!” - said one of the boys and, thrusting the knife deep, began to cut out a quadrangular piece of turf; the chamomile ended up right in the middle of it.

- Pick a flower! - said another boy; and the daisy trembled with fear: if she was picked, she would die, but she so wanted to live so that she could get into the poor prisoner’s cage!

“No, better leave it,” said the first of the boys. - It’s more beautiful this way.

And the daisy fell into the lark’s cage.

The poor thing loudly complained about his captivity, rushed about and beat himself against the iron bars of the cage. Poor chamomile didn’t know how to speak, couldn’t console him with a single word, even though she really wanted to! The whole morning went by like this.

“There’s no water here,” the lark complained. “They forgot to give me something to drink.” My throat was dry. I'm burning all over and I'm chilling. Oh, it's hard for me to breathe! I must die, part with the sunshine, with fresh greenery, with all of God's world!

To refresh himself at least a little, the lark plunged his beak deeply into the fresh, cool turf; then he saw a daisy, nodded to it, kissed it and said:

- And you will wither here, poor flower! In exchange for the whole world that I owned in freedom, they gave me you and this piece of green turf. Every blade of grass should be a green tree for me, every petal of yours should be a fragrant flower! Alas! You all just remind me what I'm missing!

“Oh, how can I console him!” - thought the chamomile, but could not move a single leaf, but its delicate petals were much more fragrant than usual. The lark also noticed this and, although he was exhausted from thirst, did not touch the chamomile, but only plucked out all the grass.

So evening came, but no one brought water to the poor bird. Then she spread her beautiful wings, fluttered them convulsively and squeaked pitifully several more times:

- Drink! Drink!

Then her head tilted to the side and her heart burst from melancholy and torment.

The chamomile could not roll up its petals and fall asleep like the day before: it drooped, sad and sick, and bent to the ground.

Only the next morning the boys came and, seeing the dead lark, cried bitterly, then they dug a grave for him and decorated it all with flowers, and put the dead lark in a beautiful red box - they wanted to bury him like a king. Poor bird! While she lived and sang, they forgot about her - they put her in a cage and made her suffer from thirst - and now they gave her a magnificent funeral and shed bitter tears over her!

The turf and daisy was thrown onto the dusty road; no one thought about the one who still loved the poor lark most of all and with all her heart wanted to console him.

Listen to this!

Outside the city, right next to the road, there was a dacha. You must have seen her? In front of it is another small garden, surrounded by a painted wooden lattice.

Not far from the dacha, right next to the ditch, a chamomile grew in the soft green grass. The sun's rays warmed and caressed it along with the luxurious flowers that bloomed in the garden in front of the dacha, and our chamomile grew by leaps and bounds. One fine morning she completely blossomed - her yellow, round heart, like the sun, was surrounded by the radiance of dazzling white small petal rays. Chamomile didn’t care at all that she was such a poor, simple flower that no one sees or notices in the thick grass; no, she was happy with everything, greedily reached out to the sun, admired it and listened to a lark singing somewhere high, high in the sky.

Chamomile was so cheerful and happy, as if today was Sunday, but in fact it was only Monday; all the children sat quietly on the school benches and learned from their teachers; our chamomile also sat quietly on its stem and learned from the clear sun and from all the surrounding nature, learned to recognize the goodness of God. Chamomile listened to the lark singing, and it seemed to her that in his loud, sonorous songs he heard exactly what was hidden in her heart; Therefore, the chamomile looked at the happy fluttering songbird with some special respect, but did not envy her at all and was not sad that she herself could neither fly nor sing. “I see and hear everything! - she thought. - The sun caresses me, the breeze kisses me! How happy I am!”

