The description of the lake in the novel matches its sinister purpose. Dead calmness and gloomy solemnity are present in it: “There were mountains around the lake, on three sides, as if serving as a fence; covered with rare spruce bushes and trees, they gave this place the appearance of a fortress, in which the surface of the water was eternally smooth, like a mirror. Huge trees, leaning towards the water, cast terrible shadows on it, and the arms of the lake, endlessly meandering, shone somewhere in the distance between the dense forest. A kind of despondency spread around the lake, which was calm even in a storm. The wind raging on the mountains, howling, as if afraid to disturb the calmness of the lake; only the tops of the trees swayed slowly and filled the air with a strange rumble. The gloomy and sprawling spruce forest stood motionless, stretching its long boughs towards the lake, as if trying to protect it from the sun. Sedge, reeds of terrible height bordered the lake, and emerald moss in the form of grass treacherously hid between the bushes of the spruce forest. Of course, it would be useless for researchers of Nekrasov's work to look for a similar lake in the Yaroslavl province. Artistic description is generalized. However, we dare to suggest that in the life of the poet, the "dead lake" still existed. It is still located five kilometers from former estate Nekrasov Greshnevo and is called Ivanov or Ivanovsky. It happened on July 23, 1834. From the meager testimony recorded in the Yaroslavl district court, it was possible to learn that on this day, at six o'clock in the evening, the poet's father Alexei Sergeevich went with his sons, a student of the Yaroslavl gymnasium Fyodor Alekseevich Uspensky, taken on vacation as a tutor for Nikolai and Andrei Nekrasov , and two yards for hunting. Having reached the lake and taking one of the two guns, Fyodor Uspensky lagged behind the Nekrasovy fathoms by a hundred (about 213 meters). Soon a shot rang out, and, looking around, the poet's father saw that Uspensky was "walking along a shallow place in the lake." As if sensing something was wrong, the Nekrasovs turned back and "soon heard a cry and, running there, saw Uspensky, completely dying in the water." Having quickly undressed, Aleksey Sergeevich, not knowing how to swim himself, rushed into the water to help the young man and had almost reached him, when he himself began to sink. With great difficulty, the Greshnev landowner got ashore. All this happened in front of the Nekrasov brothers and one of the courtyards. Having called the peasants and having brought the raft, the Nekrasovs deep night searched for Ouspensky's body. The incident was reported to the sots of the villages of Timokhin and Dievo-Gorodishcha. On the fourth day, the body of the young man floated to the surface of the lake and was probably buried in the village of Nikolo-ramenye, Poshekhonsky district, where the schoolboy was from. Since no perpetrators of the tragedy were found, it was decided "to give this case to the judgment of God, and the case, having been considered resolved, to give it to the archive." In the novel " dead lake"There is an episode when the landowner Kuratov and his courtyards are looking for the body of a gypsy woman who committed suicide in the lake:" It was already getting dark, and Kuratov, in some kind of insane despair, swam across the lake, either with rewards or threats, prompting him to rush into the lake and look for a gypsy. There were tears in his voice. He called the gypsy by name, as if thinking of calling her from the bottom of the lake, which was lit by thousands of torches and bonfires located on the shore to warm themselves by throwing themselves into the lake. The whisper of people who seemed to be afraid to drown out Kuratov’s voice, the majestic calm of nature - everything was full of despondency and horror ... ”It is quite possible that Nekrasov’s memories of that July night formed the basis of this episode. By the way, the image of the landowner Kuratov partly reminds us of the poet's father. Having become the culprit of the death of a gypsy, this hero, pursued by pangs of conscience, soon dies in the lake himself. And yet, there is much unclear in the materials of the case about the death of Fyodor Uspensky. So, for example, they say that a young man, having decided to get a shot duck, "through his negligence swam into a deep place of the lake and, having exhausted his strength, could not save himself from drowning." However, for some reason, the witnesses do not report about the things left by the schoolboy on the shore. It turns out that Ouspensky went after the game with a gun, a bag in which there were charges, and in clothes, and this is unlikely. A hint about the circumstances of the death of the young man, in our opinion, can be found in the dialogue of the heroes of the novel “Dead Lake”: “When they went ashore, the dapper gentleman, shaking the water off himself, said: - Wow! which cold water! And for sure: I noticed that there are whirlpools in the lake, and they are pulling down. - And how many of them, and even at the very shores! And whoever does not know this lake, swims to the shore and thinks that the earth will rise and fall. Here and at the house you can only go to the lake, otherwise it’s all a swamp, - the gypsy orated, while the bather squeezed out his coat. Apparently, the high school student Uspensky did not swim after the duck, but fell into one of the so-called whirlpools. It happened, probably so unexpectedly for him, that he, having lost his self-control, died. N. A. Nekrasov never remembered the death of Fyodor Uspensky. But his death, of course, could not but affect the mind of the poet, who, as you know, grew up as a very vulnerable and impressionable boy. It is possible that he felt guilty towards the young man. In any case, the water element attracted the poet to itself like a magnet. Sometimes he even tested his fate. So one day, according to E. Ya. Kolbasin, he, not knowing how to swim, to prove his love to a woman, threw himself from a boat in the middle of the Volga and only by a lucky chance was saved by his companions. The novel "Dead Lake" has a completely happy ending. The young generation of nobles showed their economic abilities in full splendor: they drained the swamps near the lake, skillfully turned the impregnable forest into beautiful park. “The lake lost its frightening mystery and only according to legend kept its gloomy name,” such was the utopia of Nikolai Nekrasov. The real Ivanovo Lake still has winding and swampy shores. And only fishermen sometimes visit him, unaware of the tragedy that happened here many years ago. Grigory KRASILNIKOV, head of the Abbakumtsevo branch of the N. A. Nekrasov Museum-Reserve "Karabikha".
