Little hero. "Little Hero" (Dostoevsky): analysis of the story

Fedor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky

little hero

From unknown memoirs

I was then almost eleven years old. In July they let me go on a visit to a village near Moscow, to my relative, T-vu, who at that time had gathered about fifty people, and maybe more, guests ... I don’t remember, I didn’t count. It was noisy and fun. It seemed that it was a holiday that began with that, never to end. It seemed as if our host had given himself a promise to squander all his enormous fortune as soon as possible, and he managed to justify this conjecture recently, that is, to squander everything, completely, cleanly, to the last chip. Every minute new guests arrived, but Moscow was a stone's throw away, in plain sight, so that those who were leaving only gave way to others, and the holiday went on as usual. Amusements were replaced by one another, and no end was foreseen for the undertakings. Either riding around the neighborhood, in whole parties, then walking in the forest or along the river; picnics, lunches in the field; suppers on the large terrace of the house, furnished with three rows of precious flowers, which filled the fresh night air with fragrances, under brilliant lighting, from which our ladies, who were already almost all pretty, seemed even more charming with their faces animated by daytime impressions, with their sparkling little eyes, with their criss-crossed speech, shimmering with ringing laughter like a bell; dancing, music, singing; if the sky frowned, living pictures, charades, proverbs were composed; settled down home theater. Claspers, storytellers, bonmotists appeared.

Several faces were sharply outlined in the foreground. Of course, slander, gossip went on as usual, because without them there would be no light, and millions of people would die of anguish, like flies. But since I was eleven years old, I did not notice these persons at that time, distracted by something completely different, and if I noticed something, it was not all. After that, I had to remember something. Only one brilliant side of the picture could catch my childish eyes, and this universal animation, brilliance, noise - all this, hitherto unseen and unheard of by me, struck me so much that in the first days I was completely at a loss and my little head was spinning.

But I keep talking about my eleven years, and, of course, I was a child, nothing more than a child. Many of these beautiful women, caressing me, did not yet think to cope with my years. But - a strange thing! - some sensation, incomprehensible to me, has already taken possession of me; something rustled already in my heart, hitherto unfamiliar and unknown to him; but why did it sometimes burn and beat, as if frightened, and often my face was covered with an unexpected blush. Sometimes I was somehow ashamed and even offended for my various childhood privileges. Another time, as if surprise overcame me, and I went somewhere where they could not see me, as if in order to take a breath and remember something, something that until now, it seemed to me, I I remembered very well, and what I have now suddenly forgotten, but without which, however, it is still impossible for me to show myself and in no way be.

Then, finally, it seemed to me that I was hiding something from everyone, but I never told anyone about it, then, which is a shame to me, little man, to tears. Soon, in the midst of the whirlwind that surrounded me, I felt a kind of loneliness. There were other children, too, but all of them were either much younger or much older than me; Yes, however, not until them was me. Of course, nothing would have happened to me if I had not been in an exceptional position. In front of all these beautiful ladies I was still the same small, indefinite creature, which they sometimes liked to caress and with whom they could play like with a little doll. One of them in particular, a charming blond woman with thick, voluminous hair, the likes of which I have never seen since and probably never will, seemed to have vowed to haunt me. I was embarrassed, but she was amused by the laughter that resounded around us, which she constantly aroused by her sharp, eccentric antics with me, which, apparently, gave her great pleasure. In boarding schools, between friends, she would probably be called a schoolgirl. She was wonderfully pretty, and there was something about her beauty that caught my eye at first sight. And, of course, she was not like those little bashful blondes, white as fluff, and delicate, like white mice or pastor's daughters. She was short and a little plump, but with delicate, fine lines of her face, charmingly drawn. Something like lightning was sparkling in this face, and all of it - like fire, alive, fast, light. Of her big open eyes as if sparks were falling; they sparkled like diamonds, and I would never exchange such sparkling blue eyes for any black ones, even if they were blacker than the blackest Andalusian look, and my blonde, right, was worth that famous brunette, who was sung by a famous and beautiful poet and who also in such excellent verses he swore by all Castile that he was ready to break his bones if they let him just touch the mantilla of his beauty with the tip of his finger. Add to that my the beauty was the most cheerful of all the beauties in the world, the most eccentric laughter, frisky as a child, despite the fact that she had already been married for five years. Laughter did not leave her lips, as fresh as a morning rose, which had just managed to open, with the first ray of the sun, its scarlet, fragrant bud, on which cold large drops of dew had not yet dried.

I remember that on the second day of my arrival a home theater was set up. The hall was, as they say, packed to capacity; there was not a single place free; and since for some reason I happened to be late, I was forced to enjoy the performance standing up. But fun game more and more pulled me forward, and I imperceptibly made my way to the very first rows, where I finally stood, leaning on the back of the chair in which a lady was sitting. It was my blonde; but we didn't know each other. And then, somehow by chance, I stared at her wonderfully rounded, seductive shoulders, plump, white, like milky boil, although it didn’t matter to me to look: at the wonderful female shoulders or at the cap with fiery ribbons that hid the gray hair of one venerable ladies in the front row. Near the blonde sat an overripe maiden, one of those who, as I later noticed, always huddle somewhere as close as possible to young and pretty women, choosing those who do not like to drive young people away from themselves. But that's not the point; only this girl noticed my observations, leaned over to her neighbor and, giggling, whispered something in her ear. The neighbor suddenly turned around, and I remember that her fiery eyes flashed at me in the semi-darkness so that I, not prepared for the meeting, shuddered, as if burned. Beauty smiled.

(From unknown memoirs)

I was then almost eleven years old. In July they let me go on a visit to a village near Moscow, to my relative, T-vu, who at that time had gathered about fifty people, and maybe more, guests ... I don’t remember, I didn’t count. It was noisy and fun. It seemed that it was a holiday that began with that, never to end. It seemed that our host had given himself a word to squander all his vast fortune as soon as possible, and he managed to justify this conjecture recently, that is, to squander everything, completely, cleanly, to the last chip. Every minute new guests arrived, but Moscow was a stone's throw away, in plain sight, so that those who were leaving only gave way to others, and the holiday went on as usual. Amusements were replaced by one another, and no end was foreseen for the undertakings. Either riding around the neighborhood, in whole parties, then walking in the forest or along the river; picnics, lunches in the field; suppers on the large terrace of the house, furnished with three rows of precious flowers, which filled the fresh night air with fragrances, under brilliant lighting, from which our ladies, who were already almost all pretty, seemed even more charming with their faces animated by daytime impressions, with their sparkling little eyes, with their criss-crossed speech, shimmering with ringing laughter like a bell; dancing, music, singing; if the sky frowned, living pictures, charades, proverbs were composed; arranged a home theater. Claspers, storytellers, bonmotists appeared.

Several faces were sharply outlined in the foreground. Of course, slander, gossip went on as usual, because without them there would be no light, and millions of people would die of anguish like flies. But since I was eleven years old, I did not notice these persons at that time, being distracted by something completely different, and if I did notice something, that was not all. After that, I had to remember something. Only one brilliant side of the picture could catch my childish eyes, and this general animation, brilliance, noise - all this, hitherto unseen and unheard of by me, so struck me that in the first days I was completely at a loss and my little head was spinning.

Fedor Dostoevsky. Little hero. audiobook

But I keep talking about my eleven years, and, of course, I was a child, no more than a child. Many of these beautiful women, caressing me, did not yet think to cope with my years. But - a strange thing! - some sensation, incomprehensible to me, has already taken possession of me; something rustled already in my heart, hitherto unfamiliar; and unknown to him; but why did it sometimes burn and beat, as if frightened, and often my face was covered with an unexpected blush. Sometimes I was somehow ashamed and even offended for my various childhood privileges. Another time, as if surprise overcame me, and I went somewhere where they could not see me, as if in order to take a breath and remember something, something that until now, it seemed to me, I I remembered very well, and what I have now suddenly forgotten, but without which, however, it is still impossible for me to show myself and in no way be.

Then, finally, it seemed to me that I was hiding something from everyone, but for no reason did I tell anyone about it, then what a shame to me, a little man, to tears. Soon, in the midst of the whirlwind that surrounded me, I felt a kind of loneliness. There were other children, too, but all of them were either much younger or much older than me; Yes, however, not until them was me. Of course, nothing would have happened to me if I had not been in an exceptional position. In the eyes of all these beautiful ladies, I was still the same small, indefinite creature, which they sometimes liked to caress and with whom they could play like with a little doll. One of them in particular, a charming blond woman with thick, voluminous hair, the likes of which I have never seen since and probably never will, seemed to have vowed to haunt me. I was embarrassed, but she was amused by the laughter that resounded around us, which she constantly aroused by her sharp, eccentric antics with me, which, apparently, gave her great pleasure. In boarding schools, between friends, she would probably be called a schoolgirl. She was wonderfully pretty, and there was something about her beauty that caught my eye at first sight. And, of course, she was not like those little bashful blondes, white as fluff, and delicate, like white mice or pastor's daughters. She was short and a little plump, but with delicate, fine lines of her face, charmingly drawn. Something like lightning was sparkling in this face, and all of it - like fire, alive, fast, light. From her large open eyes sparks seemed to fall; they sparkled like diamonds, and I would never exchange such sparkling blue eyes for any black ones, even if they were blacker than the blackest Andalusian look, and my blonde, right, was worth that famous brunette, who was sung by a famous and beautiful poet and who also in such excellent verses he swore by all Castile that he was ready to break his bones if they let him just with the tip of his finger touch the mantilla of his beauty. Add to the fact that my beauty was the most cheerful of all the beauties in the world, the most eccentric laughter, frisky as a child, despite the fact that she had already been married for five years. Laughter did not leave her lips, as fresh as a morning rose that had just opened. with the first ray of the sun, its scarlet, fragrant bud, on which cold large drops of dew have not yet dried.

I remember that on the second day of my arrival a home theater was set up. The hall was, as they say, packed to capacity; there was not a single place free; and since for some reason I happened to be late, I was forced to enjoy the performance standing up. But the cheerful game pulled me forward more and more, and I imperceptibly made my way to the very first rows, where I finally stood, leaning on the back of the chair in which a lady was sitting. It was my blonde; but we didn't know each other. And then, somehow by chance, I stared at her wonderfully rounded, seductive shoulders, plump, white, like milky boil, although I decided it was all the same to look: at the wonderful female shoulders or at the cap with fiery ribbons that hid the gray hair of one venerable ladies in the front row. Near the blonde sat an overripe maiden, one of those who, as I later noticed, always huddle somewhere as close as possible to young and pretty women, choosing those who do not like to drive young people away from themselves. But that's not the point; only this girl noticed my observations, leaned over to her neighbor and, giggling, whispered something in her ear. The neighbor suddenly turned around, and I remember that her fiery eyes flashed at me in the semi-darkness so that I, not prepared for the meeting, shuddered, as if burned. Beauty smiled.

- Do you like what they play? she asked, looking slyly and mockingly into my eyes.

"Yes," I replied, still looking at her in a kind of surprise, which she, in turn, apparently liked.

- Why are you standing? So - get tired; don't you have a place?

“That’s just what it is,” I answered, this time more preoccupied with care than with the sparkling eyes of the beauty, and seriously overjoyed that at last a kind heart was found to which I could open my grief. “I was already looking, but all the chairs are occupied,” I added, as if complaining to her that all the chairs were occupied.

“Come here,” she spoke briskly, quick to all decisions as well as to every extravagant idea, no matter what flashed through her eccentric head, “come here to me and sit on my knees.

“On your knees…?” I repeated, puzzled.

I have already said that my privileges seriously began to offend me and conscience. This one, as if for laughter, went far as an example to others. In addition, I, already always a timid and shy boy, now somehow began to be especially shy in front of women and therefore became terribly embarrassed.

- Well, on your knees! Why don't you want to sit on my lap? she insisted, starting to laugh harder and harder, so that at last she simply began to laugh at God knows what, maybe her own invention or glad that I was so embarrassed. But that's what she needed.

I blushed and looked around in embarrassment, looking for where to go; but she had already warned me, somehow managing to catch my hand, precisely so that I would not leave, and, pulling it to her, suddenly, quite unexpectedly, to my greatest surprise, squeezed it painfully in her playful, hot fingers and began to break my fingers, but it hurt so much that I strained every effort not to scream, and at the same time made ridiculous grimaces. In addition, I was in the most terrible surprise, bewilderment, even horror, when I learned that there are such funny and evil ladies who talk to boys about such trifles and even pinch so painfully, God knows why and in front of everyone. Probably, my unhappy face reflected all my bewilderment, because the minx laughed into my eyes like crazy, and meanwhile she pinched and broke my poor fingers more and more. She was beside herself with delight that she had succeeded in swindling, embarrassing the poor boy and mystifying him to dust. My position was desperate. Firstly, I was burning with shame, because almost everyone around us turned to us, some in bewilderment, others with laughter, immediately realizing that the beauty had done something wrong. In addition, I wanted to scream with fear, because she broke my fingers with some kind of bitterness, precisely because I did not scream: and I, like a Spartan, decided to endure the pain, afraid to make a commotion with a cry, after which I don’t know what would become of me. In a fit of utter despair, I finally began to struggle and began to pull my own hand but my tyrant was much stronger than me. Finally, I could not stand it, I cried out - that was all I was waiting for! In an instant she left me and turned away, as if she had never happened, as if it wasn’t she who messed up, but someone else, well, just like some schoolboy who, the teacher slightly turned away, had already managed to mess up somewhere in the neighborhood , pinch some tiny, weak boy, give him a click, a kick, push his elbow and turn around again in an instant, recover, burying himself in a book, begin to peck his lesson and, thus, leave the angry mister teacher, who rushed like a hawk on noise, - with a long and unexpected nose.

But, to my happiness, general attention was at that moment carried away by the masterful play of our host, who performed some kind of Scribov's comedy in the play that was being played, leading role. Everyone applauded; I, under the guise, slipped out of the row and ran to the very end of the hall, to the opposite corner, from where, crouching behind a column, I looked with horror at where the treacherous beauty was sitting. She was still laughing, covering her lips with a handkerchief. And for a long time she turned back, peeping out at me in all corners - probably very sorry that our extravagant fight ended so soon, and thinking of how to play something else.

This began our acquaintance, and from that evening she was no longer behind me a single step. She pursued me without measure and conscience, she became a persecutor, my tyrant. The whole comic of her tricks with me consisted in the fact that she said she was in love with me up to her ears and cut me in front of everyone. Of course, for me, a downright savage, all this was painful and annoying to tears, so that several times I was in such a serious and critical situation that I was ready to fight with my insidious admirer. My naive embarrassment, my desperate longing seemed to inspire her to pursue me to the end. She did not know pity, and I did not know where to go from her. The laughter that resounded around us, and which she knew how to arouse, only set her on fire for new pranks. But they finally began to find her jokes a little too far. And indeed, as I now had to remember, she already allowed herself too much with a child like me.

But such was her character: she was, in all her form, a spoiled child. I heard later that I spoiled her more than anything else. own husband, a very plump, very short and very red man, very rich and very businesslike, at least in appearance: fidgety, busy, he could not live in one place for two hours. Every day he went from us to Moscow, sometimes twice, and everything, as he himself assured, was on business. More cheerful and good-natured, this comical and yet always decent physiognomy was hard to find. Not only did he love his wife to the point of weakness, to the point of pity, he simply worshiped her as an idol.

He did not constrain her in anything. She had many friends and girlfriends. Firstly, few people did not like her, and secondly, the anemone herself was not too picky in choosing her friends, although at the heart of her character was much more serious than one can assume, judging by what I have now told . But of all her friends, she loved all of them and distinguished one young lady, her distant relative, who was now also in our society. There was some kind of tender, refined connection between them, one of those connections that sometimes arise at the meeting of two characters, often completely opposite to each other, but of which one is stricter, and deeper, and purer than the other, while the other, with a high humility and with a noble sense of self-esteem, lovingly submits to him, feeling all his superiority over himself and, as happiness, concludes his friendship in his heart. It is then that this tender and noble refinement begins in the relations of such characters: love and indulgence to the end, on the one hand, love and respect, on the other, respect, reaching some kind of fear, to fear for oneself in the eyes of someone who is so you value it highly, and with every step in life, jealous, greedy desire is getting closer and closer to his heart. Both friends were the same age, but meanwhile there was an immeasurable difference in everything, starting with beauty. M-me M* was also very pretty, but there was something special about her beauty that sharply separated her from the crowd of pretty women; there was something in her face that immediately irresistibly attracted all sympathies, or, rather, that aroused noble, sublime sympathy in those who met her. There are such happy faces. Around her, everyone felt somehow better, somehow freer, somehow warmer, and yet, her sad big eyes, full of fire and strength, looked timidly and restlessly, as if under every minute fear of something hostile and formidable, and this strange timidity sometimes covered her quiet, meek features, reminiscent of bright faces, with such despondency. Italian Madonnas that, looking at her, he himself soon became as sad as for his own, as for his native sadness. This pale, emaciated face, in which, through the irreproachable beauty of pure, regular lines and the dull severity of dull, hidden melancholy, the original childishly clear appearance still so often shone through - an image of still recent trusting years and, perhaps, naive happiness; this quiet, but timid, hesitant smile - all this struck with such unaccountable participation in this woman, that in the heart of everyone a sweet, ardent concern involuntarily arose, which loudly spoke for her from afar and made her related to her even more alienly, but the beauty seemed somehow silent, secretive, although, of course, there was no being more attentive and loving when someone needed sympathy. There are women who are definitely sisters of mercy in life. You can hide nothing before them, at least nothing that is sick and wounded in the soul. Whoever suffers, boldly and with hope go to them and do not be afraid to be a burden, because few of us know how infinitely patient love, compassion and forgiveness can be in another female heart. Entire treasures of sympathy, consolation, hope are stored in these pure hearts, so often also wounded, because the heart that loves a lot, sad a lot, but where the wound is carefully closed from a curious look, because deep grief is most often silent and hidden. Neither the depth of the wound, nor its pus, nor its stench will frighten them: whoever approaches them is worthy of them; yes, they, however, seem to be born for a feat ... m-me M * was tall, flexible and slender, but somewhat thin. All her movements were somehow uneven, sometimes slow, smooth and even somehow important, sometimes childishly quick, and at the same time some kind of timid humility was visible in her gesture, something as if trembling and unprotected, but no one not asking and not praying for protection.

