Raisa
NIMAZGALIEVA

Raisa Amenovna NIMAZGALIEVA - teacher of Russian language and literature. Lives in Naberezhnye Chelny, Republic of Tatarstan.

Analysis of the story by A.I. Kuprin "Emerald"

One of the blocks of variable literary education programs - and not only in the 8th grade - is works about animals. In addition to the usual, well-methodically mastered poems by Yesenin or the stories of Turgenev and Seton-Thompson, we recommend that you draw your attention to the story of A.I. Kuprin "Emerald". Small in size, bright, dynamic, it is very convenient for studying in class or as a extracurricular reading followed by discussion. We also advise those teachers who are busy preparing schoolchildren for the Olympiads to take a closer look at it: after all, the analysis of a small epic work is one of the obligatory rounds at the Olympiad (we will tell you more about the Olympiad tasks in the next issue). The published material will help the teacher conduct such an analysis.

Attention to all manifestations of living things and vigilant observation distinguish Alexander Ivanovich Kuprin’s story “Emerald” (1907). Kuprin with great sincerity and excellent knowledge wrote about animals in his life, he even planned to create a whole book about them, but did not manage to carry out his plan.

“Universities” of life like Gorky’s allowed Kuprin to choose from a variety of meetings, episodes, and events what he knew first-hand. The work is based on an episode from the life of the trotter Emerald, who cannot imagine himself without movement and finds himself drawn into human intrigue.

The problem outgrows the initial schematism: the opposition of cruel people and defenseless animals. And the expression “where a person ends and an animal begins” requires correction, because in reality the animal turns out to be immeasurably higher.

The emerald perishes as a result of the deceit, selfishness, and greed of people, but how much purer and more perfect it is than them! He, inflamed by the brilliant victory on the run, had no idea why there was a fuss around him, why they were checking his brand and color, why there were accusations of fraud, no idea why the oats in a strange, unfamiliar stable had such a strange, unusual taste. And the vile murder in the early morning, “when everyone ... was asleep,” not realized by the victim, rejects the killer, “a big-headed, sleepy man with small black eyes and a thin black mustache on a fat face,” from the human race, so hopelessly inferior to animals in decency .

The unusual nature of the narrative is due to the choice of the main character: events are seen through the eyes of the stallion Emerald, realized by the horse’s mind, emotions are conveyed by an envious cheerful neighing or anxious snores, nervous stepping of graceful legs and hidden thoughts. The deliberate limitation of perception is compensated by the animal’s intuitive, subconscious reaction to human behavior. Thus, the Englishman who is sympathetic to Emerald “never gets angry, never hits with a whip,” “he is like some kind of extraordinary horse - wise, strong and fearless.” And he smiles, “baring his long teeth like a horse.” It is no coincidence that there is a close connection, an almost supernatural mutual understanding without words between man and animal in the racing scene: according to Emerald, there is a lot in common between them (“as people and animals see it only in early childhood"). Over the years, this community is lost, otherwise how can one explain the existence of the kind, good, but without “something main, horse” groom Nazar, the coward Vaska, who screams and fights, very young, playful, like a suckling foal, Andriyashka and one more groom, nameless, cruel and impatient.

Emerald is not inclined to fence himself off from the human world; on the contrary, he is drawn to people, but does not always meet with understanding. And the reader understands why the “rude human cry” and “thin, trembling, affectionate and playful neighing” sound.

The plot of the story, presented by a person, would sound ordinary, almost trivial, but the events in the perception of the Emerald, who did not comprehend human logic (and human cruelty), will not leave the reader indifferent.

The trotter wakes up at midnight on the eve of the race and, lulled by the warmth of the stable and the aroma of hay, falls asleep again and returns to childhood, to his mother mare. Happy and pleasant memories are interrupted by the bustle of the day. The impatience of the stagnant Emerald is restrained by the wise hands of the Englishman. Ultimately, the trotter's victory is a triumph of American dressage, transforming “the horse into a living, immaculate machine.” Incomprehensible to him, the manipulations of the photographer who captured the triumph of the Emerald are interrupted by the “black crumbling mass” of people. And then something completely incomprehensible to the trotter happens, indicated by the cry: “Fake horse, fake trotter, deception, fraud, money back!”

And it is not the “big yellow moon that inspired dark horror” that is to blame, but people - some who tried to deceive others, and others who took revenge for deception. And between the rock and the hard place is the almost perfectly beautiful stallion Emerald, who still did not understand that poison had been added to his oats in order to stop further proceedings.

Five chapters out of six in the story are occupied by the triumph of the Emerald, for, without even competing in the races, but only preparing for them, he triumphs over the imperfections of life. The climax is at the end of the fifth chapter, when an unjust human judgment takes place. And a rapid denouement in the sixth chapter. All this adds tension to a plot that began seemingly so serenely.

Emerald’s field of view comes into familiar surroundings: a stable, a hitching post, a hippodrome yard. Perception is made up of smells (“the strong, exciting smell of her skin”, “smelly tobacco”, “the warm smell of chewed hay”, “the cozy smell of black bread and a little wine”), sounds (“they chewed hay, crunching their teeth deliciously and occasionally snorting from the dust”, “the groom on duty snored”, “jealous angry breathing”, “they squealed angrily”). The landscape appears only in Emerald's dream, when he sees himself in a fragrant meadow next to his mother. And the colors are brighter and cleaner, and the smells are more distinct. In his memories, he is intoxicated by “the delight of youth, strength and fast running.”

In the story, stallions and mares of different stripes, breeds, ages and characters appear side by side, but they are united by natural grace, a grace that is impossible to stop admiring. And how contrasting people are (“his hands are uncertain and imprecise”, “he doesn’t know how to drive - he jerks, fusses”, “with a crooked eye”, “his hands are not flexible, like wooden ones”). Horses, even with boots on pasterns, linen belts, armpits trimmed with fur, look like the crown of nature’s creations.

The narrative is almost devoid of dialogue: it is either the screams of delight on the racetrack circle, or the supposed conversation between the Englishman and Emerald. Replies spoken out loud hang in the air, because at first glance they do not concern the main character, who often thinks to himself and is not even devoid of imagination (“thinking about him, Emerald himself tried to mentally limp a little”).

Purely Kuprin’s style of writing, deliberately dispassionate, sometimes rather dryly narrative, sometimes colored with surprisingly accurate “speaking” epithets (“fairy-tale-charming green”, “gently pinked”, “dew sparkled with trembling lights”), nevertheless produces an irresistible impression: like living A handsome trotter and other heroes of the story stand before us. In a few sentences, Kuprin describes the metamorphosis that occurred with the red stallion, Emerald’s rival. The dynamics are seen both in the “trembling lights” and in the muscles under the skin shimmering with movement.

Psychological drama puts Kuprin’s story on a par with the works of I.S. Turgeneva, S.A. Yesenin and other writers who remembered our “little brothers”, and the urgency of posing universal human problems makes it relevant at all times.

Current page: 1 (book has 2 pages in total)

A. I. Kuprin
Emerald

Dedicated to the memory of the incomparable piebald trotter Kholstomer

I

The four-year-old stallion Emerald - a tall racing horse of the American stock, gray, even, silver-steel color - woke up, as usual, around midnight in his stall. Next to him, to the left and to the right and opposite across the corridor, the horses were chewing hay regularly and often, all exactly in one beat, deliciously crunching their teeth and occasionally snorting from the dust. In the corner, on a pile of straw, the groom on duty was snoring. Emerald knew from the alternation of days and from the special sounds of snoring that it was Vasily, a young fellow whom the horses did not like because he smoked stinking tobacco in the stable, often went into the stalls drunk, pushed him in the stomach with his knee, swung his fist over his eyes, He roughly pulled the halter and always shouted at the horses in an unnatural, hoarse, threatening bass voice.

Emerald walked up to the door bars. Opposite him, door to door, stood in her stall a young black, not yet mature filly, Goldfinch. Emerald did not see her body in the darkness, but every time she looked up from the hay and turned her head back, her large eye glowed for a few seconds with a beautiful purple light. Having widened his tender nostrils, Emerald took a long breath, heard the barely noticeable, but strong, exciting smell of her skin and neighed briefly. Quickly turning back, the mare responded with a thin, trembling, affectionate and playful neigh.

