After reading this novel, I am left with an ambivalent feeling.
On the one hand, the novel is really fascinating - both directly with its events, and with the historical background on which they develop. You feel for his characters and sympathize with them. The author, according to him own words, “I chose patriotism as my topic” - and this accurately characterizes ideological content works. The book was supposed to evoke (and probably evoked) her American readers a sense of pride in their then very young country. The very words “patriotism” and “patriot” are by no means perceived when reading the novel as hackneyed expressions that have lost their true significance. The same can be said about the word "honor".
And at the same time, the work is quite chamber - most of events happens with members of the same Wharton family or with people who, by the will of fate, turned out to be quite close to her. But in the life of this family, as in a drop of water, all the drama - and heroism - of the historical era was reflected.
There is also a place for humor in the novel (for example, in the reasoning of Sitgreaves).
Behind a number of statements scattered throughout the text (in particular, all the same Sitgreaves), one can clearly see negative attitude Cooper to slavery.
Sometimes the narrative becomes clearly melodramatic or sentimental - but let's make allowances for the time and the literary setting.
On the other hand, what I read left a feeling of some absurdity.
Spoiler (plot reveal) (click on it to see)
And most importantly, the fact that Harper actually turned out to be just the guise of Washington himself is, in my opinion, complete absurdity, dealing a strong blow to the plausibility of the novel. The commander-in-chief of the army, who leaves his headquarters for several days and travels alone through no man's land, is an absurdity. And what if he had been recognized by someone who sympathized with the British (all the more so since hundreds, if not thousands of people should have known him by sight) or stumbled upon an enemy outpost? In addition, the fact of such a reincarnation is not kept in absolute secret - it is known not only to the inner circle of Washington, but also, say, Dunwoody.
As I read, the opinion arose and strengthened in my mind that Harper is a certain high-ranking official in the headquarters near Washington, acting as the chief of intelligence (just like in real life Mr. H., mentioned by Cooper in the preface, played a similar role - the real John Jay) and not Washington. This opinion was not refuted even by the admitting different interpretations phrase about Harper, said by Washington at his farewell meeting with Birch.
It was only after reading the novel, looking through its reviews in various sources, that I came across the repeated identification of Harper with Washington itself.
In the end, I asked myself: what works of Russian literature (as young as American, if we count from XVIII century) about the same time in their subject and ideological orientation at least approximately correspond to Cooper's "Spy"? It came to my mind " Captain's daughter» Pushkin. The events of both books are chronologically quite close (1780 and 1773-1775); a number of parallels can be found in the plots (for example: the heroine saves the hero from death threatening him by decision of the military court, accidentally meeting with the first person of the state, while not knowing who she is actually talking to).
Score: 8
The Spy is the first novel by James Fenimore Cooper, which brought him fame not only in America, but also in Europe. Translation into many languages and thousands of reprints are proof of this. At the center of the novel is the life of one simple, at first glance, peddler, whose life is to sell goods at a higher price. However, as we read, we learn that Harvey Burch, the main character, is not so simple, because the desire of the American army to hang this man at all costs is proof of this. Only at the end of the novel is the whole truth about the fate of Garvey revealed, who turned out to be an honest and selfless patriot who faithfully served his homeland. The most interesting thing is that the story told in the novel is based on real events.
Reading the novel The Spy, one never ceases to be amazed at how subtle a psychologist Fenimore Cooper is. In the work a huge number of characters, however, how vividly he described each of the bottom. How vividly the author presented the relationships, feelings, experiences and finally the dialogues of each character. Reading this book, you are completely immersed in the atmosphere. late XVIII century. Perhaps such a narrative may seem too long to someone, and that person will be right in some way, but I detailed description life and life of the people of that time turned out to be to their liking. And besides, the focus is so interesting, mysterious and at the same time sad story War of Independence of the United States of America. The author perfectly conveyed the spirit of the war, excellently described the military structure, and what this war brought. How, because of such a terrible event, families collapse, how innocent people die, how marauders appear who take advantage of the difficult situation in the country. But of course, love. Will a young and sensual, vulnerable girl be able to fall in love with a brave, courageous major of the Virginia cavalry?
