Heart of a dog read full content. ~Heart of a Dog (Illustrated)~

Michael Bulgakov

DOG'S HEART

Woo-hoo-goo-goo-goo! Oh look at me, I'm dying. The blizzard in the gateway howls at me, and I howl with it. I'm lost, I'm lost. A scoundrel in a dirty cap - the cook of the canteen of Normal nutrition for employees of the Central Council of the National Economy - splashed boiling water and scalded my left side. What a reptile, and also a proletarian. Lord, my God - how painful it is! It was eaten to the bones by boiling water. Now I’m howling, howling, but howling can I help?

How did I bother him? Will I really eat the Council of the National Economy if I rummage through the trash? Greedy creature! Just look at his face someday: he’s wider across himself. Thief with a copper face. Ah, people, people. At noon the cap treated me to boiling water, and now it’s dark, about four o’clock in the afternoon, judging by the smell of onions from the Prechistensky fire brigade. Firemen eat porridge for dinner, as you know. But this is the last thing, like mushrooms. Familiar dogs from Prechistenka, however, told me that on Neglinny in the Bar restaurant they eat the usual dish - mushrooms, pican sauce for three rubles seventy-five kopecks per serving. This is not an acquired taste - it’s like licking a galosh... Oooh-ooh-ooh...

My side hurts unbearably, and the distance of my career is visible to me quite clearly: tomorrow ulcers will appear and, one wonders, how will I treat them? In the summer you can go to Sokolniki, there is a special, very good weed there, and besides, you will get drunk on free sausage heads, the citizens will scribble on greasy paper, you will get drunk. And if it weren’t for some grimza that sings in the circle under the moon - “dear Aida” - so that your heart falls, it would be great. Now where will you go? Did they hit you on the behind with a boot? They beat me. Did you get hit in the ribs with a brick? There is enough food. I have experienced everything, I am at peace with my fate, and if I cry now, it is only from physical pain and cold, because my spirit has not yet died out... The dog’s spirit is tenacious.

But my body is broken, beaten, people have abused it enough. After all, the main thing is that when he hit it with boiling water, it was eaten under the fur, and, therefore, there is no protection for the left side. I can very easily get pneumonia, and if I get it, I, citizens, will die of hunger. With pneumonia, one is supposed to lie on the front door under the stairs, but who, instead of me, a lying single dog, will run through the trash bins in search of food? It will grab my lung, I will crawl on my stomach, I will become weak, and any specialist will beat me to death with a stick. And the wipers with plaques will grab me by the legs and throw me onto the cart...

Janitors are the most vile scum of all proletarians. Human cleaning is the lowest category. The cook is different. For example, the late Vlas from Prechistenka. How many lives did he save? Because the most important thing during illness is to intercept the bite. And so, it happened, the old dogs say, Vlas would wave a bone, and on it there would be an eighth of meat on it. God bless him for being a real person, the lordly cook of Count Tolstoy, and not from the Council for Normal Nutrition. What they do there in a normal diet is incomprehensible to a dog’s mind. After all, they, the bastards, cook cabbage soup from stinking corned beef, and those poor fellows don’t know anything. They run, eat, lap.

Some typist receives four and a half chervonets for the ninth grade, well, however, her lover will give her fildepers stockings. Why, how much abuse does she have to endure for this phildepers? After all, he is not her somehow in the usual way, and exposes French love. These French are bastards, just between you and me. Although they eat it richly, and all with red wine. Yes... The typist will come running, because you can’t go to the “Bar” for four and a half. She doesn’t even have enough for cinema, and cinema is the only consolation in life for women. He trembles, winces, and eats... Just think: forty kopecks from two dishes, and both of these dishes are not worth five altyn, because the supply manager stole the remaining twenty-five kopecks. Does she really need such a table? The top of her right lung is not in order, and she has a female disease on French soil, she was deducted from service, she was fed rotten meat in the dining room, here she is, there she is... Runs into the gateway in lover's stockings. Her feet are cold, there is a draft in her stomach, because the fur on her is like mine, and she wears cold pants, just a lace appearance. Rubbish for a lover. Put her on flannel, try it, he’ll shout: how graceful you are! I'm tired of my Matryona, I'm tired of flannel pants, now my time has come. I am now the chairman, and no matter how much I steal, it’s all female body, on cancer necks, on Abrau-Durso. Because I was hungry enough when I was young, it will be enough for me, but there is no afterlife.

I feel sorry for her, I feel sorry for her! But I feel even more sorry for myself. I’m not saying this out of selfishness, oh no, but because we really are not on an equal footing. At least she’s warm at home, but for me, but for me... Where am I going to go? Woo-oo-oo-oo!..

Whoop, whoop, whoop! Sharik, and Sharik... Why are you whining, poor thing? Who hurt you? Uh...

The witch, a dry blizzard, rattled the gates and hit the young lady on the ear with a broom. She fluffed up her skirt to her knees, exposed her cream stockings and a narrow strip of poorly washed lace underwear, strangled her words and covered up the dog.

My God... What is the weather... Wow... And my stomach hurts. This is corned beef, this is corned beef! And when will this all end?

Bowing her head, the young lady rushed into the attack, broke through the gate, and on the street she began to twist, twist, and scatter, then she was screwed in with a snow screw, and she disappeared.

But the dog remained in the gateway and, suffering from a disfigured side, pressed himself against the cold wall, suffocated and firmly decided that he would not go anywhere else from here, and then he would die in the gateway. Despair overwhelmed him. His soul was so painful and bitter, so lonely and scary, that small dog tears, like pimples, crawled out of his eyes and immediately dried up. The damaged side stuck out in matted, frozen lumps, and between them were red, ominous spots of scald. How senseless, stupid, and cruel the cooks are. “Sharik” - she called him... What the hell is “Sharik”? Sharik means round, well-fed, stupid, eats oatmeal, the son of noble parents, but he is shaggy, lanky and ragged, a lean little guy, a homeless dog. However, thank you for your kind words.

