Tales about musicians and musical instruments. Poems and stories about musical instruments

Acharpin

You may know the plant from which pipes are made - acharpyn.

A large spreading bush of acharpyna adorned the mountains. It would stand and bloom for the joy of itself and others. But then some voracious goat approached the bush and began to eat the leaves.

Acharpin began to ask for the goat:

Listen, you goat! Leave me alone. Isn't there enough good grass for you? I didn't grow up for you to eat my leaves.

But the stubborn goat bleated mockingly in response and continued to eat the leaves.

Acharpin again prayed:

Eh, goat, goat! And don't you feel sorry for disfiguring me?

The bearded offender got angry and bleated:

Shut up, your complaints are preventing me from enjoying my food.

Then the goat stood on its hind legs and tore off the top of the acharpina’s head, and broke the branches with its hooves.

Acharpin groaned long and loudly, and his complaint reached the shepherd who was grazing goats nearby.

Who is this crying so pitifully and about what? - asked the shepherd, looking around, but there was no one around. Only the acharpyn bush stood.

“It’s me who’s grieving,” said Acharpin. -You see, the stupid goat completely mutilated me.

Is there anything I can do to help you? - asked the shepherd.

Try, and I will repay you,” answered the acharpin. - I can sing not only sad, but also joyful songs. Just give me a new life for this: cut me off and fill my core with human breath. Then I will become your friend and companion - a ringing pipe. Under my song, your goats and sheep will graze better, they will give a lot of milk, good kids and lambs.

The shepherd did as the acharpin told him. He cut it off and made himself a pipe. And the first song he played on the acharpyn pipe was a song about the well-being of the herd.

Baby Rystu

Far, far away, where the sky merges with the earth, on the bottom of a blue mountain, on the shore of a milky lake, there lived a boy. He was as tall as a kid. The boy sewed a hat from two squirrel skins and soft boots from goat fur. His face was like the moon, round, and he never cried.
The boy understood the language of birds and animals well, and listened carefully to bees and grasshoppers. He himself will either buzz, or chirp, or chirp like a bird, or laugh like a spring. When a boy blows on a dry stem, the stem sings; when a boy touches a cobweb with his finger, it rings. One day Khan Ak-kaan was riding past a milk lake riding on a red horse. Ak-kaan heard a gentle ringing.

“It’s not a bird singing, it’s not a stream running,” thought the khan.

He leaned over the saddle, parted the bushes and saw a round-faced boy. The baby sat on his haunches, blew into a dry stem, and the stem sang like a golden pipe.

What's your name, child?

My name is Rystu - Happy.

Who is your father? Where is mother? Who feeds you and gives you water?

My father is the blue mountain, my mother is the milky lake.

Do you want to be my beloved child, Rystu? I will sew you a sable fur coat, cover it with pure silk, give you a nimble pacer, and give you a silver pipe. Sit down, baby, on the croup of my horse, hug me tight, and we will fly faster than the wind to my white tent.
Rystu jumped onto the horse's croup, hugged Khan Ak-kaan, and the horse ran faster than the wind.

The khan had two children: a son, Kez-kichinek, and a daughter, Kara-chach. They heard the neighing of a horse, ran out to meet their father, supported the stirrup, and helped unsaddle the horse.

What did you bring us, father?

Khan Ak-kaan grabbed Rysta by the collar and placed him in front of his children.

This is the gift I brought you! Give him a silver pipe and he will play you a song day and night.

But Rystu did not want to play the silver pipe. He couldn't utter a word out of resentment.

If you don’t want to amuse my children,” the khan got angry, “you, disobedient boy, will graze my cattle!”

And so, during the day without rest, at night without sleep, Rysta Khan drove the herds from pasture to pasture, where the grass is sweeter, where the water is purer. In summer the sun burned the baby, in winter the frost penetrated to the bones. His soft boots were warped, his light fur coat had dried to his shoulders. The eyes learned to shed tears. But no one wiped away his tears, no one cried with him.

One summer day, the baby caught his boot on a root, tripped, fell face first into the grass, but could not get up, he was weak. So he lay there, and suddenly he heard the ants say:

When this Rystu lived on the blue mountain near the milky lake, he did not know how to cry.

Why is he crying so bitterly now?

His worn out legs hurt, his overworked arms are tired.

Yes, it’s hard for him to follow the herd day and night.

And he would have said, as a quail says to his children: “Pop!”, and the cows, like quails, would not have moved.

And he would shout like a corncrake shouts: “Tap-tazhlan!”, and the cows would play with him in the meadow.

Poop! - said Rystu in quail language. The cows immediately lay down.

Tap-tazhlan!

The cows rose from the grass and began to dance. Now the baby is happier. He sat on the river bank and played with shore swallows. And the cows danced in the meadow.

When Khan Ak-kaan learned about these amusements, he turned blue like a cloud, like thunder roared:

Don't you want to herd cows? You'll be churning butter! They put the baby in front of a large vat of milk, gave him a long stick-whorl in his hands and forced him to twist it day and night. The boy's hands did not know rest, he did not dare to close his eyes for a moment. The khan's family, guests, even servants ate flatbread with butter, but little Rystu never even saw a dry flatbread.

Would you like a treat? - Kara-chach laughed. - Play the silver pipe! Here are the cakes, here is the pipe.

It was I who brought the pipe! - Kez-kichinek shouted.

No, me! - the girl shouted and grabbed her brother’s hair. He swung and wanted to hit her, but Rystu said:

And the girl’s hand stuck to her brother’s hair, the boy’s hand stuck to his sister’s shoulder.

What's wrong with you, my children? - the Khansha cried, hugging her son and daughter. - Why did such trouble happen to you? It would be better if this boy stuck to his whorl stick.

Poop! - Rystu whispered quietly, and the Khansha clung to her children.

What's happened? Why is everyone crying, and you are the only one laughing, disobedient to Ryst? - Khan got angry. - Answer me, what’s wrong with my Khan? What about my children?

If you don’t answer, I’ll cut off your head and pierce your heart!

And the khan remained standing next to his khansha: a lance in one hand, a knife in the other.

And little Rystu threw the whorl stick, pushed the large vat with his foot, cut off a dry stem, blew into it and sang. Listening to this song, the khan trembled like a mouse, the khansha moaned like a big frog, the children cried quietly. The baby took pity on them, raised his right hand, his round face turned red.

Tap-tazhlan! - he shouted.

Khan, Khansha, Kez-kichinek, Kara-chach - all four clapped their hands, stamped their feet, danced, and jumped out of the tent.

And happy Rystu stepped through the golden threshold and ascended to the golden Khan’s platform. Once he slipped, another time he tumbled, he got angry with himself, and said “poop!” said and immediately stuck to the golden platform. He sat and sat and looked around - the white, clean felt of the Khan’s tent was tightly stretched over strong poles.

The sky can only be seen through the chimney hole - a small blue patch the size of a palm. It felt stuffy for the baby in the khan’s tent on the golden platform.

Tap-tazhlan!

The platform jumped, the baby jumped to the chimney hole, jumped out, fell to the ground, stood up and ran to the milk lake, to the blue mountain. He scooped milk from the lake with his palm and drank. He built a hut for himself on the blue mountain. He still lives there. Sings happy songs, plays on the stems of flowers, as if on a pipe, fingers the cobweb threads, and the cobwebs ring in response with a quiet ringing.

These songs, whistling, ringing can be heard by anyone who comes to the place where the sky merges with the earth.

Wonderful Lute

A poor Bedouin nomad had a son named Alpha Rabbi. The family wandered across the sandy expanses of the desert. Either they pitched the tent and made a stop, then they loaded the camel and walked forward, not only during the day, but also at night under the high tent of the starry sky.

The desert is majestic and quiet. But for those who were born in it, it is not silent. From his infancy, Alfarabbi caught the distant rustle of sand, the rustle of a crawling lizard, and the crackling of reeds near a salt pool.

What is this, what? - he asked.

Later, he often left his comrades and fun activities, went away and wandered alone, listening to the voices of the desert.

One day he met another nomadic family, and Alfarabbi saw a lute.

When he himself picked up the instrument and touched the strings, they began to sing. They began to sing like a migratory bird hidden in the branches, like the streams of a stream that makes its way among the rocks.

What is this, what? - others now asked, having heard Alfarabbi play.

When Alfarabbi finished playing, Ali, who owned the lute, said:

Take this lute, let its strings not fall silent in your hands. Go and sing to the people. Sing to the good and the evil, sing to the just and the cruel.

Since then, Alfarabbi has not parted with his lute.

Was it not from the gardens of the great Sultan himself that you lured his best singer to your desert? - a Bedouin he met on the way asked more than once.
“No,” they answered him, “we don’t need the Sultan’s nightingale either.” We have our Alfarabbi.

However, Alfarabbi, it seemed, was not enough of the gift that nature had endowed him with. His soul demanded more and more, and he was bitterly aware that he did not always know how to express his thoughts in sounds.

Now he walked all over the country, learning more and more about life. Alfarabbi came from the coast, encircling the sea with a green border of groves and gardens, and from mountain villages clinging to steep cliffs. He saw the tears and joy, the smile and suffering of working people. He wanted to convey all this in the song.

With a skinny khurjin on his back and a small supply of dry dates, Alfarabbi set off on a long journey.

Desert sands and rocky cliffs, dense thickets, deserted expanses of steppes and the sea lay on his way. Alfarabbi endured all the difficulties in order to get to a distant country, where lived a great master who had perfectly mastered the high art of music.

Who are you and where are you from? And what do you want? - asked the one whom Alfarabbi was looking for when Alfarabbi crossed his threshold with a lute in his hands.

“I want one thing,” said Alfarabbi, “to become your student.” I have come a long way for this. I'm from a distant country where the sun...

Stop,” the teacher interrupted, “no words needed.” Leave the words to the poets. You have a lute. Take it and tell me in song about your homeland and your people.

Alfarabbi took his lute and began to play.

The teacher listened, shaking his gray head, and from time to time dropped the words:

I see, I see, his lips whispered, fragrant gardens in luxurious spring attire and lush fields. Where does the moan come from? Yes, a worker bends his back under the scorching sun on a foreign land... - Alfarabbi played.

“It’s the sound of a waterfall,” the teacher whispered, “it’s falling into a dark abyss, and it’s scary to look into it.” And the mountains soar with their peaks into the sky...

The waters cannot find a way out,” the teacher worried again, “they spread menacingly in breadth, flooding everything around.” Seized with horror, people run away... - Alfarabbi played.

“I see,” said the teacher, “this is a thin, gossamer-like stone lace, carved by an artist to decorate the creation of another artist - an architect...” So Alfarabbi played, and the great master listened. Both did not notice how the sun finished its daily journey. When the last ray faded, the teacher said:

You told me everything. Now I know your country. Your homeland is beautiful and your people are noble.

And the great master Alfarabbi received him. Alfarabbi was the most diligent of all his students. Finally the day came when the teacher said:
- I gave you everything I could.

And just as Ali had once given Alfarabbi his lute, now the teacher said to him:

Go, Alfarabbi, and let the strings in your hands never cease. Go to your people and play to the people. Let them laugh and cry, let them dance and rejoice to your song.

Alfarabbi returned home. He played so well that people began to come from distant lands to listen to him. People invited the musician to their place.

Alfarabbi walked and played. The bright smile that appeared on the exhausted face of everyone who listened to his music was more valuable to Alfarabbi than any reward.