These are the kind of books that I think are worth reading. Such novels, of course, are included in the golden fund of world literature.
FOREWORD
The author was often asked if he based himself on events from real life when describing the character of the protagonist of his book. The author can give the clearest answer to this question simply by setting before the reader the facts that formed the basis of this novel.
Many years ago the author of this book visited a famous statesman, who in the harsh days of the American Revolution more than once held high posts. The conversation turned to the impact that major political events have on people, and the purifying effect of love for the motherland, when this feeling awakens with force in the whole people. Our host, whose age, position and knowledge of the people made him the most authoritative participant in such a conversation, led our conversation. He dwelled on what a wonderful shift the great struggle of the whole nation had made in the war of 1775, giving a new, high direction to the thoughts and actions of many people who had previously been absorbed in the lowest worldly concerns, and cited a story to prove his assertion, the veracity of which he could personally confirm. as its direct participant.
The feud between England and the United States of America, although not, strictly speaking, real family quarrel, but had many traits civil war. The American people were never actually and constitutionally subject to the English people, but the inhabitants of both countries were bound to be loyal to their common king. The Americans, as an independent nation, rejected this obligation, and the British supported their sovereign in his attempt to restore his power, and in this conflict many of the features inherent in internecine war appeared. A large number of emigrants from Europe took the side of the king, and there were many districts where their influence, together with the influence of Americans who remained loyal to the king, gave a significant preponderance to supporters royalty. America was still too young at that time and needed everyone too much. faithful companion to be indifferent to these local splits, even if total number they were few. However, the danger was greatly increased due to the activity of the British, who skillfully used these internal discords; it became even more serious when it was discovered that the British were trying to recruit various parts of the provincial troops and combine them with regiments that had arrived from Europe in order to force the young republic to submit. Then Congress created a special secret committee to destroy this plan. Mr. H., the narrator of the story, was appointed chairman of the secret committee.
Fulfilling the new duties assigned to him, Mr. H. more than once used the services of an agent, whose activities were not much different from the work of an ordinary spy. It is clear that this man, who belonged to the lower strata of society, could sooner than others agree to play such an ambiguous role. He was poor, uneducated in terms of systematic learning, but cold-blooded, shrewd and fearless by nature. He was instructed to find out in which part of the country the agents of the king were trying to recruit people, to go there to enroll in their detachment, to pretend to be an ardent supporter of the cause they supposedly served, and in the meantime to find out as much as possible secret plans enemy. This information he, of course, immediately reported to his superiors, who took all measures available to them to frustrate the plans of the British, and often succeeded.
Everyone understands that by doing such work, this man risked his life. Not only was he in danger of being exposed, but at any moment he could fall into the hands of the Americans themselves, who for such crimes punished their compatriots much more severely than Europeans.
It is impossible to imagine American literature without the work of James Cooper. He was the author of his time. He wrote on those topics that were most in demand. And people were primarily interested in romantic ideas about the past. The newly formed American state was in dire need of filling such gaps, since in Europe there were enough stories in abundance, and New World I didn't know where to get inspiration from. Cooper did not look far enough to cover a large historical gap. He set himself the goal of describing the formation of the state of the North American states, which he did throughout his life, even finding a place for the influence of immigrants on indigenous people. One of the first historical novels, whose events take place in North America, became Cooper's "Spy". It also became the author's second book.
19th century romanticism specific literature. Usually he is interested in the younger generation, striving to better know the world through someone's adventures. How great it is when you become involved in the majestic and wise Indians or you try on the mask of a spy, rooting for the main character with noble impulses for the benefit of the prosperity of the Motherland. However, romanticism has negative traits, understandable already from its very name - the author embellishes reality, endows the characters with excessive qualities, based on their good or evil initial motives. Seriously, such literature should not be considered, so as not to develop persistent delusions. Unfortunately, Cooper wrote in such a way that many generations of readers think about American history far from what they should think.