I have already said that the unworthy pretensions of the insidious blonde shamed me, cut me, made me bleed. But there was also a secret, strange, stupid reason for this, which I concealed, for which I trembled like a kashchei, and even at the mere thought of it, one on one with my head turned over, somewhere in a mysterious, dark corner, where I did not reach the inquisitorial, mocking look of no blue-eyed cheat, at the mere thought of this subject I almost choked with embarrassment, shame and fear - in a word, I was in love, that is, let's say that I said nonsense: this could not be; but why, of all the faces that surrounded me, only one face caught my attention? Why did I like to follow her with my eyes only, although I was definitely not in the mood then to look out for the ladies and get to know them? This happened most often in the evenings, when bad weather locked everyone in their rooms and when I, lurking alone somewhere in the corner of the hall, stared aimlessly around, resolutely not finding any other occupation, because with me, except for my persecutors, rarely anyone spoke , and I was unbearably bored on such evenings. Then I peered into the faces around me, listened to the conversation, in which I often did not understand a word, and at that time quiet glances, a gentle smile and the beautiful face of m-me M * (because it was she), God knows why, were caught by my enchanted attention, and this strange, indefinite, but incomprehensibly sweet impression of mine was no longer erased. Often for whole hours I seemed to be unable to tear myself away from her; I memorized every gesture, every movement of her, listened to every vibration of her thick, silvery, but somewhat muffled voice, and—strange thing! – from all his observations he brought out, together with a timid and sweet impression, some kind of incomprehensible curiosity. It looked like I was trying to find out some secret ...

The most painful thing for me was the ridicule in the presence of Mme M*. These ridicule and comic persecution, in my opinion, even humiliated me. And when it happened that there was general laughter at my expense, in which even m-me M * sometimes unwittingly took part, then I, in despair, beside myself with grief, broke free from my tyrants and ran upstairs, where I savaged the rest of the day not daring to show his face in the hall. However, I myself did not yet understand either my shame or excitement; the whole process was experienced in me unconsciously. With m-me M* I hardly said two more words, and, of course, I would not have dared to do so. But then one evening, after a most unbearable day for me, I fell behind the others on a walk, was terribly tired and made my way home through the garden. On one bench, in a secluded alley, I saw m-me M*. She sat alone, as if she had purposely chosen such a secluded place, bowing her head to her chest and mechanically turning over her handkerchief in her hands. She was so thoughtful that she did not hear me catch up with her.

Noticing me, she quickly got up from the bench, turned away and, I saw, hastily wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. She cried. Drying her eyes, she smiled at me and walked home with me. I don't remember what we talked about; but she constantly sent me away under various pretexts: now she asked me to pick a flower for her, then to see who was riding along the neighboring alley. And when I moved away from her, she immediately again brought the handkerchief to her eyes and wiped away the disobedient tears, which did not want to leave her, boiled up in her heart again and again and kept pouring out of her poor eyes. I understood that I must have been very much a burden to her when she sent me away so often, and she herself had already seen that I had noticed everything, but she could not help it, and this tormented me even more for her. I was angry with myself at that moment almost to the point of despair, cursed myself for my clumsiness and lack of resourcefulness, and yet I did not know how better to leave her behind without showing that I had noticed her grief, but I walked beside her, in sad amazement, even in fright, completely bewildered and resolutely unable to find a single word to support our impoverished conversation.

I was so struck by this meeting that all evening with greedy curiosity I quietly followed m-me M * and did not take my eyes off her. But it so happened that twice she took me by surprise in the midst of my observations, and the second time, noticing me, she smiled. It was her only smile for the whole evening. Sadness had not yet left her face, which was now very pale. All the time she was talking quietly with one elderly lady, an angry and quarrelsome old woman, whom no one loved for spying and gossip, but whom everyone was afraid of, and therefore were forced to please her in every possible way, willy-nilly ...

At ten o'clock the husband of m-me M* arrived. Until now I have watched her very intently, not taking my eyes off her sad face; now, at the unexpected entrance of her husband, I saw how she shuddered all over, and her face, already already pale, suddenly became whiter than a handkerchief. It was so noticeable that others also noticed: I heard a fragmentary conversation off to the side, from which I somehow guessed that poor m-me M * was not very well. They said that her husband was jealous, like a black man, not out of love, but out of pride. First of all, he was a European, a modern man, with examples of new ideas and conceited with his ideas. In appearance, he was a black-haired, tall and especially stout gentleman, with European sideburns, with a self-satisfied ruddy face, with sugar-white teeth and with an impeccable gentlemanly posture. They called him a smart man. So in some circles they call one special breed of humanity grown fat at the expense of others, which does absolutely nothing, which wants to do absolutely nothing, and which, from eternal laziness and doing nothing, has a piece of fat instead of a heart. From them you constantly hear that they have nothing to do due to some very confusing, hostile circumstances that “tire their genius”, and that, therefore, it is “sad to look at them”. This is such a pompous phrase they have adopted, their mot d "ordre, their password and slogan, a phrase that my well-fed fat men squander everywhere every minute, which has long been beginning to bother, like an outright Tartuffe and an empty word. However, some of these amusing people, who cannot find what to do in any way - which, incidentally, they never looked for - they aim precisely at that, so that everyone thinks that instead of a heart they do not have fat, but, on the contrary, speaking in general, something very deep "But what exactly - the very first surgeon would not say anything about it, of course, out of courtesy. These gentlemen make their way in the world by directing all their instincts to rude scoffing, the most short-sighted condemnation and immense pride. Since they have nothing else to do how to notice and confirm other people's mistakes and weaknesses, and since in them good feeling exactly as much as is given to the oyster, then it is not difficult for them, with such protective means, to live with people rather circumspectly. This makes them overly vain. For example, they are almost sure that they have almost the whole world on dues; that he is with them like an oyster, which they take in reserve; that all but them are fools; that everyone looks like an orange or a sponge, which they no, no, and will squeeze out until the juice is needed; that they are the masters of everything, and that this whole commendable order of things is due precisely to the fact that they are so clever and characteristic people. In their immense pride, they do not allow themselves to be flawed. They are like that breed of worldly rogues, born Tartuffes and Falstaffs, who are so deluded that at last they themselves are convinced that this is how it should be, that is, in order to live and cheat; so often they assured everyone that they honest people that at last they themselves were convinced that they were really honest people and that their knavery was an honest thing. For a conscientious inner judgment, for a noble self-esteem, they will never be enough: for other things they are too thick. In the foreground they always and in everything have their own golden person, their Moloch and Baal, their magnificent self. All nature, the whole world for them is nothing more than one magnificent mirror, which was created so that my god would constantly admire himself in it and, because of himself, see no one and nothing; after that, it is no wonder that he sees everything in the world in such an ugly form. He has a ready-made phrase for everything, and - what. however, the height of dexterity on their part is the most fashionable phrase. Even they contribute to this fashion, unfoundedly spreading through all the crossroads the idea that they smell success. It is they who have the instinct to sniff out such a fashionable phrase and learn it for themselves before others, so that it seems to have come from them. They especially stock up on their phrases to express their deepest sympathy for humanity, to determine what is the most correct and rationally justified philanthropy, and, finally, to unceasingly punish romanticism, that is, often everything beautiful and true, each atom of which is more precious than all their slug. breeds. But they do not rudely recognize the truth in a deviated, transitional, and unfinished form, and they push away everything that has not yet matured, is not settled, and wanders. A well-fed man has lived all his life tipsy, ready for everything, he himself has done nothing and does not know how difficult it is to do anything, and therefore the trouble is to hurt his fat feelings with some roughness: for this he will never forgive, he will always remember and take revenge with pleasure . The result of everything will come out that my hero is nothing more than a gigantic, utterly swollen bag full of maxims, fashionable phrases and labels of all kinds and varieties.

But, by the way, Mr. M* also had a peculiarity, he was a remarkable person: he was a wit, a talker and a storyteller, and a circle always gathered around him in the drawing rooms. That evening, he especially managed to impress. He mastered the conversation; he was in good spirits, cheerful, happy about something, and made everyone look at him. But m-me M* was like a sick person all the time; her face was so sad that for a moment it seemed to me that at any moment the old tears would tremble on her long eyelashes. All this, as I said, struck and surprised me exceedingly. I left with a feeling of some strange curiosity, and all night I dreamed of Mr. M*, while until then I had rarely had ugly dreams.

The next day, early in the morning, they called me to a rehearsal of live pictures, in which I also had a role. Live pictures, theater and then a ball - all in one evening, were appointed no later than five days later, on the occasion of a home holiday - a birthday youngest daughter our host. About a hundred more guests were invited to this holiday, almost improvised, from Moscow and from the surrounding dachas, so there was a lot of fuss, and trouble, and turmoil. The rehearsals, or, better to say, the costume show, were scheduled at the wrong time, in the morning, because our director, famous artist R *, a friend and guest of our host, who, out of friendship with him, agreed to take over the composition and staging of the pictures, and at the same time our training, was now in a hurry to the city for purchases of props and for final preparations for the holiday, so there was no time to lose there was no time. I participated in one picture, together with m-me M*. The painting expressed a scene from medieval life and was called "The Lady of the Castle and Her Page".

I felt inexplicably embarrassed when I met m-me M* at the rehearsal. It seemed to me that she immediately subtracted from my eyes all the thoughts, doubts, conjectures that had arisen in my head since yesterday. In addition, it seemed to me that I seemed to be guilty before her, having caused her tears yesterday and prevented her grief, so that she would involuntarily have to look askance at me, as at an unpleasant witness and an uninvited participant in her secret. But, thank God, the matter went off without much trouble: they simply did not notice me. She, it seems, was not at all up to me and not up to the rehearsal: she was absent-minded, sad and gloomily thoughtful; It was evident that she was tormented by some great concern. Having finished with my role, I ran to change my clothes and ten minutes later went out onto the terrace into the garden. Almost at the same time, m-me M* also came out of other doors, and, just opposite to us, her self-satisfied husband appeared, who was returning from the garden, having just escorted a whole group of ladies there and having managed to hand them over from hand to hand to some to a leisurely cavalier servant. The meeting between husband and wife was obviously unexpected. M-me M *, for some unknown reason, suddenly became embarrassed, and slight annoyance flashed in her impatient movement. The husband, who had nonchalantly whistled an aria and thoughtfully preening his whiskers all the way, now, upon meeting his wife, frowned and looked at her, as I recall now, with a decidedly inquisitorial look.

- Are you in the garden? he asked, noticing the ombrel and the book in his wife's hands.

“No, to the grove,” she answered, blushing a little.

“With him…” m-me M* said, pointing at me. “I walk alone in the morning,” she added in some uneven, indefinite voice, just like when you lie for the first time in your life.

– Hm… And I just took a whole company there. There, everyone gathers at the flower arbor to see off H - go. He's on his way, you know... he's had some kind of misfortune there, in Odessa... Your cousin (he was talking about the blonde) laughs and almost cries, all at once, you can't make out her. She told me, however, that you were angry with N—go for something, and therefore did not go to see him off. Of course it's nonsense?

“She is laughing,” replied m-me M *, descending from the steps of the terrace.

“So this is your daily cavalier servant?” added Mr M*, twisting his mouth and pointing his lorgnette at me.

- Page! I shouted, angry at the lorgnette and the mockery, and, laughing right in his face, jumped three steps of the terrace at once...

- Happy journey! muttered mr M* and went on his way.

Of course, I immediately went up to m-me M *, as soon as she pointed me out to her husband, and looked as if she had already whole hour invited back and as if I already whole month I went for a walk with her in the morning. But I could not make out: why was she so embarrassed, embarrassed, and what was on her mind when she decided to resort to her little lie? Why didn't she just say she was going alone? Now I did not know how to look at her; but, struck with surprise, I, nevertheless, prenaively began to look little by little into her face; but, just as she had done an hour before, at the rehearsal, she did not notice any peeps or my silent questions. All the same tormenting care, but even more clearly, even deeper than then, was reflected in her face, in her excitement, in her gait. She hurried somewhere, quickening her pace more and more, and looked anxiously into every alley, into every clearing of the grove, turning towards the side of the garden. And I also expected something. Suddenly, we heard a horse thud behind us. It was a whole cavalcade of riders and riders, seeing off that N - go, who so suddenly left our company.

Among the ladies was also my blonde, about whom Mr. M * spoke, talking about her tears. But, as usual, she laughed like a child and galloped briskly on a beautiful bay horse. Coming abreast of us, H took off his hat, but did not stop and did not say a word to m-me M*. Soon the whole gang disappeared from the eyes. I looked at m-me M* and almost cried out in amazement: she stood as pale as a handkerchief and large tears made their way from her eyes. By chance, our eyes met: m-me M * suddenly blushed, turned away for a moment, and anxiety and annoyance clearly flashed on her face. I was superfluous, worse than yesterday - it's clearer than day, but where should I go?

Suddenly, m-me M*, as if guessing, unfolded the book that was in her hands, and, blushing, obviously trying not to look at me, said, as if she had just remembered:

– Ah! this is the second part, I was wrong; please bring me the first one.

How not to understand! my role was over, and it was impossible to drive me along a more direct road.

I ran away with her book and didn't come back. The first part lay quietly on the table this morning ...

But I was not myself; my heart was pounding, as if in perpetual fright. I tried with all my might not to meet m-me M*. On the other hand, I looked with some kind of wild curiosity at the self-satisfied person of Mr. M*. as if there must be something special about him now. I absolutely do not understand what was in this comic curiosity of mine; I only remember that I was in a kind of strange astonishment at everything that happened to me to see that morning. But my day was just beginning, and for me it was full of incidents.

We ate very early this time. Towards evening, a general pleasure trip was scheduled to a neighboring village, to a village festival that had taken place there, and therefore time was needed to prepare. I have been dreaming about this trip for three days already, expecting an abyss of fun. Almost everyone gathered on the terrace to drink coffee. I carefully followed the others and hid behind the triple row of chairs. I was attracted by curiosity, and meanwhile I did not want to appear in the eyes of m-me M*. But chance was pleased to place me not far from my blonde persecutor. This time a miracle happened to her, an impossible thing: she became twice as beautiful. I don’t know how and why this is done, but such miracles happen even often with women. Between us at that moment there was a new guest, a tall, pale-faced young man, a noteworthy admirer of our blonde, who had just come to us from Moscow, as if on purpose to replace the departed N-go, about whom there was a rumor that he was desperately in love to our beauty. As for the newcomer, he had long since been on exactly the same terms with her as Benedict was with Beatrice in Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing. In short, our beauty was extremely successful that day. Her jokes and chatter were so graceful, so trustingly naive, so pardonably careless; with such graceful arrogance she was sure of the general delight that she really was all the time in some kind of special worship. A close circle of astonished listeners admiring her did not break around her, and she had never been so seductive. Every word of her was a temptation and a curiosity, caught, passed around, and not a single joke of hers, not a single trick was in vain. From her, it seems, no one expected so much taste, brilliance, intelligence. All best qualities she was daily buried in the most willful folly, in the most stubborn schooling, reaching almost to buffoonery; they were rarely noticed; and if he noticed, he did not believe them, so that now her extraordinary success was met with a general passionate whisper of amazement.

However, this success was facilitated by one particular, rather delicate circumstance, at least judging by the role played at the same time by the husband of m-me M*. The naughty girl decided - and it must be added: almost to the general pleasure, or at least to the pleasure of all young people - to attack him fiercely due to many reasons, probably very important, in her eyes. She started a whole firefight with him of witticisms, ridicule, sarcasms, the most compelling and slippery, the most insidious, closed and smooth from all sides, such that they hit right on target, but which cannot be latched on to fight back from any side and which only exhaust in futile efforts, the victim, driving her to rage and to the most comical despair.

I don’t know for sure, but it seems that this whole trick was deliberate, not improvised. Even at dinner, this desperate duel began. I say "desperate" because Mr. M* did not put down his weapon soon. He needed to muster all his presence of mind, all his wit, all his rare resourcefulness, so as not to be smashed to dust, utterly and not covered with decisive dishonor. The case went on with the continuous and uncontrollable laughter of all the witnesses and participants in the battle. At least today was different for him from yesterday. It was noticeable that m-me M * several times tried to stop her careless friend, who, in turn, certainly wanted to dress her jealous husband in the most buffoonish and ridiculous costume, and I must assume, in the Bluebeard costume, judging by all the probabilities, judging by the fact what remained in my memory, and, finally, by the role that I myself had to play in this clash.

It happened suddenly, in the most ridiculous way, quite unexpectedly, and, as if on purpose, at that moment I stood in plain sight, suspecting no evil and even forgetting my recent precautions. All of a sudden I was highlighted like a sworn enemy and a natural rival m-r M *, how desperately, to the last degree, in love with his wife, which my tyrant immediately swore, gave her word, said that she had evidence and that no later than, for example, today in the forest she saw ...

But she did not have time to finish, I interrupted her at the most desperate moment for me. This minute was so godlessly calculated, so treacherously prepared for the very end, for the buffoon's denouement, and so hilariously ridiculously arranged, that a whole outburst of uncontrollable universal laughter saluted this last outburst. And although at the same time I guessed that the most annoying role did not fall to my lot, I was nevertheless so embarrassed, irritated and frightened that, full of tears, anguish and despair, choking with shame, I broke through two rows of chairs, stepped forward and, turning to my tyrant, he shouted in a voice broken by tears and indignation:

- And you are not ashamed ... out loud ... in front of all the ladies ... to speak such a bad ... lie ?! .. to you, like a little one ... in front of all men ... What will they say? .. you are so big ... married! ..

But I didn’t finish,” there was a deafening applause. My escapade created a real furore. My naive gesture, my tears, and most importantly, the fact that I seemed to come out to defend mr M * - all this produced such hellish laughter that even now, at the mere recollection, it becomes terribly funny to me myself ... I was dumbfounded, almost mad from horror, and, burning up like gunpowder, covering his face with his hands, rushed out, knocked the tray out of the hands of the incoming footman at the door, and flew upstairs to his room. I tore the key out of the door, which was sticking out, and locked it from the inside. I did well, because there was a chase after me. In less than a minute, a whole gang of the prettiest of all our ladies laid siege to my doors. I heard them ringing laughter, frequent conversation, their flooded voices; they chirped all at once, like swallows. All of them, every one of them, asked, begged me to open at least for one minute; they swore that there would be no harm to me, but only they would kiss me all in the ashes. But ... what could be more terrible than this new threat? I only burned with shame behind my door, hiding my face in the pillows, and did not unlock, did not even answer. They knocked for a long time and begged me, but I was insensible and deaf, like an eleven-year-old.