The Sultan, the powerful ruler of the country, loved to unwind his ears with music. There were many singers and musicians in his rich palace. He listened to their songs every day.

Alfarabbi's fame reached the palace. The Sultan also wished to listen to the new musician and sent ambassadors for him.

But Alfarabbi did not go to the Sultan. Some time passed, and the Sultan again sent for him. But Alfarabbi again refused to go. This happened several times. Then the Sultan became angry.

I am the great Sultan, the ruler of land and sea, I rule over life and death, who dares to disobey my commands!

At these words of the Sultan, everyone bowed their heads low and did not dare to raise their eyes.

“I will send my guards, I will send my warriors,” said the Sultan, “and they will bring me a musician.” Then he will serve only me.

Before the Sultan could carry out his threats, human rumor brought his words to Alfarabbi. But the Sultan’s threats did not deter Alfarabbi.

But then one day, when Alfarabbi was playing, and a girl as thin as a reed was spinning in a dance and a light scarf was flying like a thinning fog above her head, Alfarabbi heard words that forced him to stop the song:

Or don’t you know, he heard, that the terrible hour is near?

What are you talking about? - asked Alfarabbi.

Apparently, you don’t know that old Ali did not have time to bow his head to the ground when the Sultan passed by,” said the newcomer. - And the Sultan ordered to tear off the rebellious head. The day of execution is near.

Alfarabbi asked no more. He took off his dress, put on rags and this time went to the Sultan himself. The snow-white palace of the Sultan shone in the sun.

“I’m a musician,” Alfarabbi said, approaching the guards, but did not give his name. -I came to please the Sultan's ears.

Here, at the entrance, decorated with stone carvings as fine as if they were lace, Alfarabbi's robe looked even more pathetic.

The guards didn't want to let him in.

“Are our Sultan’s musicians like that,” the guards laughed, “only you were missing here.”

But Alfarabbi did not back down, he insisted, he demanded that they report to the Sultan.

The Sultan, who at that time was listening to his court musicians, said:

Let him in, let him in.

Having barely crossed the threshold and not even making the prescribed greeting, Alfarabbi touched the strings with his hand.

From the very first sounds, everyone who was here began to laugh so much that no one even noticed the uncivil behavior of the newcomer. And how could they blame the musician when they themselves, in uncontrollable laughter, did not behave as befits in the presence of the great Sultan. The Sultan, exhausted from laughter, could not say anything, and he himself now behaved in a completely different way than his high position required.

Suddenly Alfarabbi stopped the song and immediately touched the strings again. Sighs and sobs were heard in response from those listening. Tears of suffering sparkled in his eyes.

And for the third time Alfarabbi changed the melody of his music. Then rage overwhelmed those listening.

And Alfarabbi hastened to move on to a new melody, quiet, soothing, like a mother’s lullaby. Under these sounds, everyone soon fell into such a serene and deep sleep that Alfarabbi could calmly leave the palace.

The dungeon where the condemned spent their last days was just opposite the palace, and the guards guarding the entrance slept as soundly as everyone else in the palace. Alfarabbi entered the dungeon, went down into the dungeon and brought out the old man Ali and everyone who languished with him.
Then, undisturbed by anyone, he went out of the city gates and calmly went his way.

Magic harp

In one small village there lived a young man named Maun Sita. He lost his parents in early childhood, and he had no relatives at all. So he lived alone, earning his living by playing the harp. One day, as usual, Maun Sita went with his old harp to a distant village. His path ran through a dense forest. Before Maun Sita could go deeper into the thicket, robbers attacked him, took his money, and broke his nurse-harp into small pieces. Maun Sita wept bitterly, and the robbers, having had plenty of fun at his grief, left. Maun Sita waited until the robbers were out of sight, and began to carefully collect the pitiful fragments, saying:

Sweet harp! You were my only joy in this world, and now you are gone too.

Maun Sita grieved for a long time over the broken harp and suddenly heard:

What are you lamenting about, young man? - Maun Sita quickly turned to the speaker and - lo and behold! - I saw the king of the Nats. Kneeling before the radiant king, Maun Sita respectfully said:

O great king, forgive me if I said anything wrong. The robbers broke my harp and thereby deprived me of a nurse. Now I don’t know what to do, and that’s why I’m crying.

Don’t be sad, young man,” replied the king of the Nats. - I will help you. But you must swear an oath to me. - Maun Sita rejoiced and exclaimed loudly:

I agree to fulfill any of your commands! - And then the king continued:

You will have a new harp, and not just a simple one, but a magical one. Make a wish, touch its strings with your fingers - and it will immediately come true. But remember, the harp will serve you faithfully as long as you remain kind and humble. As soon as you become greedy and envious, misfortunes will fall on your head. Promise that you will not abuse the magical gift of the harp.

I promise,” Maun Sita answered readily. -I will be content with only the most necessary.

The king of the Nats touched the broken harp with his magic wand, and a completely new harp immediately appeared in its place.

Maun Sita was delighted, bowed to the king at the waist, took the harp and set off again. Whether he walked for a long time or for a short time, only in the end he felt intense hunger. Then he remembered the harp, touched its strings, and all kinds of dishes immediately appeared in front of him. Maun Sita tasted a little of everything and moved on.

Two days later he reached his native village, Maun Sita. Little by little, the villagers learned about the magical power of his harp and whenever they were in trouble, they turned to him for help. And Maun Sita never refused anyone.

Gradually, the rumor about the magic harp spread throughout the country and even reached the ears of the king. The king summoned his courtiers and ordered them to find Maun Sita at all costs and bring her to the palace. And so Maun Sita appeared before the king.

“Young man,” the king addressed him. - I heard about your extraordinary harp and decided to try its magical power. For many years now, the Queen has been tormented by headaches. Can't you heal her?

Order, lord, I will do everything in my power,” Maun Sita answered obediently.

So please get down to business immediately, and if you are successful, I will give you expensive gifts.

On the appointed day, Maun Sita came to the palace and appeared before the queen. He took his harp in his hands, conceived a wish, and before he had time to touch its strings, the queen felt better. The young man came to the palace for five days. And on the sixth day the queen finally recovered. To celebrate, the king threw a feast and generously presented Maun Sita with gold and precious stones.

Maun Sita loaded three carts with royal gifts and went home. And when he reached his native village, he divided the wealth equally among the peasants. Since then, there were no poor people in the village, everyone lived happily and prosperously, tirelessly praising the virtues of Maun Sita. And Maun Sita, true to his vow to always remain kind and humble, continued to work along with all the villagers.

And grateful fellow villagers, in memory of the noble Maun Sita, named the village after him.

Chongurist

Once upon a time there lived a king. He had an only daughter, whose beauty was as beautiful as the sun. To everyone who asked for her hand, the king answered like this: there and there, in such and such a garden, the apple tree of immortality grows, whoever brings me a golden apple from this apple tree, I will give my daughter to him.

Chongurist lived next door to the king. He was famous for his playing and singing. He liked the royal daughter, unprecedented under the sun, but he did not dare to woo her! One fine day he made up his mind and came to the king with a request... The king told him to get a golden apple.

The poor Chongurist took his Chonguri* and set off. He walked a long way or a little, crossed nine mountains and reached a huge garden, surrounded by a wall so high that even a bird could not fly over it.

The Chongurist wandered around the garden for a long time, but did not find the gate anywhere. A chongur player walks along the wall, plays the chonguri and sings so sweetly. And the whole world listens to that song. The forest stopped rustling its leaves, the birds flying in the sky began to flock to that garden. They will sit on the trees and listen to the chongurist singing. Everyone enjoyed the singing, even the stone wall itself.

Suddenly the stones moved apart in front of Chongurist - and ahead he saw a road covered with flowers. A musician walked along it and sang his song. This road led straight into the garden. And the apple tree of immortality stood in that garden, and a dragon guarded it. He swallowed everyone who dared to enter the garden alive. When the dragon heard an unfamiliar voice, he opened his terrible mouth and growled: “Who is this impudent person who dared to enter my garden! Out of fear of me, ants do not crawl on the ground and birds do not fly in the sky.”

And the chongurist plays and sings, sings his song, bitter tears flow from his eyes. Sings and cries. The dragon rushed at him with a roar, opened his terrible mouth to swallow the daredevil, but suddenly stopped and listened. The sweet singing enchanted him. The dragon listened for a long time, his evil heart trembled, and tears flowed from his bloody eyes. Trembling and crying, the formidable dragon looked at the Chongurist, who sang more and more touchingly and sadly.
The chongur player struck the strings, but then the strings broke. The loud voices fell silent. Hanging his head, the chongurist stands in front of the open mouth of the monster and cries. But the dragon is silent and only looks at him pitifully. But then he came to his senses, plucked a golden apple from the tree and threw it to Chongurist. He couldn't believe his eyes. And the dragon says: “Take it, don’t be embarrassed. I have never heard such a voice in my life, no one spoke to me like that. Take this apple and go in peace, I give you my word that from today I will not shed the blood of your tribe. How sweet the human voice turns out to be!”
The delighted Chongurist took the golden apple and returned to his kingdom.

Lost Melody

Once upon a time there lived an eccentric, but at his core he was a very good person. One day he went to a village where he had never been before, and there he heard a melody that someone was whistling. He liked her extremely.

Generally, people living in mountainous areas love music. This man loved her too. He met a man who whistled and offered him an expensive gift for teaching him the tune.

The deal was done, the melody was learned. Whistling, our man set off on his way back to the house. But, finding himself near his native village, he began to think about his livestock and poultry and worried whether wild animals had eaten them. He was so lost in his thoughts that he even stopped whistling.

But suddenly it seemed to the eccentric that he had lost something. He racked his brains, trying to remember what he was looking for, but in vain. Gloomy, he sat down under a tree and began to mourn his fate. By chance, another man was walking along the same road and asked him why he was so gloomy. And the man replied:

Brother, I have lost a great treasure. - Then he was asked a question:

What exactly?

I don't know for sure, that's why I'm so sad. The other man laughed and said:

If you can't remember what you had and what you lost, don't worry. It's not worth it. Let's divide my tobacco equally and go together.

Having said this, the man took out some tobacco and crushed it. And, while kneading his tobacco, he suddenly whistled. Our man jumped up, hugged the man tightly and shouted:

I got it back! I got it back! - And he began to whistle the melody that he had learned.

The other thought that he had met a madman and quickly left.

Master Ali

Many years ago there lived a khan. He was so cruel and evil that people were afraid to even say his name in conversation. And if he happened to pass along the roads, the inhabitants ran away from the villages into the steppes and hid wherever they could, so as not to catch his eye.

The khan's wife died a long time ago from grief and melancholy. But the khan left behind a son, Husain, a young man of remarkable beauty and intelligence. This was the only creature on Earth that the cruel and old Khan loved.

Husain had many friends and comrades. With them he rode across the steppes, competed in archery, and went to the mountains to hunt wild animals. How many times did he return home joyful and satisfied, and his servants carried him his prey - the carcasses of wild boars and antelopes.

The old khan was worried about his son. But Husain only laughed. He was confident in his strength and agility. For a long time everything went well. But then one day... Husain rode off to hunt - and did not return. It took a while before they found the poor young man. Husain lay with his chest torn to pieces under a large spreading tree. Apparently, a wild boar attacked him from behind a tree and plunged its sharp fangs into his heart. The servants stood over the body of the khan’s son in grief and fear. "What will happen now? How to tell the khan about a terrible misfortune? The servants cried both from grief at the sight of the dead young man, and from fear of what awaited them if they brought terrible news to the khan.