Chapter I
Summer evening
Four o'clock in the afternoon; the day is hot, but the air is clean and fragrant. The sun diligently heats the dark gray walls of a large, clumsy house, standing far from the other village huts. One thing can be said about its architecture: it was probably unfinished when it was covered with a roof. The windows, small and sparse, are tightly closed. The house also has a garden; but it does not protect him at all from the sun; except for lilac bushes and acacias, no trees are visible in it. However, it contains everything necessary for a village garden: a covered avenue of acacias, with an arbor, a few decrepit benches placed on badly swept paths; to the side are ridges with strawberries, and bushes of currants and raspberries stretch along the fence. A half-decayed terrace, with columns and white-painted wooden railings, leads out into the garden, and a path leads from it; it descends to a small river, which is all covered with marsh lilies and other herbs. A narrow bridge in Chinese style is thrown across the river. Those who cross it need to have a sufficient supply of courage, because in some places the boards rotted, and the rest jumped at the touch. But he was richly rewarded for his courage when he suddenly found himself in a beautiful forest instead of a dull, bare garden. Huge trees replaced the gazebo and covered alley here, soft green grass with flowers - rotten wooden benches. Here everything breathed so cheerfully and luxuriously, as if not a small river, but a whole sea separated two gardens.
Entering the house, we will see one of the main rooms, unusually wide and low, with a floor painted with thick brown paint, with a sooty ceiling, with furniture in which every thing testifies to the old age and the deprivation of comforts. High chairs, painted white, with a bouquet of roses on the back, with straw cushions tied to the seat, huddled tightly next to each other, fringing the walls. Dining room in the middle round table with countless thin legs, resembling a huge petrified spider. In the corner opposite the windows there is a massive outbuilding in a clumsy cover made of thick gray cloth. On the sooty yellow wall is a barometer framed in ebony. In one corner there was a wall clock with pood weights, which, due to their hugeness, were more suitable to decorate the tower of a knight's castle than the dining room of a peaceful peasant.
To the monotonous beat of the pendulum, an elderly woman walked around the room, with a pale and stern face. In her large and irregular features there was a complete absence of the slightest tenderness. Throwing her hands back, she walked with a heavy step, lost in thought. Her half-mourning dress was in harmony with the gloom of the room: it consisted of a dark cotton bonnet and a fringed velvet cape; a huge bunch of keys jingled behind his belt; a tulle cap with dark ribbons covered the hair of a woman, black with grey.
A girl and an old man were sitting at the window covered with serpentine, facing each other. The contrast of years sharply showed youth, full of life, and mild old age.
Despite the completely childish dress of the girl, she could safely be given sixteen years old. A chintz, faded, light-colored dress with short sleeves that showed plump and beautiful hands, and a little white baby cape could not hide the lush shoulders. The girl was combed a la chinoise. 1
V chinese style (French)
Her slightly wavy hair was pulled up, revealing a beautiful forehead and temples. Her braid, very thick, descended low to the back of her head, on which naturally small puffs curled. The head was so gracefully placed on her beautiful shoulders that it involuntarily attracted attention. The features of the face were small, except for the eyes, which were clear and bold; but in outline beautiful lips, despite the still childish expression of his whole face, so much energy was already expressed that you could not help guessing about the strength of character. Harmony dominated the entire figure of the girl, from her fiery eyes to her beautiful fingers, with which she worked with beads on paper - an occupation invented for the loss of sight.
The old man was very vertically challenged: almost all of him could sit down in Voltaire's faded armchairs. His face was meek, his features small, but, despite his decrepitude, they still retained their shape. From under the white knitted cap with which his head was covered, sparse long gray hair fell and lay on the collar of a calico dressing gown. Huge glasses almost covered his entire small face. A book lay on his lap, and on the window beside him was a snuff box and a pink checkered handkerchief.
Silence was languid all around in the house; only one measured-heavy tread, now drowned out by the pendulum's strike, now echoing it, resounded monotonously around the hall. An attentive eye, however, would have noticed a small comedy that was silently played out in the midst of a general silence. Just tall woman she turned her back to the windows, as a girl took her head away from her work and looked behind the screens that stood by the window. The old man did the same. They smiled as they looked out the window; at times the girl could hardly contain her laughter. But as soon as the tall woman reached the door opposite the windows and turned around, the girl and the old man fearfully turned to their studies; their faces quickly assumed a serious expression.
The attention of the old man and the girl was attracted by a tall boy standing at the windows in the garden ... however, he could only be called a boy by his costume, and even by the grimaces and jumps that he now made. His broad shoulders were enclosed in a narrow blue cloth jacket, the sleeves of which barely reached the wrists of his muscular arms. On the postponed collar of the shirt fell light blond long hair. He was rather tall in stature and generally had the appearance of an undergrowth. His cheeks burned with a bright blush, sweat rolled in hail from his open forehead; but he did not notice anything and diligently grimaced and broke down. However, his pranks, which so occupied the old man and the girl, were destined to end soon.
The tall woman accidentally, before reaching the door, turned her head and took the old man and the girl by surprise. As if sensing the keen eyes fixed on them, they both shuddered and bowed their heads, one to the book, the other to work. With a sarcastic smile, the tall woman silently left the hall through the side door. The girl exchanged expressive glances with the old man and timidly listened to the knock of the door in the next room, which opened onto the terrace. A minute later a tall woman returned to the hall; out of breath, she dragged after her the prankster, caught unawares in the garden - he reluctantly followed her, resting his whole body. With all the strength of your tall and powerful shoulders, she seated the boy on a chair by the wing and said menacingly:
- I'm waiting, waiting for him, I think - still in class, and he deigns to grimace like some buffoon. - And, with a contemptuous mien, turning to the old man, who, like a schoolboy, buried himself in a book, she added: - Aren't you ashamed?