Well, what to do now? everything is open, everything is revealed, everything that I so jealously guarded and concealed ... Eternal shame and disgrace will fall on me! .. In truth, I myself did not know how to name what I was so afraid of and what I would like to hide; but after all, however, I was afraid of something, for the discovery of this something I still trembled like a leaf. Only I did not know until this moment what it is: is it good or bad, glorious or shameful, commendable or not commendable? Now, in torment and violent anguish, I learned that it is ridiculous and shameful! I instinctively felt at the same time that such a sentence was both false, and inhuman, and rude; but I was broken, destroyed; the process of consciousness seemed to stop and become entangled in me; I could neither resist this verdict, nor even discuss it properly: I was bewildered; I only heard that my heart was inhuman, shamelessly wounded, and burst into impotent tears. I was annoyed; indignation and hatred boiled in me, which I had never known before, because only for the first time in my life I experienced serious grief, insult, resentment; and it was all true, without any exaggeration. In my. in the child, the first, still inexperienced, unformed feeling was rudely touched, the first, fragrant, virgin shame was so early exposed and desecrated and the first and, perhaps, very serious aesthetic impression was ridiculed. Of course, my scoffers did not know much and did not foresee my torments. Half of this included one secret circumstance, which I myself did not have time to and was somehow afraid to sort out until now. In anguish and despair, I continued to lie on my bed, covering my face with pillows; and heat and shivering washed over me alternately. Two questions tormented me: what did she see and what exactly could the worthless blonde see today in the grove between me and m-me M*? And, finally, the second question: how, with what eyes, by what means can I now look into the face of m-me M * and not perish at the same moment, in the same place, from shame and despair.

An unusual noise in the yard finally called me out of the semi-consciousness in which I was. I got up and went to the window. The whole courtyard was cluttered with carriages, riding horses, and bustling servants. Everyone seemed to be leaving; several riders were already on horseback; other guests were accommodated in carriages ... Then I remembered the upcoming trip, and now, little by little, anxiety began to penetrate my heart; I began to stare intently at my clapper's yard; but there was no klepper, so they forgot about me. I could not stand it and ran like crazy. no longer thinking about unpleasant meetings, or about his recent shame ...

Terrible news awaited me. For me this time there was neither a riding horse nor a place in the carriage: everything was taken apart, occupied, and I was forced to give way to others.

Struck by a new grief, I stopped on the porch And sadly looked at the long row of carriages, convertibles, carriages, in which there was not even the smallest corner for me, and at smart riders, under which impatient horses prancing.

For some reason, one of the riders hesitated. Just waiting for him to go. At the entrance stood his horse, gnawing at the bit, digging the ground with its hooves, trembling every minute and bucking with fright. Two grooms carefully held him by the bridle, and they all stood warily at a respectful distance from him.

In fact, an unfortunate circumstance happened, due to which I could not go. In addition to the fact that new guests came and dismantled all the places and all the horses, two riding horses fell ill, of which one was my clapper. But I was not the only one who had to suffer from this circumstance: it was discovered that for our new guest, that pale-faced young man of whom I have already spoken, there is also no riding horse. In order to avert trouble, our master was forced to resort to an extreme measure: to recommend his rabid, untravelled stallion, adding, to clear his conscience, that he could not be ridden in any way and that he had long been put to be sold for his savage nature, if, however, there was a buyer for him. . But the forewarned guest announced that he drives decently, and in any case he is ready to sit on anything, just to go. The host then said nothing, but now it seemed to me that some kind of ambiguous and sly smile was wandering around his lips. While waiting for the rider, who boasted of his skill, he himself had not yet mounted his horse, he rubbed his hands impatiently and kept looking at the door. Even something similar was reported to the two grooms, who were holding the stallion and were almost choking with pride, seeing themselves in front of the whole audience with such a horse, which no, no, and would kill a man for no reason at all. Something similar to the sly grin of their master was also reflected in their eyes, bulging with expectation and also fixed on the door from which the visiting daredevil was supposed to appear. Finally, the horse himself behaved as if he had also come to an agreement with the owner and the guides: he behaved proudly and arrogantly, as if feeling that he was being watched by several dozen curious eyes, and as if proud of his shameful reputation in front of everyone, exactly the same like some other incorrigible rake is proud of his gallows tricks. He seemed to summon a daredevil who would dare to encroach on his independence.

This daredevil finally showed up. Ashamed that he had kept himself waiting, and hurriedly pulling on his gloves, he walked forward without looking, went down the steps of the porch and raised his eyes only when he was about to stretch out his hand to grab the waiting horse by the withers, but was suddenly puzzled by his mad jump on its hind legs and the warning cry of the entire frightened public. The young man stepped back and looked in bewilderment at the wild horse, which was trembling all over like a leaf, snoring with anger and wildly moving its bloodshot eyes, constantly settling on its hind legs and raising its front legs, as if about to rush into the air and carry away both of its leaders with it. For a minute he stood quite puzzled; then, slightly blushing from a little embarrassment, he raised his eyes, looked around them and looked at the frightened ladies.

- The horse is very good! he said, as if to himself, “and by the looks of it, it must be very nice to ride, but… but, you know what? After all, I won’t go,” he concluded, turning to our host with his wide, ingenuous smile, which was so good and smart face his.

“And yet, I consider you an excellent rider, I swear to you,” the delighted owner of the inaccessible horse answered, warmly and even gratefully shaking the hand of his guest, “precisely because you guessed from the first time what kind of beast you were dealing with,” he added with dignity. “Believe me, having served in the hussars for twenty-three years, I have already had the pleasure of lying on the ground three times by his grace, that is, exactly as many times as I sat on this ... parasite. Tancred, my friend, the people here are not for you; Apparently, your rider is some kind of Ilya Muromets, and now he is sitting in the village of Karacharovo and waiting for your teeth to fall out. Well, take him away! He's got to scare people! In vain they only led us out,” he concluded, smugly rubbing his hands.

It should be noted that Tancred did not bring him the slightest benefit, he only ate bread for nothing; in addition, the old hussar ruined all his experienced repair glory on him, paying a fabulous price for a worthless parasite who rode only on his beauty ... Still, now he was delighted that his Tancred had not lost his dignity, he hurried another rider and thereby acquired new, stupid laurels.

- How are you not going? shouted the blonde, who absolutely needed her cavalier servant to be with her this time. - Are you a coward?

- By God, it is! answered the young man.

- And you're serious?

“Listen, do you really want me to break my neck?

“So get on my horse as soon as possible: don’t be afraid, it’s very peaceful. We won't delay; instantly reschedule! I'll try to take yours; it cannot be that Tancred has always been so impolite.

No sooner said than done! Minx jumped out of the saddle and finished last phrase already stopped in front of us.

“You don’t know Tancred very well, if you think that he will allow himself to be saddled with your worthless saddle!” And I won't let you break your neck either; that would really be a pity! our host said, in that moment of inner contentment, according to his usual habit, the already affected and studied harshness and even rudeness of his speech, which, in his opinion, recommended a good-natured, old campaigner and especially should please the ladies. It was one of his fantasies, his favorite hobby, familiar to all of us.

“Well, you crybaby, don’t you want to try? you really wanted to ride,” said the brave rider, noticing me, and, teasingly, nodded at Tancred - in fact, in order not to leave with nothing, if I had to get off my horse in vain, and not leave me without a sharp word, if I myself blundered, turned up in my eyes.

- You, right, are not like ... well, what can I say, famous hero and be ashamed to be afraid; especially when they look at you, beautiful page,” she added, with a cursory glance at m-me M *, whose carriage was closest to the porch.

Hatred and a sense of vengeance flooded my heart when the beautiful Amazon came up to us with the intention of sitting on Tancred ... But I can’t tell you what I felt at this unexpected call from the schoolgirl. I didn't seem to see the light when I caught her eye on m-me M*. In an instant, an idea caught fire in my head ... yes, however, it was only a moment, less than a moment, like a flash of gunpowder, or the measure had already overflowed, and I was suddenly now indignant at all my resurrected spirit, so much so that I suddenly wanted to cut everyone on the spot my enemies and avenge them for everything and everyone, showing now what kind of person I am; or, finally, someone taught me some miracle at this moment middle history, in which I still did not know the basics, and tournaments, paladins, heroes, beautiful ladies, glory and winners flashed in my swirling head, trumpets of heralds were heard, the sounds of swords, screams and splashes of the crowd, and between all these screams one the timid cry of one frightened heart, which indulges a proud soul sweeter than victory and glory - I don’t know if all this nonsense happened then in my head or, more sensibly, a premonition of this yet to come and inevitable nonsense, but as soon as I heard that my hour was beating . My heart jumped, trembled, and I myself don’t remember how in one jump I jumped off the porch and found myself beside Tancred.

- Do you think I'm scared? I cried boldly and proudly, seeing no light from my fever, gasping with excitement and blushing so that tears burned my cheeks. - But you'll see! - And, seizing Tancred's withers, I put my foot in the stirrup before they could make the slightest movement to restrain me; but at that moment Tancred reared up, threw up his head, with one mighty leap escaped from the hands of the dumbfounded grooms and flew like a whirlwind, only everyone gasped and screamed.

God knows how I managed to lift the other leg all the way; I also do not understand how it happened that I did not lose my reasons. Tancred carried me out of the grated gate, turned sharply to the right, and set off past the grate in vain, without looking into the road. Only at that moment did I hear the cry of fifty voices behind me, and this cry resounded in my trembling heart with such a feeling of contentment and pride that I will never forget this crazy moment of my childhood life. All the blood rushed to my head, stunned me and flooded, crushed my fear. I didn't remember myself. Indeed, as I now had to remember, there seemed to be something chivalrous in all this.

However, my whole knighthood began and ended in less than an instant, otherwise it would be bad for the knight. And here I do not know how I escaped. I knew how to ride a horse: they taught me. But my clapper looked more like a sheep than a riding horse. Of course, I would fly off Tancred if he only had time to throw me off; but, having galloped fifty paces, he was suddenly frightened by a huge stone that lay beside the road, and shied back. He turned on the fly, but so abruptly, as they say, headlong, that even now my task is: how did I not jump out of the saddle, like a ball, three fathoms, and not smash to smithereens, and Tankred from such sharp turn did not cross his legs. He rushed back to the gate, shaking his head furiously, spinning from side to side, as if intoxicated with rage, throwing his legs at random into the air and shaking me off my back with each jump, as if a tiger had jumped on him and dug into his meat with his teeth and claws. Another moment - and I would have flown; I have already fallen; but already several horsemen were flying to rescue me. Two of them intercepted the road into the field; two others galloped so close that they almost crushed my legs, squeezing Tancred on both sides with the sides of their horses, and Both were already holding him by the reins. In a few seconds we were at the porch.

I was shone from the horse, pale, barely breathing. I was trembling all over, like a blade of grass in the wind, as was Tancred, who stood with his whole body leaning back, motionless, as if digging his hooves into the ground, heavily releasing a fiery breath from red, smoking nostrils, trembling all over like a leaf with a small shiver and as if dumbfounded by insult and anger for the unpunished insolence of a child. All around me there were cries of confusion, surprise, fright.

At that moment my wandering gaze met that of m-me M*, alarmed, turned pale, and—I cannot forget this moment—in an instant my whole face flushed, blushed, caught fire like fire; I don’t know what happened to me, but, embarrassed and frightened by my own sensations, I timidly lowered my eyes to the ground. But my gaze was seen, caught, stolen from me. All eyes turned to m-me M*, and, taken unawares by everyone's attention, she herself suddenly, like a child, blushed from some kind of reluctant and naive feeling and, through force, although very unsuccessfully, tried to suppress her blush with laughter ...

All this, if you look from the outside, of course, was very funny; but at that moment one prenaive and unexpected trick saved me from the general laughter, giving a special flavor to the whole adventure. The culprit of all the confusion, the one who until now had been my irreconcilable enemy, my beautiful tyrant, suddenly rushed to embrace me and kiss me. She watched in disbelief as I dared to accept her challenge and pick up the glove she threw at me, looking at m-me M*. She almost died for me of fear and pangs of conscience when I flew the Tancred; now, when it was all over, and especially when she caught, together with others, my glance thrown at m-me M *, my embarrassment, my sudden blush, when, at last, she managed to give this moment, according to the romantic mood of her frivolous head, some new, hidden, unspoken thought - now, after all this, she was so delighted with my "chivalry" that she rushed to me and pressed me to her chest, moved, proud of me, joyful. A minute later, she raised her most naive, most stern face to everyone who crowded around us both, on which two small crystal tears trembled and shone, and in a serious, important voice, which was never heard from her, she said, pointing to me: "Mais c" est très sèrieux, messieurs, ne riez pas "! - not noticing that everyone is standing in front of her as if spellbound, admiring her bright delight. All this sudden, quick movement of her, this serious face, this simple-hearted naivety, these unsuspected hitherto, the tears of the heart that had been seething in her eternally laughing eyes were such an unexpected wonder in her that everyone stood before her as if electrified by her look, quick, fiery word and gesture. It seemed that no one could take their eyes off her, fearing to lower this a rare moment in her inspired face. Even our host himself blushed like a tulip, and they assure us that they heard him later confess that, “to his shame,” he was in love with his beautiful guest for almost a whole minute. Well, it goes without saying that after all this I was a knight, a hero.

- Delorge! Togenburg! - resounded around.

Applause was heard.

- Oh yes, the next generation! added the owner. “But he will go, he will certainly go with us!” the beauty screamed. We will find and must find a place for him. He will sit next to me, on my knees ... or no, no! I was wrong! .. - she corrected herself, laughing and being unable to restrain her laughter at the memory of our first acquaintance. But, laughing, she gently stroked my hand, trying with all her might to caress me so that I would not be offended.

– Absolutely! by all means! – picked up by several voices. He must go, he has won his place.

And the matter was resolved in an instant. The same old maid who introduced me to the blonde was immediately bombarded with requests from all the young people to stay at home and give me their place, to which she was forced to agree, to her greatest annoyance, smiling and hissing in secret with anger. Her protectress, around which she hovered, mine former enemy and a recent friend, she shouted to her, already Galloping on her frisky horse and laughing like a child, that she envies her and would be glad to stay with her, because now it will rain and we will all get wet.

And she definitely predicted rain. An hour later, a whole downpour arose, and our walk was over. I had to wait for several hours in a row in the village huts and return home already at ten o'clock, in the damp, after the rain. I got a little fever. At the very moment when I had to sit down and go, m-me M * came up to me and was surprised that I was in one jacket and with an open neck. I replied that I did not have time to take my raincoat with me. She took a pin and, pinning up the ruffled collar of my shirt, took off a gauze crimson handkerchief from her neck and tied it around my neck so that I would not catch a cold in my throat. She was in such a hurry that I didn't even have time to thank her.

But when we got home, I found her in the little drawing-room, with a blond woman and a pale-faced young man, who to-day had become famous as a rider by being afraid to mount Tancred. I went over to thank him and hand over the handkerchief. But now, after all my adventures, I seemed ashamed of something; I rather wanted to go upstairs and there, at my leisure, something to think about and judge. I was overwhelmed with impressions. Handing over the handkerchief, I, as usual, blushed to the ears.

“I bet that he wanted to keep the handkerchief with him,” said the young man, laughing, “you can see in his eyes that he is sorry to part with your handkerchief.

- That's right, that's right! the blonde picked up. - Ekoy! ah! .. - she said, with noticeable annoyance and shaking her head, but stopped in time before the serious look of m-me M *, who did not want to start a joke.

I quickly left.

- Well, what are you! - the schoolgirl spoke, catching up with me in another room and taking both hands in a friendly way. - Yes, you simply would not give the headscarf if you so wanted to have it. He said he put it somewhere, and that's it. What are you! couldn't do it! What a funny!

And then she lightly hit me with her finger on the chin, laughing at the fact that I blushed like a poppy:

"After all, I'm your friend now, aren't I?" Is our feud over, huh? Yes or no?

I laughed and silently shook her fingers.

- Well, that's the same! .. Why are you so pale and trembling now? Do you have chills?

Yes, I'm unwell.

- Oh, poor thing! This is from his strong impressions! You know? go to sleep better, without waiting for dinner, And the night will pass. Let's go to.

She took me upstairs, and there seemed to be no end to my cares. Leaving me to undress, she ran downstairs, got me some tea, and brought it herself when I had already gone to bed. She brought me a warm blanket too. I was very struck and moved by all these cares and cares about me, or I was already so disposed by the whole day, the trip, the fever; but, saying goodbye to her, I embraced her warmly and warmly, as the most tender, as the most close friend and at this point all impressions rushed at once to my weakened heart; I almost cried, cuddling up to her chest. She noticed my impressionability, and it seems that my minx herself was a little touched ...

“You are a good boy,” she whispered, looking at me with quiet eyes, “please don’t be angry with me, huh? you will not?

In a word, we became the most tender, most faithful friends.

It was pretty early when I woke up, but the sun was already pouring down. bright light the whole room. I jumped out of bed, completely healthy and vigorous, as if yesterday's fever had not happened, instead of which I now felt in myself an inexplicable joy. I remembered yesterday and felt that I would give whole happiness if I could at that moment embrace, as yesterday, with my new friend, with our blond beauty; but it was still very early and everyone was asleep. Hastily dressing, I went down into the garden, and from there into the grove. I made my way to where the greenery is thicker, where the smell of trees is more resinous, and where the sunbeam peeps more cheerfully, rejoicing that I managed to penetrate here and there the misty density of leaves. It was a beautiful morning.