"Spy" is not a unique work in terms of plot construction. All artistic techniques to convey narrative moments before Cooper began to use Walter Scott, who had a huge impact on his followers. The only difference is that Cooper uses American motifs instead of Scottish ones. And since he didn’t have a very large choice, his interest was riveted the most significant event in the form of the War for the independence of the North American colonies from the British mother country. This topic will be touched upon by Cooper more than once, becoming a connecting element. While Cooper himself does not know what he will write about in the future, and as a writer he has not really taken place yet, so you should not have hopes for interesting story, bright characters and memorable events. Everything will be moderately satisfactory, but without praise.
There is practically nothing to say about the “Spy”. Cooper still can’t build a story well, fixating on the same moments. Characters can procrastinate the topic of leg amputation from cover to cover, thinking about it in various planes. And when the time comes to amputate the leg after all, how will the reader find out that this will not happen. Maybe the writer went for it deliberately, not wanting to injure the reader's psyche with such a barbaric attitude towards human flesh. Everything about Cooper is idealized, grandiloquent and obscenely beautiful. Therefore, Cooper is not able to allow a mutilation operation on anyone. He is hindered by a reverent attitude to current events, which is sometimes characteristic of novice writers who do not want to offer any blasphemy to the reader's judgment.
Maybe modern reader spoiled, accustomed to chewed up plots. Maybe the modern reader wants to see in the book a description in a different manner, where there must be a place for suffering. Maybe there are other reasons. But romanticism ... It is worth rejoicing that Cooper's work remains in demand. It really deserves attention. And if you think about it, it's much better than that than the majority of today's writers are trying to bestow literature.
Additional Tags: cooper spy or tale of no man's land criticism, spy or tale of no man's land analysis, spy or tale of no man's land reviews, spy or tale of no man's land review, spy or tale of no man's land book, James Fenimore Cooper, The Spy A Tale of the Neutral Ground
A SPY, OR A TALE OF NEUTRAL TERRITORY
James Fenimore COOPER
Chapter 1
His face, keeping calm.
It hid the heat of the soul and secret fervor.
And in order not to give out this fire,
His cold mind was not more guarded, -
So the flame of Etna fades in the light of day
Thomas Campbell, "Gertrude of Wyoming"
One evening, towards the end of 1780, a lone rider rode through one of the many small valleys of West Chester County. The piercing dampness and the growing fury of the east wind undoubtedly foreshadowed a storm, which, as often happens here, sometimes lasts for several days. But in vain the rider peered into the darkness with a keen eye, wishing to find a suitable shelter for himself, where he could hide from the rain, which had already begun to merge with the thick evening fog. He came across only wretched houses of people of low rank, and, taking into account the immediate proximity of the troops, he considered it unreasonable and even dangerous to stop in any of them.
After the British took possession of New York Island, the territory of West Chester County became a no man's land, and until the very end of the American people's war for independence, both warring parties operated here. A significant number of the inhabitants - whether due to family affections, or out of fear - contrary to their feelings and sympathies, adhered to neutrality. The southern cities, as a rule, submitted to the royal authority, while the inhabitants of the northern cities, finding support in the proximity of the continental troops, boldly defended their revolutionary views and the right to self-government. Many, however, wore a mask that had not yet been thrown off by this time; and not one person went down to the grave with the shameful stigma of an enemy of the legitimate rights of his compatriots, although he was secretly a useful agent of the leaders of the revolution; on the other hand, if one were to open the secret boxes of some of the fiery patriots, one could pull out on the "holy of God" royal safe-conduct hidden under British gold coins.
