Pavel Vladimirovich Zasodimsky Before the extinguished fireside Christmas Story
(From the memories of one of my friends)
That evening I was decidedly out of sorts. But how! .. Christmas time in the yard, and I'm sitting at home all alone. Runny nose, cough, stuffy chest...
I opened the door from the study to the hall and, out of grief, began to pace up and down the rooms. In due time, that is, at ten o'clock, my housekeeper Anna Efimovna served me tea. And I, with my hands behind my back, continued to stagger from corner to corner. Loneliness that evening weighed heavily on me. An old bachelor on weekdays does not feel his loneliness as much as in his free holiday time. I would like to take my soul away, to talk frankly with someone. And then, as luck would have it, ill health forced me to stay at home. And even then, with whom could I talk the way I wanted? I don’t have any relatives, no friends… it’s true, there are a lot of acquaintances, perhaps more than enough… But these acquaintances, these winter partners, are not at all what I need… And even those are not at hand now… Anna Efimovna? The woman is very respectable, there are no words, accurate, accurate, and for fifteen rubles a month she superbly manages my household, and serves me faithfully, that is, she steals on trifles, in moderation. But what to talk about with her? To listen again to her story about how she lived in Tsarskoye Selo with the old general's wife Khrenova and combed her fourteen lapdogs with a comb? .. You can joke with her, talk about dinner - and only ... Without any appetite I drank a glass of tea, poured another and left with him to the office.
- Would you like to clean up? Anna Yefimovna asked a little later, showing herself at the door.
Yes, I won't drink anymore! I answered her. - Take away! And you can go to sleep...
I lit the fireplace myself, moved a round table close to it, and placed on it my glass of tea and a small faceted decanter of Jamaican rum of the original Eliseev's preparation. Then I put out the candles on the desk, rolled a chair up to the fireplace and sat comfortably in it. Methodically, without haste, I put a spoon on the glass, lowered a piece of sugar into it and poured rum over it. A bluish-pale light flickered over the glass, and I began to look at it. Soon the light began to fall, darted about, flared up once or twice and went out. Gradually sipping, I drank a hot drink ... The apartment was quiet; Anna Yefimovna had evidently already gone to bed. Having finished my glass, I put it on the table, lit a cigar, and, leaning back in my chair, began to look into the fireplace. The firewood flared up, and sometimes, when the wind blew into the chimney, there was a slight smell of burning birch bark from the fireplace. This familiar smell reminded me of my distant childhood... I used to have fun Christmas evenings.
At that time, I lived in my native Mikhaltsev with my father, mother, sister Olya and my nanny Maksimovna. A mountain was arranged for me in the garden, a Christmas tree was lit in the evenings ... Mother, apparently, loved me very much. I remember how she smoothed my blond curls, how she gently stroked my head and kissed me hard. Her kisses, I confess, I did not particularly like; I was much more willing to sneak kisses with the maid girls. My father was going to whip me more than once for pranks, but my mother always stood up for me. I once heard her say to her father in a moralizing tone:
“Please… leave, please!” After all, such a punishment can knock out any shame from a child!
Of course, I was very grateful for her intercession - but she was completely in vain lamenting for my sense of shame. This feeling has been lost. I was afraid only of physical pain, but the rods, as a shame, did not bother me in the least ...
All of them - father, mother, and sister, and nanny - have long gone to where no one comes from ... Mikhaltsevo was bought by some kind of fist, and familiar, dear lindens have long been cut down. My childhood story is overgrown with moss ...
Then I remembered how, as a high school student, in our provincial outback, I went to Christmas time with comrades disguised in familiar houses; danced, naughty, messed around. But while my comrades furtively smoked cigarettes and courted young ladies in the most innocent way, I extended my views beyond mere courtship. My friends called me "remote". Noisy and stormy student years passed. What crowded, lively gatherings we had at that time! Sometimes there is only a ruble in my pocket, and there is so much laughter, fun, bright hopes and dreams that a rich man cannot be bought for a million ... However, I never participated in comradely revelry with money. I have such a rule: do not spend money in vain ... And this early green youth has long flown away and now seems to me a dream. My curls have developed, thinned, and on the crown of my head a fair bald head shines.
Now, I can say that I am a well-to-do person. From the Tsarevokokshai railway administration I receive (with awards) about two thousand a year, and something is hidden in the bank. It seems that one could live and enjoy the blessings of this world. But there is no former appetite, no taste. Nothing particularly attracts me, does not pull me anywhere ... But is it really a “screw”. Only one uncle remained with me, and he died about ten years ago; his daughter married some engineer and left with him for Samarkand or for Samarkand - God knows her. However, I hardly remember this cousin. I only remember that her whole face seemed to be freckled. Friends, comrades student years, everyone disappeared somewhere, disappeared ... That's really true - "we managed to hide so well that we couldn't find each other after." Some have reached “known levels,” others have sunk in the provinces, some have died, and two or three hotheads have ended up even in rather cold places.
(From the memories of one of my friends)
That evening I was decidedly out of sorts. But how! .. Christmas time in the yard, and I'm sitting at home all alone. Runny nose, cough, stuffy chest...
I opened the door from the study to the hall and, out of grief, began to pace up and down the rooms. In due time, that is, at ten o'clock, my housekeeper Anna Efimovna served me tea. And I, with my hands behind my back, continued to stagger from corner to corner. Loneliness that evening weighed heavily on me. An old bachelor on weekdays does not feel his loneliness as much as in his free holiday time. I would like to take my soul away, to talk frankly with someone. And then, as luck would have it, ill health forced me to stay at home. And even then, with whom could I talk the way I wanted? I don’t have any relatives, no friends… it’s true, there are a lot of acquaintances, perhaps more than enough… But these acquaintances, these winter partners, are not at all what I need… And even those are not at hand now… Anna Efimovna? The woman is very respectable, there are no words, accurate, accurate, and for fifteen rubles a month she superbly manages my household, and serves me faithfully, that is, she steals on trifles, in moderation. But what to talk about with her? Listen again to her story about how she lived in Tsarskoye Selo with the old general's wife Khrenova and combed her fourteen lapdogs with a comb? .. You can joke with her, talk about dinner - and only ... Without any appetite I drank a glass of tea, poured another and left with him to the office.
Would you like to clean up? Anna Yefimovna asked a little later, showing herself at the door.
Yes, I won't drink anymore! - I answered her. - Remove! And you can go to sleep...
I lit the fireplace myself, moved a round table close to it, and placed on it my glass of tea and a small faceted decanter of Jamaican rum of the original Eliseev's preparation. Then I put out the candles on the desk, rolled a chair up to the fireplace and sat comfortably in it. Methodically, without haste, I put a spoon on the glass, lowered a piece of sugar into it and poured rum over it. A bluish-pale light flickered over the glass, and I began to look at it. Soon the light began to fall, darted about, flared up once or twice and went out. Gradually sipping, I drank a hot drink ... The apartment was quiet; Anna Yefimovna had evidently already gone to bed. Having finished my glass, I put it on the table, lit a cigar, and, leaning back in my chair, began to look into the fireplace. The firewood flared up, and sometimes, when the wind blew into the chimney, there was a slight smell of burning birch bark from the fireplace. This familiar smell reminded me of my distant childhood... I used to have fun Christmas evenings.