Then, quickly turning her head away, she approached the girl, who bowed her head low over her work, ready to accept the storm that was already gravitating over her.
- And you, madame! exclaimed the tall woman, badly concealing her anger, and yet trying to make her voice more even. “You would remember that you are eating someone else’s bread, wearing someone else’s dress!” if only out of delicacy, if there is no gratitude in you, they obeyed your benefactors. They would not yawn at the windows, but would work.
Pouring out her anger in this way, the tall woman came closer and closer to the girl. Holding back rapid breathing, a poor girl she compressed her lips, on which a smile seemed to wander; her cheeks burned, and with a trembling hand she caught the bead, which stubbornly dodged it.
“I will teach you a lesson, madam, I will make you not smile, but cry when you are told the business. Taken from the mercy...
But then she was interrupted by a strong thud of the wing cover and a wild cry: it was a young man who was yelling, biting his hand and jumping up and down.
The tall woman rushed towards him; in a moment the anger vanished from her face, replaced by fear. She looked anxiously at the boy, repeating:
All your pranks!
And she wanted to touch his hand; but he cried out wildly: "Ai, it hurts!" - and dodged.
- Cold water and vinegar, hurry, hurry! the tall woman said abruptly, handing a bunch of keys to a girl who ran up to her.
Water and vinegar were brought, and a bruised hand young man tied. Five minutes later he was sitting at a round table reading a book, and a tall woman opposite him with yard-long needles with which she knitted a woolen scarf. Silence reigned in the room, broken, however, very soon by a strong blow, which the boy awarded himself on the forehead, chasing an annoying fly. His unexpected trick made the girl laugh; but her laughter was interrupted by the menacing look of a tall woman and the commanding exclamation:
– Read aloud!
The young man obeyed. But he read first in a bass voice and unusually quickly, then he squeaked, distorting the German words (he read in German) so hilariously that, except for the tall woman, everyone could hardly restrain themselves from laughing. Losing patience, she snatched the book from him and, throwing it away, said menacingly:
- Wait, my dear, you stop amusing my sloth, let him come!
It seemed that this threat had an effect on the rascal: he leaned on the table with his hands, pulled into the narrow and short sleeves of the jacket, laid his head on them and began to humbly look at the flies running around the table. Everyone was deep in their studies; the girl accidentally raised her head and met the eyes of the young man: on both faces, like lightning, flashed laughter; she suppressed him with a cough, and he burst into a hysterical burst of laughter.
The tall woman and the old man started; throwing aside her knitting and folding her hands, the first stared in bewilderment at the laughing youth, who was covering his mouth with his aching hand.
- What are you laughing at? she asked passionately.
He jumped up and drummed on the table with his bandaged hand.
– Ah-ah-ah! you seem to have all the pain gone from laughter? - said a caustically tall woman and, examining his hand, with a heart pushed the rascal to the wing, grumbling: - Dare to deceive!
But he did not let up: sitting behind the wing, he continually blew his nose and coughed forcibly, glancing askance at the girl.
- You seem to have decided to piss me off today; but you won't succeed - get out of here!! said the tall woman commandingly.
- I'm telling you! she added impatiently.
"I don't want to hear your excuses!" said the tall woman in a meeker voice, and, turning her back on the wing, began to knit.
The young man played with great animation; a lot of mechanical labor was also visible in his game. He played one of Beethoven's sonatas. It was hard to believe that this was the same naughty boy who had acted so childishly for a minute. The gentle features of his face took on a thoughtful and sad expression. Blue eyes quickly moved from notes to keys. His eyebrows moved slightly, and his whole figure matured and breathed energy. For two hours he played non-stop. The tall woman, leaving her knitting, listened to him motionless. The girl looked from time to time at the player and at those listening to him, and a smile wandered over her cheerful face. The old man slept soundly in his armchairs. Noticing that the player was hot, the tall woman with her eyes ordered the girl to open the window where she was sitting.
It struck seven o'clock with thunder. The tall woman counted them and said softly:
“Enough, Petrusha!
But the player paid no attention to her words: he continued to play; but the old man, at the voice of the tall woman, woke up fearfully and looked inquiringly at her. She commandingly said, addressing the girl:
- Order to give tea!
The player stopped, got up from behind the wing, went up to the tall woman and kissed her on the shoulder. All severity and coldness disappeared from her face. She lovingly straightened her sodden hair, clinging to Petrusha's burning forehead.
“Auntie,” he said, “are we going to drink tea on the terrace?” it's so stuffy in here!
- Yes, you're covered in sweat.
And the aunt wiped his forehead with her handkerchief.
Nothing! look how quiet it is in the garden! - Approaching the open window, said Petrusha, and suddenly his face assumed its former childish expression; he ran out of the hall, saying: - I, aunty, I order tea to be prepared on the terrace!
The aunt had no time to nod her head in agreement when Petrusha was already in the garden and, with incredible leaps, began to run along the alley leading to the bridge. In a few steps, he was stopped by a cry of “Stop!”, and the girl, laughing, jumped out from behind a bush.