And they decided to turn to the wise old shepherd Ali for advice. Ali thought for a long time, hanging his gray head. Finally he agreed to help them. He brought thin boards and dry horse sinews and began to make something.

The next morning the servants were awakened by gentle, sad and plaintive music. Ali sat with his legs crossed and held in his hands a musical instrument they had never seen before. Thin strings were stretched across it, and a round hole was visible under them. Ali plucked the strings with his old fingers, and the instrument sang in his hands as if alive. “Now let’s go to the khan,” said the old shepherd.

The shepherd Ali entered the khan's tent and began to play on the musical instrument that he had made at night. The strings groaned and cried. It was as if the plaintive noise of the forest swept under the silk tent of the khan’s tent. The sharp whistle of the wind mixed with the howl of a wild animal. The strings screamed loudly, like a human voice pleading for help. Khan jumped up from his seat:

Did you bring me news of the death of Husain? But do you know that I promised the messenger of misfortune to pour hot lead down his throat?

“Khan,” the old shepherd answered calmly, “I didn’t say a single word.” If you are angry, then punish this instrument that I made and called dombra.

And the khan, mad with grief and rage, ordered hot lead to be thrown into the round hole of the dombra.

So old Ali, with his resourcefulness and skill, saved the lives of ten of the khan’s servants. And since then, the inhabitants of the steppes have acquired a new musical instrument.

Bell

Have you ever been to the capital of China - the beautiful city of Beijing? Were? Well, that means you saw the huge bell that stands on the outskirts of the city, and, of course, admired the shine of its metal.

It is in vain to search in ancient books and ancient manuscripts for the name of the master who cast this bell. It is also impossible to learn from books why the sounds of a huge bell, transparent and gentle, like the overflow of a mountain stream, suddenly become menacing and majestic.

The books don’t talk about this, but old people know who and when cast the wonderful bell and why its voice is sometimes quiet and gentle, sometimes booming and menacing.
Listen!

Many centuries ago, the Chinese emperor ordered the construction of a new city.

“I will call it Beijing,” said the emperor, “and let it be the largest and most beautiful city on Earth.”

But everything did not work out as the master said. Twice the enemies destroyed it. Foreigners, like evil locusts, swooped down on Chinese soil. They drove men into slavery and turned cities into ashes.

Then the emperor went far into the mountains, where a wise hermit lived alone for many years. The emperor entered the sage's cave and humbly said:

You are old and wise. Tell me, what should I do to build the capital of the Chinese state - Beijing? How can I protect her from the attacks of cruel enemies?
The sage answered:

Let the best master of China cast the largest bell on Earth. Its ringing should reach the borders of your state in the south and north, in the east and west.

The emperor returned to the palace, clapped his hands three times and ordered the dignitaries:

Find the most skilled craftsman in my state. The servants rushed in search and brought the best master of China to the emperor.

When Chen - that was the master's name - knelt before the throne, the emperor said:

You must cast the largest bell in my empire. And remember that its sounds must reach the borders of our vast state.
Chen got to work. He worked without knowing rest or peace. His daughter, fifteen-year-old beauty Xiao Ling, helped find the yellowest gold, the whitest silver, the blackest iron for the bell.

The precious metal boiled in a red-hot furnace for many days and nights. But when Chen finally cast the bell, everyone saw a deep crack on its surface.

Chen went to work again. And again his hardworking daughter helped him day and night.

But apparently, failures did not want to leave the old master’s house. When Chen cast his bell again, there were two large cracks on its surface.

Then the angry emperor said:

If failure befalls you for the third time, say goodbye to your head! Old Chen got to work again. But there was no longer joy in his eyes, but firmness in his hands. But everyone knows that those to whom work does not bring joy will never create anything good.

The beautiful Xiao Ling became sad and at night, when everyone was sleeping, she secretly ran to the hermit in the mountains. Crying, she told the sage about her father’s grief, asking for help and advice.

The old sage thought for a moment, and then said:

In the morning, as always, Xiao Ling helped her father. She stood by the furnace, looking at the molten metal, and sad thoughts made her heart clench. Xiao Ling knew what her father did not: the bell would be cracked again if no one sacrificed themselves. This means that again the enemies of China will take young men and women into slavery, kill old people and children, and burn cities and villages.

No! This won't happen anymore!

And before the old master had time to understand what had happened, his daughter, the beautiful Xiao Ling, disappeared into the seething metal. Her holy blood mixed with molten silver, iron and gold...

The unfortunate Chen began to cry. After all, Xiao Ling was his only daughter, his only consolation...

When the bell was cast, it turned out to be the largest bell on Earth. And on its shiny surface there was not a single crack, not a single hangnail.

The entire people admired Chen's wonderful work and glorified his skill.

According to the ancient custom, the old master was the first to ring the bell, and his sweet-sounding voice filled all hearts with joy and peace.

Days passed. The beautiful city of Beijing has already been built. And suddenly one day at dawn everyone heard the loud sounds of the alarm. It was the sound of the bell. No one struck it, but the voice of the bell reached the borders of China in the north and south, west and east. And the hearts of people who heard this voice became courageous and brave. Men's hands reached for weapons, teenagers gained the courage of mature men, men became wise like elders.

When the enemy burst into China to the sound of the alarm bell, the entire people rose to meet him. And the Chinese warriors knew neither fatigue nor fear in battle, because they heard the angry sounds of the alarm bell. And the calling voice of the girl Xiao Ling sounded on the alarm bell.

The foreigners were defeated. Their bodies were overgrown with stinging nettles, and their names were erased from human memory.

Let none of you think that this is a fairy tale. No! So it was and so it will be: in the hearts of the people the voice of those who died for the happiness of their native land always sounds.

Willow pipe

In the south of Korea there is a small island in the middle of the sea; it is not without reason that it is called Turtle Island - Kobukseong. In appearance it resembles a turtle shell. A willow grove has been preserved on the island to this day; in the summer, orioles fly there, and then the entire island is resounding with the sounds of their songs, so similar to the clear trills of a willow pipe. Old people come to listen to the singing of birds, sit under spreading willows and tell each other fairy tales.

Here is one of them.

A long time ago, this began when the spreading willows were very small: during the day, the willow leaves shrank and turned yellow. And as soon as night fell and dew fell, they came to life and became green again. The inhabitants of the island could not understand what kind of miracle this was. The secret of what was happening was known only to the old fisherman. He lived on the island for centuries. He had neither a son nor a daughter, only an old wife. They lived in peace and harmony. A fishing boat and torn gear - that’s all their wealth. The fisherman became hunched over from old age and became deaf. They tell him, but he doesn’t hear. Instead of answering, he waves his hands. How can I find out the secret of the spreading willows from him?

But then one day a new ruler arrived in the district town. I heard about the miracle and called the old fisherman. The old man patched up his old and patched clothes and went to the ruler. The ruler saw the old man, stroked his mustache and said:

I heard that you know the secret of the willow grove on Turtle Island. Open it for me!

The old man bowed his head and answered:

Even as a child, my grandfather talked about the willow grove. I’ll tell you everything he said.

The fisherman sat down more comfortably and began to talk.

“A long time ago, in the place where the willow grove is now, there was the grave of one brave young man. They say that one day foreigners attacked our island.

The inhabitants of the island fought bravely, but the forces were unequal - there were more enemies. All the island’s warriors died in that battle, only the young man survived. Covered in wounds, he continued to fight his enemies. But then he fell, struck down by the enemy’s sword. All the girls on the island came running to him. They mourned the death of the brave young man, dug a grave, and went for the tombstone. We returned and the willows had grown thickly at the site of the grave. They began to look for where the grave was, but there were no traces of it left. Since then, in the evenings, when the wind rustled in the treetops, it seemed as if someone invisible was moaning pitifully. One of the girls cried out:

Oh, woe is me, how can I now find the grave of my loved one?! - She made a pipe and started playing, and then she said:

If only I could see the grave of my beloved, I could not be happier in the world!

As soon as she uttered these words, the wind came and pushed the trees apart. The girl looks - there is a path in front of her. The girl ran along the path and found the grave of her loved one. The people put a tombstone on the grave and went back. We came out into the clearing, the paths were as if they had never happened: only the willows were swaying in the wind.

Soon, foreigners attacked the island again. And there is not a single young warrior there. Old men and women. They went out to fight, some with a spear in their hand, some with a kitchen knife. Can they resist their enemies?! Foreigners began to land on the island. And at this time the same girl who was playing the pipe ran into the willow grove, tore off a willow branch, and made the pipe again. He blows the pipe and shouts at the top of his lungs:

Hey you, sea pirates, robbers, get away from our island!

Then the wind came and blew all the foreigners into the sea in an instant! The sea became raging, covered the pirates with waves, and they all drowned.

That pipe is amazing. For the kind and honest - magical. For the greedy and evil - a simple whistle."

The old man fell silent, untied the bag, took out a pipe from the bag, and gave it to the ruler. The ruler took the pipe and couldn’t be happier. I wanted to blow into it, but changed my mind. I remembered that I didn’t only do good to people. He hid it in a box decorated with gold and silver.

But I must tell you that not all the pirates died. One of them returned to their homeland and told their king about the magic pipe. Here the king was overcome by greed. And he decided to take possession of the pipe. He called one of his subjects. He ordered to get a pipe by hook or by crook.

The subject set off on a journey, but did not know how to get to the island. From the side of the willow grove it’s scary. And he decided to sail to the island on a raft, wait for an opportunity, and only then penetrate the island. The stranger disguised himself as a poor merchant, got to Korea and began asking people about Turtle Island: as if the king had ordered him to buy rare fish. He walked and walked, but could not get to the island. Meanwhile, rumors about the magic pipe spread throughout the county. There was only talk about her. There were brave souls, most often seafarers, who equipped their boats and sailed to Turtle Island. But as soon as anyone approached the island, a storm arose and the boats sank. Happiness is if someone managed to escape.

The fame of the magic pipe spread throughout Korea. But there were no more hunters to sail to the island. Several months have already passed, and the royal envoy keeps walking and walking. One day he went to the market and saw that in one place the women had gathered and were whispering to each other. He came closer and listened:

“We heard that our ruler has a magic pipe in a precious box,” said one of the women.

The stranger was delighted and thought: “Now there is no need for me to go to the island” - and returned to the inn. He began to think and figure out how to steal the pipe from the ruler. He took a bunch of selected tobacco and went to the palace the next day. I got an appointment with the king. I talked about this and that with the ruler, asked for help in trade matters and, as if by chance, offered to smoke tobacco. The king tried tobacco and, out of habit, immediately fell asleep. In addition, the tobacco was mixed with a sleeping drug. The stranger found the box, pulled out the pipe - and was gone. He immediately sailed to his homeland and gave the pipe to the king. The king was delighted. A feast was arranged for the occasion. The courtiers praise the successful messenger for having served well.

Now no one in the whole world can overcome me,” the king boasts, “I will conquer all countries, make them my slaves.” - He says and rubs his hands with pleasure.

The king drank wine, got drunk, took the pipe, and wanted to try the magic power. It blows and blows - all to no avail. The pipe squeaks pitifully, but there is no miracle. The king did not know that for the good the pipe is a magic one, but for the greedy and evil it is a simple whistle. The king became angry when he shouted:

Hey you scoundrel! Are you trying to deceive me?! You won't live anymore.

The king called the executioner and ordered:

Push into the water!