At that time, I lived in my native Mikhaltsev with my father, mother, sister Olya and my nanny Maksimovna. A mountain was arranged for me in the garden, a Christmas tree was lit in the evenings ... Mother, apparently, loved me very much. I remember how she smoothed my blond curls, how she gently stroked my head and kissed me hard. Her kisses, I confess, I did not particularly like; I was much more willing to sneak kisses with the maid girls. My father was going to whip me more than once for pranks, but my mother always stood up for me. I once heard her say to her father in a moralizing tone:
I beg you... leave, please! After all, such a punishment can knock out any shame from a child!
Of course, I was very grateful for her intercession - but she was completely in vain lamenting for my sense of shame. This feeling has been lost. I was afraid only of physical pain, but the rods, as a shame, did not bother me in the least ...
All of them - father, mother, and sister, and nanny - have long gone to where no one comes from ... Mikhaltsevo was bought by some kind of fist, and familiar, dear lindens have long been cut down. My childhood story is overgrown with moss ...
Then I remembered how, as a high school student, in our provincial outback, I went to Christmas time with comrades disguised in familiar houses; danced, naughty, messed around. But while my comrades furtively smoked cigarettes and courted young ladies in the most innocent way, I extended my views beyond mere courtship. My friends called me "remote". Noisy and stormy student years passed. What crowded, lively gatherings we had at that time! Sometimes there is only a ruble in my pocket, and there is so much laughter, fun, bright hopes and dreams that a rich man cannot be bought for a million ... However, I never participated in comradely revelry with money. I have such a rule: do not spend money in vain ... And this early green youth has long flown away and now seems to me a dream. My curls have developed, thinned, and on the crown of my head a fair bald head shines.
Now, I can say that I am a well-to-do person. From the Tsarevokokshai railway administration I receive (with awards) about two thousand a year, and something is hidden in the bank. It seems that one could live and enjoy the blessings of this world. But there is no former appetite, no taste. Nothing particularly attracts me, does not pull me anywhere ... But is it really a “screw”. Only one uncle remained with me, and he died about ten years ago; his daughter married some engineer and left with him for Samarkand or for Samarkand - God knows her. However, I hardly remember this cousin. I only remember that her whole face seemed to be freckled. Friends, comrades of student years, all disappeared somewhere, disappeared ... That's really true - "we managed to hide so well that we couldn't find each other after." Some reached "to the known level", others sank in the provinces, some died, and two or three hotheads even got into rather cold places.
However, one of my university comrades, Cheremukhin, staggered to my place for a long time and sometimes even stopped by quite often. He was a wonderful example of human nature, a phenomenon in his own way, in a word - one of the Mohicans of the sixties. He was terribly fond of philosophizing and passionately talked about the world of the whole world, about the poor and the rich, about good and evil - and his dog knows what else. He was an extremely dull and narrow-minded person. One of my acquaintances very aptly called him a "straight donkey." Cheremukhin could not understand the simplest things; he could not, for example, realize that yesterday's concepts and conversations might already be boring today, and tomorrow completely out of fashion. This wise man, who sported a summer coat in winter and wore ragged trousers in all seasons, and dreamed of covering other people's roofs when his own leaked, finally bored me to death with his banal arguments about good and evil and his eternal pestering for money. Now give him a ruble, then two, and each time almost always put vodka in front of him. It will stick like an insole and climbs with wet lips to kiss. I myself am a sober person and cannot stand drunkards ... Sometimes I will burst into tears again. “Ah, he says, my share, share! Where did you disappear to? And then suddenly scary voice will begin to sing: “Freedom is a proud inspiration, the people do not know you ...” Well, he just made me a disgrace.
I ended up ordering Anna Efimovna not to accept this riff-raff. After that, he came to see me several times, and I heard him one day, going down the stairs, apparently extremely tired, exhausted, muttering through his teeth: “Get fat! A poor comrade does not want to know... An official!..” And with some bitterness he always uttered this word! What the officials did to him, the devil knows! He was obviously angry, and every time he yanked the bell so violently that it made me shudder, and my unfortunate nerves after that were positively upset. IN last time, leaving the door without salty slurping (the door in my apartment is constantly on a chain), he stopped on the landing, and I heard him shout to Anna Efimovna: “Tell your master that he is a pig! He thinks that I only go to him for money or for vodka! I don't care, he says, for his vodka! And I will return the rubles to him ... I wanted to talk to him. After all, he says, I used to love him, the beast! He, obviously, at that time was very upset and agitated by something, - but still it was rather tactless of him to talk about me with the servants in such a tone ...
Pavel Vladimirovich Zasodimsky
In front of a dead fire
In front of a dead fire“... It is not usually pearls and adamants that are hidden in hiding places human soul. These hiding places are for the most part something like garbage pits, and to discover their contents before the light - to me at least - seems incomparably more shameful and shameful than to show people their bodily nakedness ... "
Pavel Vladimirovich Zasodimsky
In front of a dead fire
Christmas story
(From the memories of one of my friends)
That evening I was decidedly out of sorts. But how! .. Christmas time in the yard, and I'm sitting at home all alone. Runny nose, cough, stuffy chest...
I opened the door from the study to the hall and, out of grief, began to pace up and down the rooms. In due time, that is, at ten o'clock, my housekeeper Anna Efimovna served me tea. And I, with my hands behind my back, continued to stagger from corner to corner. Loneliness that evening weighed heavily on me. An old bachelor on weekdays does not feel his loneliness as much as in his free holiday time. I would like to take my soul away, to talk frankly with someone. And then, as luck would have it, ill health forced me to stay at home. And even then, with whom could I talk the way I wanted? I don’t have any relatives, no friends… it’s true, there are a lot of acquaintances, perhaps more than enough… But these acquaintances, these winter partners, are not at all what I need… And even those are not at hand now… Anna Efimovna? The woman is very respectable, there are no words, accurate, accurate, and for fifteen rubles a month she superbly manages my household, and serves me faithfully, that is, she steals on trifles, in moderation. But what to talk about with her? To listen again to her story about how she lived in Tsarskoye Selo with the old general's wife Khrenova and combed her fourteen lapdogs with a comb? .. You can joke with her, talk about dinner - and only ... Without any appetite I drank a glass of tea, poured another and left with him to the office.
- Would you like to clean up? Anna Yefimovna asked a little later, showing herself at the door.
Yes, I won't drink anymore! I answered her. - Take away! And you can go to sleep...