They grabbed their hands, stood exactly in a line and, looking at each other, clapped their hands three times, drawing out: “One ... two ... three!” Then, with a cheerful cry, they set off to run across the bridge into that part of the garden, which is more correct to call the forest. They ran without a breath, teasing each other; Finally, the girl, embracing a small thin birch with her arms, shouted joyfully:
I'm first, I'm first!
- I'm second, I'm second! - hugging a tree, laughing and imitating the voice of a girl, Petrusha shouted.
– Ah! be quiet, Petrusha! - said the girl and began to straighten her slightly wrinkled cape.
Petrusha looked at her mockingly.
“Yes, you seem to like it,” she continued, “when your aunt scolds me for getting my capes dirty soon!”
“Did I blow it well?” Petrusha asked proudly, and, jumping from foot to foot, he squealed plaintively: “Oh! it hurts, it hurts!
And they both laughed.
- But let's go home: maybe they are looking for us! - the girl said timidly.
And, having crossed the bridge, they went to the house by different paths.
On the terrace, at the table, at the samovar, a tall woman was already sitting when the girl approached the house. Petrusha was the first to come up to the table and sat down beside a lean figure with a long, immovable face, thin yellow hair, and gray, angry eyes that darted rapidly. This man was as skinny as if he were being prepared for a herbarium. His long neck, like a bundle of wire, was pulled into a yellowed white kerchief to match the color of his face. The old blue tailcoat with copper buttons was visibly too wide for him; on the other hand, narrow nanke lilac pantaloons outlined not only his withered legs, but also the tops of his clumsy boots. A canary-colored waistcoat completed his outfit. That was Petrusha's teacher. A consumptive, small, grayish woman sat beside him, timidly looking at everyone. There was something pitiful and suffering in her figure. It was the friend of his life.
During tea, except for Petrusha and his aunt, no one spoke. At the end of tea, the teacher bowed and retired; his wife followed him with an awkward curtsy to her hostess. The old man walked slowly around the garden with Petrusha and the girl, while the tall woman, sitting on the terrace, reasoned with the housekeeper.
Chapter II
Teacher
The tall woman was a complete hostess in the house of her only brother, who was absent at that moment. He wasn't a homebody at all; on the other hand, in her whole life, her sister left the village for the nearest town no more than twice, and then on a short time. Raised by a strict stepmother, who was famous throughout the province for her art of managing and exemplary economy, Nastasya Andreevna (that was the name of the tall woman) completed her education at the age of fourteen. She did not know how to read and write correctly, but she had extensive knowledge of the economy. She knew all the secrets and tricks of cowgirls and cooks, various pickles, jams, making candied fruits and vinegar ... however, it is difficult to count what she knew about the economic part ... she counted perfectly, even on the accounts. At her best, she would have been good-looking; but the lack of exercise quickly developed in her a fullness that did not suit either the years of the girl, or the addition, which was already dense, and her character was rather difficult. For her, the pleasures of a young girl did not exist. She did not even like to be with people of equal age and missed her rare trips very much. She was proud and offended by her unenviable position in society. Not knowing how to carry on a conversation with the men who occasionally came to them, dancing badly, not having, through avarice, a stepmother, an elegant toilet, she became indifferent to the pleasures of her years before she experienced them, and not only fell in love with her unenviable life, but even did not comprehended another life outside the storerooms and household work, which occupied her from morning to night.
Putting economy and the ability to manage housekeeping above all else, the stepmother was completely pleased with Nastasya Andreyevna’s apathetic character, but nevertheless considered it useful to read her instructions on thrift, etc. every day. habit, "that by her generosity she would make her a beggar."
Nastasya Andreevna's mother died at the very birth of her daughter. The father married a second time and a year later he also died, leaving his second wife as the full manager of the estate until the children came of age. Everything in the house changed, and the stingy nature of the stepmother was not slow to manifest itself.
Remaining a widow, the guardian of two young children, with the help of thrift, she brought their ruined estate into a flourishing state, but she terribly dried up her soul. No feelings outside of economic interest existed for her, and she was jealous of her stepdaughter, how passionately loving woman to everything but the economy. The girl was strictly forbidden to read and music, to which she had a great disposition - the only inclination that was noticed in her. But the old woman saw in music a clear undermining of her well-being, and only in rare free hours was Nastasya Andreevna allowed to sit down at the battered five-octave clavichord. The lifeless, cold face of Nastasya Andreevna became animated, her small eyes burned brightly if she happened to play some kind of waltz or romance by ear.
Nastasya Andreevna's brother was only a year older than her sister; but his taciturn, serious character made him look old beyond his years. He was also completely devoted to economic affairs - he went to the threshing mill, to the mill, to the stables and could replace a skillful manager due to his diligence and severity. Between brother and sister there was no friendship, not even a semblance of this feeling. However, their upbringing contributed a lot. As soon as Nastasya Andreevna began to remember herself, she was ordered to her brother to say "you" and obey him in everything. They were not allowed to play together or apart. All their entertainment consisted in the competition - who will quickly and accurately calculate or add this or that arithmetic problem. In addition, the envy, so characteristic of children for the praise of their relatives, cooled them a lot. And it must be confessed that the old woman with extraordinary art knew how to set fire to their zeal for the economy. With subtle calculation, she praised one or the other of her guests, calculating their economic exploits.