They threw the royal messenger and the pipe into the sea. And he drowned. And the pipe floated away. Far, far away. Since then, no one has seen her again!

McCrnmons' silver pipe

Ein Or McCrimmons sat on a hill near his home in Borrereg, on the west of the Isle of Skye. He sat and sat and sighed so heavily that the grass lay at his feet. A day has already been set for a piper's competition to be held at Dunvegan Castle, where the best of the best will be chosen to be declared the hereditary piper of MacLeod of the MacLeod family.

Ein also played the bagpipes, but not very well, and could not even dream of participating in the competition. That's why he sighed. The fairy heard his sigh and took pity on Ein Og McCrimmons. She flew up to him and asked why he was so sad. And when he told why, she said:
- I heard you play, and I think it’s not bad at all. Besides, you are beautiful and I like you. I want to help you.

Ein knew very well that it would cost the fairies nothing to turn the clear water of a spring into the best wine, or to weave a fluffy Scottish plaid from a spider's web, or to make a simple reed pipe play a gentle lullaby.

In a word, Ein realized that the decisive moment had come in his life.

He thanked the fairy with feeling; All that remained was to wait to see what would happen next. The fairy handed him a silver pipe with round holes for his fingers.

Here, take it,” she said to Ein. “Insert it into your bagpipe, and as soon as you touch it with your fingers, it will obediently play the sweetest music.” And she will obey your sons, as you, and the sons of your sons, and their sons, and so on to all the successors of the McCrimmon family. Just remember: you must treat this silver pipe with care and love, because it is not simple, but magical. If it happens that one of the McCrimmons offends or offends her in any way, your family will forever lose their musical gift.

Ein Og took the magic pipe and hurried to Dun-vegan.

All the famous bagpipers of the Scottish Highlands had already gathered there. One after another they played on their bagpipes the same melodies that their fathers and grandfathers had played. And each new piper seemed to play with even greater skill than the previous one.

When Ein Og's turn came, he inserted the magic pipe into his bagpipes and began to play. Everyone listened with bated breath. Never before had they listened to such a piper.

And the bagpipes were magical, and the music flowed magically.

There was no doubt - this is who is worthy to be the hereditary piper of MacLeod from the MacLeod family.

That’s how everything was decided, and that’s how it all turned out. The judges unanimously stated that they had never heard such a magical musician before.

From that day on, the McCrimmons of the Isle of Skye remained, generation after generation, famous pipers and composers. They founded a bagpipe school in their native Borrereg, which attracted students from all over Scotland and Ireland.

The course of study at this school was not short: seven years to become just a piper. Only one who had already had seven generations of bagpipers in his family could be considered a good piper.

Centuries passed, and the McCrimmons remained pipers for the McLeods, until the day came that turned out to be fatal in their glorious history.
The head of the McLeod clan was returning home from the neighboring island of Ra-sey. The piper's place was at the bow of his galley, and was occupied by one of the McCrimmons.
The day turned out to be windy and the sea was very rough. The light ship was tossed up and down, up and down on the foamy waves.
“Play for us, McCrimmons, to lift our spirits,” McLeod asked.

McCrimmons touched his fingers to the silver pipe. However, the strong rolling prevented him from playing; his fingers kept slipping when the galley was thrown back and forth.

The storm was serious. The rolling wave washed over McCrimmons from head to toe, the spray blurred his eyes, and he involuntarily struck several false notes.

No piper from the McCrimmons family has ever played false notes on a magic bagpipe!

And so this unfortunate man threw away his bagpipes in his heart, completely forgetting about the order of the good fairy who gave the silver pipe to Ein Og, although his father had told him this story more than once.

Oh, this pathetic little pipe! - he exclaimed in an angry moment. - Is it possible to squeeze at least one proper sweat out of her!

Before he could say this, he already regretted his words. He knew to himself that they were unfair. Yes, it was too late. The silver pipe slipped out of his hands and fell overboard into the stormy green sea.

The magic spell has broken.

Neither McCrimmons himself, nor his son, nor his son's son could play the bagpipes so well anymore. And the glory of the famous McCrimmons school soon faded, and the school itself fell into decay.

Singing Chatkhan

Once upon a time there lived an old shepherd. His name was Chatkhan. The khan had a lot of cattle. There were also many shepherds. A shepherd has a difficult job: nothing but worries and no joys.

Chatkhan thought for a long time about how to make the life of the shepherds easier, and came up with an idea: he knocked together a long and narrow box from planks, pulled strings on it and began to play. Shepherds came to listen to music. When Chatkhan played, the birds fell silent, the animals stopped their running, the fish froze in rivers and lakes, in the steppe sheep, cows and horses raised their heads and listened to the music, and people forgot their fatigue. The work of the shepherds became easy.

The herds will scatter across the steppe. Chatkhan will take his musical box, touch the strings - and the herds obediently return to him. He alone managed the khan's countless herds.

One day something bad happened. The one-eyed Ainu monsters found out about the magic box. They came from behind a high mountain, killed the old man, took away the music box, and stole all the cattle.

The old man had a grandson. He grew by leaps and bounds. And when he grew up, he said to his mother:

Make me a bow and arrows.

His mother made him a flexible bow and hard arrows. Chatkhan's grandson became a good shooter! If he shoots an arrow to the right, thirty birds fall; if he shoots it to the left, he kills twenty birds.

The mother strictly forbade her son to go beyond the big mountain. And the boy is curious: what is there, behind that high mountain?

One day he climbed to the top and saw a large house without windows near the cave. The boy crept up to the house and listened. Behind the wall, human voices buzz like bees. One says:

The food is over... - Another said:

The mare needs to be slaughtered.

No, said the third, it’s better to slaughter a cow and a sheep.

Suddenly everything in the house became quiet and music was heard. The forests swayed, the leaves on the trees fluttered. It became easy and fun all around. The mare neighed, the cow mooed, the sheep bleated, they left the cave, ran straight to the house and stopped.

The boy hid behind a large stone and began to watch what would happen next.

Seven black one-eyed Ainu came out of the house. They slaughtered animals and began bringing meat into the house.

The boy hasn't eaten meat for a long time! He extended an arrow from behind a stone and pierced the cow's brisket with the tip. The one-eyed Aina did not notice anything.

The boy brought his catch to his mother. She was happy, but when she found out where her son went and how he got the brisket, she was saddened.

These Ainu killed your grandfather. I'm afraid there wouldn't be a new problem... Why did you go there? - said the mother.

“Don’t be afraid of anything,” the boy answered.

The next day he took his bow and arrows and went over the mountain again. He crept up to the house and began to listen. There was an argument in the house.

Who ate the brisket? - asked one.

“He probably ate it himself,” answered the other.

There was no brisket. “You both probably ate it on the sly,” said the third.

Chatkhan's grandson has grown up. This is his doing. We must kill him!

The one-eyed people ran out of the house, pushing like blind people. They held hands and walked down the mountain. The boy waited a little and made his way into the house. He dug a deep hole in front of the door, covered it with branches, and covered the branches with earth. Then he took his grandfather’s box and started playing. The one-eyed people were already going down the mountain, but they heard music and ran back.

They rushed to the door and fell into the hole. The boy covered the hole with earth, and all the Ainu died.

Then he took the wonderful box and played on it. A cave opened, horses neighed, cows mooed, and sheep bleated. The boy went down the mountain, and the herds followed him.

The shepherds began to live happily again. The boy played and sang to them about the treacherous Ainu, about the evil khans, about the good and mighty heroes.

Since then, people began to call the singing box chatkhan - in honor of the old man, and the boy was nicknamed haiji - singer.

How a man gave a song back to the birds

Three little birds lived in a cozy nest - three buntings. Every day the mother bunting flew for prey, and the chicks sat in the nest and sang their song.

As soon as the sun appeared, the buntings began to sing:

So that the chicks have fun,

She carried both larvae and midges.

The song of snow buntings can be heard far away. The raven heard her. He flew up to the chicks and said:

Well you sing! Sing it one more time and louder!

The chicks closed their eyes and sang with all their might. Here the raven grabbed the song with its beak, snatched it from the snow buntings and flew to its nest on the rocks. He flew to his place and sang:

Sun, warm the earth with its rays, so that mice run out of their holes,
They quickly carried the loot.

The mother bunting flew to the nest. He sees the baby chicks crying bitterly.

What are you crying about, children? Who offended you? - she asks.

The chicks answer her through tears:

The cunning raven took our song away!

Ay-yay-yay,” the mother snow bunting was upset, “but where did the raven fly away?”

Over there, where the rocks are above the sea.

Don't cry, I'll call a man with a bow for help. He will help us.

A snow bunting flew towards the hunter. She flew in, sat down near the dugout and looked at the door.

A hunter saw her and asked:

Why did you come to me, little bunting?

Good man, you can do anything. Help us. The raven took our song away!

The hunter thought and said:

Your song is good. I loved listening to her in the morning! Show me where the raven flew.

“There’s a raven’s nest on those rocks above the sea,” answered the snow bunting.

The hunter took a bow and arrows and went to the rocks. A snow bunting flew after the hunter. The hunter approached the rock, and the raven sat with his eyes closed and sang:

Sun, warm the earth with its rays,
To make the mice run out of their holes,
To the crows in the nests for black children
They quickly carried the loot.
A-ya-gu-na-kar-kar! A-ya-gu-na-kar-kar!

“I’ll teach you a lesson, you old loudmouth!” - the hunter thought and began to take aim at the raven.

But the raven sees and hears nothing. He opened his beak, stuck out his tongue and began to sing. The song keeps spinning on the tip of the crow's tongue. The hunter pulled his bow and shot an arrow. An arrow flew and tore the song out of the crow's beak along with the tip of its tongue.

A song began to fall from a cliff into the sea, and a snow bunting picked it up in flight and flew to the nest to its chicks. The raven lost the song along with the tip of his tongue. Since then he has become completely voiceless: he cannot sing, he only croaks.

And the snow buntings, as soon as the morning sun appears, sing again:

Sun, warm the earth with its rays,
So that the chicks have fun,
So that the baby bunting can quickly get into the nest of the children
She carried both larvae and midges.
A-ya-gu-na-la-la! A-ya-gu-na-la-la!

So they sing and remember the good hunter, having returned the song to them.

How owls learned to sing

There was a time when the birds all sang the same way. This created a lot of confusion. It used to be that a dove would hear a beautiful song and think that the dove was singing and singing. He will fly towards the voice and fall right into the claws of the kite.

The red-breasted bullfinch will begin to call its chicks, and gray sparrows will flock to its call.

Finally, the birds got tired of such a life, and they decided this: let’s put all the songs in a large chest and pull them out one by one; Whoever pulls out a song, his whole family will sing it. The birds appointed a day, hour and place and flew from all over the forest to share songs.

Some owls were late. They were big lazy people and loved to sleep.

The birds, flying to the appointed place, called two owls dozing on a branch, but they only slightly opened their round eyes and said to each other:
- Why rush? The best songs are longer and heavier, they probably fell to the bottom of the chest. That's what we'll get.

Only in the evening the owls gathered to get their share. We looked into the chest, and it was empty. All the songs were understood by other birds. So the owls got nothing.

Is it possible to live without songs? You don’t even know how to give a voice to each other.

The owls grieved and grieved and finally said:

Let's come up with a song for ourselves. And it wasn't that easy.