The door across the street to a brightly lit store slammed and a citizen emerged. It is a citizen, not a comrade, and even - most likely - a master. Closer - clearer - sir. Do you think I judge by my coat? Nonsense. Nowadays, many proletarians wear coats. True, the collars are not the same, there’s nothing to say about that, but from a distance they can still be confused. But by the eyes, you can’t confuse them both up close and from a distance. Oh, eyes are a significant thing. Like a barometer. You can see everything - who has a great dryness in their soul, who can poke the toe of a boot in the ribs for no reason, and who is afraid of everyone. It’s the last lackey who feels good when he’s tugging on the ankle. If you're afraid, get it. If you’re afraid, that means you’re standing... rrrr... wow-wow...

Current page: 1 (book has 7 pages in total) [available reading passage: 2 pages]

Michael Bulgakov
dog's heart

1

Oooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh! Oh, look at me, I'm dying! The blizzard in the gateway howls at me, and I howl with it. I'm lost, I'm lost! A scoundrel in a dirty cap, a cook in the canteen for normal meals for employees of the Central Council of the National Economy, splashed boiling water and scalded my left side. What a reptile, and also a proletarian! My God, how painful it is! It was eaten to the bones by boiling water. Now I’m howling, howling, howling, but can you howl help?

How did I bother him? How? Will I really eat the Council of the National Economy if I rummage through the trash? Greedy creature. Just take a look at his face: he’s wider across himself! Thief with a copper face. Ah, people, people! At noon the cap treated me to boiling water, and now it’s dark, about four o’clock in the afternoon, judging by the smell of onions from the Prechistensky fire brigade. Firemen eat porridge for dinner, as you know. But this is the last thing, like mushrooms. Familiar dogs from Prechistenka, however, told me that on Neglinny in the Bar restaurant they eat the usual dish - mushrooms pican sauce for three rubles seventy-five kopecks per serving. This is not an acquired taste - it’s like licking a galosh... Oooh...

My side hurts unbearably, and the distance of my career is visible to me quite clearly: tomorrow ulcers will appear, and, one wonders, how will I treat them? In the summer you can go to Sokolniki, there is a special very good grass there, and, besides, you will get drunk on free sausage heads, the citizens will throw greasy paper on them, you will get drunk. And if it weren’t for some grimza that sings on the circle in the moonlight - “dear Aida” - so that the heart sinks, it would be great. Now where will you go? Did they hit you with a boot? They beat me. Did you get hit in the ribs with a brick? There is enough food. I have experienced everything, I am at peace with my fate, and if I cry now, it is only from physical pain and hunger, because my spirit has not yet died out... The dog’s spirit is tenacious.

Janitors are the most vile scum of all proletarians. Human cleaning is the lowest category. The cook is different. For example, the late Vlas from Prechistenka. How many lives he saved! Because the most important thing during illness is to intercept the bite. And so, it happened, the old dogs say, Vlas would wave a bone, and on it there would be an eighth of meat on it. God bless him for being a real person, the lordly cook of Count Tolstoy, and not from the Council for Normal Nutrition. What they do there in a normal diet is incomprehensible to the mind of a dog! After all, they, the bastards, cook cabbage soup from stinking corned beef, and those poor fellows don’t know anything! They run, eat, lap!

Some typist receives four and a half chervonets for the ninth grade, well, however, her lover will give her fildepers stockings. Why, how much abuse does she have to endure for this phildepers! The typist will come running, because you can’t go to the “Bar” for four and a half chervonets! She doesn’t even have enough for cinema, and cinema is the only consolation in life for women. It trembles, winces, and bursts. Just think - forty kopecks from two dishes, and both of these dishes are not worth five kopecks, because the manager of the farm stole the remaining twenty-five kopecks. Does she really need such a table? The top of her right lung is not in order, and she has a woman’s disease, she was deducted from the service, she was fed rotten meat in the canteen, there she is, there she is!! Runs into the gateway in lover's stockings. Her feet are cold, there is a draft in her stomach, because the fur on her is like mine, and she wears cold pants, like a lace appearance. Rubbish for a lover. Put her on some flannel and try it. He will shout:

- How ungraceful you are! I'm tired of my Matryona, I'm tired of flannel pants, now my time has come. I am now the chairman, and no matter how much I steal - everything, everything on the female body, on cancerous cervixes, on Abrau-Durso! Because I was hungry enough when I was young, that’s enough for me, and there is no afterlife.

I feel sorry for her, I feel sorry for her. But I feel even more sorry for myself. I’m not saying this out of selfishness, oh no, but because we really are in unequal conditions. At least the house is warm for her, but for me, for me! Where will I go? Beaten, scalded, spat upon, where will I go? Ooooh!..

- Kut, kut, kut! Sharik, oh Sharik! Why are you whining, poor thing? A? Who offended you?.. Uh...

The witch - a dry snowstorm rattled the gates and hit the young lady on the ear with a broom. She fluffed up her skirt to her knees, exposed her cream stockings and a narrow strip of poorly washed lace underwear, strangled her words and covered up the dog.

- My God... what a weather... wow... and my stomach hurts. This is corned beef, this is corned beef! And when will this all end?

Bowing her head, the young lady rushed into the attack, broke through the gate, and on the street she began to twist, tear, and throw her around, then she was screwed in with a snow screw, and she disappeared.

But the dog remained in the gateway and, suffering from a disfigured side, pressed himself against the cold massive wall, suffocated and firmly decided that he would not go anywhere else from here, and would die here, in the gateway. Despair overwhelmed him. His soul was so bitter and painful, so lonely and scary, that small dog tears, like pimples, crawled out of his eyes and immediately dried up. The damaged side stuck out in matted, frozen lumps, and between them were red, ominous spots of varnish. How senseless, stupid, and cruel the cooks are! “Sharik” she called him! What the hell is Sharik? Sharik means round, well-fed, stupid, eats oatmeal, the son of noble parents, but he is shaggy, lanky and ragged, a lean little gang, a homeless dog. However, thanks to her for her kind words.