I lit the fireplace myself, moved a round table close to it, and placed on it my glass of tea and a small faceted decanter of Jamaican rum of the original Eliseev's preparation. Then I put out the candles on the desk, rolled a chair up to the fireplace and sat comfortably in it. Methodically, without haste, I put a spoon on the glass, lowered a piece of sugar into it and poured rum over it. A bluish-pale light flickered over the glass, and I began to look at it. Soon the light began to fall, darted about, flared up once or twice and went out. Gradually sipping, I drank a hot drink ... The apartment was quiet; Anna Yefimovna had evidently already gone to bed. Having finished my glass, I put it on the table, lit a cigar, and, leaning back in my chair, began to look into the fireplace. The firewood flared up, and sometimes, when the wind blew into the chimney, there was a slight smell of burning birch bark from the fireplace. This familiar smell reminded me of my distant childhood... I used to have fun Christmas evenings.
At that time, I lived in my native Mikhaltsev with my father, mother, sister Olya and my nanny Maksimovna. A mountain was arranged for me in the garden, a Christmas tree was lit in the evenings ... Mother, apparently, loved me very much. I remember how she smoothed my blond curls, how she gently stroked my head and kissed me hard. Her kisses, I confess, I did not particularly like; I was much more willing to sneak kisses with the maid girls. My father was going to whip me more than once for pranks, but my mother always stood up for me. I once heard her say to her father in a moralizing tone:
“Please… leave, please!” After all, such a punishment can knock out any shame from a child!
Of course, I was very grateful for her intercession - but she was completely in vain lamenting for my sense of shame. This feeling has been lost. I was afraid only of physical pain, but the rods, as a shame, did not bother me in the least ...
All of them - father, mother, and sister, and nanny - have long gone to where no one comes from ... Mikhaltsevo was bought by some kind of fist, and familiar, dear lindens have long been cut down. My childhood story is overgrown with moss ...
Then I remembered how, as a high school student, in our provincial outback, I went to Christmas time with comrades disguised in familiar houses; danced, naughty, messed around. But while my comrades furtively smoked cigarettes and courted young ladies in the most innocent way, I extended my views beyond mere courtship. My friends called me "remote". Noisy and stormy student years passed. What crowded, lively gatherings we had at that time! Sometimes there is only a ruble in my pocket, and there is so much laughter, fun, bright hopes and dreams that a rich man cannot be bought for a million ... However, I never participated in comradely revelry with money. I have such a rule: do not spend money in vain ... And this early green youth has long flown away and now seems to me a dream. My curls have developed, thinned, and on the crown of my head a fair bald head shines.
Now, I can say that I am a well-to-do person. From the Tsarevokokshai railway administration I receive (with awards) about two thousand a year, and something is hidden in the bank. It seems that one could live and enjoy the blessings of this world. But there is no former appetite, no taste. Nothing particularly attracts me, does not pull me anywhere ... But is it really a “screw”. Only one uncle remained with me, and he died about ten years ago; his daughter married some engineer and left with him for Samarkand or for Samarkand - God knows her. However, I hardly remember this cousin. I only remember that her whole face seemed to be freckled. Friends, comrades of student years, all disappeared somewhere, disappeared ... That's really true - "we managed to hide so well that we couldn't find each other after." Some have reached “known levels,” others have sunk in the provinces, some have died, and two or three hotheads have ended up even in rather cold places.
However, one of my university comrades, Cheremukhin, staggered to my place for a long time and sometimes even stopped by quite often. He was a wonderful example of human nature, a phenomenon in his own way, in a word - one of the Mohicans of the sixties. He was terribly fond of philosophizing and passionately talked about the world of the whole world, about the poor and the rich, about good and evil - and his dog knows what else. He was an extremely dull and narrow-minded person. One of my acquaintances very aptly called him a "straight donkey." Cheremukhin could not understand the simplest things; he could not, for example, realize that yesterday's concepts and conversations might already be boring today, and tomorrow completely out of fashion. This wise man, who sported a summer coat in winter and wore ragged trousers in all seasons, and dreamed of covering other people's roofs when his own leaked, finally bored me to death with his banal arguments about good and evil and his eternal pestering for money. Now give him a ruble, then two, and each time almost always put vodka in front of him. It will stick like an insole and climbs with wet lips to kiss. I myself am a sober person and cannot stand drunkards ... Sometimes I will burst into tears again. “Ah, he says, my share, share! Where did you disappear to? And then suddenly, in a terrible voice, he will begin to sing: “Freedom is a proud inspiration, the people do not know you ...” Well, he just made a mess for me.
I ended up ordering Anna Efimovna not to accept this riff-raff. After that, he came to see me several times, and I heard him one day, going down the stairs, apparently extremely tired, exhausted, muttering through his teeth: “Get fat! The poor comrade does not want to know ... An official! .. ”And with some bitterness he always uttered this word! What the officials did to him, the devil knows! He was obviously angry, and every time he tugged the bell so furiously that it made me shudder, and my unfortunate nerves after that were positively upset. For the last time, leaving the door without salty slurping (the door in my apartment is always on a chain), he stopped on the landing, and I heard him shout to Anna Efimovna: “Tell your master that he is a pig! He thinks that I only go to him for money or for vodka! I don't care, he says, for his vodka! And I will return the rubles to him ... I wanted to talk to him. After all, he says, I used to love him, the beast! He was obviously very upset and agitated about something at that time - but still it was rather tactless of him to talk about me with the servants in such a tone ...
I haven't seen Cheremukhin for six or seven years now. Is he alive? Does he grovel somewhere "in the corner" and still talk about good and evil? Or maybe he has already calmed down and is now lying in one of the St. Petersburg cemeteries? At times it was terrible unpleasant person. Well, God be with him! I don’t remember evil ... But the debt - ten - twelve rubles - he still didn’t return me ... That evening, loneliness weighed me down to such an extent that, really, it seems to me that if Cheremukhin had appeared, I would have received him and even would have been glad to him. I would, perhaps, not be averse to listening to his "cheesy" (liberal) arguments about truth and falsehood, good and evil, and all sorts of nonsense. Maybe he would ask me for a “ruble” again, and he would probably drink all the rum from me. Well, it's not a problem...
Strange! Around me - the whole world, all of humanity, and meanwhile I feel cut off from the world, completely alone, as if I live on some desert island. Yes! that's right... I live on Personal Wellbeing Island.
The birch logs in the fireplace were already burning through. I stared at the pile of red, hot coals and looked at them for so long that my eyes began to close involuntarily, and drowsiness attacked me. But I didn't sleep honestly I didn’t sleep ... I even opened my eyes sometimes and saw in front of me, as if in a fog, the same pile of red coals ...
Suddenly it seemed to me that someone approached my chair from behind ... did not approach, but, cautiously, on tiptoe, quietly crept up. There was a moment when it even seemed to me that someone leaned over me, someone's breath touched my cheek, and this someone, inaudibly crept up to me, gently, slightly touching, ran his hand through my hair, as if wanting to stroke , caress me ... I could not stand it, opened my eyes and, turning abruptly in my chair, looked back. This movement cost me a lot of effort: I was terribly reluctant to look back; It was very difficult for me to turn my head. So in a dream it is sometimes difficult to move an arm or a leg, although - in the course of sleep - you clearly realize that the question of life and death depends on these movements ...