Either they will tighten it so much that their own ears will hurt, then they will burst into trills and will already be delighted - that’s good! - and suddenly they will hear: the same knee, but much more smoothly, is being carried out by some pathetic finch. The owls are completely depressed.

And the birds all around chirp from morning to evening, to their envy.

One evening two owl friends met in a grove outside the village. We chatted about this and that and remembered our sad fate.
And then one of them said:

Shouldn't we learn from people?

“That’s the thing,” answered the second. - I just heard that they are celebrating a wedding today. And the best songs are sung at weddings.
No sooner said than done.

The owls flew into the village, right into the yard where the wedding was taking place. They settled down on an apple tree that grew closer to the hut and pricked up their ears.

Unfortunately for them, none of the guests started singing. The owls are tired of sitting on a branch.

Apparently, we can’t expect help from people either! - they said to each other and were about to fly away.

But then the door creaked, swung open noisily, some merry fellow ran out into the street and shouted at the top of his voice:

Woo-hoo-hoo!

Mind you, my song, mind you, mine! - exclaimed the first owl.

Okay,” her friend replied. - Well, you're lucky! At this time, a horse woke up in the stable. She woke up and snorted loudly: - Frrr...

But this is my, my song! - the second owl immediately screamed.

And both flew away cheerful, to quickly get to the forest and show off their wonderful songs to other birds.

Anyone who happened to wander into a pine, or birch, or spruce forest at night, probably heard the roll call of two birds.

One shouts:

Woo-hoo-hoo! The other one answers:

Frrr... frrr... frr-rrr-rr!

These are the same owls that in the old days flew to weddings to learn songs.

Magic musical instruments in the tales of the people of the world

Project manager: Tittel S.V.

teacher MBOU Secondary School No. 12, Pushkino

Goals and objectives: 1 Get acquainted with ancient folk instruments found in the texts of fairy tales of the peoples of the world; 2 Get acquainted with the sound of folk instruments; 3 Prepare an electronic version for presentations to primary schoolchildren

Russian folktale "Sadko"

How Sadko started playing

The goosebumps are spring-fed,

How the king began to dance

marine in the blue sea.

How the king of the sea danced

Russian folk instrument gusli

The gusli is an ancient Russian plucked string musical instrument. The word "harp" is characteristic of Slavic dialects

Karelian folk tale « Matti is a funny guy »

Matti stopped playing the kantele. The bear took a breath and said: - Hey, guy! Teach me to play the kantele! “You can,” says Matti the merry fellow. “Why not teach?” He put the kantele into the bear's paws. And the bear has thick paws, he hits the strings - oh, how badly he plays! “No,” says Matti, “you play poorly!”

Karelian musical instrument kantele

Kantele is a Karelian and Finnish plucked string instrument similar to a harp. Ancient kantele had five gut strings, modern ones are equipped with metal strings and their number reaches thirty-four. When playing, the kantele is held on the knees in a horizontal or slightly inclined position and the strings are plucked with the fingers of both hands.

Kantele

Many peoples of the world have instruments related to the kantele, but, perhaps, only the Karelians and Finns poetize and animate it so much.

Georgian folk tale "Chongurist"

A young man walks, plays his chonguri and sings a gentle song. The garden froze, the trees stopped rustling their leaves. The mountains and valleys listen to the song. Birds soaring in the sky descended on the trees to listen to the song of Chongurist

Georgian folk instrument Chonguri

Georgian 4-string plucked musical

tool. A traditional female instrument, but now also played by men; serves mainly to accompany singing and dancing, less often used as a solo

Ashanti folk tale (west Africa) « Osebo drum »

Once upon a time, the leopard Osebo had a large drum, which was admired by both animals and gods. Everyone admired it, but no one even dared to think about taking possession of this drum, because Osebo was the strongest of the animals on earth and everyone was afraid of him.

Belarusian fairy tale "Magic pipe"

Ivanka’s pipe plays, teaches people, and rouses them to a great battle. Only the tickle goes and walks from village to village, from edge to edge. And the pipe whistles, the pipe plays, the tickle walks far around the world, gathering people. There is no way to catch him or shoot him with cannons. He makes his way everywhere, knows no barriers

Belarusian folk instrument pipe-piston

Belarusian folk wind instrument. It became widespread in Western Belarus. It is a cylindrical wooden tube with a whistle device, into which a piston with a handle is inserted. Sound production is carried out by supplying a stream of air and rhythmic, pumping movements of the piston, which determine the pitch of the sound

Czech folk tale "Gonza and Violin"

“I would like another violin,” said Gonza, “but not a simple one, but one that, if you played it, everyone would start dancing... “Three,” said the old man, and on Gonza’s left shoulder there was already a scarlet violin hanging cord.

And Gonza still plays the violin when people want to have fun and dance.

Czech folk instrument violin dyndy

The violin is a bowed stringed musical instrument. It is of folk origin, acquired its modern appearance in the 16th century, and became widespread in the 17th century. Bowed instruments have been known for a very long time. In ancient Greece there was no bow yet.

It can be considered that the birthplace of bowed instruments was India first centuries AD. From India, bowed instruments came to the Persians, Arabs, and peoples of North Africa, and from there they came to Europe in the eighth century. Presumably the immediate predecessor of the violin was the so-called Lira da Braccio , originating from ancient viol

Mongolian folk tale "Damdin the musician"

Damdin left his father, disappeared for three years, and returned for the fourth: The father asks:

What did you learn? Tell me.

“I learned to play the morinkhur,” Damdin answers. The father got angry:

Other fathers' sons know how to forge iron, they can ride horses, but you only play the morinhur! What is the use of such a skill?

Damdin replied:

Whoever listens to my playing, life becomes easier for him, his heart beats more cheerfully.

Mongolian folk instrument morinkhur

Morinkhur, or Mongolian violin, is a bowed string musical instrument, a traditional instrument of the Mongols. The top of the instrument is carved in the shape of a horse's head. That is why the instrument got its name

Indian folk tale "Gutila the Musician"

Guttila broke one string, continuing to play on six. The broken end of the string sounded like divine music. Musila also broke the string, but it did not make any sound. Then the teacher broke the second string, then the third, and so on until the last, seventh string. And when he played on one tree, the sounds of his guilt spread throughout Benares

Indian folk instrument veena

Veena is an ancient Indian plucked string musical instrument. It is called Saraswati Vina, named after Saraswati, the goddess of knowledge and arts. It is shaped like a lute. The sound of the wine is soft, rich in nuances. Vina is a concert instrument that is also used as an accompaniment to vocal music and classical dance.

Latvian folk fairy tale "Magic Stabule"

The old man took pity on the orphan, thought and took out a stabule pipe from his bag. “I can’t give you anything else,” he says, “only this stabule. Maybe you’ll need it someday. As soon as you play it, everyone who hears it will start jumping.” The old man gave it to an orphan in Istanbul and immediately disappeared. The guy took the stabule and played it. As soon as he started playing, all the sheep and cows started jumping

Latvian folk instrument stabule

Pipes were known already in the 2nd millennium BC. This is a wind instrument. Pipes were made from wood or bone. Has five to six music holes and a drilled core

Burmese folk tale « The Adventures of Musician Cha Tan Pho »

A long time ago, in a village there lived a widow. She had a son named Cha Tan Pho. He was already 16 years old, but he was not friends with anyone, and all day long he played the palwe - the Burmese flute, so much so that everyone who listened to him play forgot about everything in the world, even about food and drink. Not only people, but also forest animals listened to his play

Burmese folk instrument

Flute is a common name for a number of instruments from the woodwind group. It is one of the most ancient musical instruments in origin. Unlike other wind instruments, the flute produces sounds by cutting the air stream against the edge, instead of using a reed

Serbian folk tale « The Trojan king has goat ears"

The elderberry grew and gave three red shoots, straight as an arrow. The shepherds cut off one rod and made a pipe out of it. But as soon as they started playing it, she began to sing: “Tsar Troyan has goat ears!”

Serbian folk instrument Frula

Since ancient times, Montenegrins have made musical instruments with which they could reproduce the beautiful sounds of nature: birdsong, the murmur of a spring, mountain echoes, the rustling of leaves. One of the favorite musical instruments of local residents is the frula, a Montenegrin pipe whose sound resembles the trills of a nightingale. Listening to the unique range of frula melodies, your heart is filled with peace and joy

Japanese folk tale « Flutist Santa"

There lived a young man named Santa. No one in all of Japan could play the flute better than him. A cheerful song will play and everyone will start dancing.

Japanese folk instrument Ryuteki

Ryuteki ("dragon flute") is a bamboo Japanese transverse flute with seven playing holes. The sound of the ryuteki depicts dragons flying in the heavenly light, being watched by people

Kazakh folk tale « Master Ali"

But old Ali did not sleep. He brought thin boards and dry horse sinews and began to make something with a knife. The next morning the servants were awakened by gentle music. They jumped up and saw the old shepherd. Ali sat with his legs crossed and held in his hands a musical instrument they had never seen before. Thin strings were stretched across it. Ali fingered them, and the instrument sang in his hands as if alive.

Kazakh musical instrument dombra

Dombra is a Kazakh folk two-stringed musical instrument. It is used as an accompanying and solo instrument, as well as the main instrument in Kazakh folk music. Used by modern performers

Eskimo folk tale « Wonderful tambourine »

The woman took a tambourine, knocked on it, and began to sing. And she sang so well that the girl remembered every sound, every movement.

And the girl went to the middle of the yaranga, took a tambourine and began to sing. And as she began to sing, a noise was heard outside. Getting closer and closer. Soon the waves splashed at the entrance and water gushed into the canopy. Then the girl began to beat the tambourine faster, the waves rolled back, and - lo and behold! – there is a lot of tasty algae left in the canopy

Eskimo musical instrument tambourine

A tambourine is a musical percussion instrument in the form of a narrow round wooden shell with a leather membrane stretched on one side. Sometimes bells and bells are hung inside the shell, and rattling metal plates are inserted into the slots in the walls. The stick used to beat the tambourine is made of bamboo or bone from the leg of a small animal

Guinean folk tale « Gassira bark »

And then one night at a rest stop, Gassir sat alone by the fire and seemed to listen. Finally sleep overcame him too. Suddenly he woke up and jumped to his feet. He heard music, and this music seemed to sound inside him. Gassir trembled: it was the bark that sang! The heart of the brave warrior trembled, and he cried for the first time. Gassir realized that all his exploits were temporary, and only music could rise above life and death. So Gassir became a great singer

Guinean folk instrument kora

The kora is a 21-string plucked musical instrument common in West Africa. In structure and sound, the kora is close to the lute and harp. Traditionally, strings were made from thin strips of antelope or other animal skin. Nowadays strings are made from nylon fishing line or harp strings are used. Sometimes these strings are woven to make them thicker

Chinese folk tale « Musician Wen"

Great Xiang asked: “How is your qin playing?” Wen replied: “I have realized it. I ask you to check me.” It was spring then, but Wen touched the strings of Autumn. Suddenly, a cold wind rose and the growth of trees and grasses ended. Autumn has come. Wen touched the string of Spring, and a warm wind swirled, the trees and grass began to bloom. Spring has come, but Wen touched the string of Winter. It snowed and frost fell, rivers and reservoirs suddenly froze. Winter came. Then Wen touched the string of Summer. The heat of the bright sun immediately melted the strong ice

Chinese folk instrument qin

The Qin or Chinese zither is one of the most ancient Chinese plucked instruments. Almost all representatives of the upper classes and nobility in Ancient China knew how to play the qing. This instrument has also been called the "father of national music" and the "instrument of the sages." The instrument is used for accompanying, solo and orchestral performances. They mostly perform calm, smooth melodies

Uzbek folk tale « Young man with karnai"

The young man took the karnai and went from village to village,

Playing at holidays and celebrations

Uzbek folk instrument karnai

Karnai is one of the oldest Uzbek musical instruments, but few people remember that in the Middle Ages it was a military signal instrument. . The length of this wind instrument without valves or vents can reach up to three meters. In the present tense, Karnai is used throughout Uzbekistan as a herald of celebration and entertainment, accompanying the people and circus shows, the horse participates in races and other sports games.