The door across the street to a brightly lit store slammed and a citizen emerged. It is a citizen, not a comrade, and even more accurately, a master. Closer - clearer - sir. Do you think I judge by my coat? Nonsense. Nowadays, many proletarians wear coats. True, the collars are not the same, there’s nothing to say about that, but from a distance they can still be confused. But by the eyes - you can’t confuse them either up close or from a distance! Oh, eyes are a significant thing! Like a barometer. You can see everything - who has a great dryness in their soul, who can poke the toe of a boot into the ribs for no reason, and who is afraid of everyone. It’s the last lackey who feels good when he’s tugging on the ankle. If you're afraid, get it! If you’re afraid, that means you’re standing... Rrrrr... wow-wow.

The gentleman confidently crossed the street in the blizzard and moved into the gateway. Yes, yes, this one can see everything. This rotten corned beef will not eat, and if it is served to him somewhere, he will raise such a scandal, write in the newspapers - I, Philip Philipovich, have been fed!

Here he is getting closer and closer. This one eats a lot and doesn't steal. This one will not kick, but he himself is not afraid of anyone, and he is not afraid because he is always well-fed. He is a gentleman of mental labor, with a cultured pointed beard and a mustache, gray, fluffy and dashing, like that of the French knights, but the smell from him flies through the snowstorm - hospital and cigar.

What the hell, one might ask, brought him to the Tsentrokhoz cooperative? Here he is nearby... What is he looking for? Oooh... What could he buy in a crappy store, isn't Okhotny Ryad enough for him? What's happened?! Kol-ba-su. Sir, if you had seen what this sausage is made from, you would not have come near the store. Give it to me!

The dog gathered the rest of his strength and crawled madly out of the gateway onto the sidewalk. The blizzard flapped the gun overhead, throwing up the huge letters of the linen poster “Is rejuvenation possible?”

Naturally, perhaps. The smell rejuvenated me, lifted me from my belly, and with burning waves it filled my empty stomach for two days, a smell that conquered the hospital, the heavenly smell of chopped mare with garlic and pepper. I feel, I know, he has sausage in the right pocket of his fur coat. He's above me. Oh my lord! Look at me. I'm dying. Our soul is a slave, a vile lot!

The dog crawled like a snake on its belly, shedding tears. Pay attention to the chef's work. But you won’t give it for anything. Oh, I know rich people very well. But in essence, why do you need it? What do you need a rotten horse for? Nowhere else will you get such poison as in Mosselprom. And you had breakfast today, you are a figure of world significance, thanks to the male sex glands... Oooh-ooh... Why in the world is this being done? Apparently, it’s still too early to die, but is despair truly a sin? To lick his hands, there is nothing else left to do.

The mysterious gentleman leaned towards the dog, flashed his golden eye rims and pulled out a white oblong package from his right pocket. Without taking off his brown gloves, he unwound the paper, which was immediately taken over by the blizzard, and broke off a piece of sausage called “Cracow Special.” And to the dog this piece! Oh, selfless person. Woohoo!

"Ball" again! Baptized! Yes, call it what you want. For such an exceptional act of yours...

The dog instantly tore off the peel, bit into the Krakow one with a sob and devoured it in no time. At the same time, he choked on sausage and snow to the point of tears, because from greed he almost swallowed the string. Again, again, I lick your hand. I kiss my pants, my benefactor!

“It will be for now,” the gentleman spoke so abruptly, as if he was commanding. He leaned over to Sharikov, looked inquisitively into his eyes and unexpectedly ran his gloved hand intimately and affectionately over Sharikov’s stomach.

“Yeah,” he said meaningfully, “there’s no collar, well, that’s great, I need you.” Follow me,” he snapped his fingers, “fuck-fuck!”

Should I follow you? To the ends of the earth, kick me in the snout with your felt boots, I won’t utter a word.

Lanterns were shining all over Prechistenka. His side hurt unbearably, but Sharik at times forgot about it, absorbed in one thought, how not to lose it in the hustle and bustle. wonderful vision in a fur coat and somehow express love and devotion to him. And seven times along Prechistenka to Obukhov Lane he expressed it. He kissed his boot, near Dead Lane, while clearing the way, with a wild howl he frightened some lady so much that she sat down on a curbstone, howled twice to maintain self-pity.

Some kind of bastard, Siberian-looking stray cat emerged from behind a drainpipe and, despite the blizzard, smelled the Krakow one. The dog Sharik couldn’t stand the thought that the rich eccentric who picks up wounded dogs in the gateway would, of course, take this thief with him, and he would have to share the Mosselprom product. Therefore, he clanged his teeth at the cat so much that with a hiss similar to the hiss of a leaky hose, he climbed up the pipe to the second floor.

Frrr... wow... out! Mosselprom can't get enough of all the trash hanging around Prechistenka!

The gentleman appreciated the devotion and, right at the fire brigade, at the window from which the pleasant grumbling of a French horn could be heard, he rewarded the dog with a second piece, a smaller one, worth five spools. Eh, weirdo. He's the one luring me. Don't worry, I won't go anywhere myself. I will follow you wherever you order.

- Fuck-fuck-fuck, here!

To Obukhov? Do me a favor. We know this lane very well.

- Fuck-fuck!

Here? With pleasure... Eh, no! Allow me. No! There's a doorman here. And there is nothing worse than this in the world. Many times more dangerous than a janitor. Absolutely hateful breed. Nasty cats. Flayer in braid!

- Don’t be afraid, go!

– I wish you good health, Philip Philipovich.

- Hello, Fedor.