Hearing the clatter of the hoofs of a noble horse, every farmer woman, whose dwelling was passed by a traveler, timidly opened the door to look at the stranger, and, perhaps, turning back, reported the results of her observations to her husband, who stood in the back of the house ready to flee to the neighboring forest, where he usually hid when he was in danger. The valley was located about in the middle of the county, quite close to both armies, so it often happened that the one who had been robbed by one side received back his property from the other. True, he was not always returned his own good; the victim was sometimes compensated for the damage he had suffered even with a surplus for the use of his property. However, in this area, the law was violated every now and then, and decisions were made to please the interests and passions of those who were stronger. The appearance of a somewhat suspicious-looking stranger on horseback, although without military harness, but still proud and stately, like his rider, caused many guesses among the inhabitants of the surrounding farms who stared at them; in other cases, in people with a troubled conscience, - and considerable anxiety.
Exhausted by an unusually difficult day, the rider was eager to quickly hide from the storm, which raged more and more, and now, when it suddenly poured large drops of slanting rain, he decided to ask for shelter in the first available housing. He didn't have to wait long; riding through the rickety gate, without dismounting from his saddle, he knocked loudly on the front door a very unassuming house. In response to the knock, a middle-aged woman appeared, whose appearance was as uninviting as her dwelling. Seeing at the threshold of the rider, illuminated bright light blazing hearth, the woman recoiled in fright and half closed the door; when she asked the visitor what he wanted, fear was reflected on her face, along with curiosity.
Although the half-closed door did not allow the traveler to see properly the decoration of the room, yet what he noticed made him again fix his gaze into the darkness in the hope of finding a more friendly shelter; however, with difficulty hiding his disgust, he asked to be given shelter. The woman listened with obvious displeasure and interrupted him before he could finish his sentence.
“I won’t say that I willingly let strangers into the house: the times are troubled now,” she said in a cheeky, sharp voice. I am a poor lonely woman. At home only old master, and what good is it! About half a mile away, further down the road, there is a manor, where you will be received and not even asked for money. I'm sure it will be much more convenient for them, and more pleasant for me - because Harvey is not at home. I would like him to listen to good advice and ask him to wander; he now has a decent amount of money, it’s time for him to come to his senses and live like other people of his age and prosperity. But Harvey Birch does things his own way and will eventually die a tramp!
The rider didn't listen anymore. Following the advice to ride further along the road, he slowly turned his horse to the gate, pulled the skirts of his wide cloak tighter, preparing to set off again into the storm, but last words the women stopped him.
“So this is where Harvey Birch lives?” - involuntarily escaped from him, but he restrained himself and did not add anything more.
“You can’t say that he lives here,” the woman answered, and, quickly taking a breath, she continued:
“He hardly comes here, and if he does, it is so rare that I hardly recognize him when he deigns to show his poor old father and me. Of course, I don't care if he ever comes home ... So the first gate on the left ... Well, I don't care if Harvey ever comes here or not ... - And she slammed the door on the rider, who was glad to ride another half mile to a more suitable and more secure home.
It was still quite light, and the traveler saw that the land around the building to which he drove up was well cultivated. It was a long low stone house with two small outbuildings. A verandah stretching the entire length of the façade with neatly carved wooden pillars, good condition fences and outbuildings - all this favorably distinguished the estate from simple neighboring farms. The rider put the horse around the corner of the house in order to at least protect it from rain and wind, threw his travel bag over his arm and knocked on the door. Soon an old negro appeared; apparently not considering it necessary to report to his masters about the visitor, the servant let him in, first looking around with curiosity by the light of the candle he held in his hand. The negro led the traveler into a wonderfully comfortable living room, where a fireplace was burning, so pleasant on a gloomy October evening, when the east wind was raging. The stranger gave the bag to a caring servant, politely asked the old gentleman, who rose to meet him, to give him shelter, bowed to the three ladies who were engaged in needlework, and began to free himself from outer clothing.
He removed the scarf from his neck, then the cloak of blue cloth, and before the attentive gaze of the members of the family circle appeared a tall, extremely well-built man of about fifty. His features expressed the feeling dignity and restraint; he had a straight nose, close in type to the Greek; calm gray eyes looked thoughtfully, even, perhaps, sadly; mouth and chin spoke of courage and strong character. His traveling attire was simple and modest, but his compatriots from higher strata society; he did not have a wig on, and he combed his hair like a military man, and in a slender, surprisingly well-formed figure, a military bearing showed. The stranger's appearance was so impressive, and so obviously a gentleman, that when he took off extra clothes, the ladies stood up and, together with the owner of the house, once again bowed to him in response to the greeting with which he addressed them again.
