Nadezhda Teffi humorous stories for children. Talent

Zoinka Milgau discovered a great talent for literature while still at the institute.

One day she's like this bright colors described in German the suffering of the Maid of Orleans, that the teacher got drunk out of excitement and could not come to class the next day.

Then followed a new triumph, which forever strengthened Zoinka’s reputation as the best institute poetess. She achieved this honor by writing a magnificent poem for the arrival of the trustee, beginning with the words:

Our hour has finally come,

And we saw your appearance among us...

When Zoinka graduated from college, her mother asked her:

What are we going to do now? A young girl must improve either in music or in drawing.

Zoinka looked at her mother in surprise and answered simply:

Why should I draw when I'm a writer?

And on the same day I sat down to write a novel.

She wrote very diligently for a whole month, but what came out was not a novel, but a story, which she herself was quite surprised at.

The theme was the most original: one young girl fell in love with one young man and married him. This thing was called "Hieroglyphs of the Sphinx".

The young girl got married on about the tenth page of a sheet of ordinary-sized writing paper, and Zoinka positively did not know what to do with her next. I thought about it for three days and wrote an epilogue:

"In the course of time Eliza had two children and was apparently happy."

Zoinka thought for another two days, then she rewrote everything completely and took it to the editor.

The editor turned out to be a poorly educated person. In the conversation it turned out that he had never even heard of Zoya’s poem about the arrival of the trustee. However, he took the manuscript and asked to come back for an answer in two weeks.

Zoinka blushed, turned pale, curtsied and returned two weeks later.

The editor looked at her confused and said:

Yes, Mrs. Milgau!

Then he went into another room and brought out Zoinkin’s manuscript. The manuscript became dirty, its corners twisted in different directions, like the ears of a lively greyhound dog, and in general it looked sad and disgraced.

The editor handed Zoinka the manuscript.

But Zoinka did not understand what was the matter.

Your thing is not suitable for our organ. Here, if you please see...

He unfolded the manuscript.

For example, at the beginning... mmm... "... the sun gilded the tops of the trees"... mmm... You see, dear young lady, our newspaper is ideological. We are currently defending the rights of Yakut women at village gatherings, so at present we literally have no need for the sun. Yes, sir!

But Zoinka still did not leave and looked at him with such defenseless trust that the editor felt a bitter taste in his mouth.

“Nevertheless, you, of course, have a talent,” he added, examining his own shoe with interest. - I even want to advise you to make some changes in your story, which will undoubtedly benefit him. Sometimes the entire future of a work depends on some trifle. So, for example, your story is literally asking to be given dramatic form. Do you understand? Form of dialogue. In general, you have a brilliant dialogue. Here, for example, mmm... “goodbye, she said” and so on. Here's my advice. Turn your thing into a drama. And don’t rush, but think seriously, artistically. Do some work.

Zoinka went home, bought a bar of chocolate for inspiration and sat down to work.

Two weeks later she was already sitting in front of the editor, and he was wiping his forehead and stuttering:

You really were in such a hurry. If you write slowly and think about it well, then the work comes out better than when you don’t think about it and write quickly. Check back in a month for an answer.

When Zoinka left, he sighed heavily and thought:

What if she gets married this month, or leaves somewhere, or just gives up all this rubbish. After all, miracles happen! After all, there is happiness!

But happiness is rare, and miracles don’t happen at all, and a month later Zoinka came for an answer.

Seeing her, the editor swayed, but immediately pulled himself together.

Your thing? No, it's a lovely thing. Just guess what - I have one brilliant piece of advice to give you. That's it, dear young lady, you set it to music without hesitating a minute. A?

Zoinka moved her lips offendedly.

Why to music? I don't understand!

How can you not understand! Put it to music, because you, such an eccentric, will turn it into an opera! Just think - opera! Then you will come to thank yourself. Find a good composer...