The project was prepared under the guidance of music teacher S.V. Tittel. Borisenko Ekaterina, Zhiltsova Maria, Tittel Edgar MBOU Secondary School No. 12, Pushkino Thank you for your attention!

The mouse got out of the case and said:

- There's some kind of animal hiding there. Its body is rounded, with notches on the sides. The neck is long and narrow, and the head is curved, with two ears on each side.

So many ears? This animal probably has better hearing than a mouse,” said the mouse dad.

I forgot to say that the beast has iron veins stretched around its neck. And next to him lies a stick with hairs,” added the mouse.

Oh, will he really fight with his wand?! - exclaimed the mother mouse.

Let him try, I’ll... - Dad squeaked the mouse, but he was interrupted by the old clock.

Stupid mice. This is a violin, a musical instrument.

Then suddenly there was a click, the case opened, and everyone saw the violin.

She looked around and quietly rang:

- Hello, how long have I been sleeping? I hope you love music?

What is music? – asked the curious mouse.

How, you don’t know what music is? – the violin moaned.

“No, I don’t know, we don’t have music in the attic,” answered the mouse.

Music is when I sing and my strings ring. In general, you should listen to music, and not talk about it,” the violin explained excitedly.

Dear violin, play something for us. Let the mice hear real music at least once in their lives, the watch asked.

“Okay,” the violin rang and tensed, but nothing happened other than a quiet ringing. She tensed again, and again the faint ringing of strings was heard.

There’s nothing special about this music,” said the mother mouse, and everyone agreed with her.

They stopped paying attention to the violin, and it lay unhappy and silent. After a while the bow rustled quietly:

– Strings, why have you forgotten how to sing? Maybe you got sick or lost your music?

“We didn’t get sick,” the first string rang resentfully.

And they haven’t forgotten how to sing,” the second string responded.

By the way, the string was the first musical instrument. When the hunter released the drawn bowstring, it rang. This is how man first understood that music lives in a string,” the third string explained in detail.

It’s you, the bow, who got sick, weakened and lost the music,” the fourth string remarked caustically.

Not at all. I may be small and fragile, but within me I have the enormous power of music. The horsehair stretched over me even vibrates with impatience and the desire to extract the wonderful sounds of music,” the bow wheezed offendedly.

You are arguing in vain. “I think you are missing the most important thing - a person,” the clock creaked. – Only a person can revive you and make you sound.

However, only a person can turn me on,” the clock sighed.

Dear watch, let’s call the man,” the violin asked.

It’s useless, no one has come here for a long time,” the clock answered.

“I can’t live without music, let’s try,” the violin begged and began to ring quietly. The clock tried to swing the pendulum, its gears turned, and a single “bang” was heard. The closet door creaked and the mice squealed.

-Where are you taking me, granddaughter? At my age it’s hard to climb into attics.

Grandma, someone lives there. “I heard the noise, but I’m afraid to go alone,” answered the girl’s voice.

The door in the floor creaked, and the grandmother and granddaughter climbed into the dusty attic.

Oh, grandma, look, there’s a violin! Can she really play? What a small bow,” the girl chirped.

“This is my first children’s violin,” the old woman answered with a smile.

She took the violin in her hands, gently wiped it and tightened the pegs. Placing the violin on her shoulder, the old woman pressed her chin to it and waved her hand with the bow. Gentle crystal sounds scattered throughout the attic.

Grandma, this is real music,” the girl whispered admiringly.

Yes, this is real music, the clock responded.

“So that’s what music is,” the mice squeaked under the old sofa.

Since then, the strings and bow have been working together again. They teach a little girl to play the violin. Sometimes my grandmother picks up the violin, and the whole house is filled with the heart-tugging tender sounds of music.

Then the mice come down from the attic to listen to the violin singing. And the clock, which has now moved into the room, ticks edifyingly:

- Tick-tock, do you hear, tick-tock, this is music! It lives not only in the strings, bow or violin. Real music lives in a person.

Meet the guys. An instrument called Piano. This instrument has a very interesting history. Let's listen to what the piano has to say.

It all started with a bang. You could say it was the happiest blow of fate.

What kind of blow are you talking about, dear Piano?

Look!

The piano opened, flapping a huge black wing.

An amazing picture appeared before me! Wooden hammers play some kind of game with metal strings. There are a lot of them - both hammers and strings. With instant blows, like a prick, the hammers touch the strings and just as suddenly, as if in fright, they bounce back.

It seems as if they want to take the strings by surprise, appearing in the most unexpected places - sometimes alone, sometimes in groups. And the strings rumble from the frenzied attacks of the hammers, and cry, as if touched to the quick, and sing tenderly under gentle touches.

And they laugh, and rejoice, and are indignant, and sad, and sigh. . .

Why is all this wonderful, exciting game called Piano?

“My name,” the instrument explained, “comes from two Italian words: forte and piano.” In Russian I should be called Gromkotiho.

An offensively simple name for such a wonderful instrument! Yes, you deserve the most sonorous name in the world!

Well, they also call me Royal, which means royal.

Your Majesty! Let me ask you about your royal pedigree!

If you please. Three kinds of musical instruments crossed on me: the kind of Strings, the kind of Keyboards and the kind of Percussion. My direct predecessor, one might say, is my own father - the noble Harpsichord.

It reigned in the musical world in the 17th and 18th centuries. From the Harpsichord I inherited my appearance and my heart - the keyboard mechanism. True, the harpsichord's heart beat differently than mine: more dispassionately and restrainedly - from plucking the strings with feathers.

“A fairy tale about how smart and useful things became musical instruments.”

That was a long time ago. We lived and lived in a small village, in a wooden hut, with smart and useful things: wooden spoons, a ruble, a rattle. They lived in a large friendly family. From early morning until late evening, smart and useful things worked tirelessly together with their owners.

Wooden spoons We cooked cabbage soup and porridge in the kitchen, and then fed the whole family a delicious lunch.

Rubel- helped the mistress of the house wash and iron clothes so that everyone in the family was clean and tidy.

Horn- together with the owner of the house, early in the morning he drove a herd of cows and sheep into the meadow, and in the evening, with his loud voice, he called the entire herd home.

Ratchet– protected gardens and orchards from uninvited birds so that they would not spoil the harvest of fruits and berries. So they all lived together, for the time being.

One day, buffoons appeared in that village. This is how wandering artists, singers and musicians were called in ancient times in Rus'. The buffoons walked down the street singing a cheerful song. The whole village gathered to watch the cheerful performance of the buffoons. In the hands of the buffoons, musical instruments sang, rang, strummed and played. Were among them harp And balalaika. Smart and useful things remained at home, but even to them the sounds of lively music and cheerful songs of buffoons who amused the people could be heard. Soon evening came, and the buffoons asked to spend the night with the owners of the very hut in which smart and useful things lived. After dinner, when the guests and hosts fell asleep, things decided to talk to musical instruments.

“How do you live with your buffoon masters?” - the wooden spoons asked the musical instruments. “Life is fun,” answered the balalaika, a cheerful chatterbox. “We go everywhere, entertaining people with our sonorous songs.”

Here the harp entered the conversation: “They love us in Rus' for our songs and cheerful dances. Everywhere they meet and greet you. We bring joy to people with our music.”

"Oh!" - exclaimed the horn - “How we would also like to bring joy to all people.”

“So let's travel around the world with us. Together we will have even more fun and the music will sound better,” suggested the gusli and balalaika.

So they decided to turn smart and useful things into musical instruments, so as not only to bring benefits to people, but also to give them joy.

Since then, they have been traveling together as a big happy family. And their family began to be called - orchestra of Russian folk musical instruments. For a long time now, neither that village, nor the wooden hut, nor the buffoons have been in the world, but the music performed by Russian folk instruments continues to sound and bring joy to everyone who hears it.

Topic: “Symphonic fairy tale by S. Prokofiev Peter and the Wolf”

From a swamp overgrown with duckweed,

From the fields, from the forest hollow,

A melodious, kind fairy tale

I went down the musical paths.

To the plank house under the fir tree,

The path will lead you

They will tell about Peta and the Wolf,

Flute, horn, clarinet, and bassoon.

Hidden in sheet music pages

Glades, meadows and forests.

For every beast and bird

The flute will whistle like a bird,

The bassoon quacks like a duck,

And the evil, despicable wolf,

Horns will replace

However, why rush?

This fairy tale is yours, take it,

Magic doors - pages,

Open it quickly.

In 1936, S. Prokofiev composed a fairy tale, which is designed to help children get acquainted with the timbres of a symphony orchestra.

Symphonic tales have already been found in Russian classical music. But Prokofiev's tale was radically different. Firstly, the composer did not turn to folklore sources, but composed the plot of the fairy tale himself. And its main character is a completely modern boy, Petya.

Secondly, this is not easy music for a symphony orchestra. This is music with lyrics. Music and recitation here act alternately: first the artist reads the text, and then the music sounds. Prokofiev's tale is a kind of fascinating guide to the symphony orchestra.

Each character in this tale is depicted in the orchestra with his own instrument: the Bird - with a flute, the duck - with an oboe, the cat - with a staccato clarinet in a low register, the grandfather - with a bassoon, the Wolf - with three horns, Petya - with a string quartet, the hunters' shots - with timpani and a large drum.

S. Prokofiev's music picturesquely depicts the carefree chirping of a bird, the clumsy movements of a duck waddling from side to side and its quack, the insinuating gait and cutesy movements of a cat, the gloomy image of a hungry Wolf.

The first performance of this tale took place at a festive afternoon concert for children, organized by the Moscow Philharmonic on May 2, 1936, with the orchestra conducted by the author. The symphonic fairy tale "Peter and the Wolf" has become incredibly popular all over the world.

Topic: “Fairy-tale stories in music”

There is a green oak near the Lukomorye,

Golden chain on the oak tree

Day and night the cat is a scientist

Everything goes around and around in a chain.

He goes to the left, the song starts,

To the right, he’s telling a fairy tale...

What do you think we will talk about today? What are your favorite fairy tales and fairy-tale characters?

Have you ever wondered why we love fairy tales? What captivates us about them? Of course, first of all, the plot is of interest. Reality is intertwined with fable, the real with the magical, and is so masterfully mixed that the listener ceases to feel the real and is transported into the world that appears before him. A wise fairy tale will tell you how to live and how not to live, laugh at evil and will certainly show goodness in all its bright grandeur. A folk tale helps to live and even teaches how to live. Much depends on who is telling the story. Some storytellers have a smooth and drawling manner of speaking, others have a kind and cheerful style, but all folk storytellers are distinguished by their musicality. The musicality of the Russian fairy tale and the poetry of its images attract many Russian writers, poets, musicians and even painters. Unique paintings based on Russian folk tales were written by Viktor Mikhailovich Vasnetsov: “Alyonushka ‘Bogatyri’”, “Ivan the Tsarevich on the Gray Wolf”.