- The owner of the house was several years older than the traveler; his demeanor, dress, environment- everything said that he had seen the light and belonged to the highest circle. The ladies' company consisted of an unmarried lady in her forties and two young girls at least half her age. The colors had faded from the older lady's face, but her lovely eyes and hair made her very attractive; She was also charmed by her sweet, friendly manner, which many younger women by no means always can boast of. The sisters - the resemblance between the girls testified to their close relationship - were in the full bloom of youth; blush - an inherent property of the West Chester beauty, reddened on their cheeks, and deep Blue eyes shone with that brilliance that captivates the observer and speaks eloquently of spiritual purity and peace.
All three ladies were distinguished by the femininity and grace inherent in the weaker sex of this region, and their manners showed that they, like the owner of the house, belonged to high society.
Mr. Wharton, for that was the name of the owner of the secluded estate, offered his guest a glass of excellent Madeira and, having poured a glass for himself, sat down again by the fireplace. For a minute he was silent, as if considering whether he would violate the rules of politeness by asking a similar question to a stranger, finally, glancing at him with a searching look, he asked:
- To whose health do I have the honor to drink? The traveler also sat down; when Mr. Wharton uttered these words, he looked absently into the fireplace, then, turning an inquisitive look at the owner of the house, answered with light paint in the face:
My last name is Harper.
“Mr. Harper,” continued the host with the ceremony of the time, “I have the honor to drink to your health, and hope the rain has not harmed you.
Mr. Harper bowed silently in response to the courtesy, and again plunged into thought, which seemed quite understandable and apologetic after long way done in such bad weather.
The girls sat back down at their hoops, and their aunt, Miss Janet Peyton, came out to supervise the preparations for the unexpected guest's supper. There was a short silence; Mr. Harper seemed to be enjoying the warmth and peace, but the host again broke the silence by asking the guest if the smoke would disturb him; having received a negative answer, Mr. Wharton immediately took up the pipe, which he put down when the stranger appeared.
The owner of the house clearly wanted to start a conversation, however, either out of fear of stepping on slippery ground, or not wanting to break the obviously deliberate silence of the guest, he did not dare to speak for a long time. At last he was encouraged by the movement of Mr. Harper, who glanced in the direction where the sisters were sitting.
“Now it has become very difficult,” remarked Mr. Wharton, to begin with carefully bypassing the subjects that he would like to touch, “to get tobacco, which I used to indulge myself in the evenings.
“And I thought the New York stores supply you with the best best tobacco said Mr. Harper calmly.
- Well, yes, of course, - Mr. Wharton answered uncertainly and looked at the guest, but immediately lowered his eyes, meeting his firm gaze. “New York is probably full of tobacco, but in this war, any, even the most innocent, connection with the city is too dangerous to risk over such a trifle.
The snuff-box from which Mr. Wharton had just filled his pipe stood open almost at Mr. Harper's elbow; he automatically took a pinch from it and tasted it on his tongue, but Mr. Wharton was alarmed. Without saying anything about the quality of the tobacco, the guest fell into thought again, and the host calmed down. Now that he had made some progress, Mr. Wharton did not want to retreat, and, making an effort on himself, continued:
- I wish from the bottom of my heart that this unholy war ends and that we can again meet with friends and loved ones in peace and love.
"Yes, I would very much like to," said Mr. Harper expressively, and looked up again at the master of the house.
“I have not heard of any significant troop movements since the arrival of our new allies,” remarked Mr. Wharton; knocking out the ashes from the pipe, he turned his back to the guest, as if in order to take youngest daughter ember.
- Apparently, this has not yet become widely known.
- So, it must be assumed that some serious steps will be taken? asked Mr. Wharton, still leaning towards his daughter and unconsciously hesitating to light his pipe, waiting for an answer.