No, I don't want opera! - Zoinka said decisively. I'm a writer... and suddenly you write an opera. I don't want!

My darling! Well, you are your own enemy. Just imagine... suddenly your song will be sung! No, I directly refuse to understand you.

Zoinka made a goat face and answered insistently:

No and no. I don't want to. Since you yourself ordered me to remake my work into a drama, you must now publish it, because I adapted it to our taste.

Yes, I don’t argue! The thing is charming! But you didn't understand me. In fact, I advised remaking it for the theater, and not for print.

Well, then give it to the theater! - Zoinka smiled at his stupidity.

Mmm-yes, but you see, modern theater requires a special repertoire. Hamlet has already been written. There is no need for anything else. But our theater really needs a good farce. If you could...

In other words, do you want me to turn Hieroglyphs of the Sphinx into a farce? That's what they would say.

She nodded her head to him, took the manuscript and walked out with dignity.

The editor looked after her for a long time and scratched his beard with a pencil.

Well, thank God! Won't come back again. But it’s still a pity that she was so offended. If only she wouldn't commit suicide.

“Dear young lady,” he said a month later, looking at Zoinka with gentle blue eyes. - Dear young lady. You took on this matter in vain! I read your farce and, of course, remained as before as an admirer of your talent. But, unfortunately, I must tell you that such subtle and elegant farces cannot be successful with our rude public. That's why theaters only take on very, how shall I say, very indecent farces, and your piece, excuse me, is not at all piquant.

Do you need something indecent? - Zoinka inquired busily and, returning home, asked her mother:

Maman, what is considered the most indecent?

Maman thought and said that, in her opinion, the most indecent things in the world are naked people.

Zoinka creaked her pen for about ten minutes and the next day proudly handed her manuscript to the stunned editor.

Did you want something indecent? Here! I redid it.

But where? - the editor was embarrassed. - I don’t see... it seems everything is as it was...

As where? Here - in the characters.

The editor turned the page and read:

"Characters: Ivan Petrovich Zhukin, justice of the peace, 53 years old - naked.

Anna Petrovna Bek, landowner, philanthropist, 48 years old - naked.

Kuskov, the zemstvo doctor - naked.

Rykova, paramedic, in love with Zhukin, 20 years old - naked.

The police officer is naked.

Glasha, the maid - naked.

Chernov, Pyotr Gavrilych, professor, 65 years old - naked."

Now you have no excuse to reject my work,” Zoinka triumphed sarcastically. - It seems to me that this is quite indecent!

Scary tale

When I came to the Sundukovs, they were in a hurry to see someone off at the station, but they never agreed to let me go.

Exactly in an hour; or even less, we will be at home. Sit with the kids for now - you are such a rare guest that then you won’t get a drink again for three years. Sit with the kids! Coconut! Totosya! Tulle! Come here! Take your aunt.

Kokosya, Totosya and Tulya came.

Kokosya is a clean boy with a parting on his head and a starched collar.

Totosya is a clean girl with a pigtail in her front.

Tulle is a thick bubble that connects the starched collar and apron.

They greeted me decorously, sat me down on the sofa in the living room and began to occupy me.

“Dad drove us away from the fraulein,” said Kokosya.

“I sent the fraulein away,” said Totosya.

Fat Tulya sighed and whispered:

Plogal!

She was a terrible fool! - Kokosya kindly explained.

It was stupid! - Totosya supported.

Dulishcha! - the fat man sighed.

And dad bought Lianozov shares! - Kokosya continued to occupy himself. - Do you think they won’t fall?

How should I know!

Well, yes, you probably don’t have Lianozov shares, so you don’t care. And I'm terribly afraid.

Afraid! - Tulya sighed and shivered.

What are you so afraid of?

Well, how come you don’t understand? After all, we are direct heirs. If dad dies today, everything will be ours, but when the Lianozovskys fall, then, perhaps, things won’t be so bad!

Then it's not too much! - Totosya repeated.