Imperceptibly making my way further and further, I finally came to the other edge of the grove, to the Moscow River. It flowed two hundred paces ahead, under the mountain. Hay was being cut on the opposite bank. I stared at how whole rows of sharp scythes, with each stroke of the scythe, were bathed in light in unison and then suddenly disappeared again, like fiery snakes, as if where they were hiding; like grass cut from the roots flew off in thick, greasy lumps to the sides and fit into straight, long furrows. I don’t remember how much time I spent in contemplation, when I suddenly woke up, hearing in a grove, twenty paces from me, in a clearing that ran from high road to the master's house, snoring, I'm the impatient tramp of a horse digging the ground with its hoof. I don’t know if I heard this horse as soon as the rider rode up and stopped, or if I heard the noise for a long time, but it only tickled my ear in vain, powerless to tear me away from my dreams. With curiosity I entered the grove and, having gone a few steps, I heard voices speaking quickly, but quietly. I approached even closer, carefully parted the last branches of the last bushes that bordered the clearing, and immediately recoiled back in amazement: a familiar white dress flashed in my eyes and a quiet female voice reverberated in my heart like music. It was m-me M*. She was standing near the rider, who hurriedly spoke to her from the horse, and, to my surprise, I recognized in him N-go, that young man who had left us yesterday morning and about whom Mr. M * was so fussing. But then they said that he was leaving somewhere very far away, to the south of Russia, and therefore I was very surprised to see him again with us so early and alone with m-me M*.

She was animated and excited as I had never seen her before, and tears shone on her cheeks. The young man held her hand, which he kissed, bending down from the saddle. I've already got a minute to say goodbye. They seem to be in a hurry. Finally, he took a sealed package out of his pocket, gave it to m-me M*, embraced her with one arm, as before, without leaving his horse, and kissed her hard and long. A moment later, he hit his horse and rushed past me like an arrow. M-me M* followed him with her eyes for a few seconds, then thoughtfully and dejectedly went towards the house. But, having taken a few steps along the clearing, she suddenly seemed to wake up, hurriedly parted the bushes and went through the grove.

I followed her, confused and surprised by all that I saw. My heart was beating fast, as if from fear. I was as numb, as misty; my thoughts were broken and scattered; but I remember that for some reason I was terribly sad. From time to time her white dress flashed before me through the greenery. Mechanically I followed her, not losing sight of her, but trembling lest she notice me. At last she came to the path that led to the garden. After waiting for half a minute, I went out too; but what was my astonishment when I suddenly noticed on the red sand of the path a sealed package, which I recognized at first sight - the same one that ten minutes ago was handed to m-me M *.

I picked it up: from all sides White paper, no signature; it looks small, but tight and heavy, as if it contained three or more sheets of note paper.

What does this package mean? No doubt the whole mystery would be explained to them. Perhaps he said something that N. did not hope to express due to the shortness of the hurried meeting. He didn’t even get off his horse… Whether he was in a hurry, or maybe he was afraid to betray himself at the hour of farewell, God knows…

I stopped without going out onto the path, threw a package on it in the most visible place and did not take my eyes off it, believing that m-me M* would notice the loss, come back, and look for it. But, after waiting for about four minutes, I could not stand it, picked up my find again, put it in my pocket and set off to catch up with m-me M*. I overtook her already in the garden, in the big avenue; she walked straight home, with a quick and hurried gait, but lost in thought and lowering her eyes to the ground. I did not know. what to do. Come, give? It meant to say that I know everything, I have seen everything. I would change myself from the first word. And how will I look at her? How will she look at me?.. I kept expecting her to come to her senses, to miss what she had lost, to return in her footsteps. Then I could, unnoticed, throw the package on the road, and she would find it. But no! We were already approaching the house; already noticed...

This morning, as if on purpose, almost everyone got up very early, because only yesterday, as a result of a failed trip, they conceived a new one, which I did not know about. Everyone was getting ready to leave and had breakfast on the terrace. I waited ten minutes so that they wouldn't see me with m-me M*. and, going around the garden, he came to the house on the other side, much after it. She paced up and down the terrace, pale and alarmed, with her arms folded across her chest and, by all appearances, she was strengthening herself and intensifying to suppress within herself the tormenting, desperate anguish that could be read in her eyes, in her walking, in her every movement. . Sometimes she came down the steps and walked a few steps between the flowerbeds towards the garden; her eyes eagerly, greedily, even carelessly searched for something on the sand of the paths and on the floor of the terrace. There was no doubt: she missed the loss and, it seems, thinks that she dropped the package somewhere here, near the house - yes, it is so, and she is sure of it!

Someone, and then others, noticed that she was pale and alarmed. Showered with questions about health, annoying complaints; she had to laugh it off, laugh, seem cheerful. From time to time she glanced at her husband, who was standing at the end of the terrace, talking with two ladies, and the same trembling, the same embarrassment, as then, on the first evening of his arrival, seized the poor woman. Putting my hand in my pocket and holding the bag tightly in it, I stood apart from everyone, praying to fate that m-me M* noticed me. I wanted to encourage, to reassure her, if only with a look; say something to her in a sneaky way. But when she chanced to glance at me, I shuddered and lowered my eyes.

I saw her suffering and was not mistaken. I still don’t know this secret, I don’t know anything, except for what I myself saw and what I just told. This connection may not be as it seems at first glance. Maybe this kiss was parting, maybe it was the last, weak reward for the sacrifice that was made to her calmness and honor. N - oh was leaving; he left her, perhaps forever. Finally, even this letter, which I held in my hands - who knows what it concluded? How to judge and to whom to condemn? And meanwhile, there is no doubt about it, the sudden discovery of a secret would be a horror, a thunderous blow in her life. I still remember her face at that moment: it was impossible to suffer any more. To feel, to know, to be sure, to wait, like an execution, that in a quarter of an hour, in a minute, everything could be discovered; the package is found by someone, lifted; it is without an inscription, it can be opened, and then ... what then? What execution is worse than the one that awaits her? She walked among her future judges. In a minute their smiling, flattering faces will be menacing and implacable. She will read mockery, anger and icy contempt on these faces, and then an eternal, dawnless night will come in her life ... Yes, then I did not understand all this the way I think about it now. I could only suspect and foresee, and ache in my heart for its danger, which I was not even fully aware of. But, whatever its secret, those mournful moments that I witnessed and which I will never forget, a lot was redeemed, if only something needed to be redeemed.

But now there was a cheerful call for departure; everyone bustled around happily; from all sides there was a frisky conversation and laughter. Two minutes later the terrace was empty. M-me M* canceled the trip, finally confessing that she was unwell. But, thank God, everyone set off, everyone was in a hurry, and there was no time to bother with complaints, questions and advice. Few stayed at home. The husband said a few words to her; she answered that she would be well today, so that he would not worry, that there was nothing for her to go to bed, that she would go into the garden, alone ... with me ... Then she looked at me. Nothing could be happier! I blushed with joy; in a minute we were on the road.

She went along the same alleys, paths and paths along which she had recently returned from the grove, instinctively recalling her former path, motionlessly looking in front of her, not taking her eyes off the ground, looking for her, not answering me, perhaps forgetting that I was going along with her.

But when we got almost to the place where I picked up the letter and where the path ended, m-me M * suddenly stopped and in a weak voice, fading with anguish, said that she was worse, that she would go home. But, having reached the grating of the garden, she stopped again, thought for a minute; a smile of despair appeared on her lips, and, all exhausted, exhausted, having decided on everything, submitting to everything, she silently returned to the first path, this time forgetting even to warn me ...

I was torn from anguish and did not know what to do.

We went, or, to put it better, I led her to the place from which I heard, an hour ago, the tramp of a horse and their conversation. Here, near a dense elm, there was a bench carved into a huge solid stone, around which ivy twined and grew field jasmine and wild rose. (The whole grove was dotted with bridges, pavilions, grottoes, and similar surprises.) M-me M* sat down on a bench, unconsciously looking at the marvelous landscape that spread before us. A minute later she unfolded the book and motionlessly riveted to it, not turning the pages, not reading, almost unconscious of what she was doing. It was already half past ten. The sun rose high and floated magnificently above us in the deep blue sky, as if melting in its own fire. The mowers had already gone far: they could hardly be seen from our shore. Behind them endless furrows of mowed grass crawled inexorably, and from time to time a slightly moving breeze blew its fragrant perspiration on us. All around stood an unceasing concert of those who “do not reap and do not sow”, but are self-willed, like the air cut through by their frisky wings. It seemed that at that moment every flower, the last blade of grass, smoking with a sacrificial aroma, said to the one who created it: “Father! I am blessed and happy!”

I looked at the poor woman, who was alone like a dead man in the midst of all this joyful life: on her eyelashes, two large tears, etched out acute pain from the heart. It was in my power to revive and make happy this poor, dying heart, and I just did not know how to proceed, how to take the first step. I suffered. A hundred times I tried to approach her, and each time some unrestrained feeling chained me to the spot, and each time my face burned like a fire.

Suddenly a bright thought dawned on me. The remedy was found; I have risen.

- If you want, I'll bring you a bunch of narva! I said in such a joyful voice that m-me M * suddenly raised her head and looked at me intently.

“Bring it,” she finally said in a weak voice, smiling a little, and immediately lowering her eyes again into the book.

- And even here, perhaps, the grass will be mowed and there will be no flowers! I shouted, cheerfully setting off on a hike.

Soon I got my bouquet, simple, poor. It would be a shame to bring him into the room; but how merrily my heart beat as I gathered and knitted it! Rosehip and field jasmine I took on the spot. I knew that there was a field with ripening rye nearby. I ran there for cornflowers. I mixed them with long ears of rye, choosing the most golden and fat ones. Immediately, not far away, I came across a whole nest of forget-me-nots, and my bouquet was already beginning to fill up. Further, in the field, there were blue bells and a field carnation, and for water, yellow lilies, I ran to the very shore of the river. Finally, already returning to my place and going into the grove for a moment to hunt for a few bright green palmate maple leaves and wrap the bouquet with them, I accidentally came across a whole family pansies, near which, fortunately for me, the fragrant violet smell revealed in the juicy, dense grass a lurking flower, still sprinkled with shiny drops of dew. The bouquet was ready. I tied it with long, thin grass, which I twisted into twine, and carefully put the letter inside, covering it with flowers - but in such a way that it could be very noticeable if my bouquet was presented with at least a little attention.

I took him to m-me M*.

On the way it seemed to me that the letter was too visible: I covered it more. Coming even closer, I pushed it even more tightly into the flowers and, finally, having almost reached the place, I suddenly thrust it so deep into the bouquet that nothing was noticeable from the outside. A whole flame burned on my cheeks. I wanted to cover my face with my hands and immediately run, but she looked at my flowers as if she had completely forgotten that I had gone to collect them. Mechanically, almost without looking, she stretched out her hand and took my gift, but immediately put it on the bench, as if I were then handing it to her, and lowered her eyes again into the book, as if she were in a state of oblivion. I was ready to cry from failure. “But if only my bouquet was near her,” I thought, “if only she would not forget about it!” I lay down on the grass nearby, put it under my head right hand and closed my eyes as if I were falling asleep. But I did not take my eyes off her and waited ...

Ten minutes passed; it seemed to me that she was becoming more and more pale ... Suddenly a blessed chance came to my aid.

It was a big golden bee brought by a good breeze for my happiness. She buzzed first over my head and then flew up to m-me M*. She waved her hand away once and twice, but the bee, as if on purpose, became more and more persistent. Finally m-me M* my bouquet and waved it in front of her. At that moment, the package burst out from under the flowers and fell right into open book. I started. For some time, m-me M * looked, mute with amazement, now at the package, now at the flowers that she held in her hands, and seemed not to believe her eyes ... Suddenly she blushed, flushed and looked at me. But I had already caught her eye and closed my eyes tightly, pretending to be asleep; I wouldn't look her straight in the face for anything in the world now. My heart sank and beat like a bird caught in the paws of a curly-haired village boy. I don’t remember how long I lay there with my eyes closed: two or three minutes. Finally I dared to open them. M-me M * eagerly read the letter, and, from her flushed cheeks, from her sparkling, watery eyes, from her bright face, in which every line trembled with joyful sensation, I guessed that happiness was in this letter and that it was all scattered like smoke. her longing. A painfully sweet feeling clung to my heart, it was hard for me to pretend ...

I will never forget this moment!

– Madame M*! Natalie! Natalie!

M-me M* didn't answer, but quickly got up from the bench, walked over to me and leaned over me. I felt that she was looking straight into my face. My eyelashes trembled, but I restrained myself and did not open my eyes. I tried to breathe evenly and calmly, but my heart choked me with its confused beats. Her hot breath burned my cheeks; she bent close, close to my face, as if testing it. Finally, a kiss and tears fell on my hand, on the one that lay on my chest. And twice she kissed her.

— Natalie! Natalie! where are you? - I heard again, already very close to us.

- Now! - said m-me M * in her thick, silvery voice, but muffled and trembling with tears, and so softly that only I alone could hear her, - now!

But at that moment, my heart finally betrayed me and seemed to send all its blood to my face. At the same moment, a quick, hot kiss burned my lips. I cried out weakly, opened my eyes, but immediately her yesterday's gas handkerchief fell on them - as if she wanted to protect me from the sun with it. A moment later, she was gone. I heard only the rustle of hastily retreating footsteps. I was alone.

I tore off her scarf and kissed her, beside myself with delight; for several minutes I was as if insane!.. Barely taking a breath, leaning on the grass, I looked, unconsciously and motionless, in front of me, at the surrounding hills, full of cornfields, at the river, winding around them and as far as the eye could follow, winding between new hills and villages, flashing like dots all over the light-filled area, they gave, to blue, barely visible forests, as if smoking on the edge of a hot sky, and some kind of sweet calm, as if inspired by the solemn silence of the picture, little by little calmed my troubled heart. I felt better, and I breathed more freely ... But my whole soul was somehow muffled and sweetly languishing, as if by an insight into something, as if by some kind of premonition. Something timidly and joyfully guessed by my frightened heart, slightly trembling with anticipation ... And suddenly my chest hesitated, ached, as if from something that pierced it, and tears, sweet tears splashed from my eyes. I covered my face with my hands and, trembling like a blade of grass, unrestrainedly gave myself up to the first consciousness and revelation of the heart, the first, still unclear insight into my nature ... My first childhood ended with that moment ...

...who "do not reap or sow"...- Quote from the Gospel; cf .: “Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap” ... (Gospel of Matthew. Ch. 6. Art. 26).