Many lush, proud flowers bloomed in the garden, and the less fragrant they were, the more important they became. The peonies were puffing out their cheeks - they all wanted to become bigger than the roses; Is it really a matter of size? There was no one more colorful and elegant than tulips, they knew this very well and tried to stay as straight as possible in order to be more conspicuous. None of the proud flowers noticed the small daisy growing somewhere near the ditch. But Chamomile often looked at them and thought, “How elegant and beautiful they are! A lovely songbird will certainly come to visit them! Thank God that I’m growing up so close - I’ll see everything and admire it to my heart’s content!” Suddenly there was a sound of “queer-queer-wit!”, and the lark descended... not into the garden to the peonies and tulips, but straight into the grass, to the modest chamomile! Chamomile was completely at a loss with joy and simply didn’t know what to think or what to do!

The bird jumped around the daisy and sang. “Oh, what nice soft grass! What a cute little flower in a silver dress with a golden heart!”

The yellow heart of the chamomile really shone like gold, and the dazzling white petals shone with silver.

Chamomile was so happy, so glad that it was impossible to say. The bird kissed her, sang a song to her and again soared towards the blue sky. A good quarter of an hour passed before the chamomile recovered from such happiness. She looked joyfully and shyly at the lush flowers - after all, they saw what happiness befell her, who should appreciate it if not them! But the tulips stretched out, puffed up and turned red with annoyance, and the peonies were just ready to burst! It’s good that they didn’t know how to speak - the daisy would have gotten it from them.’ The poor thing immediately realized that they were out of sorts and was very upset.

At this time, a girl appeared in the kindergarten with a sharp shiny knife in her hands. She went straight to the tulips and began to cut them one by one. Chamomile gasped. "Horrible! Now they are finished!” Having cut the flowers, the girl left, and the chamomile was glad that it grew in the thick grass, where no one saw or noticed it. The sun set, she rolled up the petals and fell asleep, but in her dreams she kept seeing a cute bird and a red sun.

In the morning, the flower again straightened its petals and extended them, like a child’s little hand, towards the bright sun. At that same moment the voice of a lark was heard; the bird sang, but how sad! The poor thing had fallen into a trap and was now sitting in a cage hanging by the open window. The lark sang about the vastness of the sky, about the fresh green fields, about how good and free it was to fly in freedom! The poor bird's heart was very heavy - she was in captivity!

Romashka wanted to help the captive with all her heart, but with what? And the chamomile forgot to think about how nice it was around, how nicely the sun warmed, how its silver petals sparkled; she was tormented by the thought that she could do nothing to help the poor bird.

Suddenly two boys came out of the kindergarten; one of them had in his hands a knife as large and sharp as the one with which the girl cut the tulips. The boys went straight to the chamomile, which could not understand what they needed here.

“Here we can cut a nice piece of turf for our lark!” - said one of the boys and, thrusting the knife deep into the ground, began to cut out a quadrangular piece of turf; the chamomile ended up right in the middle of it.

- Let's pick out a flower! - said another boy, and the daisy trembled with fear: if she was picked, she would die, but she wanted to live so much! Now she could get to the poor prisoner!

- No, it’s better to stay! - said the first of the boys. - It’s so beautiful!

And the daisy fell into the lark’s cage. The poor thing loudly complained about his captivity, rushed about and beat himself against the iron bars of the cage. But the poor daisy did not know how to speak and could not console him with a word. And how she wanted it! The whole morning went like this.

- There is no water here! - the lark complained. - They forgot to give me something to drink, they left and didn’t leave me a sip of water! My throat is completely dry! I'm burning all over and I'm chilling! It's so stuffy here! Oh, I’m going to die, I’ll never see the red sun again, or fresh greenery, or God’s whole world!

To refresh himself at least a little, the lark plunged his beak deeply into the fresh, cool turf, saw a daisy, nodded his head to it, kissed it and said:

- And you will wither here, poor flower! You and this piece of green turf - that's what they gave me in exchange for the whole world! Every blade of grass should now be a green tree for me, every petal of yours should be a fragrant flower. Alas! You just remind me what I've lost!