And Mikhail Aleksandrovich Vrubel wrote many of his paintings under the direct influence of the music of Rimsky-Korsakov’s fairy tales. Of course, the musicality of Russian fairy tales especially attracted composers to them.

Not a single Russian composer has passed by these fertile subjects in his work. Who can be found in the works of Russian composers? Of course - Babu Yaga, Koshchei the Immortal, Chernomor, the Nutcracker, the mermaid, the goblin, the sorcerer, the gray wolf, etc.

Let us turn specifically to some image, for example, Baba Yaga. What do you know about this fabulous creature? This is a negative, evil image. She is cruel, heartless, ugly. When she flies over high mountains and forests, her flight is accompanied by strange noises, howls and whistles. She rushes through the air like a whirlwind, striking fear and terror into people and animals.

Her image was captured by P.I. Tchaikovsky in a piano piece called “Baba Yaga”. This play depicts a grumpy Baba Yaga, she angrily waves her stick, screams and threatens with a bony finger, and looks with an angry “prickly” gaze.

It is interesting to compare the musical image of Baba Yaga, created by M. P. Mussorgsky, with P.I. Tchaikovsky’s play. The play in which Mussorgsky portrays Baba Yaga is called “The Hut on Chicken Legs”; this piece is part of a cycle of piano pieces with the general title “Pictures at an Exhibition”. This cycle was written under the impression of visiting the exhibition of the artist and friend M. Hartmann. Hartmann's painting depicts an ancient clock made in the form of a fairy-tale Russian hut on chicken legs. The play is written in three parts. In the extreme parts it is depicted as Baba Yaga angrily knocking with his stick, then sits in the mortar and flies with noise and whistle over the forest. The middle part depicts a mysterious, fairy-tale forest, the hut of Baba Yaga, which is located in a remote, impenetrable thicket. The sun barely penetrates through the thick, weakly swaying foliage, its rays dimly illuminate the gloomy forest wilds. And from the hut the low, rough voice of Baba Yaga is muffled.

Indeed, many Russian composers turned to fairy tales in their work. The famous composer N.A. Rimsky-Korsakov was inspired by A.S. Pushkin’s fairy tale to create the opera “The Tale of Tsar Saltan...”

There are three miracles in the fairy tale by A.S. Pushkin and in the opera by N.A. Rimsky-Korsakov that surprise the heroes of the fairy tale themselves. Let's remember them? (The miracle of the Squirrel, gnawing golden nuts and taking out emerald kernels from them, the miracle of thirty-three heroes emerging from the sea to protect the capital of King Guidon. And - the most important thing - the miracle of the unprecedented beauty of the Swan Princess). Each miracle has its own musical theme - a bright picture, only painted not with paints, but with musical sounds and with the help of musical instruments.

Now, show your creative imagination. Imagine that you are composers! You need to depict the flight of a bumblebee, what musical instruments and means of musical expression would you use? Well done! Real composers!

Now listen to how the wonderful Russian composer and storyteller N.A. Rimsky-Korsakov depicted the “flight of the bumblebee” in his musical work.

Topic: “Animals, birds and fish in music. Musical Zoo.

Today I suggest you go to the zoo. Want to? Who can you see there? I hasten to please you that today there will be a real carnival at the zoo. Let's remember that carnival is a holiday at which everyone must change their appearance. You can wear a mask, a carnival costume, or simply decorate yourself. The main thing is not to be recognized. The carnival to which I invite you will be completely unusual. Firstly, this is a carnival not of people, but of animals. Secondly, it is musical, because the music created by the French composer Camille Saint-Saens will tell us a lot.

As usual, any holiday is usually opened by the most distinguished guests.

Intimidatingly handsome, he is fierce and yellow-maned.

Even the tail is not at all simple - a long tail with a tassel

The paws are strong and powerful. The roar rushes above the clouds.

It's not for nothing that he is the king of beasts

In hot Africa.

Of course, this is Leo. He is majestic, menacing and beautiful. We hear this in the magnificent music called "The Royal March of the Lion." It is performed in one voice (“unison”) by string instruments with a powerful sound. And although the music sounds menacing and intimidating, a smile slips through it. Each phrase ends with a fanfare that emphasizes the solemnity of the moment. The lion's gait is important and unhurried. From time to time, sharp sounds unexpectedly invade the march - it is Leo who gives his voice, he roars.

And here is "Turtles". What tempo do you think this piece is at? Of course, very slow. Moreover, the melody is taken as a basis... a cancan from the opera “Orpheus in Hell” by Offenbach, only several times slower.

And the “Elephant” dances a waltz at the carnival...

Here's Kangaroo. Who would have thought that a piano could “jump” like that!

And in the “Aquarium”, in the sounds of the flute and strings, you can hear the shimmer of water and the graceful movements of fish.

The “character with long ears” is exactly what you think it is: the “ee” cries are amusingly rendered by the “squealing” violins.

And finally, "Swan". The only part devoid of irony. The song of the cello is like a moment of nostalgia for the shining blue of the sky, for the flight of snow-white wings, for Beauty itself.

We found fairy tales where the main characters are musical instruments. The fairy tale genre is most accessible to school-age children, and the language of the fairy tale is close and understandable. There is much in common between musical and speech intonation.

Musical tales

- develop musical perception, imagination, figurative speech of children, encourages them to compose “their own” fairy tale, based on changing intonations,

- develops children’s ideas about the connection between speech and musical intonations, about the proximity of the means of expression of speech and music,

- make it possible to compare works with the same names, to understand what kind of fairy tale the music tells, good, angry, or evil; helps to distinguish between changing moods and images in one fairy tale,

- develops the ability to expressively convey musical images in drawing, creative tasks, instrumentation, in staging fairy tales,

— children effortlessly remember educational material presented in a playful fairy-tale form and persistently look forward to continuation.

Having gone on a musical journey, the children heard many amazing stories and legends about musical instruments. Since ancient times, the sounds of nature have interested man. His desire to understand the secret of sound led to the creation of musical instruments and music itself. The guys also learned. that from ancient times musical instruments were endowed with magical properties, and their sound with magical power, that people treated them as living beings - they loved, decorated, revered and took care of them. In many fairy tales of the peoples of the world, positive fairy-tale characters fight evil with the help of magical musical instruments: pipes, flutes, gusli-samoguds.

Through fairy tales of the peoples of the world, we became acquainted with a large number of folk instruments, Russian, Georgian, Belarusian, Czech, Baltic, African, etc. MUSIC works real miracles in fairy tales. The guys remembered how a Georgian musician playing the chonguri pacified a huge dragon, Sadko, playing the harp, was able to get out of the captivity of Tsar Morsky, the Czech musician Gonza, playing the melon violin, achieved justice, and the Japanese musician Santa, playing the reed flute ryuteki, rescued his beloved. The children learned many wonderful stories about musicians and musical instruments.
And, besides, many folk instruments are the ancestors of modern classical instruments.

The result of our project:

This project can be used in music, art, literary reading andextracurricular events.

Our first fairy tale

« Chongurist"

There lived a king. He had a daughter more beautiful than the sun. Many dreamed of a beautiful princess. Many glorious and noble young men asked for her hand, but the king refused everyone.

- “First bring the apple of immortality,” the king said to everyone, “and prove that you are worthy of the princess.”

Many brave heroes went to look for the magic tree, but not a single one returned. A poor young man lived near the palace. I thought about it and one day decided to try my luck. He came to the king and asked to give him the princess as his wife.

The king did not drive away the poor Chongurist; he told him, as he told everyone:

- If you get me the apple of immortality, you will get the princess as your wife.

The Chongurist took his Chonguri and set off on the road to look for the apple of immortality.

He walked a lot, he walked a little, he crossed nine mountains and saw: a garden spread out on the slopes of a hill. The fence around the garden is stone, very high, even a bird cannot fly over it! Chongurist walked around the garden - from morning to evening! - there is no entrance to the garden. He went around the second time, he went around the third time. A young man walks, plays his chonguri and sings a gentle song. The garden froze, the trees stopped rustling their leaves. The mountains and valleys listen to the song. The birds that were soaring in the sky descended on the trees to listen to the song of Chongurist.

And suddenly the stone fence parted, and the road to the garden opened up for the Chongurist.

This was the same garden where the apple tree with the fruits of immortality grew. The terrible gwelveshapi guarded the magic apple tree. The monster will sense a person, let him into the garden and send the unfortunate man into his fiery womb.

And now he sensed the man’s gwelveshapi and moved aside the stone fence. The Chongur player walks through the garden, singing his sad song. The gwelweshapi opened its huge mouth, rushed towards the man with a hoarse roar... and froze. He was amazed by the never-heard sounds of chonguri. The gentle song calmed the fury of the evil monster.

And the Chongur player walks and walks, and the sweet sounds of his song sound.

Tears flowed from the gwelveshapi's eyes, an unknown sadness overwhelmed him.

And suddenly the strings of the chonguri broke. mulberry, walnut. The neck is long with tied or mortise frets, ending in a curved head with 3 pegs carrying 3 main strings. The strings are silk (or nylon). The chonguri is played mainly by women, accompanying the singing; improved chonguri are used in the Georgian folk instrument orchestra.

There are two types of chonguri - fretted and fretless. The chonguri is played with fingers, placing the instrument vertically on the left knee.

On my bike
The bell is made of copper.
It serves instead of a bell,
A ringing sound is heard from afar.

Bell - musician
He has great talent
Bringing joy to people
He might call all day.

Let him be a baby and a youth,
The bell is his father -
Musical instrument,
Needed by everyone at any time.

The bell sings loudly
He lives in the bell towers.
People love his music
Closest and dearest of all.

Poems about music for children: questions and tasks

• Where else in people's lives and in nature are bluebells found?
• Imagine that you are a bell maker and you have been ordered to make a fairytale bell. Draw this bell and tell us how and what you will make it from.
• The teacher hands out bells to the children. Everyone in turn must ring their bell so that others understand what the bell is singing about.
• How is bell music different from the sound of any other musical instruments? .

Tale of music "Accordion for a crocodile"

The crocodile lay on the bank of the Limpopo River, and a small bird sat nearby on a bush and sang a cheerful song. A huge tear suddenly rolled out of the crocodile's eye.

“Stop crying, crocodile, no one will believe your tears anyway,” the bird chirped.

– I don’t cry to be believed. “I heard your song and realized that I don’t want to be evil anymore, but I can’t-oo-oo-oo,” the crocodile wheezed and began to sob with real crocodile tears.

“Wait, crocodile, I think we can help you,” the bird chirped.

The crocodile wiped his tears and looked at her hopefully.

– You heard my song and cried, because my song is good, and you are evil.

“Yes, I’m evil,” the crocodile sighed and began to cry again.

“Wait, crocodile, don’t interrupt,” the bird asked. “I think we should give you a kind song, and then you will immediately become kinder.”

– Do you want me to swallow you along with your good song? – the crocodile asked in surprise.

- Of course not. Wait for me, I’ll bring you a song,” the bird promised and flew away.

The crocodile didn’t even have time to get hungry when the bird returned. She carried a tube in her beak.

- This is a reed pipe. I begged it from the shepherd. Good songs live in it. You need to blow into the pipe, and songs will fly out of it,” the bird explained to the crocodile.

The crocodile cautiously took the pipe into his mouth, squeezed it with his teeth, but did not have time to blow. The pipe broke in half, like a straw.