Fedor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky

little hero

I was then almost eleven years old. In July they let me go on a visit to a village near Moscow, to my relative, T-vu, who at that time had gathered about fifty people, and maybe more guests ... I don’t remember, I didn’t count. It was noisy and fun. It seemed that it was a holiday that began with that, never to end. It seemed as though our host had given himself a promise to squander all his enormous fortune as soon as possible, and he managed to justify this conjecture recently, that is, to squander everything, completely, cleanly, to the last chip. Every minute new guests arrived, but Moscow was a stone's throw away, in plain sight, so that those who were leaving only gave way to others, and the holiday went on as usual. Amusements were replaced by one another, and no end was foreseen for the undertakings. Either riding around the neighborhood, in whole parties, then walking in the forest or along the river; picnics, lunches in the field; suppers on the large terrace of the house, furnished with three rows of precious flowers, which filled the fresh night air with fragrances, under brilliant lighting, from which our ladies, who were already almost all pretty, seemed even more charming with their faces animated by daytime impressions, with their sparkling little eyes, with their criss-crossed speech, shimmering with ringing laughter like a bell; dancing, music, singing; if the sky frowned, living pictures, charades, proverbs were composed; arranged a home theater. Claspers, storytellers, bonmotists appeared. Several faces were sharply outlined in the foreground. Of course, slander, gossip went on as usual, because without them there would be no light, and millions of people would die of anguish like flies. But since I was eleven years old, I did not notice these persons at that time, being distracted by something completely different, and if I did notice something, that was not all. After that, I had to remember something. Only one brilliant side of the picture could catch my childish eyes, and this general animation, brilliance, noise - all this, hitherto unknown and unheard of by me, so struck me that in the first days I was completely at a loss and my little head was spinning. But I keep talking about my eleven years, and, of course, I was a child, no more than a child. Many of these beautiful women, caressing me, did not yet think to cope with my years. But - a strange thing! — some sensation, incomprehensible to me, had already taken possession of me; something rustled already in my heart, hitherto unfamiliar; and unknown to him; but why did it sometimes burn and beat, as if frightened, and often my face was covered with an unexpected blush. Sometimes I was somehow ashamed and even offended for my various childhood privileges. Another time, as if surprise overcame me, and I went somewhere where they could not see me, as if in order to take a breath and remember something, something that until now, it seemed to me, I I remembered very well, and what I have now suddenly forgotten, but without which, however, it is still impossible for me to show myself and in no way be. Then, finally, it seemed to me that I was hiding something from everyone, but for no reason did I tell anyone about it, then what a shame to me, a little man, to tears. Soon, in the midst of the whirlwind that surrounded me, I felt a kind of loneliness. There were other children, too, but all of them were either much younger or much older than me; Yes, however, not until them was me. Of course, nothing would have happened to me if I had not been in an exceptional position. In the eyes of all these beautiful ladies, I was still the same small, indefinite creature, which they sometimes liked to caress and with whom they could play like with a little doll. One of them in particular, a charming blond woman with thick, voluminous hair, the likes of which I have never seen since and probably never will, seemed to have vowed not to let me. rest. I was embarrassed, but she was amused by the laughter that resounded around us, which she constantly aroused by her sharp, eccentric antics with me, which, apparently, gave her great pleasure. In boarding houses, between friends, she would probably be called a schoolgirl. She was wonderfully pretty, and there was something about her beauty that caught my eye at first sight. And, of course, she was not like those little bashful blondes, white as fluff, and delicate, like white mice or pastor's daughters. She was short and a little plump, but with delicate, fine lines of her face, charmingly drawn. There was something like lightning in this face, and all of it was like fire, alive, fast, light. From her large open eyes sparks seemed to fall; they sparkled like diamonds, and I would never exchange such sparkling blue eyes for any black ones, even if they were blacker than the blackest Andalusian look, and my blonde, right, was worth that famous brunette, who was sung by a famous and beautiful poet and who also in such excellent verses he swore by all Castile that he was ready to break his bones if they let him just touch the mantilla of his beauty with the tip of his finger. Add to that my the beauty was the most cheerful of all the beauties in the world, the most eccentric laughter, frisky as a child, despite the fact that she had already been married for five years. Laughter did not leave her lips, as fresh as a morning rose that had just opened. with the first ray of the sun, its scarlet, fragrant bud, on which cold large drops of dew have not yet dried. I remember that on the second day of my arrival a home theater was set up. The hall was, as they say, packed to capacity; there was not a single place free; and since for some reason I happened to be late, I was forced to enjoy the performance standing up. But the cheerful game pulled me forward more and more, and I imperceptibly made my way to the very first rows, where I finally stood, leaning on the back of the chair in which a lady was sitting. It was my blonde; but we didn't know each other. And then, somehow by chance, I stared at her wonderfully rounded, seductive shoulders, plump, white, like milky boil, although I decided it was all the same to look: at the wonderful female shoulders or at the cap with fiery ribbons that hid the gray hair of one venerable ladies in the front row. Near the blonde sat an overripe maiden, one of those who, as I later noticed, always huddle somewhere as close as possible to young and pretty women, choosing those who do not like to drive young people away from themselves. But that's not the point; only this girl noticed my observations, leaned over to her neighbor and, giggling, whispered something in her ear. The neighbor suddenly turned around, and I remember that her fiery eyes flashed at me in the semi-darkness so that I, not prepared for the meeting, shuddered, as if burned. Beauty smiled. - Do you like what they play? she asked, looking slyly and mockingly into my eyes. "Yes," I replied, still looking at her in a kind of surprise, which she, in turn, apparently liked. - Why are you standing? So - get tired; don't you have a place? “That’s just what it is,” I answered, this time more preoccupied with care than with the sparkling eyes of the beauty, and seriously overjoyed that at last a kind heart was found to which I could open my grief. "I've been looking, but all the chairs are occupied," I added, as if complaining to her that all the chairs were occupied. "Come here," she spoke briskly, quick to all decisions as well as to every extravagant idea, whatever flashed through her eccentric head, "come here to me, and sit on my knees." “On your knees?” I repeated, puzzled. I have already said that my privileges seriously began to offend me and conscience. This one, as if for laughter, went far as an example to others. In addition, I, already always a timid and shy boy, now somehow began to be especially shy in front of women and therefore became terribly embarrassed. - Well, on your knees! Why don't you want to sit on my lap? she insisted, beginning to laugh harder and harder, so that at last she simply began to laugh at God knows what, maybe her own invention or being glad that I was so embarrassed. But that's what she needed. I blushed and looked around in embarrassment, looking for where to go; but she had already warned me, somehow managing to catch my hand, precisely so that I would not leave, and, pulling it to her, suddenly, quite unexpectedly, to my greatest surprise, squeezed it painfully in her playful, hot fingers and began to break my fingers, but it hurt so much that I strained every effort not to scream, and at the same time made ridiculous grimaces. In addition, I was in the most terrible surprise, bewilderment, even horror, when I learned that there are such funny and evil ladies who talk to boys about such trifles and even pinch so painfully, God knows why and in front of everyone. Probably, my unhappy face reflected all my bewilderment, because the minx laughed into my eyes like crazy, and meanwhile she pinched and broke my poor fingers more and more. She was beside herself with delight that she had succeeded in swindling, embarrassing the poor boy and mystifying him to dust. My position was desperate. Firstly, I was burning with shame, because almost everyone around us turned to us, some in bewilderment, others with laughter, immediately realizing that the beauty had done something wrong. In addition, I wanted to scream with fear, because she broke my fingers with some kind of bitterness, precisely because I did not scream: and I, like a Spartan, decided to endure the pain, afraid to make a commotion with a cry, after which I don’t know what would become of me. In a fit of utter despair, I finally began to fight and began to pull my own hand towards me with all my strength, but my tyrant was much stronger than me. Finally, I could not stand it, I cried out - that was all I was waiting for! In an instant she left me and turned away, as if she had never happened, as if it wasn’t she who messed up, but someone else, well, just like some schoolboy who, the teacher slightly turned away, had already managed to mess up somewhere in the neighborhood , pinch some tiny, weak boy, give him a click, a kick, push his elbow and turn around again in an instant, recover, burying himself in a book, begin to peck his lesson and, thus, leave the angry mister teacher, who rushed like a hawk on noise, with a long and unexpected nose. But, to my happiness, general attention was at that moment carried away by the masterful play of our host, who played the main role in a piece that was being played, some kind of Scribov's comedy. Everyone applauded; I, under the guise, slipped out of the row and ran to the very end of the hall, to the opposite corner, from where, crouching behind a column, I looked with horror at where the treacherous beauty was sitting. She was still laughing, covering her lips with a handkerchief. And for a long time she turned back, peeping out at me in all corners, probably very sorry that our extravagant fight ended so soon, and thinking of how she could play something else. This began our acquaintance, and from that evening she was no longer behind me a single step. She pursued me without measure and conscience, she became a persecutor, my tyrant. The whole comic of her tricks with me consisted in the fact that she said she was in love with me up to her ears and cut me in front of everyone. Of course, for me, a downright savage, all this was painful and annoying to tears, so that several times I was in such a serious and critical situation that I was ready to fight with my insidious admirer. My naive embarrassment, my desperate longing seemed to inspire her to pursue me to the end. She did not know pity, and I did not know where to go from her. The laughter that resounded around us, and which she knew how to arouse, only set her on fire for new pranks. But they finally began to find her jokes a little too far. And indeed, as I now had to remember, she already allowed herself too much with a child like me. But such was her character: she was, in all her form, a spoiled child. I later heard that what spoiled her most of all was her own husband, a very plump, very short and very red-faced man, very rich and very businesslike, at least in appearance: fidgety, busy, he could not live in one place for two hours. Every day he went from us to Moscow, sometimes twice, and everything, as he himself assured, was on business. More cheerful and good-natured, this comical and yet always decent physiognomy was hard to find. Not only did he love his wife to the point of weakness, to the point of pity, he simply worshiped her as an idol. He did not constrain her in anything. She had many friends and girlfriends. In the first place, few people did not like her, and secondly, the anemone herself was not too picky in the choice of her friends, although at the heart of her character was much more serious than one can assume, judging by the fact that I now told. But of all her friends, she loved all of them and distinguished one young lady, her distant relative, who was now also in our society. There was some kind of tender, refined connection between them, one of those connections that sometimes arise at the meeting of two characters, often completely opposite to each other, but of which one is stricter, and deeper, and purer than the other, while the other, with a high humility and with a noble sense of self-esteem, lovingly submits to him, feeling all his superiority over himself and, as happiness, concludes his friendship in his heart. It is then that this tender and noble refinement begins in the relations of such characters: love and indulgence to the end, on the one hand, love and respect, on the other, respect, reaching some kind of fear, to fear for oneself in the eyes of the one whom you value it so highly, and with every step in life you get closer and closer to a jealous, greedy desire to his heart. Both friends were the same age, but meanwhile there was an immeasurable difference in everything, starting with beauty. M-me M * was also very pretty, but there was something special in her beauty that sharply separated her from the crowd of pretty women; there was something in her face that immediately irresistibly attracted all sympathies, or, rather, that aroused noble, sublime sympathy in those who met her. There are such happy faces. Around her, everyone felt somehow better, somehow freer, somehow warmer, and yet her sad big eyes, full of fire and strength, looked timidly and restlessly, as if under the constant fear of something hostile and formidable, and this strange timidity sometimes covered her quiet, meek features, reminiscent of the bright faces of Italian Madonnas, with such despondency that, looking at her, he himself soon became as sad as for his own, as for his native sadness. This pale, emaciated face, in which, through the irreproachable beauty of pure, regular lines and the dull severity of dull, hidden melancholy, the original childishly clear appearance still so often shone through - an image of still recent gullible years and, perhaps, naive happiness; this quiet, but timid, hesitant smile - all this struck with such unaccountable sympathy for this woman that a sweet, ardent concern involuntarily arose in everyone's heart, which spoke loudly for her from afar and made her related to her even more strangely, but the beauty seemed like - sometimes silent, secretive, although, of course, there was no being more attentive and loving when someone needed sympathy. There are women who are definitely sisters of mercy in life. You can hide nothing before them, at least nothing that is sick and wounded in the soul. Whoever suffers, boldly and hopefully go to them and do not be afraid to be a burden, because few of us know how infinitely patient love, compassion and forgiveness can be in another woman's heart. Entire treasures of sympathy, consolation, hope are stored in these pure hearts, so often also wounded, because the heart that loves a lot, sad a lot, but where the wound is carefully closed from a curious look, because deep grief is most often silent and hidden. Neither the depth of the wound nor the pus will scare them. her, nor its stench: whoever approaches them is worthy of them; yes, they, however, seem to be born for a feat ... M-me M * was tall, flexible and slender, but somewhat thin. All her movements were somehow uneven, sometimes slow, smooth and even somehow important, sometimes childishly quick, and at the same time some kind of timid humility was visible in her gesture, something as if trembling and unprotected, but no one not asking and not praying for protection. I have already said that the unworthy pretensions of the insidious blonde shamed me, cut me, made me bleed. But there was also a secret, strange, stupid reason for this, which I concealed, for which I trembled like a kashchei, and even at the mere thought of it, one on one with my head turned over, somewhere in a mysterious, dark corner, where I did not reach the inquisitorial, mocking look of no blue-eyed cheat, at the mere thought of this subject I almost choked with embarrassment, shame and fear - in a word, I was in love, that is, let's say that I said nonsense: this could not be; but why, of all the faces that surrounded me, only one face caught my attention? Why did I like to follow her with my eyes only, although I was definitely not in the mood then to look out for the ladies and get to know them? This happened most often in the evenings, when bad weather locked everyone in their rooms and when I, lurking alone somewhere in the corner of the hall, stared aimlessly around, resolutely not finding any other occupation, because with me, except for my persecutors, rarely anyone spoke , and I was unbearably bored on such evenings. Then I peered into the faces around me, listened to the conversation, in which I often did not understand a word, and at that time quiet glances, a gentle smile and the beautiful face of m-me M * (because it was she), God knows why, were caught by my enchanted attention, and this strange, indefinite, but incomprehensibly sweet impression of mine was no longer erased. Often for whole hours I seemed to be unable to tear myself away from her; I memorized every gesture, every movement of her, listened to every vibration of her thick, silvery, but somewhat muffled voice, and—strange thing! -- from all his observations, he brought out, together with a timid and sweet impression, some kind of incomprehensible curiosity. It looked like I was trying to find out some secret ... The most painful thing for me was ridicule in the presence of m-me M * . These ridicule and comic persecution, in my opinion, even humiliated me. And when, it happened, there was a general laughter at my expense, in which even m-me M * sometimes unwittingly took part, then I, in despair , beside himself with grief, he escaped from his tyrants and ran upstairs, where he roamed the rest of the day, not daring to show his face in the hall. However, I myself did not yet understand either my shame or excitement; the whole process was experienced in me unconsciously. With m-me M * I hardly said another two words, and, of course, I would not have dared to do so. But then one evening, after a most unbearable day for me, I fell behind the others on a walk, was terribly tired and made my way home through the garden. On one bench, in a secluded alley, I saw m-me M*. She sat alone, as if she had purposely chosen such a secluded place, bowing her head to her chest and mechanically turning over her handkerchief in her hands. She was so thoughtful that she did not hear me catch up with her. Noticing me, she quickly got up from the bench, turned away and, I saw, hastily wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. She cried. Drying her eyes, she smiled at me and walked home with me. I don't remember what we talked about; but she constantly sent me away under various pretexts: now she asked me to pick a flower for her, then to see who was riding along the neighboring alley. And when I moved away from her, she immediately again brought the handkerchief to her eyes and wiped away the disobedient tears, which did not want to leave her, boiled up in her heart again and again and kept pouring out of her poor eyes. I understood that I must have been very much a burden to her when she sent me away so often, and she herself had already seen that I had noticed everything, but she could not help it, and this tormented me even more for her. I was angry with myself at that moment almost to the point of despair, cursed myself for my clumsiness and lack of resourcefulness, and yet I did not know how better to leave her behind without showing that I had noticed her grief, but I walked beside her, in sad amazement, even in fright, completely bewildered and resolutely unable to find a single word to support our impoverished conversation. I was so struck by this meeting that all evening with greedy curiosity I quietly followed m-me M * and did not take my eyes off her. But it so happened that twice she took me by surprise in the midst of my observations, and the second time, noticing me, she smiled. It was her only smile for the whole evening. Sadness had not yet left her face, which was now very pale. All the time she was talking quietly with one elderly lady, an angry and quarrelsome old woman, whom no one loved for spying and gossip, but whom everyone was afraid of, and therefore were forced to please her in every possible way, willy-nilly ... Her husband arrived at ten o'clock -me M *. Until now I have watched her very intently, not taking my eyes off her sad face; now, at the unexpected entrance of her husband, I saw how she shuddered all over, and her face, already already pale, suddenly became whiter than a handkerchief. It was so noticeable that others noticed: I heard a fragmentary conversation off to the side, from which I somehow guessed that poor m-me M * was not very well. They said that her husband was jealous, like a black man, not out of love, but out of pride. First of all, he was a European, a modern man, with examples of new ideas and conceited with his ideas. In appearance, he was a black-haired, tall and especially stout gentleman, with European sideburns, with a self-satisfied ruddy face, with sugar-white teeth and with an impeccable gentlemanly posture. They called him smart person. So in some circles they call one special breed of humanity grown fat at the expense of others, which does absolutely nothing, which wants to do absolutely nothing, and which, from eternal laziness and doing nothing, has a piece of fat instead of a heart. From them you constantly hear that they have nothing to do due to some very confusing, hostile circumstances that "wear out their genius", and that, therefore, it is "sad to look at" them. This is such a pompous phrase they have adopted, their mot d "ordre, their password and slogan, a phrase that my well-fed fat men squander everywhere every minute, which has long been beginning to bother, like an outright Tartuffe and an empty word. However, some of these amusing people, who can’t find what to do in any way—which, incidentally, they never looked for—they aim precisely at that, so that everyone thinks that instead of a heart they don’t have fat, but, on the contrary, speaking in general, something very deep but what exactly - the very first surgeon would not say anything about this, of course, out of courtesy. These gentlemen make their way in the world by directing all their instincts to rude scoffing, the most short-sighted condemnation and boundless pride. Since they have nothing more to do than to notice and confirm other people's mistakes and weaknesses, and since they have as much good feeling as it is given to an oyster, it is not difficult for them, with such protective means, to live with people quite circumspectly. This makes them overly vain. For example, they are almost sure that they have almost the whole world on dues; that he is with them like an oyster, which they take in reserve; that all but them are fools; that everyone looks like an orange or a sponge, which they no, no, and will squeeze out until the juice is needed; that they are the masters of everything, and that this whole commendable order of things is due precisely to the fact that they are such intelligent and characteristic people. In their immense pride, they do not allow themselves to be flawed. They are like that breed of worldly rogues, born Tartuffes and Falstaffs, who are so deluded that at last they themselves are convinced that this is how it should be, that is, in order to live and cheat; so often they assured everyone that they were honest people, that at last they themselves were convinced that they were really honest people and that their knavery was an honest thing. For a conscientious inner judgment, for a noble self-esteem, they will never be enough: for other things they are too thick. In the foreground, they always and in everything have their own golden person, their Moloch and Baal, their magnificent self? All nature, the whole world for them is nothing more than one magnificent mirror, which was created so that my god would constantly admire himself in it and, because of himself, see no one and nothing; after that, it is no wonder that he sees everything in the world in such an ugly form. He has a ready-made phrase in store for everything, and, - what. however, the height of dexterity on their part is the most fashionable phrase. Even they contribute to this fashion, unfoundedly spreading through all the crossroads the idea that they smell success. It is they who have the instinct to sniff out such a fashionable phrase and learn it for themselves before others, so that it seems to have come from them. They especially stock up on their phrases to express their deepest sympathy for humanity, to determine what is the most correct and rationally justified philanthropy, and, finally, to unceasingly punish romanticism, that is, often everything beautiful and true, each atom of which is more precious than all their slug. breeds. But they do not rudely recognize the truth in a deviated, transitional, and unfinished form, and they push away everything that has not yet matured, is not settled, and wanders. A well-fed man has lived all his life tipsy, ready for everything, he himself has done nothing and does not know how difficult it is to do anything, and therefore the trouble is to hurt his fat feelings with some roughness: for this he will never forgive, he will always remember and take revenge with pleasure . The result of everything will come out that my hero is nothing more than a gigantic, utterly swollen bag full of maxims, fashionable phrases and labels of all kinds and varieties. But, by the way, Mr. M * had a peculiarity, he was a remarkable person: he was a wit, a talker and a storyteller, and a circle always gathered around him in the drawing rooms. That evening, he especially managed to impress. He mastered the conversation; he was in good spirits, cheerful, happy about something, and made everyone look at him. But m-me M * was like a sick person all the time; her face was so sad that for a moment it seemed to me that at any moment the old tears would tremble on her long eyelashes. All this, as I said, struck and surprised me exceedingly. I left with a feeling of some strange curiosity, and all night long I dreamed of m-r M *, while until then I had rarely had ugly dreams. The next day, early in the morning, they called me to a rehearsal of live pictures, in which I also had a role. Live pictures, theater and then a ball - all in one evening, were appointed no later than five days later, on the occasion of a home holiday - the birthday of our host's youngest daughter. About a hundred more guests were invited to this holiday, almost improvised, from Moscow and from the surrounding dachas, so there was a lot of fuss, and trouble, and turmoil. The rehearsals, or better to say, the costume review, were scheduled at the wrong time, in the morning, because our director, the well-known artist R *, a friend and guest of our host, who, out of friendship with him, agreed to take over the composition and staging of the pictures, and at the same time our training, was now in a hurry to the city for purchases of props and for final preparations for the holiday, so there was no time to waste. I participated in one picture, together with m-me M *. The painting expressed a scene from medieval life and was called "The Lady of the Castle and Her Page". I felt inexplicably embarrassed when I met m-me M * at the rehearsal. It seemed to me that she immediately subtracted from my eyes all the thoughts, doubts, conjectures that had arisen in my head since yesterday. In addition, it seemed to me that I seemed to be guilty before her, having caused her tears yesterday and prevented her grief, so that she would involuntarily have to look askance at me, as at an unpleasant witness and an uninvited participant in her secret. But, thank God, the matter went off without much trouble: they simply did not notice me. She, it seems, was not at all up to me and not up to the rehearsal: she was absent-minded, sad and gloomily thoughtful; It was evident that she was tormented by some great concern. Having finished with my role, I ran to change my clothes and ten minutes later went out onto the terrace into the garden. Almost at the same time, mme M * also came out of other doors, and, just opposite to us, her self-satisfied husband appeared, who was returning from the garden, having just escorted a whole group of ladies there and having managed to hand them over from hand to hand to some to a leisurely cavalier servant. 