I am not a coward by nature.
But here, in front of the fireplace, on this unfortunate Christmas evening, where all my courage suddenly disappeared!.. Looking back with an effort, I saw behind the armchairs a rather tall, white, ghostly figure. And this ghost, half reproachfully, half ruefully shook its head. So at least it seemed to me for a moment. In reality, of course, there was no ghost. To sane people - like me, ghosts are not. But the matter was very simple... From the hall where the lamp was burning, the light penetrated into the office through the open door and fell on the white tulle curtain by the window. My room was immersed in semi-darkness, and that is why the white curtain, brightly illuminated, stood out too clearly in the darkness surrounding it and could perfectly play the role of a ghost for an instant ... My heart still beat strongly, as if I had really experienced some kind of real danger; my hands went cold, and an unpleasant chill ran down my back. In order to prevent such a story from repeating itself, so as not to again become a toy of my own imagination, I got up, lit the candles on the desk and, covering them with a green lampshade, returned to the fireplace.
Stirring the hot coals with tongs, I sat more comfortably in my armchair and tried to think about business subjects - about promotion, about the fortune-telling opportunity to win two hundred thousand, about the cheapness of the woolen cloth that I gave Anna Efimovna for Christmas, and the like. But again I looked at the coals, and again these unbearable memories crept into my head. And where they come from, the dust knows them! for whole years they lie somewhere there, under a bushel, and then suddenly, out of nowhere, they begin to swim up ...
And vividly, just like in the picture, I imagined that Christmas evening when I first met her ... I was in a familiar family; danced, just finished a quadrille. It was already twelve o'clock ... Suddenly a call was heard. The bell trembled a little, but in the silence that followed the dancing, its faint, rattling sound was clearly heard in the room. belated guest...
A very young lady, about seventeen years old, tall, slender and with wonderful blond hair, Elena Alexandrovna Nevedova entered the hall! .. When I was introduced to this charming stranger, I shook her hand warmly, with pleasure looking at her all from head to toe. Large Blue eyes, laughing merrily, looked directly and trustingly at me. No doubt, I will always say: good, beautiful eyes. But for some reason I never could openly, intently look into those eyes. They were too childishly innocent, somehow too clear and pure... When my eyes met those blue, childishly simple-hearted eyes, it seemed to me foolishly that by some miracle they could see everything that was hidden at the bottom of my soul...
Usually not pearls and adamants are hidden in the recesses of the human soul. These hiding places are for the most part something like garbage pits, and to discover their contents before the light - to me at least - seems incomparably more shameful and shameful than to show people their bodily nakedness ...
I remember: at that moment, as I shook her hand, fresh, icy air and the smell of violets wafted over me from her dress, from her hands, from her cheeks flushed in the cold, from her luxurious blond hair ... I danced with her and then, talking , walked around the hall with her for quite a long time. She was neither overweight nor thin, just what I thought a “healthy” girl should be at her age… Tall, slender, soft women were always my type. I can still put up with a woman of full and small stature, but I can’t stand women who are slender, like skeletons, which are walking “bones and rags”. I called women like my new acquaintance “appetizing”, but I have never met girls more appetizing than Elena Alexandrovna. It is clear that I was very pleased to contemplate her beautifully developed, virginal forms, and with undisguised delight, as a gentleman, I looked at her cheeks, filled with a hot blush, a blush of youth and health. I was about thirty years old at the time, and it seemed to me that I had also pleasant impression... Nyanka Maksimovna called me “handsome” for a reason; the mirror confirmed the justice of her sentence.
Twenty years have passed since then, and even now I remember Nevedova the way I saw her that Christmas evening. She wore a simple gray dress; on her chest, on a thin gold chain, a gold cross with black enamel, studded with small diamonds, shone, her only valuable adornment (probably bought for the occasion), a blue ribbon on her head (thirty arshin kopecks, not more expensive). Of course, I soon realized that the girl was seductively beautiful, that it was very flattering to get to know her better, but, of course, this beauty was not suitable for me as a wife. The qualification did not come out ... That same evening I already found out everything about her.
Elena Alexandrovna was an orphan, the daughter of some unfortunate forty-ruble official, she lived with her mother and little brother and gave lessons, running from Torgovaya Street to Vasilyevsky Island and somewhere to Tauride Garden. It's a familiar thing... Noble poverty... An idyll in a broken pot!.. Some women in dresses with holes in them, I know, are extremely fond of being proud of their virtues. All these are old stories, worn out long ago, common phrases!
I began to meet with her often with friends and fell more and more in love. Finally, as usual, I began to talk to Nevedova about “feelings,” but, as luck would have it, that “feeling” that interested me most of all, which I most wanted to stir up in her, showed no sign of life; it was either still asleep, or remained half asleep. But according to all my assumptions, in such a fully developed, healthy girl, "feeling" should have slept in a very light, sensitive half-sleep, and it seemed to me not particularly difficult to awaken it.
Elena Alexandrovna listened, listened to my reasoning about "feelings" and suddenly one day she stunned me with a completely unexpected remark.
- What is it, Alexey Petrovich, you are all about love ... How boring it is! Can't we talk about something else! - with a touch of slight annoyance and impatience, she told me.
"A! So this is it… I thought. “It means that we should start with serious conversations with you! .. Okay.”
At that time, very many people found it necessary to talk and write about women's equality, about the common good, about civic sorrow, and the like. To be honest, I never really delved into these things: I didn’t care about them at all. What is Hecuba to me?.. Well, now I had to read this or that magazine and various "leading books". Until that time, I read only my newspaper, the government reports and the Dragonfly ... After such reading, naturally, it seemed too painful for me to take up books and magazines.
You yawn, it used to be ... devilish boredom! Another article is written in such a way that one had to read it twice in order to figure out what the matter was about, and then be able to discuss it with Elena Alexandrovna. And if you take another “good” translated book, it’s even more nauseating: you wander like a swamp, then you run into a stump, then you stumble over a bump, then you get bogged down almost up to your ears in some kind of philosophical quagmire ... But on the other hand, I achieved of her own: Elena Alexandrovna began to listen to me attentively and treat me much better ...
Sometimes in the evening I walked her home. From Nadezhdinskaya to Kolomna is not a short journey. Sometimes we went on foot, and in bad weather I sometimes took a cab halfway. Two-hryvnia and five-kopeck pieces just flew. And at that time I still didn’t have very many two-kopeck pieces and five-kopeck pieces ... But what do you want to do! Fell in love! .. Fell in love ... and I ran after my beauty, truly to say, like a March cat. The melancholy was terrible ... You talk about politics, about different public affairs, about workers' unions, about strikes, about all sorts of rubbish, but in his own mind the passion is bubbling ... Sometimes he simply went berserk. Finally, according to some signs, I began to notice that the blood began to play in the young beauty ... Sometimes, sitting alone with me, she suddenly flared up all over, her voice became softer; she often glanced furtively at me, and her glance became somehow softer, more friendly.