Not too much! - Tyulya whispered.

Dear children, give up sad thoughts,” I said. Your dad is young and healthy, and nothing will happen to him. Let's have fun. Now it's Christmas time. Do you like scary fairy tales?

Yes, we don’t know - what kind of scary things are they?

If you don't know, well, I'll tell you. Want to?

Well, listen, in a certain kingdom, but not in our state, there lived a princess, a beautiful beauty. Her hands were sugar, her eyes were cornflower blue, and her hair was honey.

Frenchwoman? - Kokosya inquired busily.

Hm... perhaps not without it. Well, the princess lived and lived, and suddenly she looked: a wolf was coming...

I stopped here because I was a little scared myself.

Well, this wolf comes and tells her human voice: “Princess, oh princess, I’ll eat you!”

The princess got scared, fell at the wolf’s feet, lay there, gnawing the ground.

Let me go free, wolf.

No, he says, I won’t let you in!

Here I stopped again, remembered fat Tulya - he would get scared and fall ill.

Tulle! Aren't you very scared?

I then? Not a bit.

Kokosya and Totosya grinned contemptuously.

We, you know, are not afraid of wolves.

I was embarrassed.

Well, okay, so I'll tell you another one. Just don't get scared at night then. Well, listen! Once upon a time there lived an old queen, and this queen went for a walk in the forest. He goes, goes, goes, goes, goes, goes, suddenly, out of nowhere, a hunchbacked old woman comes out. The old woman approaches the queen and says to her in a human voice:

Hello, mother!

The queen bowed to the old woman.

“Who are you,” he says, “grandmother, that you walk through the forest and talk in a human voice?”

And the old woman suddenly laughed, her teeth creaked.

And I,” he says, “are mother, the one whom no one knows, but everyone meets.” “I,” he says, “mother, your Death!”

I took a breath because my throat was tight with fear.

She looked at the children. They sit and don't move. Only Totosya suddenly moved closer to me (yeah, the girl probably has finer nerves than these idiotic guys) and asked something.

What are you saying?

I'm asking how much does your clutch cost?

A? What? I don’t know... I don’t remember... You don’t like this fairy tale, right? Tulya, maybe you were very scared? Why are you silent?

What were you afraid of? I'm not afraid of old women.

I'm depressed. What could you come up with that would perk them up a little?

Maybe you don’t want to listen to fairy tales?

No, we really want to, please tell us, just something scary!

Well, fine, so be it. But maybe it’s not good to scare Tulya, he’s still very small.

No, nothing, please tell me.

Well, sir, so here it is! Once upon a time there lived an old count. And this count was so evil that in his old age he even grew horns.

Totosya nudged Kokosya, and both covered their mouths with their palms and giggled.

What are you doing? Well, so his horns grew, and when his teeth fell out from old age, boar tusks erupted in their place. Well, he lived and lived, shook his horns, clicked his fangs, and finally the time came for him to die. He dug it himself big grave, but not a simple one, but with an underground passage, and this underground passage led from the grave directly to the main hall, under the count's throne. And he told his children not to dare to decide any matters without him and to wait three days after his funeral. And then, he says, you’ll see what happens.

And when the count began to die, he called his two sons to him and ordered the eldest to cut out the heart of the youngest three days later and put this heart in a glass jug. And then, he says, you will see what will happen.

Then I got so scared that I even felt cold. Stupid! I made up all sorts of fears here, and then I didn’t dare walk through the dark room.

Children, what are you doing? Maybe... no more?

Is this your real chain? - asked Kokosya.

Where's the sample? - asked Totosya.

But what is it with Tulya? He closed his eyes! He's positively sick with fear!

Children! Look! Tulle! Tulle!

Yes, he fell asleep. Open your eyes, it's so impolite.

You know, dear children, I obviously can’t wait for your mother. It’s already late, it’s getting dark, and in the darkness I’ll probably be a little scared to walk after... after everything. But before we leave, I’ll tell you one more fairy tale, short, but very scary.