1 The meeting between husband and wife was obviously unexpected. M-me M *, for some unknown reason, suddenly became embarrassed, and slight annoyance flickered in her impatient movement. The husband, who had nonchalantly whistled an aria and thoughtfully preening his whiskers all the way, now, upon meeting his wife, frowned and looked at her, as I recall now, with a decidedly inquisitorial look. 1 helpful gentleman (French) . - Are you in the garden? he asked, noticing the ombrel and the book in his wife's hands. “No, to the grove,” she answered, blushing a little. - Alone? - With him ... - said m-me M *, pointing to me. “I walk alone in the morning,” she added in an uneven, indefinite voice, just like when you lie for the first time in your life. - Hm... And I just took a whole company there. There everyone gathers at the flower arbor to see off H - th. He's on his way, you know... he's had some kind of misfortune there, in Odessa... Your cousin (he was talking about the blonde) laughs and almost cries, all at once, you can't make out her. She told me, however, that you were angry with N—go for some reason, and therefore did not go to see him off. Of course it's nonsense? "She laughs," answered m-me M*, going down the steps of the terrace. “So this is your daily cavalier servant?” added Mr M*, twisting his mouth and pointing his lorgnette at me. -- Page! I shouted, angry at the lorgnette and the mockery, and, laughing right in his face, jumped three steps of the terrace at once... muttered mr M* and went on his way. Of course, I immediately went up to m-me M * as soon as she pointed me out to her husband, and looked as if she had already invited me an hour ago and as if I had been walking with her in the morning for a whole month. But I could not make out: why was she so embarrassed, embarrassed, and what was on her mind when she decided to resort to her little lie? Why didn't she just say she was going alone? Now I did not know how to look at her; but, struck with surprise, I, nevertheless, prenaively began to look little by little into her face; but, just as she had done an hour before, at the rehearsal, she did not notice any peeps or my silent questions. All the same tormenting care, but even more clearly, even deeper than then, was reflected in her face, in her excitement, in her gait. She hurried somewhere, quickening her pace more and more, and looked anxiously into every alley, into every clearing of the grove, turning towards the side of the garden. And I also expected something. Suddenly, we heard a horse thud behind us. It was a whole cavalcade of riders and riders, seeing off that N - go, who so suddenly left our society. Among the ladies was my blonde, about whom Mr. M * spoke, talking about her tears. But, as usual, she laughed like a child and galloped briskly on a beautiful bay horse. Coming abreast of us, N - th took off his hat, but did not stop and did not say a word to m-me M *. Soon the whole gang disappeared from the eyes. I glanced at m-me M * and almost cried out in amazement: she stood as pale as a handkerchief and large tears made their way from her eyes. By chance, our eyes met: m-me M * suddenly blushed, turned away for a moment, and anxiety and annoyance clearly flashed across her face. I was superfluous, worse than yesterday - it's clearer than day, but where should I go? Suddenly m-me M *, as if guessing, unfolded the book that was in her hands, and, blushing, obviously trying not to look at me, she said, as if she had just remembered: - Ah! this is the second part, I was wrong; please bring me the first one. How not to understand! my role was over, and it was impossible to drive me along a more direct road. I ran away with her book and didn't come back. The first part lay quietly on the table this morning ... But I was not myself; my heart was pounding, as if in perpetual fright. I tried with all my might not to meet m-me M*. On the other hand, I looked with a kind of wild curiosity at the self-satisfied person of m-r M *. as if there must be something special about him now. I absolutely do not understand what was in this comic curiosity of mine; I only remember that I was in a kind of strange astonishment at everything that happened to me to see that morning. But my day was just beginning, and for me it was full of incidents. We ate very early this time. Towards evening, a general pleasure trip was scheduled to a neighboring village, to a village festival that had taken place there, and therefore time was needed to prepare. I have been dreaming about this trip for three days already, expecting an abyss of fun. Almost everyone gathered on the terrace to drink coffee. I carefully followed the others and hid behind the triple row of chairs. I was attracted by curiosity, and meanwhile I did not want to appear in the eyes of m-me M *. But chance was pleased to place me not far from my blonde persecutor. This time a miracle happened to her, an impossible thing: she became twice as beautiful. I don’t know how and why this is done, but such miracles happen even often with women. There was a new guest between us at that moment, a tall, pale-faced young man, a noted admirer of our blonde, who had just come to us from Moscow, as if on purpose to replace the departed N -go, about whom there was a rumor that he desperately in love with our beauty. As for the visitor, he has long been with her in exactly the same relationship as Benedict to Beatrice in Shakespeare's "Much Ado About Nothing." In short, our beauty was extremely successful that day. Her jokes and chatter were so graceful, so trustingly naive, so pardonably careless; with such graceful arrogance she was sure of the general delight that she really was all the time in some kind of special worship. A close circle of astonished listeners admiring her did not break around her, and she had never been so seductive. Every word of her was a temptation and a curiosity, caught, passed around, and not a single joke of hers, not a single trick was in vain. From her, it seems, no one expected so much taste, brilliance, intelligence. Every day all her best qualities were buried in the most self-willed extravagance, in the most stubborn schooling, reaching almost to buffoonery; they were rarely noticed; and if he noticed, he did not believe them, so that now her extraordinary success was met with a general passionate whisper of amazement. However, this success was facilitated by one particular, rather delicate circumstance, at least judging by the role played at the same time by the husband of m-me M *. The naughty girl decided - and it must be added: almost to everyone's pleasure, or at least to the pleasure of all young people - to attack him fiercely due to many reasons, probably very important, in her eyes. She started a whole firefight with him of witticisms, ridicule, sarcasms, the most compelling and slippery, the most insidious, closed and smooth from all sides, such that they hit right on target, but which cannot be latched on to fight back from any side and which only exhaust in futile efforts, the victim, driving her to rage and to the most comical despair. I don’t know for sure, but it seems that this whole trick was deliberate, not improvised. Even at dinner, this desperate duel began. I say "desperate" because Mr. M* took a long time to lay down his weapon. He needed to muster all his presence of mind, all his wit, all his rare resourcefulness, so as not to be smashed to dust, utterly and not covered with decisive dishonor. The case went on with the continuous and uncontrollable laughter of all the witnesses and participants in the battle. At least today was different for him from yesterday. It was noticeable that mme M what remained in my memory, and, finally, by the role that I myself had to play in this clash. It happened suddenly, in the most ridiculous way, quite unexpectedly, and, as if on purpose, at that moment I stood in plain sight, suspecting no evil and even forgetting my recent precautions. Suddenly I was brought to the forefront, like the sworn enemy and natural rival of Mr. M *, how desperately, to the last degree, in love with his wife, which my tyrant immediately swore, gave her word, said that she had evidence and that she did not further as, for example, today in the forest she saw. .. But she did not have time to finish, I interrupted her at the most desperate moment for me. This minute was so godlessly calculated, so treacherously prepared for the very end, for the buffoon's denouement, and so hilariously ridiculously arranged, that a whole outburst of uncontrollable universal laughter saluted this last outburst. And although at the same time I guessed that the most annoying role did not fall to my lot, I was nevertheless so embarrassed, irritated and frightened that, full of tears, anguish and despair, choking with shame, I broke through two rows of chairs, stepped forward and, turning to my tyrant, shouted in a voice choked with tears and indignation: “And are you not ashamed ... out loud ... in front of all the ladies ... to speak such a bad ... lie?! .. you, like a little ... in front of all the men ... What will they say? .. you are so big ... married! .. But I didn’t finish, - there was a deafening applause. My escapade created a real furore. My naive gesture, my tears, and most importantly, the fact that I seemed to come out to defend mr M * - all this produced such hellish laughter that even now, at the mere recollection, it becomes terribly funny to me myself ... I was dumbfounded , almost mad with horror, and, burning like gunpowder, covering his face with his hands, rushed out, knocked the tray out of the hands of the incoming footman at the door, and flew upstairs to his room. I tore the key out of the door, which was sticking out, and locked it from the inside. I did well, because there was a chase after me. In less than a minute, a whole gang of the prettiest of all our ladies laid siege to my doors. I heard their ringing laughter, their frequent conversation, their booming voices; they chirped all at once, like swallows. All of them, every one of them, asked, begged me to open at least for one minute; they swore that there would be no harm to me, but only they would kiss me all in the ashes. But... what could be worse than this new threat? I only burned with shame behind my door, hiding my face in the pillows, and did not unlock, did not even answer. They knocked for a long time and begged me, but I was insensible and deaf, like an eleven-year-old. Well, what to do now? everything is open, everything is revealed, everything that I so jealously guarded and concealed... Eternal shame and disgrace will fall on me!.. In truth, I myself did not know how to name what I was so afraid of and what I would like to hide; but after all, however, I was afraid of something, for discovering this something I still trembled like a leaf. Only I did not know until this moment what it is: is it good or bad, glorious or shameful, commendable or not commendable? Now, in torment and violent anguish, I learned that it funny And ashamed! I instinctively felt at the same time that such a sentence was both false, and inhuman, and rude; but I was broken, destroyed; the process of consciousness seemed to stop and become entangled in me; I could neither resist this verdict, nor even discuss it properly: I was bewildered; I only heard that my heart was inhuman, shamelessly wounded, and burst into impotent tears. I was annoyed; indignation and hatred boiled in me, which I had never known before, because only for the first time in my life I experienced serious grief, insult, resentment; and it was all true, without any exaggeration. In my. in the child, the first, still inexperienced, unformed feeling was rudely touched, the first, fragrant, virgin shame was so early exposed and desecrated and the first and, perhaps, very serious aesthetic impression was ridiculed. Of course, my scoffers did not know much and did not foresee my torments. Half of this included one secret circumstance, which I myself did not have time to and was somehow afraid to sort out until now. In anguish and despair, I continued to lie on my bed, covering my face with pillows; and heat and shivering washed over me alternately. Two questions tormented me: what did she see and what exactly could the worthless blonde see today in the grove between me and m-me M *? And, finally, the second question: how, with what eyes, by what means can I now look into the face of m-me M * and not perish at that very moment, in the same place, from shame and despair. An unusual noise in the yard finally called me out of the semi-consciousness in which I was. I got up and went to the window. The whole courtyard was cluttered with carriages, riding horses, and bustling servants. Everyone seemed to be leaving; several riders were already on horseback; other guests were accommodated in carriages ... Then I remembered the upcoming trip, and, little by little, anxiety began to penetrate my heart; I began to stare intently at my clapper's yard; but there was no klepper, so they forgot about me. I could not stand it and ran like crazy. no longer thinking about unpleasant meetings, or about my recent shame ... Terrible news awaited me. For me this time there was neither a riding horse nor a place in the carriage: everything was taken apart, occupied, and I was forced to give way to others. Struck by a new grief, I stopped on the porch And sadly looked at the long row of carriages, convertibles, carriages, in which there was not even the smallest corner for me, and at smart riders, under which impatient horses prancing. For some reason, one of the riders hesitated. Waiting only for him to go. At the entrance stood his horse, gnawing at the bit, digging the ground with its hooves, trembling every minute and bucking with fright. Two grooms carefully held him by the bridle, and they all stood warily at a respectful distance from him. In fact, an unfortunate circumstance happened, due to which I could not go. In addition to the fact that new guests came and dismantled all the places and all the horses, two riding horses fell ill, of which one was my clapper. But I was not the only one who had to suffer from this circumstance: it was discovered that for our new guest, that pale-faced young man of whom I have already spoken, there is also no riding horse. In order to avert trouble, our master was forced to resort to an extreme measure: to recommend his rabid, untravelled stallion, adding, to clear his conscience, that he could not be ridden in any way and that he had long been put to be sold for his savage nature, if, however, there was a buyer for him. . But the forewarned guest announced that he drives decently, and in any case he is ready to sit on anything, just to go. The host then said nothing, but now it seemed to me that some kind of ambiguous and sly smile was wandering around his lips. While waiting for the rider, who boasted of his skill, he himself had not yet mounted his horse, he rubbed his hands impatiently and kept looking at the door. Even something similar was reported to the two grooms, who were holding the stallion and were almost choking with pride, seeing themselves in front of the whole audience with such a horse, which no, no, and would kill a man for no reason at all. Something similar to the sly grin of their master was also reflected in their eyes, bulging with expectation and also fixed on the door from which the visiting daredevil was supposed to appear. Finally, the horse himself behaved as if he had also come to an agreement with the owner and the guides: he behaved proudly and arrogantly, as if feeling that he was being watched by several dozen curious eyes, and as if proud of his shameful reputation in front of everyone, exactly the same like some other incorrigible rake is proud of his gallows tricks. He seemed to summon a daredevil who would dare to encroach on his independence. This daredevil finally showed up. Ashamed that he had kept himself waiting, and hurriedly pulling on his gloves, he walked forward without looking, went down the steps of the porch and raised his eyes only when he was about to stretch out his hand to grab the waiting horse by the withers, but was suddenly puzzled by his mad jump on its hind legs and the warning cry of the entire frightened public. The young man stepped back and looked in bewilderment at the wild horse, which was trembling all over like a leaf, snoring with anger and wildly moving its bloodshot eyes, constantly settling on its hind legs and raising its front legs, as if about to rush into the air and carry away both of its leaders with it. For a minute he stood quite puzzled; then, slightly blushing from a little embarrassment, he raised his eyes, looked around them and looked at the frightened ladies. - The horse is very good! he said, as if to himself, “and by the looks of it, it must be very nice to ride, but—but, you know what? After all, I won’t go,” he concluded, turning to our host with his wide, ingenuous smile, which so suited his kind and intelligent face. “And yet I consider you an excellent rider, I swear to you,” the delighted owner of the inaccessible horse answered, warmly and even with gratitude shaking the hand of his guest, “precisely because you guessed from the first time what kind of beast you have business,” he added with dignity. “Believe me, having served in the hussars for twenty-three years, I have already had the pleasure of lying on the ground three times by his grace, that is, exactly as many times as I sat on this ... parasite. Tancred, my friend, the people here are not for you; Apparently, your rider is some kind of Ilya Muromets, and now he is sitting in the village of Karacharovo and waiting for your teeth to fall out. Well, take him away! It's enough for him to scare people! In vain they only led us out,” he concluded, smugly rubbing his hands. It should be noted that Tancred did not bring him the slightest benefit, he only ate bread for nothing; besides, the old hussar had ruined on him all his old glory as a repairman, having paid a fabulous price for a worthless parasite who traveled only on his beauty ... Still, now he was delighted that his Tancred had not lost his dignity, he was in a hurry one rider and thereby acquired new, stupid laurels. - How are you not going? cried the blonde, who absolutely needed her cavalier servant to be with her this time. - Are you a coward? - By God, it is! answered the young man. - And you're serious? “Listen, do you really want me to break my neck? “So get on my horse quickly: don’t be afraid, it’s very peaceful. We won't delay; instantly reschedule! I'll try to take yours; it cannot be that Tancred has always been so impolite. No sooner said than done! The minx jumped out of the saddle and finished the last sentence, already stopping in front of us. "You don't know Tancred very well if you think he'll allow himself to be saddled with your worthless saddle!" And I won't let you break your neck either; that would really be a pity! said our host, affecting, in this moment of inner contentment, according to his usual habit, the already affected and studied harshness and even rudeness of his speech, which, in his opinion, recommended a good-natured, old campaigner and should especially please the ladies . It was one of his fantasies, his favorite hobby, familiar to all of us. “Well, you crybaby, don’t you want to try? you really wanted to ride,” said the brave rider, noticing me, and, teasingly, nodded at Tancred - in fact, in order not to leave with nothing, if I had to get off my horse in vain, and not leave me without a sharp word , if I myself blundered, I turned up in my eyes. “True, you are not like ... well, what can I say, a well-known hero and you will be ashamed to be cowardly; especially when they look at you, beautiful page,” she added, with a cursory glance at m-me M *, whose carriage was closest to the porch. Hatred and a sense of vengeance flooded my heart when the beautiful Amazon came up to us with the intention of sitting on Tancred ... But I can’t tell what I felt at this unexpected call from the schoolgirl. I didn't seem to see the light when I caught her eye on m-me M*. In an instant an idea caught fire in my head ... yes, however, it was only a moment, less than a moment, like a flash of gunpowder, or the measure had already overflowed, and I was suddenly now indignant at all my resurrected spirit, so much so that I suddenly wanted to cut on the spot all my enemies and avenge them for everything and in front of everyone, showing now what kind of person I am; or, finally, someone taught me some kind of marvel in this moment of middle history, in which I still did not know the basics, and tournaments, paladins, heroes, beautiful ladies, glory and winners flashed in my swirling head, I heard the trumpets of heralds, the sounds of swords, the cries and splashes of the crowd, and between all these cries one timid cry of one frightened heart, which indulges a proud soul is sweeter than victory and glory - I don’t know if all this nonsense happened then in my head or, more intelligently, a presentiment of this yet to come and inevitable nonsense, but as soon as I heard that my hour was striking. My heart jumped, trembled, and I myself don’t remember how in one jump I jumped off the porch and found myself beside Tancred. - Do you think I'm scared? I cried boldly and proudly, seeing no light from my fever, gasping with excitement and blushing so that tears burned my cheeks. -- You'll see! - And, seizing Tancred's withers, I put my foot in the stirrup before they could make the slightest movement to restrain me; but at that moment Tancred reared up, threw up his head, with one mighty leap escaped from the hands of the dumbfounded grooms and flew like a whirlwind, only everyone gasped and screamed. God knows how I managed to lift the other leg all the way; I also do not understand how it happened that I did not lose my reasons. Tancred carried me out of the grated gate, turned sharply to the right, and set off past the grate in vain, without looking into the road. Only at that moment did I hear the cry of fifty voices behind me, and this cry resounded in my trembling heart with such a feeling of contentment and pride that I will never forget this crazy moment of my childhood life. All the blood rushed to my head, stunned me and flooded, crushed my fear. I didn't remember myself. Indeed, as I now had to remember, there seemed to be something chivalrous in all this. However, my whole knighthood began and ended in less than an instant, otherwise it would be bad for the knight. And here I do not know how I escaped. I knew how to ride a horse: they taught me. But my clapper looked more like a sheep than a riding horse. Of course, I would fly off Tancred if he only had time to throw me off; but, having galloped fifty paces, he was suddenly frightened by a huge stone that lay beside the road, and shied back. He turned on the fly, but so abruptly, as they say, headlong, that even now my task is: how did I not jump out of the saddle, like a ball, three fathoms, and not smash to smithereens, and Tancred did not twist himself from such a sharp turn legs. He rushed back to the gate, shaking his head furiously, spinning from side to side, as if intoxicated with rage, throwing his legs at random into the air and shaking me off my back with each jump, as if a tiger had jumped on him and dug into his meat with his teeth and claws. Another moment - and I would have flown; I have already fallen; but already several horsemen were flying to rescue me. Two of them intercepted the road into the field; two others galloped so close that they almost crushed my legs, squeezing Tancred on both sides with the sides of their horses, and Both were already holding him by the reins. In a few seconds we were at the porch. I was shone from the horse, pale, barely breathing. I was trembling all over, like a blade of grass in the wind, as was Tancred, who stood with his whole body leaning back, motionless, as if digging his hooves into the ground, heavily releasing a fiery breath from red, smoking nostrils, trembling all over like a leaf with a small shiver and as if dumbfounded by insult and anger for the unpunished insolence of a child. All around me there were cries of confusion, surprise, fright. At that moment my wandering gaze met the gaze of m-me M *, alarmed, turned pale, and - I cannot forget this moment - in an instant my whole face was covered with a blush, blushed, lit up like fire; I don’t know what happened to me, but, embarrassed and frightened by my own sensations, I timidly lowered my eyes to the ground. But my gaze was seen, caught, stolen from me. All eyes turned to m-me M *, and, taken unawares by everyone's attention, she herself suddenly, like a child, blushed from some kind of reluctant and naive feeling and through force, although very unsuccessfully, tried to suppress her blush with laughter ... Everything this, if you look from the outside, of course, was very funny; but at that moment one prenaive and unexpected trick saved me from the general laughter, giving a special flavor to the whole adventure. The culprit of all the confusion, the one who until now had been my irreconcilable enemy, my beautiful tyrant, suddenly rushed to embrace me and kiss me. She watched in disbelief as I dared to accept her challenge and pick up the glove she threw at me, looking at m-me M*. She almost died for me of fear and pangs of conscience when I flew the Tancred; now, when it was all over, and especially when she caught, together with others, my glance thrown at m-me M *, my embarrassment, my sudden blush, when, at last, she managed to give this moment, according to the romantic mood of her frivolous head, some new, hidden, unspoken thought - now, after all this, she was so delighted with my "chivalry", that she rushed to me and pressed me to her breast, moved, proud of me, joyful. A minute later, she raised her most naive, most stern face to all who were crowding around both of us, on which two small crystal tears trembled and shone, and in a serious, important voice, which was never heard from her, she said, pointing to me: "Mais c" est très sérieux, messieurs, ne riez pas "! 