Immediately next to him to the right, Emerald heard a jealous, angry breath. Here stood Onegin, an old, restive brown stallion who occasionally still ran for prizes in city singles. Both horses were separated by a light plank bulkhead and could not see each other, but, snoring close to the right edge of the bars, Emerald clearly smelled the warm smell of chewed hay coming from Onegin’s rapidly breathing nostrils... So the stallions sniffed each other for some time in the dark, tightly pressing ears to the head, arching their necks and getting more and more angry. And suddenly they both squealed angrily at the same time, screamed and beat their hooves.

- Fuck you, damn it! – the groom shouted sleepily, with the usual threat.

The horses backed away from the bars and became wary. They had not tolerated each other for a long time, but now, since three days ago they put a graceful black mare in the same stable - which is usually not done and which only happened because of the lack of places during the rush of the race - then not a day passed between them without a few major quarrels. And here, both at the circle and at the watering hole, they challenged each other to a fight. But Emerald felt in his soul some fear of this long, self-confident stallion, of his pungent smell of an angry horse, the steep camel's Adam's apple, gloomy sunken eyes, and especially of his strong, stone-like bones, hardened by years, strengthened by running and previous fights.

Pretending to himself that he was not afraid at all and that nothing had happened now, Emerald turned, lowered his head into the manger and began to stir up the hay with soft, mobile, elastic lips. At first he only nibbled capriciously on individual herbs, but soon the taste of chewing gum in his mouth captivated him, and he really delved into the food. And at the same time, slow, indifferent thoughts flowed through his head, interlocking with memories of images, smells and sounds and disappearing forever in that black abyss that was ahead and behind the present moment.

“Hay,” he thought and remembered the senior groom Nazar, who had been supplying hay in the evening.

Nazar is a good old man; he always smells so cozy of black bread and a little wine; His movements are leisurely and soft, oats and hay seem tastier in his days, and it’s pleasant to listen when, while removing the horse, he talks to it in a low voice with affectionate reproach and groans all the time. But there is something important, horse-like, missing in him, and during the estimation one can feel through the reins that his hands are unsure and imprecise.

Vaska doesn’t have this either, and although he screams and fights, all the horses know that he is a coward and are not afraid of him. And he doesn’t know how to drive - he jerks and fusses. The third groom, the one with the crooked eye, is better than both of them, but he does not like horses, is cruel and impatient, and his hands are as stiff as wooden ones. And the fourth is Andriyashka, still just a boy; he plays with the horses like a suckling colt, and sneaks kisses on the upper lip and between the nostrils - this is not particularly pleasant or funny.

That one, tall, thin, hunched over, with a shaved face and gold glasses - oh, that’s a completely different matter. He looks like some kind of extraordinary horse - wise, strong and fearless. He never gets angry, never hits with a whip, doesn’t even threaten, and yet when he sits in the American, how joyful, proud and pleasantly scary it is to obey every hint of his strong, smart, all-understanding fingers. Only he alone knows how to bring Emerald to that happy harmonious state when all the forces of the body are strained in the speed of running, and it is so fun and so easy.

And immediately Emerald saw in his imagination the short road to the hippodrome and almost every house and every pedestal on it, he saw the sand of the hippodrome, the grandstand, running horses, the greenness of the grass and the yellowness of the ribbon. I suddenly remembered a Karaka three-year-old who the other day sprained his leg during a workout and went lame. And, thinking about him, Emerald himself tried to mentally limp a little.

One piece of hay that fell into Emerald’s mouth had a special, unusually delicate taste. The stallion chewed it for a long time, and when he swallowed it, for some time he could still hear in his mouth the subtle fragrant smell of some withered flowers and fragrant dry grass. A vague, completely indefinite, distant memory slipped into the horse's mind. It was similar to what sometimes happens to people who smoke, for whom an accidental puff of a cigarette on the street suddenly resurrects for an uncontrollable moment a dim corridor with antique wallpaper and a lonely candle on the sideboard, or a long night road, the rhythmic ringing of bells and a languid doze, or a blue forest not far away, snow blinding your eyes, the noise of an ongoing raid, passionate impatience that makes your knees tremble - and then for a moment, then-forgotten, exciting and now elusive feelings will run through your soul, affectionately, sadly and vaguely touching it.

Meanwhile, the black window above the manger, hitherto invisible, began to turn gray and stand out faintly in the darkness. The horses chewed more lazily and, one after another, sighed heavily and softly. In the yard, a rooster crowed with a familiar cry, ringing, cheerful and sharp, like a trumpet. And for a long time and far around, the next crowing of other roosters spread in different places, without stopping.

Lowering his head into the feeder, Emerald tried to keep it in his mouth and re-evoke and intensify the strange taste that awakened in him this subtle, almost physical echo of an incomprehensible memory. But it was not possible to revive him, and, unnoticed by himself, Emerald dozed off.

II

His legs and body were impeccable, perfectly shaped, so he always slept standing up, slightly swaying back and forth. Sometimes he shuddered, and then his deep sleep was replaced for a few seconds by a light, sensitive drowsiness, but the short minutes of sleep were so deep that during them all the muscles, nerves and skin were rested and refreshed.

Just before dawn, he saw in a dream an early spring morning, a red dawn over the earth and a low fragrant meadow. The grass was so thick and juicy, so bright, fabulously charming green and so tenderly pink from the dawn, as people and animals see only in early childhood, and dew sparkled everywhere on it with trembling lights. In the light, rare air, all kinds of smells can be heard surprisingly clearly. Through the coolness of the morning the smell of smoke can be heard, which curls blue and transparent over the chimney and the village, all the flowers in the meadow smell differently, on the rutted wet road behind the fence many smells are mixed: it smells of people, and tar, and horse manure, and dust, and fresh cow's milk from a passing herd, and fragrant resin from the spruce fence poles.

Emerald, a seven-month-old shearling, scampers aimlessly across the field, head down and kicking her hind legs. He is completely made of air and does not feel the weight of his body at all. White fragrant chamomile flowers run back and forth under his feet. He rushes straight into the sun. The wet grass whips across your head and knees, making them cold and dark. Blue sky, green grass, golden sun, wonderful air, drunken delight of youth, strength and fast running!

But then he hears a short, restless, affectionate and inviting neigh, which is so familiar to him that he always recognizes it from afar, among thousands of other voices. He stops at full speed, listens for one second, raising his head high, moving his thin ears and spreading his fluffy short tail, then responds with a long, flooded cry, from which his entire slender, thin, long-legged body shakes, and rushes to his mother.

She - a bony, old, calm mare - raises her wet muzzle from the grass, quickly and carefully sniffs the foal and immediately begins to eat again, as if she is in a hurry to do an urgent matter. Having bowed his flexible neck under her belly and arching his muzzle upward, the foal habitually pokes his lips between his hind legs, finds a warm, elastic nipple, all overflowing with sweet, slightly sour milk, which splashes into his mouth in thin hot streams, and he drinks everything and cannot tear himself away. The queen herself removes her butt from him and pretends that she wants to bite the foal in the groin.

It became quite light in the stable. A bearded, old, smelly goat, who lived among the horses, came up to the door, blocked from the inside with a beam, and bleated, looking back at the groom. Vaska, barefoot, scratching his shaggy head, went to open the door for him. It was a cold, blue, strong autumn morning. The regular quadrangle of the open door was immediately covered with warm steam pouring out of the stable. The aroma of frost and fallen leaves subtly wafted through the stalls.

The horses knew well that the oats would now be poured in, and they grunted quietly at the grates out of impatience. Greedy and capricious Onegin beat his hoof on the wooden flooring and, out of a bad habit, biting the chewed side of the feeder bound with iron with his upper teeth, stretched his neck, swallowed air and burped. Emerald scratched his muzzle on the bars.

The rest of the grooms came - there were four of them - and began carrying oats to the stalls using iron measures. While Nazar was pouring heavy, rustling oats into Emerald's manger, the stallion fussily poked his head towards the feed, now over the old man's shoulder, now from under his hands, fluttering his warm nostrils. The groom, who liked this impatience of the gentle horse, deliberately took his time, blocked the manger with his elbows and grumbled with good-natured rudeness:

- Look, you greedy beast... But, oh, you’ll have time... Oh, for you... Poke me in the face again. Now I'm going to poke you really hard.

From the window above the manger, a quadrangular, cheerful pillar of sunlight stretched obliquely downward, and millions of golden dust particles swirled in it, separated by long shadows from the window frame.