Are they talking about anything specific?
- Oh no, nothing special; however, from such powerful forces as Rochambeau commands, it is natural to expect something.
Mr. Harper nodded his head in agreement, but did not say anything, and Mr. Wharton, lighting his pipe, continued:
- There must be more decisive action in the South, Gates and Cornwallis there, apparently, want to end the war.
Mr. Harper wrinkled his brow, and a shadow of deep sadness flickered across his face; eyes for a moment lit up with fire, revealing a strong hidden feeling. admiring gaze younger sister I barely had time to catch this expression, as it had already disappeared; the stranger's face became again calm and dignified, indisputably showing that his reason prevailed over his feelings.
The older sister rose from her chair and exclaimed triumphantly:
“General Gates was as unlucky with Earl Cornwallis as he was with General Burgoyne.
“But General Gates is not an Englishman, Sarah,” the younger lady hastened to protest; embarrassed by her boldness, she blushed to the roots of her hair and began to rummage through the working basket, secretly hoping that no one paid attention to her words.
James Fenimore Cooper
The Spy, or the Tale of No Man's Land
His face, keeping calm.
It hid the heat of the soul and secret fervor.
And in order not to give out this fire,
His cold mind was not more guarded, -
So the flame of Etna fades in the light of day
Thomas Campbell, "Gertrude of Wyoming"
One evening, towards the end of 1780, a lone rider rode through one of the many small valleys of West Chester County. The piercing dampness and the growing fury of the east wind undoubtedly foreshadowed a storm, which, as often happens here, sometimes lasts for several days. But in vain the rider peered into the darkness with a keen eye, wishing to find a suitable shelter for himself, where he could hide from the rain, which had already begun to merge with the thick evening fog. He came across only wretched houses of people of low rank, and, taking into account the immediate proximity of the troops, he considered it unreasonable and even dangerous to stop in any of them.
After the British took possession of New York Island, the territory of West Chester County became a no man's land, and until the very end of the American people's war for independence, both warring parties operated here. A significant number of the inhabitants - whether due to family affections, or out of fear - contrary to their feelings and sympathies, adhered to neutrality. The southern cities, as a rule, submitted to the royal authority, while the inhabitants of the northern cities, finding support in the proximity of the continental troops, boldly defended their revolutionary views and the right to self-government. Many, however, wore a mask that had not yet been thrown off by this time; and not one person went down to the grave with the shameful stigma of an enemy of the legitimate rights of his compatriots, although he was secretly a useful agent of the leaders of the revolution; on the other hand, if one were to open the secret boxes of some of the ardent patriots, one could pull out the royal safe-conduct hidden under British gold coins.
Hearing the clatter of the hoofs of a noble horse, every farmer woman, whose dwelling was passed by a traveler, timidly opened the door to look at the stranger, and, perhaps, turning back, reported the results of her observations to her husband, who stood in the back of the house ready to flee to the neighboring forest, where he usually hid when he was in danger. The valley was located about in the middle of the county, quite close to both armies, so it often happened that the one who had been robbed by one side received back his property from the other. True, he was not always returned his own good; the victim was sometimes compensated for the damage he had suffered even with a surplus for the use of his property. However, in this area, the law was violated every now and then, and decisions were made to please the interests and passions of those who were stronger. The appearance of a somewhat suspicious-looking stranger on horseback, although without military harness, but still proud and stately, like his rider, caused many guesses among the inhabitants of the surrounding farms who stared at them; in other cases, in people with a troubled conscience, - and considerable anxiety.
Exhausted by an unusually difficult day, the rider was eager to quickly hide from the storm, which raged more and more, and now, when it suddenly poured large drops of slanting rain, he decided to ask for shelter in the first available housing. He didn't have to wait long; riding through the rickety gate, without dismounting from his saddle, he knocked loudly at the front door of a very unprepossessing house. In response to the knock, a middle-aged woman appeared, whose appearance was as uninviting as her dwelling. Seeing a rider at the threshold, illuminated by the bright light of a blazing hearth, the woman recoiled in fright and half closed the door; when she asked the visitor what he wanted, fear was reflected on her face, along with curiosity.