“... Usually it is not pearls and adamants that are hidden in the recesses of the human soul. These hiding places are for the most part something like garbage pits, and to discover their contents before the light - to me at least - seems incomparably more shameful and shameful than to show people their bodily nakedness ... "
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The following excerpt from the book In front of an extinct fire (P. V. Zasodimsky, 1891) provided by our book partner - the company LitRes.
(From the memories of one of my friends)
That evening I was decidedly out of sorts. But how! .. Christmas time in the yard, and I'm sitting at home all alone. Runny nose, cough, stuffy chest...
I opened the door from the study to the hall and, out of grief, began to pace up and down the rooms. In due time, that is, at ten o'clock, my housekeeper Anna Efimovna served me tea. And I, with my hands behind my back, continued to stagger from corner to corner. Loneliness that evening weighed heavily on me. An old bachelor on weekdays does not feel his loneliness as much as in his free holiday time. I would like to take my soul away, to talk frankly with someone. And then, as luck would have it, ill health forced me to stay at home. And even then, with whom could I talk the way I wanted? I don’t have any relatives, no friends… it’s true, there are a lot of acquaintances, perhaps more than enough… But these acquaintances, these winter partners, are not at all what I need… And even those are not at hand now… Anna Efimovna? The woman is very respectable, there are no words, accurate, accurate, and for fifteen rubles a month she superbly manages my household, and serves me faithfully, that is, she steals on trifles, in moderation. But what to talk about with her? To listen again to her story about how she lived in Tsarskoye Selo with the old general's wife Khrenova and combed her fourteen lapdogs with a comb? .. You can joke with her, talk about dinner - and only ... Without any appetite I drank a glass of tea, poured another and left with him to the office.
- Would you like to clean up? Anna Yefimovna asked a little later, showing herself at the door.
Yes, I won't drink anymore! I answered her. - Take away! And you can go to sleep...
I lit the fireplace myself, moved a round table close to it, and placed on it my glass of tea and a small faceted decanter of Jamaican rum of the original Eliseev's preparation. Then I put out the candles on the desk, rolled a chair up to the fireplace and sat comfortably in it. Methodically, without haste, I put a spoon on the glass, lowered a piece of sugar into it and poured rum over it. A bluish-pale light flickered over the glass, and I began to look at it. Soon the light began to fall, darted about, flared up once or twice and went out. Gradually sipping, I drank a hot drink ... The apartment was quiet; Anna Yefimovna had evidently already gone to bed. Having finished my glass, I put it on the table, lit a cigar, and, leaning back in my chair, began to look into the fireplace. The firewood flared up, and sometimes, when the wind blew into the chimney, there was a slight smell of burning birch bark from the fireplace. This familiar smell reminded me of my distant childhood... I used to have fun Christmas evenings.
At that time, I lived in my native Mikhaltsev with my father, mother, sister Olya and my nanny Maksimovna. A mountain was arranged for me in the garden, a Christmas tree was lit in the evenings ... Mother, apparently, loved me very much. I remember how she smoothed my blond curls, how she gently stroked my head and kissed me hard. Her kisses, I confess, I did not particularly like; I was much more willing to sneak kisses with the maid girls. My father was going to whip me more than once for pranks, but my mother always stood up for me. I once heard her say to her father in a moralizing tone:
“Please… leave, please!” After all, such a punishment can knock out any shame from a child!
Of course, I was very grateful for her intercession - but she was completely in vain lamenting for my sense of shame. This feeling has been lost. I was afraid only of physical pain, but the rods, as a shame, did not bother me in the least ...
All of them - father, mother, and sister, and nanny - have long gone to where no one comes from ... Mikhaltsevo was bought by some kind of fist, and familiar, dear lindens have long been cut down. My childhood story is overgrown with moss ...
Then I remembered how, as a high school student, in our provincial outback, I went to Christmas time with comrades disguised in familiar houses; danced, naughty, messed around. But while my comrades furtively smoked cigarettes and courted young ladies in the most innocent way, I extended my views beyond mere courtship. My friends called me "remote". Noisy and stormy student years passed. What crowded, lively gatherings we had at that time! Sometimes there is only a ruble in my pocket, and there is so much laughter, fun, bright hopes and dreams that a rich man cannot be bought for a million ... However, I never participated in comradely revelry with money. I have such a rule: do not spend money in vain ... And this early green youth has long flown away and now seems to me a dream. My curls have developed, thinned, and on the crown of my head a fair bald head shines.
Now, I can say that I am a well-to-do person. From the Tsarevokokshai railway administration I receive (with awards) about two thousand a year, and something is hidden in the bank. It seems that one could live and enjoy the blessings of this world. But there is no former appetite, no taste. Nothing particularly attracts me, does not pull me anywhere ... But is it really a “screw”. Only one uncle remained with me, and he died about ten years ago; his daughter married some engineer and left with him for Samarkand or for Samarkand - God knows her. However, I hardly remember this cousin. I only remember that her whole face seemed to be freckled. Friends, comrades of student years, all disappeared somewhere, disappeared ... That's really true - "we managed to hide so well that we couldn't find each other after." Some have reached “known levels,” others have sunk in the provinces, some have died, and two or three hotheads have ended up even in rather cold places.
However, one of my university comrades, Cheremukhin, staggered to my place for a long time and sometimes even stopped by quite often. He was a wonderful example of human nature, a phenomenon in his own way, in a word - one of the Mohicans of the sixties. He was terribly fond of philosophizing and passionately talked about the world of the whole world, about the poor and the rich, about good and evil - and his dog knows what else. He was an extremely dull and narrow-minded person. One of my acquaintances very aptly called him a "straight donkey." Cheremukhin could not understand the simplest things; he could not, for example, realize that yesterday's concepts and conversations might already be boring today, and tomorrow completely out of fashion. This wise man, who sported a summer coat in winter and wore ragged trousers in all seasons, and dreamed of covering other people's roofs when his own leaked, finally bored me to death with his banal arguments about good and evil and his eternal pestering for money. Now give him a ruble, then two, and each time almost always put vodka in front of him. It will stick like an insole and climbs with wet lips to kiss. I myself am a sober person and cannot stand drunkards ... Sometimes I will burst into tears again. “Ah, he says, my share, share! Where did you disappear to? And then suddenly, in a terrible voice, he will begin to sing: “Freedom is a proud inspiration, the people do not know you ...” Well, he just made a mess for me.
I ended up ordering Anna Efimovna not to accept this riff-raff. After that, he came to see me several times, and I heard him one day, going down the stairs, apparently extremely tired, exhausted, muttering through his teeth: “Get fat! The poor comrade does not want to know ... An official! .. ”And with some bitterness he always uttered this word! What the officials did to him, the devil knows! He was obviously angry, and every time he tugged the bell so furiously that it made me shudder, and my unfortunate nerves after that were positively upset. For the last time, leaving the door without salty slurping (the door in my apartment is always on a chain), he stopped on the landing, and I heard him shout to Anna Efimovna: “Tell your master that he is a pig! He thinks that I only go to him for money or for vodka! I don't care, he says, for his vodka! And I will return the rubles to him ... I wanted to talk to him. After all, he says, I used to love him, the beast! He was obviously very upset and agitated about something at that time - but still it was rather tactless of him to talk about me with the servants in such a tone ...