“Oh, how can I console him!” - thought the chamomile, but could not move a single leaf and only smelled stronger and stronger. The lark noticed this and did not touch the flower, although he plucked all the grass out of thirst.

So evening came, and no one brought water to the poor bird. Then she spread her short wings, fluttered them convulsively and squeaked pitifully several more times:

- Drink! Drink!

Then her head tilted to the side and her heart burst from melancholy and torment.

Chamomile also could no longer roll up her petals and fall asleep like the day before: she was completely ill and stood with her head hanging sadly.

Only the next morning the boys came and, seeing the dead lark, cried bitterly, bitterly, then they dug a grave for him and decorated it all with flowers, and put the lark himself in a beautiful red box - they wanted to give him a royal burial! Poor bird! While she lived and sang, they forgot about her, left her to die in a cage from thirst, and now they gave her a magnificent funeral and shed bitter tears over her grave!

The turf and daisy was thrown onto the dusty road; no one thought about the one who still loved the poor bird most of all and with all her heart wanted to console her.

Information for parents: Chamomile is a sad but instructive fairy tale by Hans Christian Andersen about a little flower that knew how to enjoy life. One day, the children caught a lark and put him in a cage. But they didn’t take care of it at all and that’s why the bird died. How could poor chamomile help him? This story will be interesting for children aged 7 to 11 years.

Read the fairy tale Chamomile

Listen to this!

Outside the city, right next to the road, there was a dacha. You must have seen her? In front of it is another small garden, surrounded by a painted wooden lattice.

Not far from the dacha, right next to the ditch, a chamomile grew in the soft green grass.

The sun's rays warmed and caressed it along with the luxurious flowers that bloomed in the garden in front of the dacha, and our chamomile grew by leaps and bounds. One fine morning she completely blossomed - her yellow, round heart, like the sun, was surrounded by the radiance of dazzling white small petal rays. Chamomile didn’t care at all that she was such a poor, simple flower that no one sees or notices in the thick grass. No, she was happy with everything, greedily reached out to the sun, admired it and listened to the lark singing somewhere high, high in the sky.

Chamomile was so cheerful and happy, as if today was Sunday, but in fact it was only Monday. All the children sat quietly on school benches and learned from their teachers. Our chamomile also sat quietly on its stem and learned from the clear sun and from all the surrounding nature, learned to recognize the goodness of God. Chamomile listened to the lark singing, and it seemed to her that in his loud, sonorous songs he heard exactly what was hidden in her heart. Therefore, the chamomile looked at the happy fluttering songbird with some special respect, but did not envy her at all and was not sad that she herself could neither fly nor sing. “I see and hear everything! - she thought. - The sun caresses me, the breeze kisses me! How happy I am!”

Many lush, proud flowers bloomed in the garden, and the less fragrant they were, the more important they became. The peonies were puffing out their cheeks - they kept wanting to become bigger than roses. Is it really a matter of size? There was no one more colorful and elegant than tulips, they knew this very well and tried to stay as straight as possible in order to be more conspicuous. None of the proud flowers noticed the small daisy growing somewhere near the ditch.

But Chamomile often looked at them and thought: “How elegant and beautiful they are! A lovely songbird will certainly come to visit them! Thank God that I’m growing so close - I’ll see everything and admire it to my heart’s content!” Suddenly there was a sound of “queer-queer-wit!”, and the lark descended... not into the garden to the peonies and tulips, but straight into the grass, to the modest chamomile! Chamomile was completely at a loss with joy and simply didn’t know what to think or what to do!

The bird jumped around the daisy and sang: “Oh, what nice soft grass! What a cute little flower in a silver dress with a golden heart!”

The yellow heart of the chamomile really shone like gold, and the dazzling white petals shone with silver.