“I told you I couldn’t be kind,” the crocodile cried again.

“No, you can, but you need a big and strong musical instrument,” the bird chirped and flew away again.

The crocodile got tired of waiting and dived into the river to hunt. Then the chirping of a bird was heard, and the crocodile crawled back to the shore.

Near the bird on the shore stood a man with a large drum. Seeing the crocodile, the man backed away in fear.

- Don't be afraid, man. This crocodile will become kinder when he learns to play the drum,” the bird chirped.

The man put the drum on the ground and said:

“I better go before he learns.” You asked for a strong musical instrument. This drum is made from an empty trunk of an iron tree, and a strong buffalo hide is stretched over it. This is the best drum of our tribe. If he teaches the crocodile kindness, people will be happy.

Saying this, the man cautiously backed away from the river until he completely disappeared into the thickets.

“You see, crocodile, how everyone is afraid of you,” the bird chirped reproachfully. - Hurry up and beat the drum, and then songs will jump out of the drum.

The crocodile tried to reach the drum with its paws, but they were too short and it was impossible to swing them.

Then the crocodile swung his head and hit the drum with his teeth. The buffalo skin was torn into pieces and the iron wood was cracked.

“No, I will never learn kindness,” the crocodile sighed.

– You can always learn kindness. “You don’t need a strong tool, but a suitable one,” the little bird chirped stubbornly and flew away.

A lot of time has passed. The crocodile has already forgotten about the bird and about kindness. He remained a bloodthirsty and evil beast, whom everyone was afraid of.

But one day the crocodile crawled ashore and saw a large box there. A familiar bird was sitting on it. She chirped cheerfully:

– Crocodile, there’s a package for you.

– I have never received a parcel in my life. What's there? – the crocodile became worried.

- Open it, and you will understand everything. Just be careful,” answered the bird.

On the cover of the parcel it was written: “To the African crocodile from the crocodile Gena. The best musical instrument."

The crocodile carefully, using one tooth, opened the package and saw an accordion inside. On the right and left of the accordion there were wooden strips with buttons that were perfect for crocodile paws. Between the slats there were bellows folded like an accordion. The crocodile slightly parted the furs, pressed the buttons, and the accordion sang something.

But most importantly, inside the parcel was a letter from the crocodile Gena:

“Dear African crocodile! I am sending you an accordion - the most suitable musical instrument for crocodiles, a tutorial and a song. Anyone who plays the harmonica becomes kind, I tested this on myself. With crocodile greetings, Gena.”

It's hard to say whether the crocodile has become kinder since he learned to play the harmonica.

But when a cheerful song is heard on the river bank,

"I play the harmonica,

And I’ll get a little better,

I don't shed crocodile tears,

I play and sing!”

all people and animals know that you can safely drink water from the river and even swim.

Musical fairy tale: questions and tasks

Why did the crocodile from the fairy tale want to become kinder?

Children receive cards with drawings of predatory animals. Everyone comes up with what song or what musical instrument he will give to his animal so that he becomes kinder.

Make up a fairy tale about how the African crocodile and the crocodile Gena met and created a duet of accordionists. Come up with a song for this duet.

Imagine that the crocodile decided to thank the bird and surprise it. What kind of surprise is this?

Children are divided into pairs. One in a pair is a bird, the other is a crocodile. The bird comes up with a song and sings it to the crocodile, and he repeats the melody after her.

What kind of musical message would you send to an African crocodile?

A tale about a king, musical instruments and an orchestra

In a certain kingdom, in a certain state, there lived a king - a good-natured, fat man, but a tyrant.

It happened that when you want something, you go around half the world, but get it.

But if you become stubborn about something, it’s a lost cause, you won’t be able to convince him otherwise.

But despite all this, the people loved him, because he was not evil - he knew how to punish, but he did not forget to forgive.

So here it is. There was everything in this country except the court orchestra.

The Tsar had been saying for a long time that it would be nice to have an orchestra, even a small one. Like, what kind of king is this without court musicians?

“Look,” he complained, “in the thirtieth kingdom they dance mazurkas in the mornings, and in the thirty-fifth there are balls and dances in the evenings.” Am I a worse king than them?

– Give me musicians here, period!

“But Your Majesty,” answered the courtiers, “where can we find so many musicians?”

- Look where you want, but so that you are there by tomorrow! – and the king stamped his foot.

There was nothing to do, they sent walkers to the neighboring kingdoms to look for musicians. By the evening of the next day, six people lined up in front of the king: two violinists, a cellist, a flutist, a trumpeter and a drummer.

“Well, everyone play in turn,” the king ordered, “I want to hear what they can do.”

The musicians played for him, and the king liked the trumpet most of all.

“I want the trumpet to sound loudest,” he said.

- But Your Majesty! – they tried to object to him.

- I don’t want to hear anything! - answered the king, - the trumpet should play louder than anyone else.

- What kind of nonsense? - the musicians reasoned among themselves, walking along the road, - where has it been seen that in an orchestra one instrument drowns out the others.

– We will play as always. Perhaps, having heard the beautiful music, the king will change his decision.

That's what they did. A week later they were called to the king. The musicians settled down and began to play.

Oh, what music sounded in the palace! It seemed that even his gloomy walls smiled. Magic lights danced on them, out of nowhere, the air was filled with the aroma of fragrant flowers and a light breeze carried it everywhere. Even the birds outside the window fell silent, delighted by the gentle sounds.

- No no no! - the king shouted, and the music stopped mid-sentence. The lights suddenly disappeared, as if they had never happened, only the birds outside the window were still silent, hoping for a miracle.

- No no no! - the king shouted and pounded his feet on the floor, “why can’t I hear the trumpet?” Why, I ask you?

“But Your Majesty,” the musicians justified themselves, “it’s not time yet, her part will be at the end of the play!”

- I don’t want to hear anything! - the king was capricious, - play so that the trumpet is louder than everyone else.

The musicians sighed, but there was nothing to do. They say to the trumpeter:

- Play as the king wants.

They took the instruments in their hands, but what happened here! The trumpet drowned out everything in the world: the mooing of cows in the royal courtyard, the clinking of dishes in the kitchen, the laughter of children and, of course, other instruments.

- No no no! - the king shouted, but no one heard him.

Then he waved his hands so that they would pay attention to him. The music, if the roar could be called that, stopped.

“My friend, I will order you to be executed,” the king said to the trumpeter.

– But for what, Your Majesty? – the trumpeter was scared.

“But you don’t know how to play, and yet you came to be hired by the Tsar’s orchestra.”

“I dare to say, Your Majesty, that I played at the court of the king of the thirteenth kingdom, and was also awarded honorary awards at the court of your neighbor, a subtle connoisseur of music.

“Oh, you’re lying,” answered the king, “why don’t I hear those magical sounds that you claim are heard in their chambers?”

- But Your Majesty, order me to play my part - exactly as many notes as required, and also as loudly as the author intended, and you will experience perfect harmony.

“You fool, I will still order you to be executed.” Haven't you heard that I love it when the trumpet plays loudly?

“But Your Majesty, in order to fulfill this desire, you need to ask the author to write another piece or to have one trumpet play instead of the whole orchestra.”

– Would you rather be hanged or drowned? “I leave it to you to make your own choice – I am kind today,” the king said and wiped away an invisible tear from his eyelashes.

“Have mercy on the trumpeter, Your Majesty,” the courtiers began to ask him.

- No no and one more time no. He does not allow my dream to come true and will be executed.

“If I must die,” said the trumpeter, “let me give you one last piece of advice.”

“I allow,” the king graciously allowed, “I am kind today.”

– I would advise you to fall in love not with the instrument, but with the music, Your Majesty. If you postpone the execution, I could give you some lessons so that you can learn to hear each instrument separately and all together.

The king thought a little and agreed. After all, in fact, he was often bored in his chambers and idle alone, so he was glad to do at least something.

“Okay, I won’t execute you at all, but on the condition that you teach me to play the trumpet, just make sure you teach me well, otherwise I won’t blow your head off,” he added in a whisper.

Soon a real orchestra was created at the palace: dozens of musicians produced magical sounds from their instruments. People came to listen to them from the most distant countries.

But this orchestra was famous not only for its excellent playing.

Its amazing feature was that the king himself sat next to the other musicians. And let's be honest, he didn't just sit there, he played, and how!

When the music began to sound, it seemed that not many different instruments were playing, but one - huge, incredible, beautiful.

But the king, of course, loved solos most of all. While playing, he blissfully closed his eyes, puffed out his cheeks and blushed with zeal.

At first it was a lot of fun for the audience. But when, captivated by the music, the listeners closed their eyes, a miracle happened. The earth disappeared from under their feet, people grew wings and flew high, high into the sky.

From there, neither the king, nor the orchestra, nor the old palace could be seen, but only the blue, blue sky, and the sun, and the rainbow after the rain.

Musical fairy tale: questions

What musicians did the walkers find and bring to the king? Name the tools.

Why did the king want to execute the musician?

What advice did the musician give to the king?

What musical instrument did the king play?

A tale about musical instruments

Author of the story: Iris Review

In a distant kingdom, in a distant state, there lived a boy, Vitya. Such a good boy: polite, smart, cheerful. But he had one drawback. He had difficulty waking up in the morning. He didn’t want to leave the warm world of sleep.

In the children's room, where Vitya slept, there were musical instruments: a violin, a horn and a pipe. Every morning the musical instruments watched with alarm the difficulty with which Vitya woke up.

And one day they came up with this: in the morning, when mom comes to wake Vitya up, play a beautiful melody for the boy. It should be noted that musical instruments were smart, and they knew well that music can work miracles.

Morning has come. The gentle sun did not forget to look into Vita’s room. It sent its little golden ray to the boy. At this time, Vita’s mother came in and said it was time to get up. Vitya's face became gloomy.

And suddenly the boy heard beautiful sounds. It was a violin, a horn and a pipe that played a cheerful morning melody for him.

And a miracle happened. The boy jumped up and waved his hand at his mother. The morning suddenly became good. A good morning is the beginning of a new day, the beginning of a new life.

And the music went on to work its miracles.

Musical fairy tale: questions

What musical instruments lived in the boy Vitya’s room?

What were the instruments planning to do to wake up the boy Vitya?

A Tale about Musicians

Author of the story: Iris Review

In distant, distant times, this incredible story happened in the ancient city of Sarabande...

This happened in an ancient city called Sarabande, in distant, distant times. The three musicians who played for the residents of Sarabande lived in honor and respect. One of them played the violin, another played the horn, and the third played the pipe.

Not a single city festival in Saraband was complete without famous musicians.

But the money earned was sometimes not much. Sometimes they were only enough for a loaf of bread and a jug of milk.

This can’t go on any longer - Violin was indignant one day, looking at another modest meal of the musicians.

And she came up with this. Under the cover of darkness, the Violin entered the palace, to the royal musical instruments. And she told them about the poor musicians. And they told the king about everything. The next morning the king summoned the musicians and asked them to show their skills.

The musicians played waltzes, rigaudons, elegies... In the evening the king did not want to part with them.

He assigned the musicians a royal salary, and now they performed their music not only for the ordinary residents of Sarabande, but also for the king.

And things went well.

When you know how to do something well, with soul, sooner or later it will bear fruit.

Musical fairy tale: questions

In what city did this amazing story take place?

What musical instruments did the musicians play?

What musical instrument went to the palace?

What did the king do to the musicians?

What is the name of an ensemble of three performing musicians?…