However, no matter how much the upbringing of her son was postponed, the stepmother finally saw that it was necessary. She began to look for a tutor. Fate seemed to take care of the stingy old woman. For the smallest amount, a young and highly educated foreigner undertook to cook the boy. That's how it was. A wealthy neighbor, returning from abroad, brought with him a young man originally from Germany. The landowner liked the enthusiasm of his character, his enormous hopes for the future, in which he lived, not caring about the present. Acquainted with him abroad, a wealthy gentleman brought him to the village more for the company than to manage his orchestra. But, an idealist by nature, the German saw nothing: he thought that a passion for music had sealed their bonds, and only deep dream, into which his philanthropist sometimes plunged in the middle of a concert, embarrassed the dreamer. Conducting a village orchestra, he imagined that he occupied as important a position as the head of some European orchestra, and, sitting down at the piano to play in front of his dormant patron, he trembled and changed in his face, as if thousands of dilettantes had gathered to listen to him. The German had an unfortunate weakness, common to many, to attach undue importance to what he did. Self-love was the reason for this, and perhaps also a passion for art. Some oddities and irregularities in the character of the patron were redeemed in abundance free life. The German lived like this for half a year, when suddenly, quite unexpectedly, his patron fell from his chair and ended his days. The blow was double. The German found himself penniless and in a foreign land. Dividing the tools equally, the heirs did not pay attention to their unfortunate manager, who was forced to take refuge from the mercy of the old manager. Someone else's bread is bitter, and as soon as the first place opened, the German gladly took it. Need forced him to choose a different path: instead of a composer and bandmaster, he became a tutor for a mean and grumpy old woman. But, having entered her as a teacher, he could not give up his dreams. Noticing the disposition to music in Nastasya Andreevna, the teacher began to study with her. Calculation conquered the old woman's dislike for music, and she was very glad that she would cost nothing. musical education stepdaughter. Where another would see only the ability to music, the enthusiastic German foresaw something extraordinary. He imagined that fate called him to an enviable feat - to form future celebrity. His gloomy life with the old woman took on a character full of interest, and when the thought came to him to change his place, his conscience stopped him: he was afraid to destroy the talent that really was in Nastasya Andreevna.
Summer evening
Four o'clock in the afternoon; the day is hot, but the air is clean and fragrant. The sun diligently heats the dark gray walls of a large, clumsy house, standing far from the other village huts. One thing can be said about its architecture: it was probably unfinished when it was covered with a roof. The windows, small and sparse, are tightly closed. The house also has a garden; but it does not protect him at all from the sun; except for lilac bushes and acacias, no trees are visible in it. However, it contains everything necessary for a village garden: a covered avenue of acacias, with an arbor, a few decrepit benches placed on badly swept paths; to the side are ridges with strawberries, and bushes of currants and raspberries stretch along the fence. A half-decayed terrace, with columns and white-painted wooden railings, leads out into the garden, and a path leads from it; it descends to a small river, which is all covered with marsh lilies and other herbs. A narrow bridge in Chinese style is thrown across the river. Those who cross it need to have a sufficient supply of courage, because in some places the boards rotted, and the rest jumped at the touch. But he was richly rewarded for his courage when he suddenly found himself in a beautiful forest instead of a dull, bare garden. Huge trees here replaced the gazebo and covered alley, green soft grass with flowers - rotten wooden benches. Here everything breathed so cheerfully and luxuriously, as if not a small river, but a whole sea separated two gardens.
Entering the house, we will see one of the main rooms, unusually wide and low, with a floor painted with thick brown paint, with a sooty ceiling, with furniture in which every thing testifies to the old age and the deprivation of comforts. High chairs, painted white, with a bouquet of roses on the back, with straw cushions tied to the seat, huddled tightly next to each other, fringing the walls. In the middle of the room is a round dining table with countless thin legs, resembling a huge petrified spider. In the corner opposite the windows there is a massive outbuilding in a clumsy cover made of thick gray cloth. On the smoky yellow wall is a barometer mounted in ebony. In one corner there was a wall clock with pood weights, which, due to their vastness, were more suitable for decorating the tower. knight's castle than the dining room of a peaceful peasant.
To the monotonous beat of the pendulum, an elderly woman walked around the room, with a pale and stern face. In her large and irregular features there was a complete absence of the slightest tenderness. Throwing her hands back, she walked with a heavy step, lost in thought. Her half-mourning dress was in harmony with the gloom of the room: it consisted of a dark cotton bonnet and a fringed velvet cape; a huge bunch of keys jingled behind his belt; a tulle cap with dark ribbons covered the hair of a woman, black with grey.
A girl and an old man were sitting at the window covered with serpentine, facing each other. The contrast of years sharply showed youth, full of life, and meek old age. Despite the completely childish dress of the girl, she could safely be given sixteen years old. A chintz, faded, light-colored dress with short sleeves that showed plump and beautiful hands, and a little white baby cape could not hide the magnificent shoulders. The girl was combed a la chinoise. (Chinese style (French)) Her slightly wavy hair was pulled up, revealing a beautiful forehead and temples. Her braid, very thick, descended low to the back of her head, on which naturally small puffs curled. The head was so gracefully placed on her beautiful shoulders that it involuntarily attracted attention. The features of the face were small, except for the eyes, clear and bold; and in the outline of her beautiful lips, in spite of the still childish expression of her whole face, so much energy was already expressed that you could not help guessing about the strength of character. Harmony dominated the entire figure of the girl, from her fiery eyes to her beautiful fingers, with which she worked with beads on paper, - occupation, invented for the loss of vision.
The old man was very small in stature: he could almost all sit down in Voltaire's faded armchairs. His face was meek, his features small, but, despite his decrepitude, they still retained their shape. From under the white knitted cap with which his head was covered, sparse long gray hair fell and lay on the collar of a calico dressing gown. Huge glasses almost covered his entire small face. On his knees lay a book, and on the window beside him a snuff box and a pink checkered handkerchief.