Listen here:

Once upon a time there were Lianozovo actions. They lived, lived, lived, lived, lived, lived, and suddenly... and fell!

Ay! What's wrong with you?

God! What's wrong with them?

The coconut is shaking like an aspen leaf. The mouth is twisted... Paralysis, or what?

Totosia is all white, her eyes are wide open, she wants to say something but cannot, only in horror she pushes away some terrible ghost with her hands.

And suddenly Tyulya’s desperate cry:

Ay! Afraid! Afraid! Ay, that's enough! Scary! Afraid! Afraid!

Something knocked. It was Totosya who fell unconscious on the carpet.

Jonah

It was already five o'clock in the morning when Alexander Ivanovich Fokin, a judicial investigator from the city of Nesladsk, ran home from the club and, as he was, without taking off his coat, galoshes and hat, flew into his wife's bedroom.

Fokin's wife was awake, holding the newspaper upside down, squinting at the flickering candle, and there was something inspired in her eyes: she was figuring out exactly how to scold her husband when he returned.

Several options came to mind. We could start like this:

You pig, you pig! Well, tell me at least once in your life frankly and honestly, aren’t you a pig?

But it’s not bad either:

Look, if you please, at your face in the mirror. Well, who do you look like?

Then wait for the response.

He will, of course, answer:

I'm not like anyone, and leave me alone.

Then it will be possible to say:

Yeah! Now I want peace! Why didn’t you want peace when you went to the club?

It's a rough start, but from there everything will go smoothly. But what's the best way to start?

When the torment of her creativity was unexpectedly interrupted by the invasion of her husband, she was completely at a loss. For three years now, that is, since he swore on his head, the happiness of his wife and the future of his children that he would not set foot in the club, he always returned from there quietly, through the back door and tiptoed into his office .

What happened to you? - she cried, looking at his cheerful, animated, almost enthusiastic face.

And two thoughts flashed in her soul, alarmingly and joyfully at once. One: “Did he really win forty thousand?” And another: “Everything will blow through tomorrow anyway!”

But the husband did not answer, sat down next to him on the bed and spoke slowly and solemnly:

Listen carefully! I'll start everything in order. Today, in the evening, you said: “Why is that gate slamming? That’s right, they forgot to lock it.” And I replied that I would lock it myself. Well, I went outside, locked the gate and, quite unexpectedly, went to the club.

What disgusting! - the wife jumped up.

But he stopped her:

Wait, wait! I know I'm a jerk and all that, but that's not the point right now. Listen further: in our city there is a certain excise Hugenberg, an elegant brunette.

Oh my God! Well, I don’t know him, or what? We've known each other for five years. Speak quickly - what a manner of pulling!

But Fokin found the story so delicious that he wanted to hold on longer.

Well, this same Hugenberg played cards. I played and, it should be noted, I won all evening. Suddenly the forester Pazukhin gets up, takes out his wallet and says:

I cry to you, Ilya Lukich, and I cry to you, Semyon Ivanovich, and I cry to Fyodor Pavlych, but I don’t cry to this gentleman because he is over-twitching. A? What's it like? This is about Hugenberg.

What are you talking about?

Understand? - the investigator triumphed. - It's moving! Well, Hugenberg, of course, jumped up, of course, all pale, everyone, of course, “ah”, “ah”. But, however, Hugenberg was found and says:

Dear Sir, if you wore a uniform, I would tear off your epaulettes, but what can I do with you?

How is it that they distort it so much? - asked the wife, shaking with joyful excitement.

This, you see, is, in fact, very simple. Hm... For example, he rents it out and takes a look. That is, no, not like that. Wait, don't knock it down. Here's how he does it: he shuffles the cards and tries to put the ace in such a way that when dealt it hits him. Understood?

Well, my dear, that’s why he’s a sharpie! However, this is very simple, I don’t know what you don’t understand. Don't we have maps?