III

Emerald had just finished eating his oats when they came for him to take him out into the yard. It became warmer and the ground softened slightly, but the walls of the stable were still white with frost. Thick steam came from the dung heaps that had just been raked out of the stables, and the sparrows swarming in the dung screamed excitedly, as if quarreling among themselves. Bending his neck in the doorway and carefully stepping over the threshold, Emerald happily took a long breath of the spicy air, then shook his neck and whole body and snorted loudly. "Be healthy!" – Nazar said seriously. Emerald couldn't stand it. I wanted strong movements, the tickling sensation of air quickly flowing into the eyes and nostrils, hot tremors of the heart, deep breathing. Tied to the hitching post, he neighed, danced with his hind legs and, bending his neck to one side, looked back at the black mare with a large black bulging eye with red veins in the white.

Gasping from the effort, Nazar raised a bucket of water above his head and poured it onto the stallion’s back from withers to tail. It was a cheerful, pleasant and eerie feeling with its constant unexpectedness, familiar to Emerald. Nazar brought more water and splashed it on his sides, chest, legs and under his cheekbones. And each time he ran his calloused palm tightly along its fur, squeezing out the water. Looking back, Emerald saw his tall, slightly drooping croup, which had suddenly darkened and shone with a gloss in the sun.

It was racing day. Emerald knew this from the special nervous haste with which the grooms fussed around the horses; some, who, due to the shortness of their bodies, were in the habit of being pinned by horseshoes, wore leather boots on their pasterns, others had their legs bandaged with linen belts from the fetlock joint to the knee, or wide armpits trimmed with fur were tied under the chest behind the front legs. Light two-wheeled American women with high seats were rolling out of the barn; their metal spokes sparkled merrily as they walked, and their red rims and red wide curved shafts sparkled with new varnish.

The emerald was already completely dried, cleaned with brushes and wiped with a woolen mitten, when the main rider of the stable, an Englishman, arrived. This tall, thin, slightly stooped, long-armed man was equally respected and feared by horses and people. He had a shaved, tanned face and hard, thin, curved lips with a mocking pattern. He wore gold glasses; through them his blue, light eyes looked firmly and stubbornly calm. He oversaw the cleaning, placing long legs in high boots, with his hands deep in his trouser pockets and chewing a cigar in one corner or the other of his mouth. He was wearing a gray jacket with a fur collar, a black cap with narrow brims and a straight, long, quadrangular visor. Sometimes he made short remarks in a curt, casual tone, and immediately all the grooms and workers turned their heads towards him and the horses pricked their ears in his direction.

He especially watched Emerald's harness, examining the horse's entire body from the bangs to the hooves, and Emerald, feeling this precise, attentive gaze on himself, proudly raised his head, slightly half-turned his flexible neck and stuck out his thin, translucent ears. The rider himself tested the strength of the girth by inserting a finger between it and his stomach. Then the horses were put on gray linen blankets with red borders, red circles near the eyes and red monograms below the hind legs. Two grooms, Nazar and the crooked-eyed one, took Emerald by the bridle from both sides and led him to the hippodrome along the well-known pavement, between two rows of rare large stone buildings. There was not even a quarter of a mile to the running circle.

There were already many horses in the courtyard of the hippodrome, they were being walked in a circle, all in one direction - in the same direction in which they walk in the running circle, that is, in the opposite direction to the clockwise movement. Inside the yard they drove harness horses, small, strong-legged, with trimmed short tails. Emerald immediately recognized the white stallion that always galloped next to him, and both horses neighed quietly and affectionately as a sign of greeting.

IV

The bell rang at the racetrack. The grooms removed the blanket from Emerald. The Englishman, squinting his eyes from the sun under his glasses and baring his long yellow horse teeth, approached, fastening his gloves as he walked, with a whip under his arm. One of the grooms picked up Emerald’s bushy tail, right down to her pasterns, and carefully laid it on the American woman’s seat, so that its light end hung back. The flexible shafts swayed elastically from the weight of the body. Emerald glanced back and saw the rider sitting almost closely behind his croup, with his legs stretched forward and splayed over the shafts. The rider, slowly, took the reins, shouted in monosyllables to the grooms, and they immediately took their hands away. Rejoicing at the upcoming run, Emerald rushed forward, but, restrained strong hands, rose only a little hind legs, shook his neck and ran out of the gate onto the hippodrome at a wide, slow trot.

Along the wooden fence, forming a verst ellipse, there was a wide treadmill made of yellow sand, which was a little damp and dense and therefore bounced pleasantly under their feet, returning their pressure to them. Sharp hoof marks and smooth, straight stripes left by tire gutta-percha furrowed the ribbon.

A tribune stretched past, a tall wooden building two hundred horse blocks long, where a black human crowd moved and hummed like a mountain from the ground to the very roof, supported by thin pillars. By the light, barely audible movement of the reins, Emerald realized that he could speed up, and snorted gratefully.

He walked at a smooth, sweeping trot, almost without hesitating his back, with his neck stretched forward and slightly turned toward the left shaft, with his muzzle straight up. Thanks to his rare, although unusually long, stride, his running from a distance did not give the impression of speed; it seemed that the trotter was slowly measuring the road with his front legs straight, like a compass, slightly touching the ground with the ends of his hooves. This was real American dressage, in which everything comes down to making it easier for the horse to breathe and reducing air resistance to the last degree, where all unnecessary movements for running that waste strength are eliminated, and where the external beauty of form is sacrificed for lightness, dryness, and long life. breathing and running energy, turning the horse into a living, immaculate machine.

Now, during the intermission between the two races, the horses were warming up, which is always done in order to open the trotters' breath. There were many of them running in the outer circle in the same direction as the Emerald, and in the inner circle - towards. Gray, dark dappled, tall white-faced trotter, clean Oryol breed, with a steep, collected neck and a tail like a fairground horse, overtook Emerald. He shook as he walked with his fat, wide chest, already darkened with sweat, and damp groins, threw his front legs from his knees to the side, and with every step his spleen sank noisily.

Then a slender, long-bodied bay mixed-breed mare with a thin dark mane came up from behind. It was perfectly developed according to the same American system as the Emerald. The short, sleek fur shone on her, shimmering from the movement of the muscles under the skin. While the riders were talking about something, both horses walked side by side for some time. Emerald sniffed the mare and wanted to play as she walked, but the Englishman did not allow it, and he obeyed.

A huge black stallion, all wrapped in bandages, knee pads and armpits, rushed towards them at a full trot. His left shaft protruded straight ahead, half an arshin longer than the right one, and through a ring fixed above his head passed the strap of a steel shaft, which cruelly encircled the horse’s nervous snoring from above and on both sides. Emerald and the mare looked at him at the same time, and both instantly appreciated in him a trotter of extraordinary strength, speed and endurance, but terribly stubborn, angry, proud and touchy. Following the black one ran a ridiculously small, light gray, elegant stallion. From the outside one might think that he was rushing with incredible speed: he stamped his feet so often, raised them so high at his knees, and such a diligent, businesslike expression was in his tucked neck with his beautiful little head. Emerald just glanced contemptuously at him and led the way; one ear in his direction.

The other rider ended the conversation, laughed loudly and briefly, as if neighing, and started the mare at a free trot. Without any effort, calmly, as if the speed of her running did not depend on her at all, she separated from the Emerald and ran forward, smoothly carrying her smooth, shiny back with a barely noticeable dark strap along her spine.

But immediately both Emerald and her were overtaken and quickly thrown back by a galloping fiery red trotter with a large white spot on his snoring. He galloped in frequent long leaps, sometimes stretching and bending to the ground, sometimes almost connecting his front legs with his hind legs in the air. His rider, leaning back with his whole body, did not sit, but lay on the seat, hanging on the taut reins. Emerald became agitated and eagerly darted to the side, but the Englishman imperceptibly held the reins, and his hands, so flexible and sensitive to every movement of the horse, suddenly became like iron. Near the stands, the red stallion, who had managed to gallop one more lap, again overtook Emerald. He was still galloping, but now he was covered in foam, with bloody eyes and breathing hoarsely. The rider, leaning forward, lashed him with all his might along the back with a whip. Finally, the grooms managed to cross his path near the gate and grab him by the reins and bridle near his muzzle. He was taken from the racetrack, wet, out of breath, trembling, losing weight in one minute.

Emerald made another half a circle at a full trot, then turned onto the path that crossed the cross-country parade ground, and drove through the gate into the yard.

V

The racetrack called several times. Running trotters occasionally flashed past the open gates like lightning, and people in the stands suddenly began shouting and clapping their hands. Emerald, in the line of other trotters, often walked next to Nazar, shaking his lowered head and moving his ears in linen cases. From the warm-up, the blood flowed cheerfully and hotly in his veins, his breathing became deeper and freer as his body rested and cooled down - an impatient desire to run further was felt in all his muscles.