Silence was languid all around in the house; only one measured-heavy tread, now drowned out by the pendulum's strike, now echoing it, resounded monotonously around the hall. An attentive eye, however, would have noticed a small comedy that was silently played out in the midst of a general silence. As soon as the tall woman turned her back to the windows, the girl took her head off her work and looked behind the screens that stood by the window. The old man did the same. They smiled as they looked out the window; at times the girl could hardly contain her laughter. But as soon as the tall woman reached the door opposite the windows and turned around, the girl and the old man fearfully turned to their studies; their faces quickly assumed a serious expression.
The attention of the old man and the girl was attracted by a tall boy standing at the windows in the garden ... however, he could only be called a boy by his costume, and even by the grimaces and jumps that he now made. His broad shoulders were enclosed in a narrow blue cloth jacket, the sleeves of which barely reached the wrists of his muscular arms. Light blond long hair fell down the collar of his shirt. He was rather tall in stature and generally had the appearance of an undergrowth. His cheeks burned with a bright blush, sweat rolled in hail from his open forehead; but he did not notice anything and diligently grimaced and broke down. However, his pranks, which so occupied the old man and the girl, were destined to end soon.
The tall woman accidentally, before reaching the door, turned her head and took the old man and the girl by surprise. As if sensing the keen eyes fixed on them, they both shuddered and bowed their heads, one to the book, the other to the work. With a sarcastic smile, the tall woman silently left the hall through the side door. The girl exchanged expressive glances with the old man and timidly listened to the knock of the door in the next room, which opened onto the terrace. A minute later a tall woman returned to the hall; out of breath, she dragged after her the prankster, caught unawares in the garden - he reluctantly followed her, leaning against her with his whole body. With all the strength of her tall stature and powerful shoulders, she seated the boy on a chair by the wing and said menacingly:
- - I'm waiting, waiting for him, I think - still in class, and he deigns to grimace like some buffoon. - And, with a contemptuous mien, turning to the old man, who, like a schoolboy, buried himself in a book, she added: - - Aren't you ashamed?
Then, quickly turning her head away, she approached the girl, who bowed her head low over her work, ready to accept the storm that was already gravitating over her.
- And you, ma'am! exclaimed the tall woman, badly concealing her anger, and yet trying to make her voice more even. if only out of delicacy, if there is no gratitude in you, they obeyed your benefactors. They would not yawn at the windows, but would work.
Pouring out her anger in this way, the tall woman came closer and closer to the girl. Holding back her accelerated breathing, the poor girl pressed her lips together, on which a smile seemed to wander; her cheeks burned, and with a trembling hand she caught the bead, which stubbornly dodged it.
- - I will teach you a lesson, madam, I will make you not smile, but cry when you are told the case. Taken from the mercy...
Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov is familiar to readers from verse poem"To whom in Rus' it is good to live." But not only poems and poems are his literary merit. "Dead Lake" by Nekrasov - deep and bright prose XIX century.
About the writer
Nikolai Alekseevich is the son of a landowner in the Yaroslavl province. Born in the village of Greshnevo, where he spent his childhood. He was a fragile and sickly boy, he grew up too impressionable.
He was fond of literature, the first works appeared in childhood. Seriously took up this business, being a young man. He was in love with Avdotya Panaeva, co-author of the novel Dead Lake. Being married woman and hostess literary salon, she rejected the advances of the young writer.
How did the novel come about?
According to one version, Nekrasov created his "Dead Lake" based on childhood impressions. Such a lake existed in reality, its location is still being debated. Some claim that we are talking about Lake Ivanovskoye, located a few kilometers from the former estate of the Nekrasovs in Greshnevo. And the latter are sure that Kuleomajärvi, located near Vyborg, became the prototype of the dead lake. It is connected with him the largest number creepy legends.
Briefly about the main
The novel is easy to read, but it exudes some kind of hidden sadness. The description of the lake is quite creepy, people from developed fantasy able to represent it in all colors.
There are a lot of main characters, you can get confused in them. And women-heroines seem boring, monotonous. However, immersed in reading the book, you begin to notice that this is an erroneous opinion.
The main characters are the actress Lyubskaya, the daughter of the gypsy Lyuba, Count Tavrovsky and the retired ensign Pokizovkin. People of completely different classes, with individual views on life and their own history. The author opens the worldview of each of them, draws parallels, giving the reader the opportunity to compare the characters with each other.
Main characters: a brief description
Actress Lyubskaya is a young, lonely and very beautiful person. It’s so hard in life, too much male attention is paid to the beauty, and it’s simply unbearable to resist him. And the moral fall of Lyubskaya takes place, the type of activity of which cannot but affect the way of life. It is no coincidence that in Nekrasov's novel "Dead Lake", the content of which is summary given here, the girl is an actress. In the old days, this kind of activity was considered extremely low, although it required a certain appearance and education.
Count Tavrovsky is another image of a depraved person. his title, appearance and character allow you to behave extremely badly. Although the Count a kind person, his lusts prevail over nobility.
Ensign Pokizovkin is another matter. This is fundamental and fair man, a sort of voice of the people. He is an excellent friend, devoted to his family, has his own inner core and strives for certain ideals. A soldier is a hard worker who never learned to trade his own conscience.
Lyuba is the daughter of a gypsy, just the ideal of femininity, tenderness and innocence. She grew up on the beach dead lake, the moral purity of a girl can be the envy of wealthy young ladies. Having no money, Lyuba has a high morality, which cannot be bought. But this purity destroys the young lady, the meeting with Count Tavrovsky does not bode well for her. Lyuba falls in love with a handsome joker, but he is too deceitful and conceited. The count's treachery prompts a young gypsy to commit suicide.