I haven't seen Cheremukhin for six or seven years now. Is he alive? Does he grovel somewhere "in the corner" and still talk about good and evil? Or maybe he has already calmed down and is now lying in one of the St. Petersburg cemeteries? At times he was a terribly unpleasant person. Well, God be with him! I don’t remember evil ... But the debt - ten - twelve rubles - he still didn’t return me ... That evening, loneliness weighed me down to such an extent that, really, it seems to me that if Cheremukhin had appeared, I would have received him and even would have been glad to him. I would, perhaps, not be averse to listening to his "cheesy" (liberal) arguments about truth and falsehood, good and evil, and all sorts of nonsense. Maybe he would ask me for a “ruble” again, and he would probably drink all the rum from me. Well, it's not a problem...
Strange! Around me is the whole world, all of humanity, and meanwhile I feel cut off from the world, completely alone, as if I live on some desert island. Yes! that's right... I live on Personal Wellbeing Island.
The birch logs in the fireplace were already burning through. I stared at the pile of red, hot coals and looked at them for so long that my eyes began to close involuntarily, and drowsiness attacked me. But I didn’t sleep, honestly I didn’t sleep ... Sometimes I even opened my eyes and saw in front of me, as if in a fog, the same pile of red coals ...
Suddenly it seemed to me that someone approached my chair from behind ... did not approach, but, cautiously, on tiptoe, quietly crept up. There was a moment when it even seemed to me that someone leaned over me, someone's breath touched my cheek, and this someone, inaudibly crept up to me, gently, slightly touching, ran his hand through my hair, as if wanting to stroke , caress me ... I could not stand it, opened my eyes and, turning abruptly in my chair, looked back. This movement cost me a lot of effort: I was terribly reluctant to look back; It was very difficult for me to turn my head. So in a dream it is sometimes difficult to move an arm or a leg, although - in the course of sleep - you clearly realize that the question of life and death depends on these movements ...
I am not a coward by nature.
But here, in front of the fireplace, on this unfortunate Christmas evening, where all my courage suddenly disappeared!.. Looking back with an effort, I saw behind the armchairs a rather tall, white, ghostly figure. And this ghost, half reproachfully, half ruefully shook its head. So at least it seemed to me for a moment. In reality, of course, there was no ghost. To sane people - like me, ghosts are not. But the matter was very simple... From the hall where the lamp was burning, the light penetrated into the office through the open door and fell on the white tulle curtain by the window. My room was immersed in semi-darkness, and that is why the white curtain, brightly illuminated, stood out too clearly in the darkness surrounding it and could perfectly play the role of a ghost for an instant ... My heart still beat strongly, as if I had really experienced some kind of real danger; my hands went cold, and an unpleasant chill ran down my back. In order to prevent such a story from repeating itself, so as not to again become a toy of my own imagination, I got up, lit the candles on the desk and, covering them with a green lampshade, returned to the fireplace.
Stirring the hot coals with tongs, I sat more comfortably in my armchair and tried to think about business subjects - about promotion, about the fortune-telling opportunity to win two hundred thousand, about the cheapness of the woolen cloth that I gave Anna Efimovna for Christmas, and the like. But again I looked at the coals, and again these unbearable memories crept into my head. And where they come from, the dust knows them! for whole years they lie somewhere there, under a bushel, and then suddenly, out of nowhere, they begin to swim up ...
And vividly, vividly, just like in the picture, I imagined that Christmas evening when I first met her... I was in one familiar family; danced, just finished a quadrille. It was already twelve o'clock ... Suddenly a call was heard. The bell trembled a little, but in the silence that followed the dancing, its faint, rattling sound was clearly heard in the room. belated guest...
A very young lady, about seventeen years old, tall, slender and with wonderful blond hair, Elena Alexandrovna Nevedova entered the hall! .. When I was introduced to this charming stranger, I shook her hand warmly, with pleasure looking at her all from head to toe. Big blue eyes, laughing merrily, looked directly and trustingly at me. No doubt, I will always say: good, beautiful eyes. But for some reason I never could openly, intently look into those eyes. They were too childishly innocent, somehow too clear and pure... When my eyes met those blue, childishly simple-hearted eyes, it seemed to me foolishly that by some miracle they could see everything that was hidden at the bottom of my soul...
Usually not pearls and adamants are hidden in the recesses of the human soul. These hiding places are for the most part something like garbage pits, and to discover their contents before the light - to me at least - seems incomparably more shameful and shameful than to show people their bodily nakedness ...
I remember: the minute I shook to her hand, fresh, chilly air and the smell of violets blew on me from her dress, from her hands, from her cheeks flushed in the cold, from her luxurious blond hair ... I danced with her and then, talking, walked with her for quite a long time around the hall. She was neither overweight nor thin, just what I thought a “healthy” girl should be at her age… Tall, slender, soft women were always my type. I can still put up with a woman of full and small stature, but I can’t stand women who are slender, like skeletons, which are walking “bones and rags”. I called women like my new acquaintance “appetizing”, but I have never met girls more appetizing than Elena Alexandrovna. It is clear that I was very pleased to contemplate her beautifully developed, virginal forms, and with undisguised delight, as a gentleman, I looked at her cheeks, filled with a hot blush, a blush of youth and health. At that time I was about thirty years old, and it seemed to me that I also made a pleasant impression on her ... Nyanka Maksimovna did not call me “handsome” for nothing; the mirror confirmed the justice of her sentence.
Twenty years have passed since then, and even now I remember Nevedova the way I saw her that Christmas evening. She wore a simple gray dress; on her chest, on a thin gold chain, a gold cross with black enamel, studded with small diamonds, shone, her only valuable adornment (probably bought for the occasion), a blue ribbon on her head (thirty arshin kopecks, not more expensive). Of course, I soon realized that the girl was seductively beautiful, that it was very flattering to get to know her better, but, of course, this beauty was not suitable for me as a wife. The qualification did not come out ... That same evening I already found out everything about her.
Elena Alexandrovna was an orphan, the daughter of some unfortunate forty-ruble official, she lived with her mother and her little brother and gave lessons, running from Torgovaya Street to Vasilyevsky Island and somewhere to the Tauride Garden. It's a familiar thing... Noble poverty... An idyll in a broken pot!.. Some women in dresses with holes in them, I know, are extremely fond of being proud of their virtues. All these are old stories, worn out long ago, common phrases!
I began to meet with her often with friends and fell more and more in love. Finally, as usual, I began to talk to Nevedova about “feelings,” but, as luck would have it, that “feeling” that interested me most of all, which I most wanted to stir up in her, showed no sign of life; it was either still asleep, or remained half asleep. But according to all my assumptions, in such a fully developed, healthy girl, "feeling" should have slept in a very light, sensitive half-sleep, and it seemed to me not particularly difficult to awaken it.