1 - not noticing that everyone is standing in front of her as if spellbound, admiring her bright delight. All this sudden, quick movement of her, this serious face, this ingenuous naivety, these are not the still suspected heart-tears that boiled up in her eternally laughing eyes were such an unexpected marvel in her that everyone stood before her as if electrified by her look, quick, fiery word and gesture. It seemed that no one could take their eyes off her, fearing omit this rare moment in her inspired face. Even our host himself blushed like a tulip, and they assure us that they heard him later confess that, "to his shame", he was in love with his beautiful guest for almost a whole minute. Well, it goes without saying that after all this I was a knight, a hero. 1 But this is very serious, gentlemen, don't laugh! (French). -- Delorge! Togenburg! resounded around. Applause was heard. - Oh yes, the next generation! added the owner. “But he will go, he will certainly go with us!” cried the beauty. We will find and must find a place for him. He will sit next to me, on my knees ... or no, no! I was mistaken! .. - she corrected herself, laughing and being unable to restrain her laughter at the memory of our first acquaintance. But, laughing, she gently stroked my hand, trying with all her might to caress me so that I would not be offended. -- Absolutely! by all means! - picked up by several voices. “He must go, he has won his place. And the matter was resolved in an instant. The same old maid who introduced me to the blonde was immediately bombarded with requests from all the young people to stay at home and give me their place, to which she was forced to agree, to her greatest annoyance, smiling and hissing in secret with anger. Her protectress, near which she hovered, my former enemy and recent friend, shouted to her, already Galloping on her frisky horse and laughing like a child, that she envies her and would herself be glad to stay with her, because now it will rain and we all will soak. And she definitely predicted rain. An hour later, a whole downpour arose, and our walk was over. I had to wait for several hours in a row in the village huts and return home already at ten o'clock, in the damp, after the rain. I got a little fever. At the very moment when I had to sit down and go, m-me M * came up to me and was surprised that I was in one jacket and with an open neck. I replied that I did not have time to take my raincoat with me. She took a pin and, pinning up the ruffled collar of my shirt, took off a gauze crimson handkerchief from her neck and tied it around my neck so that I would not catch a cold in my throat. She was in such a hurry that I didn't even have time to thank her. But when we got home, I found her in the little drawing-room, with a blond woman and a pale-faced young man, who to-day had become famous as a rider by being afraid to mount Tancred. I went over to thank him and hand over the handkerchief. But now, after all my adventures, I seemed ashamed of something; I rather wanted to go upstairs and there, at my leisure, something to think about and judge. I was overwhelmed with impressions. Handing over the handkerchief, I, as usual, blushed to the ears. “I bet that he wanted to keep the handkerchief with him,” said the young man, laughing, “you can see in his eyes that he is sorry to part with your handkerchief. -- That's right, that's right! ' said the blonde. -- Ekoy! ah! .. - she said, with noticeable annoyance and shaking her head, but stopped in time before the serious look of m-me M *, who did not want to start jokes far. I quickly left. - Well, what are you! said the schoolgirl, catching up with me in another room and taking both my hands in a friendly way. - Yes, you simply would not give the headscarf if you so wanted to have it. He said he put it somewhere, and that's it. What are you! couldn't do it! What a funny! And then she lightly hit me with her finger on the chin, laughing at the fact that I blushed like a poppy: - After all, I'm your friend now, am I? Is our feud over, huh? Yes or no? I laughed and silently shook her fingers. - Well, that's the same! .. Why are you so pale and trembling now? Do you have chills? Yes, I'm unwell. - Oh, poor thing! This is from his strong impressions! You know? go to sleep better, without waiting for dinner, And the night will pass. Let's go to. She took me upstairs, and there seemed to be no end to my cares. Leaving me to undress, she ran downstairs, got me some tea, and brought it herself when I had already gone to bed. She brought me a warm blanket too. I was very struck and moved by all these cares and cares about me, or I was already so disposed by the whole day, the trip, the fever; but, as I said goodbye to her, I embraced her warmly and warmly, as my most tender, as my closest friend, and already at that moment all impressions rushed at once to my weakened heart; I almost cried, cuddling up to her chest. She noticed my impressionability, and, it seems, my minx herself was a little touched ... - You are a good boy, - she whispered, looking at me with quiet eyes, - please, don't be angry with me, huh? you will not? In a word, we became the most tender, most faithful friends. It was quite early when I woke up, but the sun was already flooding the whole room with bright light. I jumped out of bed, completely healthy and vigorous, as if yesterday's fever had not happened, instead of which I now felt in myself an inexplicable joy. I remembered yesterday and felt that I would give whole happiness if I could at that moment embrace, as yesterday, with my new friend, with our blond beauty; but it was still very early and everyone was asleep. Hastily dressing, I went down into the garden, and from there into the grove. I made my way to where the greenery is thicker, where the smell of trees is more resinous, and where the sunbeam peeps more cheerfully, rejoicing that I managed to penetrate here and there the misty density of leaves. It was a beautiful morning. Imperceptibly making my way further and further, I finally came to the other edge of the grove, to the Moscow River. It flowed two hundred paces ahead, under the mountain. Hay was being cut on the opposite bank. I stared at how whole rows of sharp scythes, with each stroke of the scythe, were bathed in light in unison and then suddenly disappeared again, like fiery snakes, as if where they were hiding; like grass cut from the roots flew off in thick, greasy lumps to the sides and fit into straight, long furrows. I don’t remember how much time I spent in contemplation, when I suddenly woke up, hearing in a grove, twenty paces from me, in a clearing that ran from the main road to the master’s house, I snored the impatient stomp of a horse digging the ground with its hoof. I don’t know if I heard this horse as soon as the rider rode up and stopped, or if I heard the noise for a long time, but it only tickled my ear in vain, powerless to tear me away from my dreams. With curiosity I entered the grove and, having gone a few steps, I heard voices speaking quickly, but quietly. I approached even closer, carefully parted the last branches of the last bushes that bordered the clearing, and immediately recoiled back in amazement: a familiar white dress flashed in my eyes and a quiet female voice resounded in my heart like music. It was m-me M*. She was standing near the rider, who hurriedly spoke to her from the horse, and, to my surprise, I recognized in him N-go, that young man who had left us yesterday morning and about whom Mr. M * was so fussing. But then they said that he was leaving somewhere very far away, to the south of Russia, and therefore I was very surprised to see him again with us so early and alone with m-me M *. She was animated and excited as I had never seen her before, and tears shone on her cheeks. The young man held her hand, which he kissed, bending down from the saddle. I've already got a minute to say goodbye. They seem to be in a hurry. Finally, he took a sealed package out of his pocket, gave it to m-me M *, hugged her with one arm, as before, without leaving his horse, and kissed her hard and long. A moment later, he hit his horse and rushed past me like an arrow. M-me M * followed him with her eyes for a few seconds, then thoughtfully and dejectedly went towards the house. But, having taken a few steps along the clearing, she suddenly seemed to wake up, hurriedly parted the bushes and went through the grove. I followed her, confused and surprised by all that I saw. My heart was beating fast, as if from fear. I was as numb, as misty; my thoughts were broken and scattered; but I remember that for some reason I was terribly sad. From time to time her white dress flashed before me through the greenery. Mechanically I followed her, not losing sight of her, but trembling lest she notice me. At last she came to the path that led to the garden. After waiting for half a minute, I went out too; but what was my astonishment when I suddenly noticed on the red sand of the path a sealed package, which I recognized at first sight - the same one that ten minutes ago was handed to m-me M *. I picked it up: white paper on all sides, no signature; it looks small, but tight and heavy, as if it contained three or more sheets of note paper. What does this package mean? No doubt the whole mystery would be explained to them. Perhaps he said something that N—ouch did not hope to express because of the shortness of the hurried meeting. He didn’t even get off his horse... Whether he was in a hurry, or perhaps he was afraid to betray himself at the hour of parting, God knows... took his eyes off him, believing that m-me M* would notice the loss, come back, and look for him. But, after waiting for about four minutes, I could not stand it, picked up my find again, put it in my pocket and set off to catch up with m-me M *. I overtook her already in the garden, in the big avenue; she walked straight home, with a quick and hurried gait, but lost in thought and lowering her eyes to the ground. I did not know. what to do. Come, give? It meant to say that I know everything, I have seen everything. I would change myself from the first word. And how will I look at her? How will she look at me?.. I kept expecting her to come to her senses, to miss what she had lost, to return in her footsteps. Then I could, unnoticed, throw the package on the road, and she would find it. But no! We were already approaching the house; they had already noticed it... That morning, as if on purpose, almost everyone got up very early, because only yesterday, as a result of a failed trip, they conceived a new one, which I did not know about. Everyone was getting ready to leave and had breakfast on the terrace. I waited ten minutes so that they would not see me with m-me M *. and, going around the garden, he came to the house on the other side, much after it. She paced up and down the terrace, pale and alarmed, with her arms folded across her chest and, by all appearances, she was strengthening herself and intensifying to suppress within herself the tormenting, desperate anguish that could be read in her eyes, in her walking, in her every movement. . Sometimes she came down the steps and walked a few steps between the flowerbeds towards the garden; her eyes eagerly, greedily, even carelessly searched for something on the sand of the paths and on the floor of the terrace. There was no doubt: she missed the loss and, it seems, thinks that she dropped the package somewhere here, near the house - yes, it is so, and she is sure of it! Someone, and then others, noticed that she was pale and alarmed. Showered with questions about health, annoying complaints; she had to laugh it off, laugh, seem cheerful. From time to time she glanced at her husband, who was standing at the end of the terrace, talking with two ladies, and the same trembling, the same embarrassment, as then, on the first evening of his arrival, seized the poor woman. Putting my hand in my pocket and holding the bag tightly in it, I stood apart from everyone, praying to fate that m-me M * noticed me. I wanted to encourage, to reassure her, if only with a look; say something to her in a sneaky way. But when she chanced to glance at me, I shuddered and lowered my eyes. I saw her suffering and was not mistaken. I still don’t know this secret, I don’t know anything, except for what I myself saw and what I just told. This connection may not be as it seems at first glance. Maybe this kiss was parting, maybe it was the last, weak reward for the sacrifice that was made to her calmness and honor. N - oh was leaving; he left her, perhaps forever. Finally, even this letter, which I held in my hands - who knows what it concluded? How to judge and to whom to condemn? And meanwhile, there is no doubt about it, the sudden discovery of a secret would be a horror, a thunderous blow in her life. I still remember her face at that moment: it was impossible to suffer any more. To feel, to know, to be sure, to wait, like an execution, that in a quarter of an hour, in a minute, everything could be discovered; the package is found by someone, lifted; it is without an inscription, it can be opened, and then ... what then? What execution is worse than the one that awaits her? She walked among her future judges. In a minute their smiling, flattering faces will be menacing and implacable. She will read mockery, anger and icy contempt on these faces, and then an eternal, dawnless night will come in her life ... Yes, then I did not understand all this the way I think about it now. I could only suspect and foresee, and ache in my heart for its danger, which I was not even fully aware of. But, whatever its secret, those mournful moments that I witnessed and which I will never forget, a lot was redeemed, if only something needed to be redeemed. But now there was a cheerful call for departure; everyone bustled around happily; from all sides there was a frisky conversation and laughter. Two minutes later the terrace was empty. M-me M * refused to go, finally confessing that she was unwell. But, thank God, everyone set off, everyone was in a hurry, and there was no time to bother with complaints, questions and advice. Few stayed at home. The husband said a few words to her; she answered that she would be well today, so that he would not worry, that there was nothing for her to go to bed, that she would go into the garden, alone ... with me ... Then she looked at me. Nothing could be happier! I blushed with joy; in a minute we were on the road. She went along the same alleys, paths and paths along which she had recently returned from the grove, instinctively recalling her former path, motionlessly looking in front of her, not taking her eyes off the ground, looking for her, not answering me, perhaps forgetting that I was going along with her. But when we got almost to the place where I picked up the letter and where the path ended, m-me M * suddenly stopped and in a weak voice, fading with anguish, said that she was worse, that she would go home. But, having reached the grating of the garden, she stopped again, thought for a minute; a smile of despair appeared on her lips, and, all exhausted, exhausted, having decided on everything, submitting to everything, she silently returned to the first path, this time forgetting even to warn me ... I was torn with anguish and did not know what to do. We went, or, to put it better, I led her to the place from which I heard, an hour ago, the tramp of a horse and their conversation. Here, near a dense elm, there was a bench carved into a huge solid stone, around which ivy twined and grew field jasmine and wild rose. (The whole grove was dotted with bridges, pavilions, grottoes and similar surprises.) M-me M * sat down on a bench, unconsciously looking at the wondrous landscape that spread before us. A minute later she unfolded the book and motionlessly riveted to it, not turning the pages, not reading, almost unconscious of what she was doing. It was already half past ten. The sun rose high and floated magnificently above us in the deep blue sky, as if melting in its own fire. The mowers had already gone far: they could hardly be seen from our shore. Behind them endless furrows of mowed grass crawled inexorably, and from time to time a slightly moving breeze blew its fragrant perspiration on us. All around stood an incessant concert of those who "do not reap and do not sow", but are self-willed, like the air cut through by their frisky wings. It seemed that at that moment every flower, the last blade of grass, smoking with a sacrificial aroma, said to the one who created it: "Father! I am blessed and happy! .." her motionless stopped two large tears, etched by a sharp pain from the heart. It was in my power to revive and make happy this poor, dying heart, and I just did not know how to proceed, how to take the first step. I suffered. A hundred times I tried to approach her, and each time some unrestrained feeling chained me to the spot, and each time my face burned like a fire. Suddenly a bright thought dawned on me. The remedy was found; I have risen. - If you want, I'll bring you a bunch of narva! - I said in such a joyful voice that m-me M * suddenly raised her head and looked at me intently. "Bring it," she finally said in a weak voice, smiling a little, and immediately lowering her eyes again into the book. - And even here, perhaps, the grass will be mowed and there will be no flowers! - I shouted, cheerfully setting off on a hike. Soon I got my bouquet, simple, poor. It would be a shame to bring him into the room; but how merrily my heart beat as I gathered and knitted it! Rosehip and field jasmine I took on the spot. I knew that there was a field with ripening rye nearby. I ran there for cornflowers. I mixed them with long ears of rye, choosing the most golden and fat ones. Immediately, not far away, I came across a whole nest of forget-me-nots, and my bouquet was already beginning to fill up. Further, in the field, there were blue bells and a field carnation, and for water, yellow lilies, I ran to the very shore of the river. Finally, already returning to my place and going for a moment into the grove to hunt for a few bright green palmate maple leaves and wrap the bouquet with them, I accidentally came across a whole family of pansies, near which, fortunately for me, the fragrant violet smell denounced the juicy, a flower lurking in the thick grass, still sprinkled all over with brilliant drops of dew. The bouquet was ready. I tied it with long, thin grass, which I twisted into twine, and carefully put the letter inside, covering it with flowers - but in such a way that it could be very noticeable if my bouquet was presented with even a little attention. I took him to m-me M*. On the way it seemed to me that the letter was too visible: I covered it more. Coming even closer, I pushed it even more tightly into the flowers and, finally, having almost reached the place, I suddenly thrust it so deep into the bouquet that nothing was noticeable from the outside. A whole flame burned on my cheeks. I wanted to cover my face with my hands and immediately run, but she looked at my flowers as if she had completely forgotten that I had gone to collect them. Mechanically, almost without looking, she stretched out her hand and took my gift, but immediately put it on the bench, as if I were then handing it to her, and lowered her eyes again into the book, as if she were in a state of oblivion. I was ready to cry from failure. “But if only my bouquet was near her,” I thought, “if only she would not forget about it! "I lay down on the grass nearby, put my right hand under my head and closed my eyes, as if I was overcome by sleep. But I did not take my eyes off her and waited ... Ten minutes passed; it seemed to me that she was turning more and more pale ... Suddenly a blessed chance came to my rescue. It was a large golden bee, which a good breeze brought me to my happiness. She buzzed first over my head and then flew up to m-me M *. She waved her hand once and twice, but the bee, as if on purpose, became more and more persistent. Finally, m-me M * my bouquet and waved it in front of her. At that moment, the package escaped from under the flowers and fell right into the open book. I shuddered. For some time, m-me M * looked, mute in amazement, first at the package, then at the flowers that she held in her hands, and seemed not to believe her eyes ... Suddenly she blushed, flushed and looked at me. But I already caught her glance and tightly closed my eyes, pretending to be asleep for nothing in the world would I look her straight in the face now.My heart sank and beat like a bird caught in the paws of a curly-haired country boy. I don’t remember how long I lay there with my eyes closed: two or three minutes. Finally I dared to open them. M-me M * eagerly read the letter, and, from her flushed cheeks, from her sparkling, watery eyes, from her bright face, in which every line trembled with joyful sensation, I guessed that happiness was in this letter and that all was dispelled like smoke. her longing. A painfully sweet feeling clung to my heart, it was hard for me to pretend ... I will never forget this moment! Suddenly, still far away from us, voices were heard: - Madame M*! Natalie! Natalie! M-me M * didn't answer, but quickly got up from the bench, walked over to me and leaned over me. I felt that she was looking straight into my face. My eyelashes trembled, but I restrained myself and did not open my eyes. I tried to breathe evenly and calmly, but my heart choked me with its confused beats. Her hot breath burned my cheeks; she bent close, close to my face, as if testing it. Finally, a kiss and tears fell on my hand, on the one that lay on my chest. And twice she kissed her. -- Natalie! Natalie! where are you? - was heard again, already very close to us. -- Now! - said m-me M * in her thick, silvery voice, but muffled and trembling with tears, and so softly that only I alone could hear her, - now! But at that moment, my heart finally betrayed me and seemed to send all its blood to my face. At the same moment, a quick, hot kiss burned my lips. I cried out weakly, opened my eyes, but immediately her yesterday's gas handkerchief fell on them - as if she wanted to protect me from the sun with it. A moment later, she was gone. I heard only the rustle of hastily retreating footsteps. I was alone. I tore off her scarf and kissed her, beside myself with delight; for several minutes I was as if insane!.. Barely taking a breath, leaning on the grass, I looked, unconsciously and motionless, in front of me, at the surrounding hills, full of cornfields, at the river, winding around them and as far as the eye could follow, winding between new hills and villages, flashing like dots all over the light-filled area, they gave, to blue, barely visible forests, as if smoking on the edge of a hot sky, and some kind of sweet calm, as if inspired by the solemn silence of the picture, little by little calmed my troubled heart. It became easier for me, and I breathed more freely ... But my whole soul languished somehow deafly and sweetly, as if by an insight into something, as if by some kind of premonition. Something timidly and joyfully guessed by my frightened heart, slightly trembling with expectation ... And suddenly my chest hesitated, ached, as if from something that had pierced it, and tears, sweet tears splashed from my eyes. I covered my face with my hands and, trembling like a blade of grass, unrestrainedly gave myself up to the first consciousness and revelation of my heart, the first, still unclear insight into my nature ... My first childhood ended with that moment. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . When, two hours later, I returned home, I no longer found m-me M *: she left with her husband for Moscow, on some sudden occasion. I never met her again.