Half an hour passed. The bell rang again at the hippodrome. Now the rider sat on the American without gloves. He had white, wide, magical hands that inspired Emerald with affection and fear.

The Englishman leisurely drove out to the hippodrome, from where, one after another, the horses, having completed their warm-up, moved into the yard. Only Emerald and that huge black stallion who met him on the ride remained in the circle. The stands were completely black from top to bottom with a dense human crowd, and in this black mass countless, cheerful and randomly brightened faces and hands, colorful umbrellas and hats, and white leaves of programs fluttered airily. Gradually increasing his speed and running along the podium, Emerald felt like a thousand eyes were constantly following him, and he clearly understood what these eyes expected from him fast movements, full of tension, a mighty beating of the heart - and this understanding imparted to his muscles a happy lightness and coquettish tightness. A familiar white stallion, on which a boy was sitting, galloped at a shortened pace next to him, on the right.

At an even, measured trot, slightly leaning his body to the left, Emerald described a sharp turn and began to approach the post with a red circle. At the hippodrome the bell was rung briefly. The Englishman slightly adjusted his weight in the seat, and his arms suddenly became stronger. “Now go, but save your strength. It’s still early,” Emerald realized, and as a sign that he understood, he turned back for a second and again put his thin, sensitive ears straight. The white stallion galloped smoothly from the side, a little behind. Emerald heard his fresh, even breathing near his withers.

The red pillar is left behind, another sharp turn, the path straightens, the second stand, approaching, turns black and is mottled from a distance with a buzzing crowd and quickly grows with every step. "More! - the rider allows, - more, more! Emerald gets a little excited and wants to immediately strain all her strength in running. “Is it possible?” - he thinks. “No, it’s still early, don’t worry,” the magic hands answer, calming. - After".

Both stallions pass the prize pillars second per second, but from opposite sides of the diameter connecting both stands. The slight resistance of the tightly stretched thread and its quick breaking for a moment make Emerald curl his ears, but he immediately forgets about it, completely absorbed in his attention to the wonderful hands. “A little more! Don't get excited! Go straight!” - the rider orders. A black swaying podium floats past. A few more tens of fathoms, and all four - Emerald, a white stallion, an Englishman and a harness boy, crouched, standing in short stirrups, to the horse's mane - happily unite into one dense, quickly rushing body, inspired by one will, one beauty of powerful movements , with one rhythm that sounds like music. Ta-ta-ta-ta! – Emerald kicks out evenly and steadily. Tra-ta, tra-ta! - briefly and sharply doubles the subarc. One more turn, and the second stand runs towards us. “Shall I add more?” – asks Emerald. “Yes,” the hands answer, “but calmly.”

The second stand rushes back past my eyes. People are shouting something. This amuses Emerald, he gets excited, loses the feeling of the reins and, for a second, losing the general, established rhythm, makes four capricious leaps with right leg. But the reins immediately become rigid and, tearing his mouth, twist his neck down and turn his head to the right. Now it’s already awkward to jump on the right foot. Emerald is angry and does not want to change his leg, but the rider, having caught this moment, commandingly and calmly puts the horse on a trot. The podium is left far behind, Emerald returns to the beat, and his hands become friendly and soft again. Emerald feels guilty and wants to double the trot. “No, no, it’s still early,” the rider remarks good-naturedly. - We will have time to fix this. Nothing".

So they go in perfect harmony without failures for another circle and half. But the raven is in excellent order today. At the time when Emerald went wrong, he managed to throw it six horse lengths, but now Emerald is gaining back what he lost and at the penultimate post he is three and a quarter seconds ahead. “Now you can. Go! - the rider orders. Emerald flattens her ears and takes just one quick glance back. The Englishman's face is all ablaze with a sharp, decisive, aiming expression, his shaved lips are wrinkled in an impatient grimace and reveal his yellow, large, tightly clenched teeth. “Give everything you can! - the reins order with their hands raised high. “More, more!” And the Englishman suddenly shouts in a loud, vibrating voice, rising like the sound of a siren:

- O-e-e-hey!

“Here, here, here, here!..” the boy-runner shouts shrilly and loudly in time with the run.

Now the sense of tempo reaches the highest tension and is held on by some thin thread, just about ready to break. Ta-ta-ta-ta! – Emerald’s feet evenly imprint on the ground. Trra-trra-trra! – the gallop of a white stallion is heard ahead, dragging Emerald along with it. The flexible shafts sway in time with the run, and in time with the gallop, a boy rises and falls in the saddle, almost lying on the horse’s neck.

The air rushing towards you whistles in your ears and tickles your nostrils, from which steam shoots out in frequent large jets. It's harder to breathe and your skin gets hot. Emerald runs around the last bend, leaning inside it with her whole body. The rostrum grows as if alive, and a thousand-voiced roar flies towards it, which frightens, excites and pleases Emerald. He no longer has enough trot, and he already wants to gallop, but these amazing hands behind him beg, and order, and reassure: “Darling, don’t gallop!.. Just don’t gallop!.. Like this, like this, like this.” . And Emerald, rushing quickly past the pillar, breaks the control thread without even noticing it. Screams, laughter, and applause cascade down from the stands. White sheets of posters, umbrellas, sticks, hats spin and flash between moving linden trees and hands. The Englishman gently drops the reins. “It's over. Thank you, darling!" - this movement says to Emerald, and he, with difficulty restraining the inertia of running, goes into a walk. At this moment, the black stallion is just approaching his post on the opposite side, seven seconds later.

The Englishman, with difficulty raising his numb legs, heavily jumps off the American woman and, taking off the velvet seat, goes with him to the scales. The grooms ran up to cover Emerald's hot back with a blanket and take him out into the yard. Following them is the roar of a human crowd and a long bell from the members' gazebo. Light yellowish foam falls from the horse's muzzle onto the ground and onto the hands of the grooms.

A few minutes later, Emerald, already unharnessed, is brought back to the podium. A tall man in a long coat and a shiny new hat, whom Emerald often sees in his stable, pats him on the neck and shoves a piece of sugar into his mouth on the palm of his hand. The Englishman stands right there in the crowd and smiles, wincing and baring his long teeth. The blanket is removed from the Emerald and placed in front of a box on three legs, covered with black material, under which the gentleman in gray hides and does something there.

But then people are thrown from the stands in a black, crumbling mass. They closely surround the horse on all sides, and shout and wave their arms, bending their red, heated faces with shining eyes close to each other. They are dissatisfied with something, point their fingers at Emerald’s legs, head and sides, ruffle the fur on the left side of the rump, where the brand stands, and again they all shout at once. “Fake horse, fake trotter, deception, fraud, money back!” - Emerald hears and does not understand these words and moves his ears restlessly. “What are they talking about? - he thinks with surprise. “I ran so well!” And for a moment the Englishman’s face catches his eye. Always so calm, slightly mocking and firm, it now burns with anger. And suddenly the Englishman shouts something in a high, guttural voice, quickly waves his hand, and the sound of a slap dryly breaks the general hubbub.

To the question Summary of Kuprin Izumrud asked by the author Random the best answer is 4-year-old stallion Izumrud stands in a stall. Opposite is the young mare Shchegolikha, next to her
rival, old Onegin. Emerald chews hay and thinks about grooms, the hippodrome and remembers
childhood. In the morning, after breakfast, he is taken out into the yard, washed, harnessed to a 2-wheeled American horse and covered with a blanket, like other horses. At the races after warm-up, Emerald, as if listening to the instructions of the English groom, comes first, overtaking the black one. But the Englishman is accused of horse tampering; Emerald is taken out and hidden in an unfamiliar stable. One early morning, the head of this stable gives him oats with a strange bitter-sweet aftertaste. After the torment, “everything disappeared forever.”

Reply from 22 answers[guru]

Hello! Here is a selection of topics with answers to your question: Summary of Kuprin Izumrud

Reply from NIKKI DIAVOL[guru]
a man was looking for precious stones in the Urals - and found a girl’s emerald eyes

Reply from Nikita Berkut[guru]
Apparently, you will be asking for brief retellings more than once. So - for the future. You search in Google - brief retelling, and then in alphabetical order the author’s last name, then the title of the work. And so on for each writer.

Reply from push through[newbie]
yy

Reply from Neuropathologist[newbie]
Ha

Reply from Nastya Nozdracheva[newbie]
.-.