What a personality! My God, who did you inflict on me, my dog’s lot? What kind of person is this who can lead dogs from the street past the doorman into the house of a housing association? Look, this scoundrel doesn't make a sound or move. True, his eyes are cloudy, but in general he is indifferent under the band with gold braid. As if that's how it's supposed to be. Respects, gentlemen, how much he respects! Well, sir, I’m with him and behind him. What, touched? Take a bite. I wish I could tug at the proletarian calloused foot. For all your brother's bullying. How many times have you disfigured my face with a brush, huh?

- Go, go.

We understand, we understand, don’t worry. Where you go, we go. You just show the path, and I won’t lag behind, despite my desperate side. From the stairs down:

– There were no letters to me, Fedor?

From below to the stairs - respectfully:

- No way, Philip Philipovich. (Intimately, in an undertone, after him): And they moved the tenants into the third apartment.

The important canine benefactor turned abruptly on the step and, leaning over the railing, asked in horror:

His eyes widened and his mustache stood on end. The doorman from below raised his head, put his hand to his lips and confirmed:

- Exactly. As many as four pieces.

- My God! I imagine what will happen in the apartment now. Well, what are they?

- Nothing, sir!

- And Fyodor Pavlovich?

“We went for screens and bricks.” Partitions will be installed.

- The devil knows what it is!

- They will move into all the apartments, Philip Philipovich, except yours. Now there was a meeting, a resolution was passed, a new partnership. And the former ones in the neck.

- What's going on! Ay-yay-yay... Thump-thump...

I'm going, sir, I'm hurrying. Bok, if you please, is making itself felt. Let me lick the boot.

The doorman's galloon disappeared below, a warmth wafted from the pipes on the marble platform, they turned it again, and here was the mezzanine.

2

There is absolutely no point in learning to read when you can already smell meat a mile away. Nevertheless, if you live in Moscow and have at least some brains in your head, you willy-nilly learn to read and write, and without any courses. Of the forty thousand Moscow dogs, is there really any complete idiot who can’t spell the word “sausage” out of letters?

Sharik began to learn by colors. As soon as he was four months old, green and blue signs were hung all over Moscow with the inscription “M.S.P.O. Meat trade." We repeat, all this is useless, because you can already hear the meat. And once a confusion occurred: matching the bluish acrid color, Sharik, whose sense of smell was clogged with gasoline smoke from the engine, drove into the Golubizner brothers’ electrical accessories store on Myasnitskaya Street instead of a meat shop. There, at the brothers', the dog tasted insulated wire, and it would be cleaner than a cab driver's whip. This famous moment should be considered the beginning of Sharikov’s education. Already on the sidewalk, right there, Sharik began to realize that “blue” does not always mean “meat”, and, clutching his tail between his hind legs from the burning pain and howling, he remembered that on all the meat ones, the first on the left is a golden or red raskoryaka, similar on a sled - “M”.

The tiled squares that lined corner places in Moscow always and inevitably meant “S-y-r.” The black faucet from the samovar, which headed the word, denoted the former owner Chichkin, mountains of Dutch red, animal clerks who hated dogs, sawdust on the floor and the most vile, foul-smelling backstein.

If they played the harmonica, which was little better than “dear Aida,” and smelled of sausages, the first letters on the white posters extremely conveniently formed the word “Neprili...”, which meant: “Do not use indecent words and do not give for tea.” Here sometimes fights broke out, people were punched in the face, although in rare cases, - dogs are constantly treated with napkins or boots.

If there were stale hams hanging in the windows and tangerines lying - gau-gau... ha... stronomy. If dark bottles with bad liquid... Ve-i - vi, ne-a - wine... Elisha's former brothers...

An unknown gentleman who dragged a dog to his door luxury apartment located on the mezzanine, rang the bell, and the dog immediately looked up at a large, black card with gold letters hanging on the side of a wide door glazed with wavy and pinkish glass. He put together the first three letters at once: pe-er-o - “About...”. But then there was pot-bellied, two-sided rubbish that signified no one knows what.

“Really a proletarian? - Sharik thought with surprise, “this can’t be.” He raised his nose up, sniffed the fur coat again and thought confidently: “No, it doesn’t smell like a proletarian here. It’s a learned word, but God knows what it means.”

An unexpected and joyful light flashed behind the pink glass, shading the black card even more. The door swung open completely silently, and the young beautiful woman in a white apron and lace headdress she appeared before the dog and the master. The first of them was enveloped in divine warmth, and the woman’s skirt smelled like lily of the valley.

"Wow. “I understand that,” thought the dog.

“Please, Mr. Sharik,” the gentleman invited ironically, and Sharik reverently greeted him, wagging his tail.

A great variety of objects cluttered the rich hallway. I immediately remembered a mirror reaching to the floor, which immediately reflected the second worn-out and torn Sharik, terrible deer antlers in the height, countless fur coats and galoshes and an opal tulip with electricity under the ceiling.

– Where did you get this, Philip Philipovich? – the woman asked smiling and helped remove the heavy fur coat on a black-brown fox with a bluish sparkle. - Fathers, how lousy!

- You're talking nonsense. Where is he lousy? – the gentleman asked sternly and abruptly.

After taking off his fur coat, he found himself in a black suit of English cloth, and a golden chain sparkled joyfully and dimly on his stomach.

- Wait a minute, don’t turn around, damn... don’t turn around, fool. Hm... This is not a scab... just stop, damn... Hm... Ah! This is a burn. What scoundrel scalded you? A? Stay still!

“Cook, convict. Cook!" – the dog said with pitiful eyes and howled slightly.

“Zina,” the gentleman commanded, “get him into the examination room right away and give me a robe!”

The woman whistled, snapped her fingers, and the dog, after hesitating a little, followed her. The two of them found themselves in a narrow, dimly lit corridor, passed one lacquered door, came to the end, and then turned left and found themselves in a dark room, which the dog instantly disliked for its ominous smell. The darkness clicked and turned into a dazzling day, and from all sides it sparkled, shone and turned white.