Elena Alexandrovna listened, listened to my reasoning about "feelings" and suddenly one day she stunned me with a completely unexpected remark.
- What is it, Alexey Petrovich, you are all about love ... How boring it is! Can't we talk about something else! - with a touch of slight annoyance and impatience, she told me.
"A! So this is it… I thought. “It means that we should start with serious conversations with you! .. Okay.”
At that time, very many people found it necessary to talk and write about women's equality, about the common good, about civic sorrow, and the like. To be honest, I never really delved into these things: I didn’t care about them at all. What is Hecuba to me?.. Well, now I had to read this or that magazine and various "leading books". Until that time, I read only my newspaper, the government reports and the Dragonfly ... After such reading, naturally, it seemed too painful for me to take up books and magazines.
You yawn, it used to be ... devilish boredom! Another article is written in such a way that one had to read it twice in order to figure out what the matter was about, and then be able to discuss it with Elena Alexandrovna. And if you take another “good” translated book, it’s even more nauseating: you wander like a swamp, then you run into a stump, then you stumble over a bump, then you get bogged down almost up to your ears in some kind of philosophical quagmire ... But on the other hand, I achieved of her own: Elena Alexandrovna began to listen to me attentively and treat me much better ...
Sometimes in the evening I walked her home. From Nadezhdinskaya to Kolomna is not a short journey. Sometimes we went on foot, and in bad weather I sometimes took a cab halfway. Two-hryvnia and five-kopeck pieces just flew. And at that time I still didn’t have very many two-kopeck pieces and five-kopeck pieces ... But what do you want to do! Fell in love! .. Fell in love ... and I ran after my beauty, truly to say, like a March cat. The melancholy was terrible ... You talk about politics, about various social issues, about workers' unions, about strikes, about all sorts of rubbish, but the passion itself boils ... Sometimes it just reached fury. Finally, according to some signs, I began to notice that the blood began to play in the young beauty ... Sometimes, sitting alone with me, she suddenly flared up all over, her voice became softer; she often glanced furtively at me, and her glance became somehow softer, more friendly.
End of introductory segment.
No! Future child I didn't like it at all. If I must admit, I was annoyed with him and because thanks to him Lenochka had become so ugly. Juno turned into a pregnant lady ... Of course, I still loved Lena, that is, even now she sometimes seemed attractive to me. But the child ... the child embarrassed me, and I waited for his birth, as the birth of my personal enemy. The worries about a small dowry, apparently, gave Lenochka great joy, and they irritated and enraged me. When Lenochka began to talk about some bandages, sponges, triangles, I sometimes could not stand it and cut her off.
- Oh, please leave these trifles! As if there was only talk in the world about a child! I remarked sharply to her one day.
- Yes, dear! You can't his leave naked ... - meekly objected Lenochka. - Who about German take care?.. What are you angry about? I'm not bothering you...
Suppose she did not interfere ... That's right. But on the other hand, she lost all her lessons because of “him”. Go to class at such the position of the young lady, of course, was indecent. My expenses kept increasing. And what will happen with the birth of a child? He, this expected a mysterious stranger started to panic me. "Oh my God! How will it all end!” I mentally exclaimed and felt deeply unhappy. “Parental instinct”, “voice of blood”, “an innate feeling of love for children”… Please humbly sort out this nonsense. And wonderfully, for many centuries people, like parrots, without realizing any account, repeat these sayings ...
Finally, the first of April - the day of lies and deceit par excellence - He came into being. Son!..
Against all my expectations, the birth proved to be very difficult due to the fact that the mother of eighteen was still stupid, and I, of course, could not know that some preparation was required for childbirth. According to the midwife, it turned out, for example, that Lenochka needed some kind of baths, that Lenochka should have walked more, and meanwhile she had been sitting at home almost constantly for the last two or three months. For some reason, she did not want to go out alone, and, of course, it was embarrassing for me to walk the streets with her; I was shocked by her situation, and under various plausible pretexts I refused to accompany her.
I had to call a doctor, but the operation, however, did not come to a head: Lenochka's healthy nature managed without forceps and chloroform. But I still had to run to the pharmacy, and at night I didn’t manage to fall asleep at all.
In the morning, when everything was already finished and tidied up, I went into the bedroom. Lenochka was very exhausted, but she seemed extremely sweet to me in her miserable blouse with lace and a flirtatious little cap on her flowing blond hair. She was pale, but her blue eyes shone "like stars," a poet would say. Next to her, on a pillow, lay a small red creature. Of course, they immediately pointed it out to me. I leaned over him.
His eyes, as clear as the clear sky on a May morning, seemed to look at me intently, inquisitively, as if this native from the darkness of non-existence wanted to ask: “Why did you call me to God's light? What will you give me? What are you preparing for me in life? ..” For a moment I felt somehow terrified under the gaze of those clear eyes, which had never yet lied and had not seen any worldly abomination. I even shuddered... Nerves, of course! If you worry for a day, you don’t eat enough, you don’t drink enough, you don’t sleep at night, then, of course, every trifle can bring you almost to a faint ... Then, looking at my son, I, as if in response to his silent question, said to myself: “I didn’t call you! And I did not think to call you! And I didn’t have thoughts about you when I hugged you for the first time in the dark on the landing her and told her: "I love you!" I didn’t think about you at all even when I walked with Lenochka under the branches of resinous, fragrant pines in the magical light of the moon ... In the poetry of those days and nights there was no place for thinking about you! And I spoke the absolute truth...
- Why don't you kiss him, Alyosha? Kiss! Lena said in a quiet, tired voice.
I reluctantly touched my lips lightly to his tender cheek, but suddenly his face wrinkled, his lips curled into a bitter grimace. The child cried. Probably, I pricked him with my beard or mustache ... After all, he could not, of course, understand the meaning of my cold, unfriendly look at him; he, that piece of meat, could not have known that I was not happy at all with his appearance, that without him it was much more convenient for me to enjoy life with Lenochka. "Began!" I thought, looking at the crying child. But, however, it is significant ... My kiss made my son cry for the first time ...
The mother immediately took the child, and the child was instantly comforted on her breast. With what love, with what delight Lenochka looked at him! Of course, I could not be jealous of Lenochka for this piece of meat - but still, now, looking at the mother and child, some thoughts came to my mind that were not entirely flattering for my pride ... If in our time there was some fabulous monster, if this monster demanded a human sacrifice for itself and if Lenochka were asked whom she was ready to sacrifice - her son or me? then I am not at all sure that I would not have found myself in the terrible mouth of this monster ...
- Isn't it true, Alyosha, after all He like you? - Lena asked, with a joyful, bright smile, looking at the child, clinging to her chest.
Lenochka looked at him as if she had seen in the bank table that our ticket had won at least forty thousand. I did not share her calf enthusiasm and found that the object of her enthusiasm was exactly like nothing else.