Reply from Victoria bail[newbie]
4-year-old stallion Emerald stands in the stall. On the contrary - the young mare of Shchegohlich, next -
Rival, the old Onegin. Emerald chews hay and thinks about grooms, racetrack and remembers
childhood. In the morning, after breakfast, he is taken out into the courtyard, washed, harnessed to 2 wheeled American women and covered with a blanket, as well as other horses. On the run after the promo Emerald, as if listening to the instructions of the stableman, comes first, ahead of the black. But the Englishman is accused of forging a horse; Emerald is taken and hidden in an unfamiliar stable. One morning in the morning the chief in this stable gives him oats with a strange bitter-sweet taste. After the torment, "everything has disappeared forever"

Reply from Galina Igumentseva[newbie]
Yes

Reply from Oliya Dostoevskaya[newbie]
Emerald is a tall racing horse with impeccably shaped legs and body. He lives in a stable with other racing stallions who can't stand each other. A few days ago, due to lack of space, a young mare is placed in their stable, and the hostility between the stallions intensifies.
Emerald is carefully prepared for the competition. The head rider of the stable, an Englishman who is feared and respected by both people and horses alike, checks to see if Emerald is ready. The running begins. Under the leadership of the Englishman, Emerald wins.
A few minutes later, the unharnessed Emerald is led to the stands. People closely surround the horse, examine its legs, sides, fur, shout that it is a fake trotter, a fake horse, a deception and a fraud, and demand the money back.
Emerald, who does not understand anything - after all, he won - is taken back to the stable. They're coming boring days. Some people come, examine his legs, teeth, rub his fur and shout at each other. Then they take you out of the stable and lead you through some streets for a long, long time, bring you to the station, put you in a carriage, take you to some village and lock you in a stable, separately from other horses. And again some people examine him. The main person in this stable is the person for whom Emerald feels genuine horror. One day this man puts oats of a strange taste in his feeder. Emerald feels a pain in her stomach that is increasing every minute. Finally she becomes unbearable, fiery wheels spin before her eyes, her body becomes flabby, her legs give way, and the stallion falls. Some force carries him down into a deep, cold pit. His ear still catches a rough human shout, but he no longer feels like he is being pushed in the side by a heel.