Description of the lake
We familiarized ourselves with the contents of Nekrasov's "Dead Lake" above. More precisely, we talked about the main characters of the novel. But what is remarkable and minor characters differ in certain, very vividly described characters. Almost all the characters are parentless, brought up by relatives or strangers out of mercy. This makes the novel even more tragic than the series of suicides described in it.
What is Dead Lake? An eerie and alluring sight: just imagine a living fence of hills from all sides. They bend over its quiet surface tall trees casting scary shadows on the surface of the water. When the wind gets too strong, the tops of the trees only sway a little, making long-drawn-out creaks. The wind prefers to bypass this lake, howling loudly behind the hills. High reeds also protect the water surface, occasionally you can hear how the frogs hiding in its depths start their sad songs. A gloomy spruce forest lurks on the shore, it pulls its paws to the lake, as if trying to protect it from sunlight. And this whole picture brings despondency and horror to uninvited guest lakes. Is it possible to approach him? It is possible, but the metallic surface of the water does not seem alluring, on the contrary, its grayness creates a repulsive impression.
Suicide
In Nekrasov's novel Dead Lake, the characters drown in calm water. And they take this step on their own, as was the case with the gypsy girl Lyuba. She threw herself into the waters of the lake, unable to survive the duplicity of Count Tavrovsky.
It is also here that the adult gypsy, Lyuba's mother, finds her final resting place. There is an episode in the novel that tells about the search for her body - very sad and rather frightening in its hopelessness. In insane despair, the landowner Kuratov swam on the lake, calling out to the gypsy, shouting her name. Probably mad, he believed that the woman would hear him at the bottom of the lake and float up to meet him. Peasants also gathered here, they held torches, and bonfires sparkled on the shore to warm the people who were looking for the body. And against the backdrop of twilight, it looked majestic, but very creepy.
denouement
"Dead Lake" (N. Nekrasov wrote it in late XIX century) ends pretty well. At least in comparison with the horrors and despair that the unfortunate suicides and those who were associated with them had to endure. The younger generation of nobles simply dried up the gloomy waters, and the forest was ennobled, turning it into a wonderful park. Deprived of its frightening majesty, the lake soon disappeared from human memory.
frightening fact
It is believed that the book "Dead Lake" by Nekrasov is based on real events. At the very least, the episode with the search for the body of a gypsy is a kind of "hello" from the writer's childhood.
One day, he, along with his father, a schoolboy and two courtyards, went hunting. They walked, talking merrily, and did not notice how the high school student Fyodor Uspensky lagged behind the Nekrasovs. Moreover, at some two hundred meters, as it turns out later. Nikolai's father, Alexei Sergeevich, heard a single shot, turned around sharply and saw Fyodor walking around in the shallow water of the lake. The Nekrasovs immediately went back, hoping to reason with the schoolboy, but did not have time to get to him. As Nikolai himself later said, Fedor screamed loudly, and running to the cry, the Nekrasovs saw him drowning in the lake. Aleksey Sergeevich rushed after the boy, and this, taking into account his inability to swim. Having reached it, he began to pull it out, but it was no longer possible to help the high school student. The landowner felt that he himself was sinking, he had to get out of the lake. With great difficulty, the landowner was able to do this.
Peasants were thrown in search of the body of the schoolboy, but their mission was not crowned with success. Although people dived into dark waters until late at night, the corpse surfaced only four days later. Fyodor Uspensky was buried at home, and Nikolai Alekseevich never remembered this scary episode your life, up to a certain point.
There are a lot of obscure things in the circumstances of the death of the high school student, which we will never know about now. There was a version that he shot a duck on the lake and swam for his prey. There was a shot, but do they swim in clothes and with a hunting bag?
According to the second hypothesis, Uspensky fell into one of the pools, they were located close enough to the shore. I panicked, I couldn't handle own fear and died.
Roman Nekrasov "Dead Lake" short description which can be read above includes this frightening episode.
Conclusion
We examined the material about one of the unpopular works of Nikolai Alekseevich Nekrasov. Despite this, the novel is quite recommended for reading by lovers of Russian literature.
Nikolay Alekseevich Nekrasov
Collected works in fifteen volumes
Volume 10. Dead Lake
dead lake
Volume One
Part one
Summer evening
Four o'clock in the afternoon; the day is hot, but the air is clean and fragrant. The sun diligently heats the dark gray walls of a large, clumsy house, standing far from the other village huts. One thing can be said about its architecture: it was probably unfinished when it was covered with a roof. The windows, small and sparse, are tightly closed. The house also has a garden; but it does not protect him at all from the sun; except for lilac bushes and acacias, no trees are visible in it. However, it contains everything necessary for a village garden: a covered avenue of acacias, with an arbor, a few decrepit benches placed on badly swept paths; aside - ridges with strawberries, and bushes of currants and raspberries stretch along the fence. A half-decayed terrace, with columns and white-painted wooden railings, leads out into the garden, and a path leads from it; it descends to a small river, which is all covered with marsh lilies and other herbs. A narrow bridge in Chinese style is thrown across the river. Those who cross it need to have a sufficient supply of courage, because in some places the boards rotted, and the rest jumped at the touch. But he was richly rewarded for his courage when he suddenly found himself in a beautiful forest instead of a dull, bare garden. Huge trees replaced the gazebo and covered alley here, green soft grass with flowers - rotten wooden benches. Here everything breathed so cheerfully and luxuriously, as if not a small river, but a whole sea separated two gardens.