Fedor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky

little hero

From unknown memoirs

I was then almost eleven years old. In July they let me go on a visit to a village near Moscow, to my relative, T-vu, who at that time had gathered about fifty people, and maybe more, guests ... I don’t remember, I didn’t count. It was noisy and fun. It seemed that it was a holiday that began with that, never to end. It seemed as if our host had given himself a promise to squander all his enormous fortune as soon as possible, and he managed to justify this conjecture recently, that is, to squander everything, completely, cleanly, to the last chip. Every minute new guests arrived, but Moscow was a stone's throw away, in plain sight, so that those who were leaving only gave way to others, and the holiday went on as usual. Amusements were replaced by one another, and no end was foreseen for the undertakings. Either riding around the neighborhood, in whole parties, then walking in the forest or along the river; picnics, lunches in the field; suppers on the large terrace of the house, furnished with three rows of precious flowers, which filled the fresh night air with fragrances, under brilliant lighting, from which our ladies, who were already almost all pretty, seemed even more charming with their faces animated by daytime impressions, with their sparkling little eyes, with their criss-crossed speech, shimmering with ringing laughter like a bell; dancing, music, singing; if the sky frowned, living pictures, charades, proverbs were composed; arranged a home theater. Claspers, storytellers, bonmotists appeared.

Several faces were sharply outlined in the foreground. Of course, slander, gossip went on as usual, because without them there would be no light, and millions of people would die of anguish, like flies. But since I was eleven years old, I did not notice these persons at that time, distracted by something completely different, and if I noticed something, it was not all. After that, I had to remember something. Only one brilliant side of the picture could catch my childish eyes, and this universal animation, brilliance, noise - all this, hitherto unseen and unheard of by me, struck me so much that in the first days I was completely at a loss and my little head was spinning.

But I keep talking about my eleven years, and, of course, I was a child, nothing more than a child. Many of these beautiful women, caressing me, did not yet think to cope with my years. But - a strange thing! - some sensation, incomprehensible to me, has already taken possession of me; something rustled already in my heart, hitherto unfamiliar and unknown to him; but why did it sometimes burn and beat, as if frightened, and often my face was covered with an unexpected blush. Sometimes I was somehow ashamed and even offended for my various childhood privileges. Another time, as if surprise overcame me, and I went somewhere where they could not see me, as if in order to take a breath and remember something, something that until now, it seemed to me, I I remembered very well, and what I have now suddenly forgotten, but without which, however, it is still impossible for me to show myself and in no way be.

Then, finally, it seemed to me that I was hiding something from everyone, but I never told anyone about it, then, which is a shame to me, a little man, to tears. Soon, in the midst of the whirlwind that surrounded me, I felt a kind of loneliness. There were other children, too, but all of them were either much younger or much older than me; Yes, however, not until them was me. Of course, nothing would have happened to me if I had not been in an exceptional position. In the eyes of all these beautiful ladies, I was still the same small, indefinite creature, which they sometimes liked to caress and with whom they could play like with a little doll. One of them in particular, a charming blond woman with thick, voluminous hair, the likes of which I have never seen since and probably never will, seemed to have vowed to haunt me. I was embarrassed, but she was amused by the laughter that resounded around us, which she constantly aroused by her sharp, eccentric antics with me, which, apparently, gave her great pleasure. In boarding schools, between friends, she would probably be called a schoolgirl. She was wonderfully pretty, and there was something about her beauty that caught my eye at first sight. And, of course, she was not like those little bashful blondes, white as fluff, and delicate, like white mice or pastor's daughters. She was short and a little plump, but with delicate, fine lines of her face, charmingly drawn. Something like lightning was sparkling in this face, and all of it - like fire, alive, fast, light. From her large open eyes sparks seemed to fall; they sparkled like diamonds, and I would never exchange such sparkling blue eyes for any black ones, even if they were blacker than the blackest Andalusian look, and my blonde, right, was worth that famous brunette, who was sung by a famous and beautiful poet and who also in such excellent verses he swore by all Castile that he was ready to break his bones if they let him just touch the mantilla of his beauty with the tip of his finger. Add to that my the beauty was the most cheerful of all the beauties in the world, the most eccentric laughter, frisky as a child, despite the fact that she had already been married for five years. Laughter did not leave her lips, as fresh as a morning rose, which had just managed to open, with the first ray of the sun, its scarlet, fragrant bud, on which cold large drops of dew had not yet dried.

I remember that on the second day of my arrival a home theater was set up. The hall was, as they say, packed to capacity; there was not a single place free; and since for some reason I happened to be late, I was forced to enjoy the performance standing up. But the cheerful game pulled me forward more and more, and I imperceptibly made my way to the very first rows, where I finally stood, leaning on the back of the armchair in which a lady was sitting. It was my blonde; but we didn't know each other. And then, somehow by chance, I stared at her wonderfully rounded, seductive shoulders, plump, white, like milky boil, although it didn’t matter to me to look: at the wonderful female shoulders or at the cap with fiery ribbons that hid the gray hair of one venerable ladies in the front row. Near the blonde sat an overripe maiden, one of those who, as I later noticed, always huddle somewhere as close as possible to young and pretty women, choosing those who do not like to drive young people away from themselves. But that's not the point; only this girl noticed my observations, leaned over to her neighbor and, giggling, whispered something in her ear. The neighbor suddenly turned around, and I remember that her fiery eyes flashed at me in the semi-darkness so that I, not prepared for the meeting, shuddered, as if burned. Beauty smiled.

- Do you like what they play? she asked, looking slyly and mockingly into my eyes.

"Yes," I replied, still looking at her in a kind of surprise, which she, in turn, apparently liked.

- Why are you standing? So - get tired; don't you have a place?

“That’s just what it is,” I answered, this time more preoccupied with care than with the sparkling eyes of the beauty, and seriously overjoyed that at last a kind heart was found to which I could open my grief. “I was already looking, but all the chairs are occupied,” I added, as if complaining to her that all the chairs were occupied.

“Come here,” she spoke briskly, quick to all decisions as well as to every extravagant idea, no matter what flashed through her eccentric head, “come here to me and sit on my knees.

“On your knees…?” I repeated, puzzled.

I have already said that my privileges seriously began to offend me and conscience. This one, as if for laughter, went far as an example to others. In addition, I, already always a timid and shy boy, now somehow began to be especially shy in front of women and therefore became terribly embarrassed.

- Well, on your knees! Why don't you want to sit on my lap? she insisted, starting to laugh harder and harder, so that at last she simply began to laugh at God knows what, maybe her own invention or glad that I was so embarrassed. But that's what she needed.

I blushed and looked around in embarrassment, looking for where to go; but she had already warned me, somehow managing to catch my hand, precisely so that I would not leave, and, pulling it to her, suddenly, quite unexpectedly, to my greatest surprise, squeezed it painfully in her playful, hot fingers and began to break my fingers, but it hurt so much that I strained every effort not to scream, and at the same time made ridiculous grimaces. In addition, I was in the most terrible surprise, bewilderment, even horror, when I learned that there are such funny and evil ladies who talk to boys about such trifles and even pinch so painfully, God knows why and in front of everyone. Probably, my unhappy face reflected all my bewilderment, because the minx laughed into my eyes like crazy, and meanwhile she pinched and broke my poor fingers more and more. She was beside herself with delight that she had succeeded in swindling, embarrassing the poor boy and mystifying him to dust. My position was desperate. Firstly, I was burning with shame, because almost everyone around us turned to us, some in bewilderment, others with laughter, immediately realizing that the beauty had done something wrong. In addition, I wanted to scream with fear, because she broke my fingers with some kind of bitterness, precisely because I did not scream: and I, like a Spartan, decided to endure the pain, afraid to make a commotion with a cry, after which I don’t know what would become of me. In a fit of utter despair, I finally began to fight and began to pull my own hand towards me with all my strength, but my tyrant was much stronger than me. Finally, I could not stand it, I cried out - that was all I was waiting for! In an instant she left me and turned away, as if she had never happened, as if it wasn’t she who messed up, but someone else, well, just like some schoolboy who, the teacher slightly turned away, had already managed to mess up somewhere in the neighborhood , pinch some tiny, weak boy, give him a click, a kick, push his elbow and turn around again in an instant, recover, burying himself in a book, begin to peck his lesson and, thus, leave the angry mister teacher, who rushed like a hawk on noise, - with a long and unexpected nose.

From unknown memoirs

I was then almost eleven years old. In July they let me go on a visit to a village near Moscow, to my relative, T-vu, who at that time had gathered about fifty people, and maybe more, guests ... I don’t remember, I didn’t count. It was noisy and fun. It seemed that it was a holiday that began with that, never to end. It seemed as if our host had given himself a promise to squander all his enormous fortune as soon as possible, and he managed to justify this conjecture recently, that is, to squander everything, completely, cleanly, to the last chip. Every minute new guests arrived, but Moscow was a stone's throw away, in plain sight, so that those who were leaving only gave way to others, and the holiday went on as usual. Amusements were replaced by one another, and no end was foreseen for the undertakings. Either riding around the neighborhood, in whole parties, then walking in the forest or along the river; picnics, lunches in the field; suppers on the large terrace of the house, furnished with three rows of precious flowers, which filled the fresh night air with fragrances, under brilliant lighting, from which our ladies, who were already almost all pretty, seemed even more charming with their faces animated by daytime impressions, with their sparkling little eyes, with their criss-crossed speech, shimmering with ringing laughter like a bell; dancing, music, singing; if the sky frowned, living pictures, charades, proverbs were composed; arranged a home theater. Claspers, storytellers, bonmotists appeared.

Several faces were sharply outlined in the foreground. Of course, slander, gossip went on as usual, because without them there would be no light, and millions of people would die of anguish, like flies. But since I was eleven years old, I did not notice these persons at that time, distracted by something completely different, and if I noticed something, it was not all. After that, I had to remember something. Only one brilliant side of the picture could catch my childish eyes, and this universal animation, brilliance, noise - all this, hitherto unseen and unheard of by me, struck me so much that in the first days I was completely at a loss and my little head was spinning.

But I keep talking about my eleven years, and, of course, I was a child, nothing more than a child. Many of these beautiful women, caressing me, did not yet think to cope with my years. But - a strange thing! - some sensation, incomprehensible to me, has already taken possession of me; something rustled already in my heart, hitherto unfamiliar and unknown to him; but why did it sometimes burn and beat, as if frightened, and often my face was covered with an unexpected blush. Sometimes I was somehow ashamed and even offended for my various childhood privileges. Another time, as if surprise overcame me, and I went somewhere where they could not see me, as if in order to take a breath and remember something, something that until now, it seemed to me, I I remembered very well, and what I have now suddenly forgotten, but without which, however, it is still impossible for me to show myself and in no way be.

Then, finally, it seemed to me that I was hiding something from everyone, but I never told anyone about it, then, which is a shame to me, a little man, to tears. Soon, in the midst of the whirlwind that surrounded me, I felt a kind of loneliness. There were other children, too, but all of them were either much younger or much older than me; Yes, however, not until them was me. Of course, nothing would have happened to me if I had not been in an exceptional position. In the eyes of all these beautiful ladies, I was still the same small, indefinite creature, which they sometimes liked to caress and with whom they could play like with a little doll. One of them in particular, a charming blond woman with thick, voluminous hair, the likes of which I have never seen since and probably never will, seemed to have vowed to haunt me. I was embarrassed, but she was amused by the laughter that resounded around us, which she constantly aroused by her sharp, eccentric antics with me, which, apparently, gave her great pleasure. In boarding schools, between friends, she would probably be called a schoolgirl. She was wonderfully pretty, and there was something about her beauty that caught my eye at first sight. And, of course, she was not like those little bashful blondes, white as fluff, and delicate, like white mice or pastor's daughters. She was short and a little plump, but with delicate, fine lines of her face, charmingly drawn. Something like lightning was sparkling in this face, and all of it - like fire, alive, fast, light. From her large open eyes sparks seemed to fall; they sparkled like diamonds, and I would never exchange such sparkling blue eyes for any black ones, even if they were blacker than the blackest Andalusian look, and my blonde, right, was worth that famous brunette, who was sung by a famous and beautiful poet and who also in such excellent verses he swore by all Castile that he was ready to break his bones if they let him just touch the mantilla of his beauty with the tip of his finger. Add to that my the beauty was the most cheerful of all the beauties in the world, the most eccentric laughter, frisky as a child, despite the fact that she had already been married for five years. Laughter did not leave her lips, as fresh as a morning rose, which had just managed to open, with the first ray of the sun, its scarlet, fragrant bud, on which cold large drops of dew had not yet dried.

I remember that on the second day of my arrival a home theater was set up. The hall was, as they say, packed to capacity; there was not a single place free; and since for some reason I happened to be late, I was forced to enjoy the performance standing up. But the cheerful game pulled me forward more and more, and I imperceptibly made my way to the very first rows, where I finally stood, leaning on the back of the armchair in which a lady was sitting. It was my blonde; but we didn't know each other. And then, somehow by chance, I stared at her wonderfully rounded, seductive shoulders, plump, white, like milky boil, although it didn’t matter to me to look: at the wonderful female shoulders or at the cap with fiery ribbons that hid the gray hair of one venerable ladies in the front row. Near the blonde sat an overripe maiden, one of those who, as I later noticed, always huddle somewhere as close as possible to young and pretty women, choosing those who do not like to drive young people away from themselves. But that's not the point; only this girl noticed my observations, leaned over to her neighbor and, giggling, whispered something in her ear. The neighbor suddenly turned around, and I remember that her fiery eyes flashed at me in the semi-darkness so that I, not prepared for the meeting, shuddered, as if burned. Beauty smiled.

- Do you like what they play? she asked, looking slyly and mockingly into my eyes.

"Yes," I replied, still looking at her in a kind of surprise, which she, in turn, apparently liked.

- Why are you standing? So - get tired; don't you have a place?

“That’s just what it is,” I answered, this time more preoccupied with care than with the sparkling eyes of the beauty, and seriously overjoyed that at last a kind heart was found to which I could open my grief. “I was already looking, but all the chairs are occupied,” I added, as if complaining to her that all the chairs were occupied.

“Come here,” she spoke briskly, quick to all decisions as well as to every extravagant idea, no matter what flashed through her eccentric head, “come here to me and sit on my knees.

“On your knees…?” I repeated, puzzled.

I have already said that my privileges seriously began to offend me and conscience. This one, as if for laughter, went far as an example to others. In addition, I, already always a timid and shy boy, now somehow began to be especially shy in front of women and therefore became terribly embarrassed.

- Well, on your knees! Why don't you want to sit on my lap? she insisted, starting to laugh harder and harder, so that at last she simply began to laugh at God knows what, maybe her own invention or glad that I was so embarrassed. But that's what she needed.