Although the half-closed door did not allow the traveler to see properly the decoration of the room, yet what he noticed made him again fix his gaze into the darkness in the hope of finding a more friendly shelter; however, with difficulty hiding his disgust, he asked to be given shelter. The woman listened with obvious displeasure and interrupted him before he could finish his sentence.
I can’t say that I willingly let strangers into the house: the times are troubled now, ”she said in a cheeky, harsh voice. I am a poor lonely woman. Only the old master is at home, and what good is he! About half a mile away, further down the road, there is a manor, where you will be received and not even asked for money. I'm sure it will be much more convenient for them, and more pleasant for me - because Harvey is not at home. I would like him to listen to good advice and ask him to wander; he now has a decent amount of money, it’s time for him to come to his senses and live like other people of his age and prosperity. But Harvey Birch does things his own way and will eventually die a tramp!
The rider didn't listen anymore. Following the advice to go further along the road, he slowly turned his horse towards the gate, pulled the skirts of his wide cloak tighter, preparing to set off again into the storm, but the last words of the woman stopped him.
So this is where Harvey Birch lives? - involuntarily escaped from him, but he restrained himself and did not add anything more.
It cannot be said that he lives here, - the woman answered, and, quickly taking a breath, she continued:
He hardly comes here, and if he does, it is so rare that I hardly recognize him when he deigns to show his poor old father and me. Of course, I don’t care if he ever comes home… So, the first gate on the left… Well, I don’t care if Harvey ever comes here or not…” And she slammed the door on the horseman, who was glad to drive another half mile to a more suitable and more secure home.
It was still quite light, and the traveler saw that the land around the building to which he drove up was well cultivated. It was a long low stone house with two small outbuildings. A veranda stretching the entire length of the facade with neatly carved wooden pillars, the good condition of the fence and outbuildings - all this favorably distinguished the estate from simple neighboring farms. The rider put the horse around the corner of the house in order to at least protect it from rain and wind, threw his travel bag over his arm and knocked on the door. Soon an old negro appeared; apparently not considering it necessary to report to his masters about the visitor, the servant let him in, first looking around with curiosity by the light of the candle he held in his hand. The negro led the traveler into a wonderfully comfortable living room, where a fireplace was burning, so pleasant on a gloomy October evening, when the east wind was raging. The stranger gave the bag to a caring servant, politely asked the old gentleman, who rose to meet him, to give him shelter, bowed to the three ladies who were engaged in needlework, and began to free himself from outer clothing.
He removed the scarf from his neck, then the cloak of blue cloth, and before the attentive gaze of the members of the family circle appeared a tall, extremely well-built man of about fifty. His features expressed self-respect and restraint; he had a straight nose, close in type to the Greek; calm gray eyes looked thoughtfully, even, perhaps, sadly; mouth and chin spoke of courage and strong character. His traveling attire was simple and modest, but his compatriots from the upper strata of society dressed like that; he did not have a wig on, and he combed his hair like a military man, and in a slender, surprisingly well-formed figure, a military bearing showed. The stranger's appearance was so impressive, and so obviously a gentleman in him, that when he took off his excess clothes, the ladies half rose and, together with the owner of the house, once again bowed to him in response to the greeting with which he addressed them again.
The owner of the house was several years older than the traveler; his demeanor, dress, surroundings - everything indicated that he had seen the light and belonged to the highest circle. The ladies' company consisted of an unmarried lady in her forties and two young girls at least half her age. The colors had faded from the older lady's face, but her lovely eyes and hair made her very attractive; She was also charmed by her sweet, friendly manner, which many younger women by no means always can boast of. The sisters - the resemblance between the girls testified to their close relationship - were in the full bloom of youth; a blush, an essential property of a West Chester beauty, radiated on their cheeks, and deep blue eyes shone with that brilliance that captivates the observer and speaks eloquently of spiritual purity and peace.