Alexander Kuprin
Emerald
Dedicated to the memory of the incomparable piebald trotter Kholstomer
1
The four-year-old stallion Emerald - a tall racing horse of the American stock, gray, even, silver-steel color - woke up, as usual, around midnight in his stall. Next to him, to the left and to the right and opposite across the corridor, the horses were chewing hay regularly and often, all exactly in one beat, deliciously crunching their teeth and occasionally snorting from the dust. In the corner, on a pile of straw, the groom on duty was snoring. Emerald knew from the alternation of days and from the special sounds of snoring that it was Vasily, a young fellow whom the horses did not like because he smoked stinking tobacco in the stable, often went into the stalls drunk, pushed him in the stomach with his knee, swung his fist over his eyes, He roughly pulled the halter and always shouted at the horses in an unnatural, hoarse, threatening bass voice.
Emerald walked up to the door bars. Opposite him, door to door, stood in her stall a young black, not yet mature filly, Goldfinch. Emerald did not see her body in the darkness, but every time she looked up from the hay and turned her head back, her large eye glowed for a few seconds with a beautiful purple light. Having widened his tender nostrils, Emerald took a long breath, heard the barely noticeable, but strong, exciting smell of her skin and neighed briefly. Quickly turning back, the mare responded with a thin, trembling, affectionate and playful neigh.
Immediately next to him to the right, Emerald heard a jealous, angry breath. Here stood Onegin, an old, restive brown stallion who occasionally still ran for prizes in city singles. Both horses were separated by a light plank bulkhead and could not see each other, but, snoring close to the right edge of the bars, Emerald clearly smelled the warm smell of chewed hay coming from Onegin’s rapidly breathing nostrils... So the stallions sniffed each other in the dark for some time, putting his ears tightly to his head, arching his neck and getting more and more angry. And suddenly they both squealed angrily at the same time, screamed and beat their hooves.
- Damn it, damn it! - the groom shouted sleepily, with the usual threat.
The horses backed away from the bars and became wary. They had not tolerated each other for a long time, but now, since three days ago they put a graceful black mare in the same stable - which is usually not done and which only happened because of the lack of places during the rush of the race - then not a day passed between them without a few major quarrels. And here, both at the circle and at the watering hole, they challenged each other to a fight. But Emerald felt in his soul some fear of this long, self-confident stallion, of his pungent smell of an angry horse, the steep camel's Adam's apple, gloomy sunken eyes, and especially of his strong, stone-like bones, hardened by years, strengthened by running and previous fights.
Pretending to himself that he was not afraid at all and that nothing had happened now, Emerald turned, lowered his head into the manger and began to stir up the hay with soft, mobile, elastic lips. At first he only nibbled capriciously on individual herbs, but soon the taste of chewing gum in his mouth captivated him, and he really delved into the food. And at the same time, slow, indifferent thoughts flowed through his head, interlocking with memories of images, smells and sounds and disappearing forever in that black abyss that was ahead and behind the present moment.
“Hay,” he thought and remembered the senior groom Nazar, who had been supplying hay in the evening.
Nazar is a good old man; he always smells so cozy of black bread and a little wine; His movements are leisurely and soft, oats and hay seem tastier in his days, and it’s pleasant to listen when, while removing the horse, he talks to it in a low voice with affectionate reproach and groans all the time. But there is something important, horse-like, missing in him, and during the estimation one can feel through the reins that his hands are unsure and imprecise.
Vaska doesn’t have this either, and although he screams and fights, all the horses know that he is a coward and are not afraid of him. And he doesn’t know how to drive - he jerks and fusses. The third groom, the one with the crooked eye, is better than both of them, but he does not like horses, is cruel and impatient, and his hands are as stiff as wooden ones. And the fourth is Andriyashka, still just a boy; he plays with the horses like a suckling colt, and sneaks kisses on the upper lip and between the nostrils - this is not particularly pleasant or funny.
That one, tall, thin, hunched over, with a shaved face and gold glasses - oh, that’s a completely different matter. He looks like some kind of extraordinary horse - wise, strong and fearless. He never gets angry, never hits with a whip, doesn’t even threaten, and yet when he sits in the American, how joyful, proud and pleasantly scary it is to obey every hint of his strong, smart, all-understanding fingers. Only he alone knows how to bring Emerald to that happy harmonious state when all the forces of the body are strained in the speed of running, and it is so fun and so easy.
And immediately Emerald saw in his imagination the short road to the hippodrome and almost every house and every pedestal on it, he saw the sand of the hippodrome, the grandstand, running horses, the greenness of the grass and the yellowness of the ribbon. I suddenly remembered a Karaka three-year-old who the other day sprained his leg during a workout and went lame. And, thinking about him, Emerald himself tried to mentally limp a little.
One piece of hay that fell into Emerald’s mouth had a special, unusually delicate taste. The stallion chewed it for a long time, and when he swallowed it, for some time he could still hear in his mouth the subtle fragrant smell of some withered flowers and fragrant dry grass. A vague, completely indefinite, distant memory slipped into the horse's mind. It was similar to what sometimes happens to people who smoke, for whom an accidental puff of a cigarette on the street suddenly resurrects for an uncontrollable moment a dim corridor with antique wallpaper and a lonely candle on the sideboard, or a long night road, the rhythmic ringing of bells and a languid doze, or a blue forest not far away, snow blinding your eyes, the noise of an ongoing raid, passionate impatience that makes your knees tremble - and then for a moment, then-forgotten, exciting and now elusive feelings will run through your soul, affectionately, sadly and vaguely touching it.
Meanwhile, the black window above the manger, hitherto invisible, began to turn gray and stand out faintly in the darkness. The horses chewed more lazily and, one after another, sighed heavily and softly. In the yard, a rooster crowed with a familiar cry, ringing, cheerful and sharp, like a trumpet. And for a long time and far around, the next crowing of other roosters spread in different places, without stopping.
Lowering his head into the feeder, Emerald tried to keep it in his mouth and re-evoke and intensify the strange taste that awakened in him this subtle, almost physical echo of an incomprehensible memory. But it was not possible to revive him, and, unnoticed by himself, Emerald dozed off.
2
His legs and body were impeccable, perfectly shaped, so he always slept standing up, slightly swaying back and forth. Sometimes he shuddered, and then his deep sleep was replaced for a few seconds by a light, sensitive drowsiness, but the short minutes of sleep were so deep that during them all the muscles, nerves and skin were rested and refreshed.
Just before dawn, he saw in a dream an early spring morning, a red dawn over the earth and a low fragrant meadow. The grass was so thick and juicy, so bright, fabulously charming green and so tenderly pink from the dawn, as people and animals see only in early childhood, and dew sparkled everywhere on it with trembling lights. In the light, rare air, all kinds of smells can be heard surprisingly clearly. Through the coolness of the morning the smell of smoke can be heard, which curls blue and transparent over the chimney and the village, all the flowers in the meadow smell differently, on the rutted wet road behind the fence many smells are mixed: it smells of people, and tar, and horse manure, and dust, and fresh cow's milk from a passing herd, and fragrant resin from the spruce fence poles.
Emerald, a seven-month-old shearling, scampers aimlessly across the field, head down and kicking her hind legs. He is completely made of air and does not feel the weight of his body at all. White fragrant chamomile flowers run back and forth under his feet. He rushes straight into the sun. The wet grass whips across your head and knees, making them cold and dark. Blue sky, green grass, golden sun, wonderful air, drunken delight of youth, strength and fast running!
But then he hears a short, restless, affectionate and inviting neigh, which is so familiar to him that he always recognizes it from afar, among thousands of other voices. He stops at full speed, listens for one second, raising his head high, moving his thin ears and spreading his fluffy short tail, then responds with a long, flooded cry, from which his entire slender, thin, long-legged body shakes, and rushes to his mother.
She - a bony, old, calm mare - raises her wet muzzle from the grass, quickly and carefully sniffs the foal and immediately begins to eat again, as if she is in a hurry to do an urgent matter. Having bowed his flexible neck under her belly and arching his muzzle upward, the foal habitually pokes his lips between his hind legs, finds a warm, elastic nipple, all overflowing with sweet, slightly sour milk, which splashes into his mouth in thin hot streams, and he drinks everything and cannot tear himself away. The queen herself removes her butt from him and pretends that she wants to bite the foal in the groin.
It became quite light in the stable. A bearded, old, smelly goat, who lived among the horses, came up to the door, blocked from the inside with a beam, and bleated, looking back at the groom. Vaska, barefoot, scratching his shaggy head, went to open the door for him. It was a cold, blue, strong autumn morning. The regular quadrangle of the open door was immediately covered with warm steam pouring out of the stable. The aroma of frost and fallen leaves subtly wafted through the stalls.
The horses knew well that the oats would now be poured in, and they grunted quietly at the grates out of impatience. Greedy and capricious Onegin beat his hoof on the wooden flooring and, out of a bad habit, biting the chewed side of the feeder bound with iron with his upper teeth, stretched his neck, swallowed air and burped. Emerald scratched his muzzle on the bars.
The rest of the grooms came - there were four of them - and began to carry oats to the stalls using iron measures. While Nazar was pouring heavy, rustling oats into Emerald's manger, the stallion fussily poked his head towards the feed, now over the old man's shoulder, now from under his hands, fluttering his warm nostrils. The groom, who liked this impatience of the gentle horse, deliberately took his time, blocked the manger with his elbows and grumbled with good-natured rudeness:
- Look, you greedy beast... But, oh, you’ll have time... Oh, for you... Poke me in the face again. Now I'm going to poke you really hard.
From the window above the manger, a quadrangular, cheerful pillar of sunlight stretched obliquely downward, and millions of golden dust particles swirled in it, separated by long shadows from the window frame.
3
Emerald had just finished eating his oats when they came for him to take him out into the yard. It became warmer and the ground softened slightly, but the walls of the stable were still white with frost. Thick steam came from the dung heaps that had just been raked out of the stables, and the sparrows swarming in the dung screamed excitedly, as if quarreling among themselves. Bending his neck in the doorway and carefully stepping over the threshold, Emerald happily took a long breath of the spicy air, then shook his neck and whole body and snorted loudly. "Be healthy!" - Nazar said seriously. Emerald couldn't stand it. I wanted strong movements, the tickling sensation of air quickly flowing into the eyes and nostrils, hot tremors of the heart, deep breathing. Tied to the hitching post, he neighed, danced with his hind legs and, bending his neck to one side, looked back at the black mare with a large black bulging eye with red veins in the white.
Gasping from the effort, Nazar raised a bucket of water above his head and poured it onto the stallion’s back from withers to tail. It was a cheerful, pleasant and eerie feeling with its constant unexpectedness, familiar to Emerald. Nazar brought more water and splashed it on his sides, chest, legs and under his cheekbones. And each time he ran his calloused palm tightly along its fur, squeezing out the water. Looking back, Emerald saw his tall, slightly drooping croup, which had suddenly darkened and shone with a gloss in the sun.
It was racing day. Emerald knew this from the special nervous haste with which the grooms fussed around the horses; some, who, due to the shortness of their bodies, were in the habit of being pinned by horseshoes, wore leather boots on their pasterns, others had their legs bandaged with linen belts from the fetlock joint to the knee, or wide armpits trimmed with fur were tied under the chest behind the front legs. Light two-wheeled American women with high seats were rolling out of the barn; their metal spokes sparkled merrily as they walked, and their red rims and red wide curved shafts sparkled with new varnish.
The emerald was already completely dried, cleaned with brushes and wiped with a woolen mitten, when the main rider of the stable, an Englishman, arrived. This tall, thin, slightly stooped, long-armed man was equally respected and feared by horses and people. He had a shaved, tanned face and hard, thin, curved lips with a mocking pattern. He wore gold glasses; through them his blue, light eyes looked firmly and stubbornly calm. He oversaw the cleaning, spreading his long legs in high boots, putting his hands deep in the pockets of his trousers and chewing a cigar from one corner or the other of his mouth. He was wearing a gray jacket with a fur collar, a black cap with narrow brims and a straight, long, quadrangular visor. Sometimes he made short remarks in a curt, casual tone, and immediately all the grooms and workers turned their heads towards him and the horses pricked their ears in his direction.
He especially watched Emerald's harness, examining the horse's entire body from the bangs to the hooves, and Emerald, feeling this precise, attentive gaze on himself, proudly raised his head, slightly half-turned his flexible neck and stuck out his thin, translucent ears. The rider himself tested the strength of the girth by inserting a finger between it and his stomach. Then the horses were put on gray linen blankets with red borders, red circles near the eyes and red monograms below the hind legs. Two grooms, Nazar and the crooked-eyed one, took Emerald by the bridle from both sides and led him to the hippodrome along the well-known pavement, between two rows of rare large stone buildings. There was not even a quarter of a mile to the running circle.
There were already many horses in the courtyard of the hippodrome; they were walked in a circle, all in one direction - in the same direction in which they walk in the running circle, that is, in the opposite direction to the clockwise movement. Inside the yard they drove harness horses, small, strong-legged, with trimmed short tails. Emerald immediately recognized the white stallion that always galloped next to him, and both horses neighed quietly and affectionately as a sign of greeting.
4
The bell rang at the racetrack. The grooms removed the blanket from Emerald. The Englishman, squinting his eyes from the sun under his glasses and baring his long yellow horse teeth, approached, fastening his gloves as he walked, with a whip under his arm. One of the grooms picked up Emerald’s bushy tail, right down to her pasterns, and carefully laid it on the American woman’s seat, so that its light end hung back. The flexible shafts swayed elastically from the weight of the body. Emerald glanced back and saw the rider sitting almost closely behind his croup, with his legs stretched forward and splayed over the shafts. The rider, slowly, took the reins, shouted in monosyllables to the grooms, and they immediately took their hands away. Rejoicing at the upcoming run, Emerald rushed forward, but, restrained by strong arms, he rose only a little on his hind legs, shook his neck and ran out of the gate onto the hippodrome at a wide, slow trot.
Along the wooden fence, forming a mile-long ellipse, there was a wide running path made of yellow sand, which was slightly damp and dense and therefore bounced pleasantly underfoot, returning their pressure. Sharp hoof marks and smooth, straight stripes left by tire gutta-percha furrowed the ribbon.