“Uh... no...” the dog howled mentally, “sorry, I won’t give in!” Understand! Oh, damn them with sausage! It was me who was lured to the dog hospital. Now they will force you to eat castor oil and cut your whole side with knives, but you can’t touch it anyway!”

- Eh, no! Where?! - screamed the one who was called Zina.

The dog twisted, sprang up and suddenly hit the door with his good right side so that it rattled throughout the entire apartment. Then, flying back, he spun in place like a head over heels under a whip, and turned a white bucket onto the floor, from which clumps of cotton wool scattered. While he was spinning, walls lined with cabinets with shiny tools fluttered around him, a white apron and a distorted woman’s face jumped up and down.

-Where are you going, you shaggy devil?! – Zina screamed desperately. - Damn one!

“Where is their back staircase?..” the dog wondered. He swung and hit the glass at random with a lump in the hope that it was the second door. A cloud of fragments flew out with thunder and ringing, a pot-bellied jar with red muck jumped out, which instantly flooded the entire floor and stank. The real door swung open.

- Stop! C-beast! - the gentleman shouted, jumping in his robe, wearing one sleeve, and grabbing the dog by the legs, - Zina, hold him by the collar, you bastard!

- Bah... Fathers!.. What a dog!

The door opened even wider and another male person in a robe burst in. Crushing broken glass, she rushed not to the dog, but to the closet, opened it, and the whole room was filled with a sweet and sickening smell. Then the person fell on top of the dog with her stomach, and the dog enthusiastically bit at her above the laces on her shoe. The personality gasped, but did not get lost. The sickening abomination suddenly took the dog’s breath away, and his head started spinning, then his legs fell off and he went somewhere crooked and sideways.

“Thank you, it’s over,” he thought dreamily, collapsing right on the sharp glass, “goodbye, Moscow!” I will never see Chichkin and the proletarians and Krakow sausage again! I'm going to heaven for a dog's patience. Brothers flayers, why do you want me?”

And then he finally fell on his side and died.

* * *

When he resurrected, he was slightly dizzy and slightly sick in his stomach, but it was as if his side was not there, his side was sweetly silent. The dog opened his right languid eye and out of the corner of it saw that it was tightly bandaged across the sides and stomach. “Still, they got it off, sons of bitches,” he thought vaguely, “but cleverly, we must give them justice.”

“From Seville to Grenada... in the quiet darkness of the night,” sang an absent-minded and false voice above him.

The dog was surprised, completely opened both eyes and saw two steps away man's leg on a white stool. Her trouser leg and underpants were rolled up, and her bare yellow shin was smeared with dried blood and iodine.

“Pleasers! - thought the dog. “It means I bit him, my job.” Well, they’ll fight!”

- “R-serenades are heard, the sound of swords is heard!..” Why, tramp, did you bite the doctor? A? Why did you break the glass? A?..

“Oooh,” the dog whined pitifully.

- OK. When you come to your senses, lie down, you idiot.

- How did you manage, Philip Philipovich, to lure such a nervous dog? – asked a pleasant male voice, and the tights rolled down. There was a smell of tobacco, and the bottles clanked in the closet.

- Caress, sir. The only way, which is possible in handling a living being. Terror cannot do anything with an animal, no matter what stage of development it is at. This is what I have asserted, am asserting, and will continue to assert. They are in vain to think that terror will help them. No, no, no, it won’t help, no matter what it is: white, red or even brown! Terror is completely paralyzing nervous system. Zina! I bought this scoundrel Krakow sausage for one ruble and forty kopecks. Try to feed him when he stops vomiting.

- Krakow! Lord, he had to buy two kopecks worth of scraps from the meat shop. I'd rather eat Krakow sausage myself.

- Just try! I'll eat for you! It is poison for the human stomach. A grown girl, but like a child, she puts all sorts of nasty things into her mouth. Don't you dare! I warn you, neither I nor Dr. Bormenthal will mess with you when your stomach cramps. “Everyone who says that the other one here will be equal to you!..”

At this time, soft, fractional bells were falling throughout the apartment, and in the distance from the hallway voices were heard every now and then. The phone rang. Zina disappeared.

Philip Philipovich threw the cigarette butt into the bucket, buttoned his robe, straightened his fluffy mustache in front of the mirror on the wall and called out to the dog:

- Fuck, fuck... well, nothing, nothing! Let's go take it.

The dog rose to unsteady legs, swayed and trembled, but quickly recovered and followed Philip Philipovich’s fluttering coat. Again the dog crossed the narrow corridor, but now he saw that it was brightly lit from above by a rosette. When the lacquered door opened, he entered the office with Philip Philipovich, and he dazzled the dog with his decoration. First of all, it was all ablaze with light: it was burning under the stucco ceiling, it was burning on the table, it was burning on the wall, in the glass of the cabinets. The light flooded a whole abyss of objects, of which the most interesting was a huge owl sitting on a branch on the wall.

“Lie down,” ordered Philip Philipovich.

The opposite carved door opened, the bitten one came in, and now, in the bright light, he was very handsome, young, with a black sharp beard, and handed over a sheet, saying:

“The old one...” immediately disappeared silently, and Philip Philipovich, spreading out his robe, sat down at the huge desk and immediately became unusually important and representative.

“No, this is not a hospital... I ended up somewhere else,” the dog thought in confusion and leaned on the patterned carpet next to the heavy leather sofa, “and we’ll explain this owl...”

The door opened softly, and someone entered, so striking the dog that he yelped, but very timidly.

- Be silent! Ba-ba-ba! It’s impossible to recognize you, my dear!

The man who entered bowed very respectfully and embarrassedly to Philip Philipovich.

“Hee-hee... You are a magician and sorcerer, professor,” he said, embarrassed.

“Take off your pants, my dear,” Philip Philipovich commanded and stood up.

"Jesus Christ! - thought the dog. “That’s a fruit!”