Entering the house, we will see one of the main rooms, unusually wide and low, with a floor painted with thick brown paint, with a sooty ceiling, with furniture in which every thing testifies to the old age and the deprivation of comforts. High chairs, painted white, with a bouquet of roses on the back, with straw cushions tied to the seat, huddled tightly next to each other, fringing the walls. In the middle of the room is a round dining table with countless thin legs, resembling a huge petrified spider. In the corner opposite the windows there is a massive outbuilding in a clumsy cover made of thick gray cloth. On the smoky yellow wall is a barometer framed in ebony. In one corner there was a wall clock with pood weights, which, due to their vastness, were more suitable to decorate the towers of a knight's castle than the dining room of a peaceful peasant.
To the monotonous beat of the pendulum, an elderly woman walked around the room, with a pale and stern face. In her large and irregular features there was a complete absence of the slightest tenderness. Throwing her hands back, she walked with a heavy step, lost in thought. Her half-mourning dress was in harmony with the gloom of the room: it consisted of a dark cotton bonnet and a fringed velvet cape; a huge bunch of keys jingled behind his belt; a tulle cap with dark ribbons covered the hair of a woman, black with grey.
A girl and an old man were sitting at the window covered with serpentine, facing each other. The contrast of years sharply showed youth, full of life, and meek old age. Despite the completely childish dress of the girl, she could safely be given sixteen years old. A chintz, faded, light-colored dress with short sleeves that showed plump and beautiful hands, and a little white baby cape could not hide the magnificent shoulders. The girl was combed a la chinoise. Her slightly wavy hair was pulled up, revealing a beautiful forehead and temples. Her braid, very thick, descended low to the back of her head, on which naturally small puffs curled. The head was so gracefully placed on her beautiful shoulders that it involuntarily attracted attention. The features of the face were small, except for the eyes, clear and bold; and in the outline of her beautiful lips, in spite of the still childish expression of her whole face, so much energy was already expressed that you could not help guessing about the strength of character. Harmony dominated the entire figure of the girl, from her fiery eyes to her beautiful fingers, with which she worked with beads on paper - an occupation invented for the loss of sight.
The old man was very small in stature: he could almost all sit down in Voltaire's faded armchairs. His face was meek, his features small, but, despite his decrepitude, they still retained their shape. From under the white knitted cap with which his head was covered, sparse long gray hair fell and lay on the collar of a calico dressing gown. Huge glasses almost covered his entire small face. On his lap lay a book, and on the window beside him was a snuff box and a pink checkered handkerchief.
Silence was languid all around in the house; only one measured-heavy tread, now drowned out by the pendulum's strike, now echoing it, resounded monotonously around the hall. An attentive eye, however, would have noticed a small comedy that was silently played out in the midst of a general silence. As soon as the tall woman turned her back to the windows, the girl took her head off her work and looked behind the screens that stood by the window. The old man did the same. They smiled as they looked out the window; at times the girl could hardly contain her laughter. But as soon as the tall woman reached the door opposite the windows and turned around, the girl and the old man fearfully turned to their studies; their faces quickly assumed a serious expression.
The attention of the old man and the girl was attracted by a tall boy standing at the windows in the garden ... however, he could only be called a boy by his costume, and even by the grimaces and jumps that he now made. His broad shoulders were enclosed in a narrow blue cloth jacket, the sleeves of which barely reached the wrists of his muscular arms. Light blond long hair fell down the collar of his shirt. He was rather tall in stature and generally had the appearance of an undergrowth. His cheeks burned with a bright blush, sweat rolled in hail from his open forehead; but he did not notice anything and diligently grimaced and broke down. However, his pranks, which so occupied the old man and the girl, were destined to end soon.
The tall woman accidentally, before reaching the door, turned her head and took the old man and the girl by surprise. As if sensing the keen eyes fixed on them, they both shuddered and bowed their heads, one to the book, the other to work. With a sarcastic smile, the tall woman silently left the hall through the side door. The girl exchanged expressive glances with the old man and timidly listened to the knock of the door in the next room, which opened onto the terrace. A minute later a tall woman returned to the hall; out of breath, she dragged after her the prankster, caught unawares in the garden - he reluctantly followed her, resting his whole body. With all the strength of her tall stature and powerful shoulders, she seated the boy on a chair by the wing and said menacingly:
I'm waiting, waiting for him, I think - still in class, and he deigns to grimace like some buffoon. - And, with a contemptuous mien, turning to the old man, who, like a schoolboy, buried himself in a book, she added: - Aren't you ashamed?
Then, quickly turning her head away, she approached the girl, who bowed her head low over her work, ready to accept the storm that was already gravitating over her.
And you, lady! exclaimed the tall woman, badly concealing her anger, and yet trying to make her voice more even. - You would remember that you are eating someone else's bread, wearing someone else's dress! if only out of delicacy, if there is no gratitude in you, they obeyed your benefactors. They would not yawn at the windows, but would work.
Pouring out her anger in this way, the tall woman came closer and closer to the girl. Holding back her accelerated breathing, the poor girl pressed her lips together, on which a smile seemed to wander; her cheeks burned, and with a trembling hand she caught the bead, which stubbornly dodged it.
I will teach you a lesson, madame, I will make you not smile, but cry when you are told the business. Taken from the mercy...
But then she was interrupted by a strong thud of the wing cover and a wild cry: it was a young man who was yelling, biting his hand and jumping up and down.
The tall woman rushed towards him; in a moment the anger vanished from her face, replaced by fear. She looked anxiously at the boy, repeating:
All your antics!
And she wanted to touch his hand; but he cried out wildly: "Ai, it hurts!" - and dodged.
Cold water and vinegar, hurry, hurry! the tall woman said abruptly, handing a bunch of keys to a girl who ran up to her.