A tribune stretched past, a tall wooden building two hundred horse blocks long, where a black human crowd moved and hummed like a mountain from the ground to the very roof, supported by thin pillars. By the light, barely audible movement of the reins, Emerald realized that he could speed up, and snorted gratefully.
He walked at a smooth, sweeping trot, almost without hesitating his back, with his neck stretched forward and slightly turned toward the left shaft, with his muzzle straight up. Thanks to his rare, although unusually long, stride, his running from a distance did not give the impression of speed; it seemed that the trotter was slowly measuring the road with his front legs straight, like a compass, slightly touching the ground with the ends of his hooves. This was real American dressage, in which everything comes down to making it easier for the horse to breathe and reducing air resistance to the last degree, where all unnecessary movements for running that waste strength are eliminated, and where the external beauty of form is sacrificed for lightness, dryness, and long life. breathing and running energy, turning the horse into a living, immaculate machine.
Now, during the intermission between the two races, the horses were warming up, which is always done in order to open the trotters' breath. There were many of them running in the outer circle in the same direction as the Emerald, and in the inner circle towards them. A gray, dark-dappled, tall, white-faced trotter, pure Oryol breed, with a steep, collected neck and a funnel tail, looking like a fairground horse, overtook Emerald. He shook as he walked with his fat, wide chest, already darkened with sweat, and damp groins, threw his front legs from his knees to the side, and with every step his spleen squealed loudly.
Then a slender, long-bodied bay mixed-breed mare with a thin dark mane came up from behind. It was perfectly developed according to the same American system as the Emerald. The short, sleek fur shone on her, shimmering from the movement of the muscles under the skin. While the riders were talking about something, both horses walked side by side for some time. Emerald sniffed the mare and wanted to play as she walked, but the Englishman did not allow it, and he obeyed.
A huge black stallion, all wrapped in bandages, knee pads and armpits, rushed towards them at a full trot. His left shaft protruded straight ahead, half an arshin longer than the right one, and through a ring fixed above his head passed the strap of a steel shaft, which cruelly encircled the horse’s nervous snoring from above and on both sides. Emerald and the mare looked at him at the same time, and both instantly appreciated in him a trotter of extraordinary strength, speed and endurance, but terribly stubborn, angry, proud and touchy. Following the black one ran a ridiculously small, light gray, elegant stallion. From the outside, one might think that he was rushing at incredible speed: he stamped his feet so often, raised them so high at his knees, and such a diligent, businesslike expression was in his tucked neck with a beautiful small head. Emerald just glanced contemptuously at him and led the way; one ear in his direction.
The other rider ended the conversation, laughed loudly and briefly, as if neighing, and started the mare at a free trot. Without any effort, calmly, as if the speed of her running did not depend on her at all, she separated from the Emerald and ran forward, smoothly carrying her smooth, shiny back with a barely noticeable dark strap along her spine.
But immediately both Emerald and her were overtaken and quickly thrown back by a galloping fiery red trotter with a large white spot on his snoring. He galloped in frequent long leaps, sometimes stretching and bending to the ground, sometimes almost connecting his front legs with his hind legs in the air. His rider, leaning back with his whole body, did not sit, but lay on the seat, hanging on the taut reins. Emerald became agitated and eagerly darted to the side, but the Englishman imperceptibly held the reins, and his hands, so flexible and sensitive to every movement of the horse, suddenly became like iron. Near the stands, the red stallion, who had managed to gallop one more lap, again overtook Emerald. He was still galloping, but now he was covered in foam, with bloody eyes and breathing hoarsely. The rider, leaning forward, lashed him with all his might along the back with a whip. Finally, the grooms managed to cross his path near the gate and grab him by the reins and bridle near his muzzle. He was taken from the racetrack, wet, out of breath, trembling, losing weight in one minute.
Emerald made another half a circle at a full trot, then turned onto the path that crossed the cross-country parade ground, and drove through the gate into the yard.
5
The racetrack called several times. Running trotters occasionally flashed past the open gates like lightning, and people in the stands suddenly began shouting and clapping their hands. Emerald, in the line of other trotters, often walked next to Nazar, shaking his lowered head and moving his ears in linen cases. From the warm-up, the blood flowed cheerfully and hotly in his veins, his breathing became deeper and freer as his body rested and cooled down - an impatient desire to run further was felt in all his muscles.
Half an hour passed. The bell rang again at the hippodrome. Now the rider sat on the American without gloves. He had white, wide, magical hands that inspired Emerald with affection and fear.
The Englishman leisurely drove out to the hippodrome, from where, one after another, the horses, having completed their warm-up, moved into the yard. Only Emerald and that huge black stallion who met him on the ride remained in the circle. The stands were completely black from top to bottom with a dense human crowd, and in this black mass countless, cheerful and randomly brightened faces and hands, colorful umbrellas and hats, and white leaves of programs fluttered airily. Gradually increasing his speed and running along the podium, Emerald felt like a thousand eyes were relentlessly following him, and he clearly understood that these eyes expected from him quick movements, full tension of strength, a mighty beating of the heart - and this understanding gave his muscles a happy lightness and flirtatious tightness. A familiar white stallion, on which a boy was sitting, galloped at a shortened pace next to him, on the right.
At an even, measured trot, slightly leaning his body to the left, Emerald described a sharp turn and began to approach the post with a red circle. At the hippodrome the bell was rung briefly. The Englishman slightly adjusted his weight in the seat, and his arms suddenly became stronger. “Now go, but save your strength. It’s still early,” Emerald understood and, as a sign that he understood, he turned back for a second and again put his thin, sensitive ears straight. The white stallion galloped smoothly from the side, a little behind. Emerald heard his fresh, even breathing near his withers.
The red pillar is left behind, another sharp turn, the path straightens, the second stand, approaching, turns black and is mottled from a distance with a buzzing crowd and quickly grows with every step. “More!” the rider allows, “more, more!” Emerald gets a little excited and wants to immediately strain all her strength in running. "Is it possible?" - he thinks. “No, it’s still early, don’t worry,” the magic hands answer, calming. “Later.”
Both stallions pass the prize pillars second per second, but from opposite sides of the diameter connecting both stands. The slight resistance of the tightly stretched thread and its quick breaking for a moment make Emerald curl his ears, but he immediately forgets about it, completely absorbed in his attention to the wonderful hands. "Just a little more! Don't get excited! Walk smoothly!" - the rider orders. A black swaying podium floats past. A few more tens of fathoms, and all four - Emerald, a white stallion, an Englishman and a harness boy, crouched, standing in short stirrups, to the horse's mane - happily unite into one dense, quickly rushing body, inspired by one will, one beauty of powerful movements , with one rhythm that sounds like music. Ta-ta-ta-ta! - Emerald kicks out evenly and steadily. Tra-ta, tra-ta! - briefly and sharply doubles the subarc. One more turn, and the second stand runs towards us. "Shall I add more?" - asks Emerald. “Yes,” the hands answer, “but calmly.”
The second stand rushes back past my eyes. People are shouting something. This amuses Emerald, he gets excited, loses the feeling of the reins and, for a second, falling out of the general, established rhythm, makes four capricious leaps with his right foot. But the reins immediately become rigid and, tearing his mouth, twist his neck down and turn his head to the right. Now it’s already awkward to jump on the right foot. Emerald is angry and does not want to change his leg, but the rider, having caught this moment, commandingly and calmly puts the horse on a trot. The podium is left far behind, Emerald returns to the beat, and his hands become friendly and soft again. Emerald feels guilty and wants to double the trot. “No, no, it’s still early,” the rider notes good-naturedly. “We’ll have time to fix it. Nothing.”
So they go in perfect harmony without failures for another circle and half. But the raven is in excellent order today. At the time when Emerald went wrong, he managed to throw it six horse lengths, but now Emerald is gaining back what he lost and at the penultimate post he is three and a quarter seconds ahead. "Now you can. Go!" - the rider orders. Emerald flattens her ears and takes just one quick glance back. The Englishman's face is all ablaze with a sharp, decisive, aiming expression, his shaved lips are wrinkled in an impatient grimace and reveal his yellow, large, tightly clenched teeth. “Give everything you can!” the reins order with their hands raised high. “More, more!” And the Englishman suddenly shouts in a loud, vibrating voice, rising like the sound of a siren:
- Oh-uh-hey!
“Here, here, here, here!..” the boy-runner shouts shrilly and loudly in time with the run.
Now the sense of tempo reaches the highest tension and is held on by some thin thread, just about ready to break. Ta-ta-ta-ta! - Emerald’s feet are evenly imprinted on the ground. Trra-trra-trra! - the gallop of a white stallion is heard ahead, dragging Emerald along with it. The flexible shafts sway in time with the run, and in time with the gallop, a boy rises and falls in the saddle, almost lying on the horse’s neck.
The air rushing towards you whistles in your ears and tickles your nostrils, from which steam shoots out in frequent large jets. It's harder to breathe and your skin gets hot. Emerald runs around the last bend, leaning inside it with her whole body. The rostrum grows as if alive, and a thousand-voiced roar flies towards it, which frightens, excites and pleases Emerald. He no longer has enough trot, and he already wants to gallop, but these amazing hands behind him beg, and order, and reassure: “Darling, don’t gallop!.. Just don’t gallop!.. Like this, like this, like this.” . And Emerald, rushing quickly past the pillar, breaks the control thread without even noticing it. Screams, laughter, and applause cascade down from the stands. White sheets of posters, umbrellas, sticks, hats spin and flash between moving linden trees and hands. The Englishman gently drops the reins. "It's over. Thanks, honey!" tells Emerald this movement, and he, with difficulty restraining the inertia of running, goes into a walk. At this moment, the black stallion is just approaching his post on the opposite side, seven seconds later.
The Englishman, with difficulty raising his numb legs, heavily jumps off the American woman and, taking off the velvet seat, goes with him to the scales. The grooms ran up to cover Emerald's hot back with a blanket and take him out into the yard. Following them is the roar of a human crowd and a long bell from the members' gazebo. Light yellowish foam falls from the horse's muzzle onto the ground and onto the hands of the grooms.
A few minutes later, Emerald, already unharnessed, is brought back to the podium. A tall man in a long coat and a shiny new hat, whom Emerald often sees in his stable, pats him on the neck and shoves a piece of sugar into his mouth on the palm of his hand. The Englishman stands right there in the crowd and smiles, wincing and baring his long teeth. The blanket is removed from the Emerald and placed in front of a box on three legs, covered with black material, under which the gentleman in gray hides and does something there.
But then people are thrown from the stands in a black, crumbling mass. They closely surround the horse on all sides, and shout and wave their arms, bending their red, heated faces with shining eyes close to each other. They are dissatisfied with something, point their fingers at Emerald’s legs, head and sides, ruffle the fur on the left side of the rump, where the brand stands, and again they all shout at once. "Fake horse, fake trotter, deception, fraud, money back!" - Emerald hears and does not understand these words and moves his ears restlessly. “What are they talking about?” he thinks with surprise. “After all, I ran so well!” And for a moment the Englishman’s face catches his eye. Always so calm, slightly mocking and firm, it now burns with anger. And suddenly the Englishman shouts something in a high, guttural voice, quickly waves his hand, and the sound of a slap dryly breaks the general hubbub.
6
Emerald was taken home, three hours later they gave him oats, and in the evening, when he was given water at the well, he saw a large yellow moon rise from behind the fence, inspiring him with dark horror.
And then came the boring days.
They no longer took him to training sessions, warm-ups, or runs. But every day strangers came, a lot of people, and for them they took Emerald out into the yard, where they examined and felt him in every way, climbed into his mouth, scraped his fur with pumice stones and everyone shouted at each other.
Then he remembered how he was taken out of the stable one late evening and walked for a long time along long, stone, deserted streets, past houses with lighted windows. Then the station, a dark, shaking carriage, fatigue and trembling in the legs from the long journey, the whistles of steam locomotives, the rumble of rails, the suffocating smell of smoke, the dull light of a swinging lantern. At one station he was unloaded from the carriage and was driven for a long time along an unfamiliar road, among spacious, bare autumn fields, past villages, until he was brought to an unfamiliar stable and locked separately, away from other horses.
At first he remembered everything about the race, about his Englishman, about Vaska, about Nazar and about Onegin and often saw them in his dreams, but over time he forgot about everything. They hid him from someone, and his whole young, beautiful body languished, yearned and sank from inactivity. Every now and then new, unfamiliar people drove up and again crowded around the Emerald, touched and fingered it and angrily scolded each other.
Sometimes by chance Emerald saw through the open door other horses walking and running freely, sometimes he shouted to them, indignant and complaining. But they immediately closed the door, and again the time dragged on boringly and lonelyly.
The main thing in this stable was a big-headed, sleepy man with small black eyes and a thin black mustache on a fat face. He seemed completely indifferent to Emerald, but he felt an incomprehensible horror towards him.
And then one day, early in the morning, when all the grooms had gone, this man quietly, without the slightest noise, on tiptoe, entered Emerald, poured oats into his manger and left. Emerald was a little surprised by this, but obediently began to eat. The oats were sweet, slightly bitter and pungent in taste. “Strange,” thought Emerald, “I’ve never tried oats like this.”
And suddenly he felt a slight pain in his stomach. It came, then stopped and came again stronger than before and increased every minute. Finally the pain became unbearable. Emerald groaned dully. Fiery wheels spun before his eyes, from sudden weakness his whole body became wet and flabby, his legs trembled, buckled, and the stallion crashed to the floor. He still tried to get up, but could only stand on one front leg and again fell on his side. A buzzing whirlwind swirled in his head; An Englishman swam by, baring his long teeth like a horse. Onegin ran past, sticking out his camel's Adam's apple and neighing loudly. Some force carried the Emerald mercilessly and swiftly deep down into a dark and cold pit. He could no longer move.
Spasms suddenly cramped his legs and neck and arched his back. All the skin on the horse trembled finely and quickly and became covered with a pungently smelling foam.
The yellow moving light of the lantern hurt his eyes for a moment and went out along with his fading vision. His ear still caught a rough human shout, but he no longer felt how he was pushed in the side with a heel. Then everything disappeared forever.