The fruit had completely green hair growing on its head, and on the back of its head it had a rusty tobacco color. Wrinkles spread across the fruit's face, but its complexion was pink, like a baby's. The left leg did not bend, it had to be dragged along the carpet, but the right leg jumped like a child’s clicker. On the side of the most magnificent jacket, a precious stone stuck out like an eye.

The dog’s interest even made him feel nauseous.

“Tew, tew...” he barked lightly.

- Be silent! How's your sleep, darling?

- Hehe... Are we alone, professor? “This is indescribable,” the visitor spoke embarrassedly. – Password d'onner 1
Honestly(from fr. parole d'honneur).

Twenty-five years of nothing like this! – the subject took hold of the button of his trousers. – Would you believe it, professor, every night there are flocks of naked girls... I am positively fascinated. You are a magician!

“Hmm,” Philip Philipovich chuckled worriedly, peering into the guest’s pupils.

He finally mastered the buttons and took off striped trousers. Beneath them were underpants that had never been seen before. They were cream colored, had silk black cats embroidered on them, and smelled of perfume.

The dog couldn't stand the cats and barked so loudly that the subject jumped.

- I'll tear you out! Don't be afraid, he doesn't bite.

“I don’t bite?..” the dog was surprised.

From his trouser pocket, the newcomer dropped a small envelope onto the carpet, on which was a picture of a beauty with flowing hair. The subject jumped, bent down, picked it up and blushed deeply.

“You, however, watch,” said Philip Philipovich warningly and gloomily, shaking his finger, “you still watch, don’t abuse it!”

“I’m not evil...” the subject muttered embarrassedly, continuing to undress, “I, dear professor, only in the form of experience...”

- Well, what are the results? – Philip Philipovich asked sternly.

The subject waved his hand in ecstasy.

“Twenty-five years, I swear to God, professor, nothing like that!” Last time in 1899 in Paris on the Rue de la Paix.

- Why did you turn green?

The alien's face became clouded.

- Damn Fatness! You can't imagine, professor, what these idlers handed me instead of paint. Just look,” muttered the subject, looking for the mirror with his eyes, “it’s terrible!” They need to be punched in the face,” he added, savagely. - What should I do now, professor? – he asked tearfully.

- Hmm... Shave your head.

- Professor! – the visitor exclaimed plaintively. - But they will grow gray again! Besides, it won’t be possible to show my nose to the service; I haven’t been going for three days already. The car comes, I let it go. Eh, professor, if only you could discover a way to rejuvenate your hair!

- Not right away, not right away, my dear! - Philip Philipovich muttered. Leaning down, his shining eyes examined the patient's bare stomach. - Well, that’s wonderful, everything’s fine. in perfect order... I didn’t even expect, to tell the truth, such a result... “A lot of blood, a lot of songs!..” Get dressed, my dear!

“I’m the one who is the most charming of all!..” – the patient sang along in a voice rattling like a frying pan and, beaming, began to get dressed. Having put himself in order, he, jumping up and spreading the smell of perfume, counted out a wad of white money to Philip Philipovich and tenderly began to shake both his hands.

“You don’t have to show up for two weeks,” said Philip Philipovich, “but still, I ask you, be careful.”

“Professor,” the guest exclaimed from behind the door, in ecstasy, “be completely calm,” he chuckled sweetly and disappeared.

A loud bell rang through the apartment, the lacquered door opened, the man came in, handed Philip Philipovich a piece of paper and declared:

– The years are shown incorrectly. Probably 54-55. Heart sounds are muffled.

He disappeared and was replaced by a rustling lady in a hat tilted jauntily to one side and with a sparkling necklace on her limp and chewed neck. Terrible black bags sat under her eyes, and her cheeks were the color of a doll.

She was very worried.

- Madam! How old are you? – Philip Philipovich asked her very sternly.

The lady was frightened and even turned pale under the crust of rouge.

- I, professor... I swear, if you knew what a drama I have...

- How old are you, madam? – Philip Philipovich repeated even more sternly.

- Honestly... well, forty-five.

- Madam! - Philip Philipovich screamed. - Someone is waiting for me! Please don’t delay, you’re not alone!

The lady's chest heaved violently.

- I’m telling you alone, as a luminary of science, but I swear, this is such a horror...

- How old are you? – Philip Philipovich asked furiously and shrilly, and his glasses flashed.

“Fifty-one,” the lady answered, writhing in fear.

“Take off your pants, madam,” said Philip Philipovich with relief and pointed to the high white scaffold in the corner.

“I swear, professor,” the lady muttered, unfastening some buttons on her belt with trembling fingers, “this Moritz... I confess to you, as if in spirit...

“From Seville to Grenada...” Philip Philipovich sang absentmindedly and pressed the pedal in the marble washbasin. The water began to rustle.

- I swear to God! - the lady said, and living spots appeared on her cheeks through the artificial ones. - I know it's mine last passion... After all, he is such a scoundrel! Oh, professor! He is a card sharper, all of Moscow knows this. He cannot miss a single vile milliner. After all, he is so devilishly young! “The lady muttered and threw out a crumpled piece of lace from under her rustling skirts.

The dog became completely confused, and everything in his head went upside down.

“To hell with you,” he thought dully, put his head on his paws and dozed off from shame, “and I won’t try to understand what this thing is, I still won’t understand.”

He woke up from the ringing and saw that Philip Philipovich had thrown some shining tubes into the basin.

The spotted lady, pressing her hands to her chest, looked at Philip Philipovich with hope. He frowned importantly and, sitting down at the table, wrote something down.

“I’ll insert monkey ovaries into you, madam,” he announced and looked sternly.

- Oh, professor, are they really monkeys?

“Yes,” Philip Philipovich answered adamantly.

– “From Seville to Grenada...” uhm... On Monday. Go to the clinic in the morning, my assistant will get you ready.