The nanny has a deck.

Well, come quickly and bring it here, I’ll show you.

The wife brought a plump, dirty deck of cards, with gray limp corners.

That's disgusting!

It’s not disgusting, Lenka sucked it.

Well, I'm starting. Here, look: I rent it to you, myself and two others. Now let's say I want the Ace of Hearts. I look at my cards - there is no ace. I look at yours - no, either. Only these two partners remained. Then I reason logically: one of them must have the ace of hearts. According to probability theory, he is sitting right here, to the right. I'm watching. To hell with the theory of probability - there is no ace. Therefore, the ace is in this last pile. See how simple it is!

Maybe it’s simple,” the wife answered, shaking her head in disbelief, “but somehow it doesn’t look like anything.” Well, who will let you look at their cards?

Hm... perhaps you're right. Well, in that case it's even easier. When I shuffle, I take out all the trump cards and put them in for myself.

Why do you know what trump cards will be?

Hm... well...

You better go to bed, you have to get up early tomorrow.

Yes Yes. I want to go to the Bubkeviches in the morning to tell everything how it happened.

And I’ll go to the Khromovs.

No, we'll go together. You weren’t present, but I’ll tell you everything myself!

Then we’ll go to the doctor’s.

Well, of course! Let's order a cab and off we go!

Both laughed with pleasure and even, unexpectedly for themselves, kissed.

No, really, it’s not so bad to live in the world!

The next morning, Fokina found her husband already in the dining room. He sat all gray, shaggy, confused, slapped cards on the table and said:

Well, this is for you, this is for you, and now I move, and I have your ace! Damn, that's not it again!

He looked at his wife absent-mindedly and dully.

Oh, is that you, Manechka? You know, I didn’t go to bed at all. Not worth it. Wait, don't bother me. So I hand it over again: this is for you, sir, this is for you...

At the Bubkevichs he talked about the club scandal and became animated again, choking and burning. The wife sat next to me, suggested a forgotten word or gesture and also burned. Then he asked for cards and began to show how Hugenberg distorted.

This is for you, sir, this is for you... This is for you, sir, and the king for yourself too... In essence, it’s very simple... Ah, damn it! No ace, no king! Well, let's start from the beginning.

Then we went to the Khromovs. Again they talked and burned, so much so that they even knocked over the coffee pot. Then Fokin again asked for cards and began to show how they were juggling. It went again:

This is for you, sir, this is for you...

Young lady Khromova suddenly laughed and said:

Well, Alexander Ivanovich, it’s clear you’ll never be a cheater!

Fokin flushed, smiled sarcastically and immediately said goodbye.

The doctor's wife already knew the whole story, and they even knew that Fokine was unable to shudder. So they immediately started laughing.

Well, how do you cheat? Come on, show me? Ha ha ha!

Fokin became completely angry. I decided not to travel anymore, went home and locked myself in my office.

Well, this is for you... - his tired voice came from there.

At about twelve o'clock at night he called his wife:

Well, Manya, what can you say now? Look: here I am renting. Come on, tell me, where is the trump crown?

Don't know.

Here she is! Oh! Crap! Wrong. So here it is. What is this? There is only one king...

He sank all over and his eyes bulged. His wife looked at him and suddenly squealed with laughter.

Oh, I can't! Oh, how funny you are! Apparently you will never be a cheater! You'll have to give up on this career. Believe me...

She suddenly stopped short, because Fokin jumped up from his seat, all pale, shook his fists and yelled:

Shut up, fool! Get out of my room! Vile!

She ran out in horror, but it was still not enough for him. He opened the doors and shouted after her three times:

Philistine! Philistine! Philistine!

And at dawn he came to her, quiet and pitiful, sat on the edge of the bed, folded his hands:

Forgive me, Manechka! But it's so hard for me, it's so hard that I'm a failure! At least you have pity. I'm a bastard!