Chamomile was so happy, so glad that it was impossible to say. The bird kissed her, sang a song to her and again soared towards the blue sky. A good quarter of an hour passed before the chamomile recovered from such happiness. She looked joyfully and shyly at the lush flowers - after all, they saw what happiness befell her, who should appreciate it if not them! But the tulips stretched out, puffed up and turned red with annoyance, and the peonies were just ready to burst! It’s good that they didn’t know how to speak - the chamomile would have gotten it from them! The poor thing immediately realized that they were out of sorts and was very upset.

At this time, a girl appeared in the kindergarten with a sharp shiny knife in her hands. She went straight to the tulips and began to cut them one by one. Chamomile gasped. "Horrible! Now they are finished!” Having cut the flowers, the girl left, and the chamomile was glad that it grew in the thick grass, where no one saw or noticed it. The sun set, she rolled up the petals and fell asleep, but in her dreams she kept seeing a cute bird and a red sun.

In the morning, the flower again straightened its petals and extended them, like a child’s little hand, towards the bright sun. At that same moment the voice of the lark was heard. The bird sang, but how sad! The poor thing had fallen into a trap and was now sitting in a cage hanging by the open window. The lark sang about the vastness of the sky, about the fresh green fields, about how good and free it was to fly in freedom! The poor bird's heart was very heavy - she was in captivity!

Romashka wanted to help the captive with all her heart, but with what? And the chamomile forgot to think about how nice it was around, how nicely the sun warmed, how its silver petals sparkled. She was tormented by the thought that she could do nothing to help the poor bird.

Suddenly two boys came out of the kindergarten. One of them had in his hands a knife as large and sharp as the one with which the girl cut the tulips. The boys went straight to the chamomile, which could not understand what they needed here.

Here we can cut out a nice piece of turf for our lark! - said one of the boys and, thrusting the knife deep into the ground, began to cut out a quadrangular piece of turf. The chamomile found itself right in the middle of it.

Let's pick a flower! - said another boy, and the daisy trembled with fear: if she was picked, she would die, but she wanted to live so much! Now she could get to the poor prisoner!

No, it's better to stay! - said the first of the boys. - It’s so beautiful!

And the daisy fell into the lark’s cage. The poor thing loudly complained about his captivity, rushed about and beat himself against the iron bars of the cage. But the poor daisy did not know how to speak and could not console him with a word. And how she wanted it! The whole morning went by like this.

There's no water here! - the lark complained. - They forgot to give me something to drink, they left and didn’t leave me a sip of water! My throat is completely dry! I'm burning all over and I'm chilling! It's so stuffy here! Oh, I’m going to die, I’ll never see the red sun again, or fresh greenery, or God’s whole world!

To refresh himself at least a little, the lark plunged his beak deeply into the fresh, cool turf, saw a daisy, nodded his head to it, kissed it and said:

And you will wither here, poor flower! You and this piece of green turf - that's what they gave me in exchange for the whole world! Every blade of grass should now be a green tree for me, every petal of yours should be a fragrant flower. Alas! You just remind me what I've lost!

“Oh, how can I console him!” - thought the chamomile, but could not move a single leaf and only smelled stronger and stronger. The lark noticed this and did not touch the flower, although he plucked all the grass out of thirst.

So the evening passed, and no one brought the poor bird water. Then she spread her short wings, fluttered them convulsively and squeaked pitifully several more times:

Drink! Drink!

Then her head tilted to the side and her heart burst from melancholy and torment.

Chamomile also could no longer roll up her petals and fall asleep like the day before: she was completely ill and stood with her head hanging sadly.

Only the next morning the boys came and, seeing the dead lark, cried bitterly, then they dug a grave for him and decorated it all with flowers, and put the lark himself in a beautiful red box - they wanted to bury him like a king! Poor bird! While she lived and sang, they forgot about her, left her to die in a cage from thirst, and now they gave her a magnificent funeral and shed bitter tears over her grave!

The turf and chamomile were thrown onto the dusty road. No one thought about the one who still loved the poor bird most of all and with all her heart wanted to console her.

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