- Oh, I don’t want to go to the clinic. Is it possible for you, professor?

– You see, I perform operations at home only in extreme cases. It will cost very much - fifty chervonets.

– I agree, professor!

Choose a font size that is easy to read:

Year the story was written: 1925

First publication: in the magazines “Grani” (Frankfurt) and “Student” (London) in 1968 almost simultaneously.

For the first time in the Soviet Union a story dog's heart published in 1987 and has been reprinted many times since then.

As prototypes literary character Professor F.F. Preobrazhensky names several real doctors. This is Bulgakov’s uncle, gynecologist Nikolai Pokrovsky, surgeon Sergei Voronov. In addition, a number of prototypes are called famous contemporaries author - scientist Bekhterev, physiologist Pavlov and founder Soviet state Lenin.
We consider Mikhail Bulgakov's story The Heart of a Dog to be the second most important work after The Master and Margarita...

Professor of Medicine, outstanding surgeon, Philip Philipovich Preobrazhensky, managed to achieve excellent results in human rejuvenation in 1924 in Moscow. He set out to continue medical research and decided on an unprecedented experiment - to perform an operation on a dog to transplant a human pituitary gland. A stray dog named “Sharik”, whom the professor picked up on the street, was chosen as a test subject. The dog found himself in a spacious apartment, he was well fed and looked after. Sharik formed the idea that he was special... The donor organs that Sharik received during the operation belonged to Klim Chugunkin, a thief, rowdy and alcoholic, who died in a fight.

The experiment was a success; the results exceeded our wildest expectations. The dog's limbs stretched out, the dog lost its hair, the ability to pronounce sounds first, then words, and later full-fledged speech appeared... The dog began to resemble a person in appearance... Moscow was filled with rumors about miraculous transformations, happening in the laboratory of Professor Preobrazhensky. But very soon the professor had to regret what he had done. Sharik inherited all the most unpleasant habits from Klim Chugunkin; he received not only physical, but also psychological humanization. Polygraph Poligrafovich Sharikov (he gave himself this name) discovered in himself a predilection for terrible foul language, drunkenness, fornication, theft, vanity, tavern revelry and discussions about the proletarian idea. Sharikov gets a job as head of the department for cleaning the city from stray animals. He was helped in this by the chairman of the house committee, Shvonder, who hoped in this way, with the help of Sharikov, that Professor Preobrazhensky would survive from the large apartment.

Sharikov really likes the work, a company car comes to pick him up every day, the professor’s servants treat him with servility, and he does not feel obligated to Professor Preobrazhensky and Dr. Bormental, who are still trying to make a man out of Sharikov, instilling in him the basics cultural life. He's like angry dog, takes pleasure in killing stray cats, but according to Professor Preobrazhensky, “cats are temporary.” Sharikov brought a young girl to the professor’s apartment, whom he hired to work, from whom he hid his biography. The girl learns from the professor the truth about Sharikov’s origins and refuses the advances of Poligraf Poligrafovich - and then he threatens to fire her. Doctor Bormenthal stands up for the girl...

After Sharikov’s numerous misadventures, Doctor Bormental, together with Professor Preobrazhensky, conduct new operation, returning Sharikov to his original appearance. The dog does not remember anything of what he did in human form; he remains to live in the apartment of Philip Philipovich Preobrazhensky.

Happy reading!

Mikhail Bulgakov's satirical story “The Heart of a Dog” is widely known in society. She seems funny, but at the same time she is very sad, if you think about it deep meaning works. The writer knows how to create a special atmosphere of mysticism, combining drama and humor, fantasy and reality in the book.

The main character of the story, Professor Preobrazhensky, lives in a difficult time for Russia in the 20s and 30s. 20th century. Back then, what you did didn’t matter so much as your position in society. Stupid, narrow-minded, unspiritually undeveloped people could be in power, while honest and fair, reasonable people who advance science could find themselves at the very bottom.

The professor was able to maintain his property and more or less usual way of life thanks to his connections. He not only practices medicine, but also conducts various experiments. Philip Philipovich picks up on the street stray dog named Sharik and decides to conduct an experiment on rejuvenation. The result is a humanization of the dog, which loses its hair and begins to speak. But over time, Sharikov’s character changes greatly, becoming more and more similar to the person from whom the organs were taken for the experiment.

In the book, all the characters reflect some part of the society of that time, the advantages and disadvantages of people of a certain status. The conflict of interests of the proletariat and the intelligentsia is clearly visible, different levels intellectual development, different values. They have different attitudes towards art and entertainment, and towards the people around them too. The writer conveys all this very subtly and skillfully. Because of this depth, the story is already long years does not leave the minds and hearts of people and enjoys fame.

On our website you can download the book “Heart of a Dog” by Mikhail Afanasyevich Bulgakov for free and without registration in fb2, rtf, epub, pdf, txt format, read the book online or buy the book in the online store.

Michael Bulgakov

dog's heart

Woo-hoo-hoo-goo-goo-goo! Oh look at me, I'm dying. The blizzard in the gateway howls at me, and I howl with it. I'm lost, I'm lost. A scoundrel in a dirty cap - a cook in the canteen for normal meals for employees of the Central Council of the National Economy - splashed boiling water and scalded my left side.

What a reptile, and also a proletarian. Lord, my God - how painful it is! It was eaten to the bones by boiling water. Now I’m howling, howling, but howling can I help?

How did I bother him? Will I really eat the council of the national economy if I rummage through the trash? Greedy creature! Just look at his face someday: he’s wider across himself. Thief with a copper face. Ah, people, people. At noon the cap treated me to boiling water, and now it’s dark, about four o’clock in the afternoon, judging by the smell of onions from the Prechistensky fire brigade. Firemen eat porridge for dinner, as you know. But this is the last thing, like mushrooms. Familiar dogs from Prechistenka, however, told me that in the Neglinny restaurant “bar” they eat the standard dish - mushrooms, pican sauce for 3 rubles. 75 k. per serving. This is an amateurish thing, like licking a galosh... Oooh-ooh-ooh...