“On the contrary, I think he looks more like you!” I remarked only to say something. “He has your eyes!”
- Eyes ... yes! it's true… – lovingly looking at the child, Lena said. “But your face, and your hair is dark and curly, just like yours.”
- I heard that the hair color of the guys changes! ..
- Alyosha! We'll call him Alexander!
- As you wish, dear! I chimed in.
And indeed, it didn’t really matter to me what to call this screaming piece of meat: Alexander, Ivan or otherwise ...
Two weeks passed. During this time, our Sasha (already baptized) fell ill two or three times. I had to call a doctor, and more than one, because the first doctor, a serious young man, in Lena’s opinion, treated Sasha very inattentively, touched his tummy and “snapped his finger on the back” (her own words). But the other doctor, the old man, we really liked. In fact, he was no more attentive than the first, but more experienced and much more cunning. He praised the child.
- What a nice, healthy little boy! just lovely…” said the doctor.
Lenochka found that he was a terribly knowledgeable doctor and insisted on paying him at least three rubles...
My life finally got out of the usual rut (however, it got out even earlier, from the moment I introduced Lenochka into my “home”). After dinner I usually lay down to rest with a newspaper for an hour and a half; it is interesting to know: what the emperor Wilhelm of Germany talked about, with whom the Italian minister Crispi went on a date, how Mr. Gladstone is doing, etc. Strictly speaking, I didn’t care about them at all, but habit ... Having rested, I went for a walk, or to friends for a screw, or finally to the Maly Theater. I have always admired busts willingly (not famous people, of course, but on female busts). At night, like any well-intentioned citizen, I loved peace ... And then running after the doctors, to the pharmacy, back and forth, at night I sometimes heard a child's cry. All this, of course, terribly upset me.
Let's suppose that Lena herself was more and more busy with the child day and night, and this fuss, apparently, gave her tremendous pleasure. But sometimes she felt ill, she needed rest at night, and in such cases I had to stay awake for hours at a time. I walked around the room with the child, rocking him, - and my anger disassembled me at this unbearable, annoying creature. So, it seems, sometimes he would take him and hit his head against the wall ... But such spiritual stupefaction, of course, disappeared in a moment. It is mentioned only because you cannot erase a word from a song. I am not a bloodthirsty person, it was even disgusting for me to crush a Prussian (cockroach), and, of course, I will never give the prosecutor an opportunity to squander his eloquence on accusing me of killing a child ...
Many years ago one renowned professor in his public lectures on the anatomy and physiology of the brain, he said that there is such a tender, sensitive point in the brain that if you prick it with a pin, then death will follow instantly. interesting subject... Where is this item - I do not remember now. But he is, it is true! ..
Let the fools talk about the "innate" feeling of love for their children, about the "voice of blood" and similar nonsense. I won’t say that I was a beast, a monster of the human race, but nevertheless, I not only did not have any warm feelings for my offspring, but, on the contrary, I thought about how I could get rid of him in some plausible manner. (I repeat: not by murder. Although I am a person with weaknesses and sins, I am not capable of such villainy.)
One came out here happening… If this were not the case, then, of course, I don’t give a damn! Sasha live in my apartment ... especially since Lena solemnly, almost under an oath, promised, having recovered from her illness, to completely relieve me of her duties as a nanny and guarantee me a peaceful sleep at night, and an afternoon rest, and the opportunity to screw up at any given moment.
- Cute! He will not cry with me ... I assure you! Lisa Patrikeevna reassured me.
The fact is that about that time I flashed in the future the opportunity to arrange a very profitable business. I met a rich widow. According to rumors, she had up to sixty thousand capital, and in some black-earth outback a piece of land worth a thousand acres. The widow was appetizing in her own right—pretty plump, about thirty-five, brunette, with shiny black hair, plump crimson lips, and so on, and with money side she looked amazing tidbit. It seemed to me that she was not indifferent to me, and I decided to deal with her ...
I reasoned like this: a child is physical evidence, living evidence; he can bind me hand and foot. Without a child, it would be relatively easy for me to get along with Lena. Well, you would have to endure a few troubles, listen to a number of reproaches ... sobs, tears and groans, as generally described quite correctly in novels. But I'm also a man for this, so as not to succumb to sentimentality, which usually does not bring our brother to good. In a word, Lenochka and I would have parted without a scandal, and I could, as a legal spouse, calmly cling to my black-earth widow ... One evening, when I was already lying in bed, it occurred to me brilliant thought. The very next day I began to carry it out.
The drokhv hunters usually begin from afar to drive around the herds of these sharp-sighted, cautious birds, approaching their victims closer and closer with each circle, and finally, when the drokhvs find themselves on a rifle shot, the hunters, jumping off the drokhs or directly from the carriage, shoot the bird ...
So I started approaching my “drokhva” from afar, and by the way, by the way, with a sad look, I began to talk to Lenochka that the child would embarrass us. I am on board until four o'clock, I return home tired, "broken", "often with headache"(poetic liberty!) And help her not in power; she, with a child in her arms, of course, cannot go to lessons at a boarding school. And if she does not invest anything in the economy, then we will probably have a hard time, we will sometimes have to starve, and all this financial trouble may adversely affect "poor Sasha." It is risky to entrust a child to a cook; hire a nanny - no money. A dead loop, and a sabbath! .. And at the same time I hinted that I could take Sasha to the estate to his mother (my mother was still alive at that time and was sitting in her devastated, dilapidated Mikhaltsevo).
Lenochka did not want to hear about the separation from her son. Not my God! Not for anything in the world! .. Here she is already recovering. Sashurka will get stronger, then she will wean him from her breast, will feed him with cow's milk, and she will be able to start her lessons again.
- Yes, when will it be? I objected. And our money is running out.
- Oh, Alyosha! Just wait a little… What you really are!.. You see how Sasha is still weak, and I can’t even…” said Lenochka, looking plaintively at me and stretching her emaciated hands over the blanket. (She was on her feet for several days, then again went to bed.)
Did she really study at the expense of the people and so developed spiritually only in order to enslave herself in the nursery and in the kitchen, turn into a mother and a nanny ... And what else will come of Sasha, God knows! Do we seldom see respectable parents have children so worthless that parents regretfully have to abandon them? Parents will spend thousands on some dunce, and nothing but grief from him ... Is it really, I said, motherhood turned her into a “female” (in the worst sense of the word) and completely removed her from public interests? Can it really be that she sees nothing in the world beyond swaddling clothes and diapers? ..
Then I remembered various “books” and “articles” that my comrades once read and for which I would not have given a broken penny then ... because I was stupid. And now all these “books” and “articles” came in handy for me. I began to talk to Lenochka about the common good, about the age-old duty to the people, about serving the idea, about the fact that “our land has overflowed with abundant sorrow of the people”, et cettera et cettera. Lenochka hesitated... I knew it, I knew how to get her through. But still, she persevered. The same objection followed from her: she would get better, get to work, and from Sasha she would raise a "worthy citizen."