The stallion loved people very much, but in his life many times he received undeserved screams and punishments, not understanding why he was treated this way. The peculiarity of this story is its special attitude to the world; all actions are shown in the form of smells or sounds. In the story, Kuprin endowed the images of animals with special spiritual beauty, while he presents people as cruel, gray and envious. This is especially evident when describing how people treat animals.

The story is told from the perspective of the main character, a stallion; in fact, if the story came from a person, it would not touch the reader’s heart as much as the story from an animal.

The story "Emerald" is one of the best works by Alexander Kuprin in which animals play the main roles. The story reveals the theme of the injustice of the world around us, filled with envy and cruel attitudes, and how these qualities take precedence over kindness and compassion.

Read the summary of the story Izumrud Kuprin

The story begins with a description of the four-year-old stallion Emerald. He lives with other horses in a stable near the hippodrome. There was a watchman in the stable, Vasily, whom Emerald immediately recognized by his special snoring. Opposite Emerald, a young filly, Goldfinch, lived in her stall. Nearby, behind the wall, lived the old Stallion Onegin; he and Emerald could not stand each other, and after he placed a young filly there they began to quarrel. Emerald wakes up at midnight, chews hay and comes across a piece of hay with a special delicate taste. This brings back to the stallion memories of the hippodrome and his rider, with whom he happily went to the races. And only in the morning Emerald falls asleep.

The stallion had a good, harmonious body, so he could sleep standing up. Before dawn, he saw a dream in which it was spring, earlier morning and fresh air. Emerald runs across the field, jumps and meets his mother; he recognizes her neighing from afar.
Morning came and the stable came to life. The horses were waiting for oats to be poured on them. Emerald eagerly rushed to the oats, but the old groom covered it with his hands, because he hated the impatience of horses.

As soon as the stallion finished his oats, they came for him to take him out into the yard. Emerald was glad to go outside and took in the fresh air with trepidation. Nazar was tasked with washing the stallion, he took a bucket of water and poured it on Emerald's back, carrying more water, so he watered the entire body of the horse. The emerald was cleaned with brushes and then thoroughly dried with a woolen mitten. The stallion knew that he was being prepared for the races. The cleaned stallion is brought to the hippodrome, where other horses are already there, warming up and preparing for the races.

The American served as a cart for the races, and Emerald was harnessed to it. Before the race, the rider warms up the horse, warms up its muscles so that the horse does not get injured due to the sudden load. While waiting for the race, the stallion is driven back into the yard. At this time, the stands are filled with spectators. Soon the race itself begins, the horses are brought to the old station. The ringing of the bell means the beginning. Emerald and her rider overcome the distance wonderfully and are the first to reach the finish line.

After the race is over, spectators run to Emerald screaming that the horse is fake, that this is a fake victory and demanding the return of the money. Emerald is perplexed, because he knows that he tried honestly and with all his might to win. This showdown led to the stallion no longer taking part in the races. Strangers began to come to him, discuss him, shout and stare at him. Soon Emerald is taken to an unknown village, where he is settled separately from the other horses. This makes the stallion think that he is being hidden. But even then those strange people find him, look at him and curse. As a result, the groom brings Emerald sweet oats, which contain poison. After consuming it, the stallion dies.

Picture or drawing Emerald

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