My side hurts unbearably, and the distance of my career is visible to me quite clearly: tomorrow ulcers will appear and, one wonders, how will I treat them?

In the summer you can go to Sokolniki, there is special, very good grass there, and besides, you will get free sausage heads, the citizens will throw greasy paper on them, you will get hydrated. And if it weren’t for some grimza that sings in the meadow under the moon - “Dear Aida” - so that your heart falls, it would be great. Now where will you go? Did they hit you with a boot? They beat me. Did you get hit in the ribs with a brick? There is enough food. I have experienced everything, I am at peace with my fate, and if I cry now, it is only from physical pain and cold, because my spirit has not yet died out... The spirit of a dog is tenacious.

But my body is broken, beaten, people have abused it enough. After all, the main thing is that when he hit it with boiling water, it was eaten under the fur, and, therefore, there is no protection for the left side. I can very easily get pneumonia, and if I get it, I, citizens, will die of hunger. With pneumonia, one is supposed to lie on the front door under the stairs, but who, instead of me, a lying single dog, will run through the trash bins in search of food? It will grab my lung, I will crawl on my stomach, I will weaken, and any specialist will beat me to death with a stick. And the wipers with plaques will grab me by the legs and throw me onto the cart...

Janitors are the most vile scum of all proletarians. Human cleaning is the lowest category. The cook is different. For example, the late Vlas from Prechistenka. How many lives did he save? Because the most important thing during illness is to intercept the bite. And so, it happened, the old dogs say, Vlas would wave a bone, and on it there would be an eighth of meat on it. May he rest in heaven for being a real person, the lordly cook of Count Tolstoy, and not from the Council of Normal Nutrition. What they are doing there in Normal nutrition is incomprehensible to a dog’s mind. After all, they, the bastards, cook cabbage soup from stinking corned beef, and those poor fellows don’t know anything. They run, eat, lap.

Some typist receives four and a half chervonets for the IX category, well, however, her lover will give her fildepers stockings. Why, how much abuse does she have to endure for this phildepers? After all, he does not expose her in any ordinary way, but exposes her to French love. With... these French, just between you and me. Although they eat it richly, and all with red wine. Yes…

The typist will come running, because you can’t go to the bar for 4.5 chervonets. She doesn’t even have enough for cinema, and cinema is the only consolation in life for a woman. He trembles, winces, and eats... Just think: 40 kopecks from two dishes, and both of these dishes are not worth five kopecks, because the caretaker stole the remaining 25 kopecks. Does she really need such a table? The top of her right lung is also out of order and she has a female disease on French soil, she was deducted from the service, fed rotten meat in the canteen, here she is, here she is...

Runs into the gateway in lover's stockings. Her feet are cold, there is a draft in her stomach, because the fur on her is like mine, and she wears cold pants, just a lace appearance. Rubbish for a lover. Put her on flannel, try it, he’ll yell: how ungraceful you are! I'm tired of my Matryona, I've suffered with flannel pants, now my time has come. I am now the chairman, and no matter how much I steal, it’s all on the female body, on cancerous cervixes, on Abrau-Durso. Because I was hungry enough when I was young, it will be enough for me, but there is no afterlife.

I feel sorry for her, sorry! But I feel even more sorry for myself. I’m not saying this out of selfishness, oh no, but because we really are not on an equal footing. At least she’s warm at home, but for me, but for me... Where am I going to go? Woo-oo-oo-oo!..

- Kut, kut, kut! A ball, and a ball... Why are you whining, poor thing? Who hurt you? Uh...

My God... What is the weather... Wow... And my stomach hurts. It's corned beef! And when will this all end?

Bowing her head, the young lady rushed to the attack, broke through the gate, and on the street she began to twist, twist, throw, then screwed in with a snow screw, and she disappeared.

The damaged side stuck out in matted, frozen lumps, and between them were red, ominous spots of scald. How senseless, stupid, and cruel the cooks are. “She called him “Sharik”... What the hell is “Sharik”? Sharik means round, well-fed, stupid, eats oatmeal, the son of noble parents, but he is shaggy, lanky and ragged, a lean little guy, a homeless dog. However, thank you for your kind words.

The door across the street in a brightly lit store slammed and a citizen emerged. It is a citizen, and not a comrade, and even, most likely, a master. Closer - clearer - sir. Do you think I judge by my coat? Nonsense. Nowadays, many proletarians wear coats. True, the collars are not the same, there’s nothing to say about that, but from afar they can still be confused. But by the eyes, you can’t confuse them both up close and from a distance. Oh, eyes are a significant thing. Like a barometer. You can see who has a great dryness in their soul, who can poke the toe of a boot into their ribs for no reason, and who is afraid of everyone. It’s the last lackey who feels good when he’s tugging on the ankle. If you're afraid, get it. If you’re afraid, that means you’re standing... Rrrr...

Gow-gow...

The gentleman confidently crossed the street in the blizzard and moved into the gateway. Yes, yes, this one can see everything. This rotten corned beef will not eat, and if it is served to him somewhere, he will raise such a scandal and write in the newspapers: they fed me, Philip Philipovich.

Here he is getting closer and closer. This one eats abundantly and does not steal, this one will not kick, but he himself is not afraid of anyone, and he is not afraid because he is always full. He is a gentleman of mental labor, with a French pointed beard and a gray, fluffy and dashing mustache, like those of French knights, but the smell he gives off in the snowstorm is foul, like a hospital. And a cigar.

What the hell, one might ask, brought him to the Tsentrokhoz cooperative?

Here he is nearby... What is he waiting for? Oooh... What could he buy in a crappy store? Isn't that enough for him? willingly? What's happened? Sausage. Sir, if you had seen what this sausage is made from, you would not have come near the store. Give it to me.