..................................................
Copyright: Nadezhda Teffi

Nadezhda Aleksandrovna Buchinskaya (1876-1952). Author talented humorous stories, psychological miniatures, sketches and everyday essays under a pseudonym taken from Kipling - Teffi. Younger sister of the famous poetess Mirra Lokhvitskaya. Debut on September 2, 1901 in the illustrated weekly “North” with the poem “I had a dream, crazy and beautiful...”. The first book, "Seven Lights" (1910), was a collection of poetry. 1910 marks the beginning of Teffi’s widespread fame, when, following the collection “Seven Lights,” two volumes of her “Humorous Stories” appeared at once. Collection "Unliving Beast" - 1916. In 1920, thanks to a coincidence, he found himself in émigré Paris. Last years Throughout her life, Teffi suffers severely from serious illness, loneliness, and need. On October 6, 1952, Nadezhda Aleksandrovna Teffi died. (from the preface by O. Mikhailov to Teffi’s book “Stories”, Publishing House “Khudozhestvennaya Literatura”, Moscow 1971) Teffi - " Baba's book " The young esthete, stylist, modernist and critic German Ensky was sitting in his office, looking through a woman’s book and getting angry. The woman's book was a thick novel, with love, blood, eyes and nights. “I love you!” the artist whispered passionately, grasping Lydia’s flexible figure...” “We are being pushed towards each other by some powerful force that we cannot fight against!” “My whole life has been a premonition of this meeting...” “Are you laughing at me?” “I am so full of you that everything else has lost all meaning for me.” O-oh, vulgar! - German Ensky moaned. - This is the artist who will say that! “A mighty force pushes,” and “you can’t fight,” and all other rot. But the clerk would be embarrassed to say this - the clerk from the haberdashery store, with whom this fool probably started an affair, so that he would have something to describe." "It seems to me that I have never loved anyone before..." "It's like dream..." "Crazy!... I want to snuggle!..." - Ugh! I can’t take it anymore! - And he threw the book away. - Here we are working, improving the style, form, looking for new meaning and new moods, we throw it all into the crowd: look - a whole sky of stars above you, take whichever one you want! No! They don’t see anything, they don’t want anything. But not slanderous things, at least! Don’t claim that the artist is expressing your cow thoughts! He was so upset that he could no longer stay at home. He got dressed and went to visit. Even on the way, he felt a pleasant excitement, an unconscious premonition of something bright and exciting. And when he entered the bright dining room and looked around at those gathered for tea society, he already understood what he wanted and what he was waiting for. Vikulina was here, and alone, without her husband. Under the loud cheers of the general conversation, Yensky whispered to Vikulina: “You know, how strange, I had a premonition that I would meet you.” - Yes? And how long? - For a long time. Hour ago. Or maybe all my life. Vikulina liked this. She blushed and said languidly: “I’m afraid that you’re just a Don Juan.” Yensky looked at her embarrassed eyes, at her expectant, excited face and answered sincerely and thoughtfully: “You know, now it seems to me that I have never loved anyone.” She half-closed her eyes, bent down a little towards him and waited for him to say more. And he said: - I love you! Then someone called out to him, picked him up with some phrase, and pulled him into a general conversation. And Vikulina turned away and also spoke, asked, laughed. Both became the same as everyone else here at the table, cheerful, simple - everything was in full view. German Yensky spoke intelligently, beautifully and animatedly, but inwardly he became completely silent and thought: “What was that? What was it? Why do the stars sing in my soul?" And, turning to Vikulina, he suddenly saw that she was crouched down and waiting again. Then he wanted to tell her something bright and deep, listened to her expectation, listened to his soul and whispered with inspiration and passionately: - It's like a dream... She half-closed her eyes again and smiled slightly, all warm and happy, but he suddenly became alarmed. Something strangely familiar and unpleasant, something shameful sounded for him in the words he said. "What it is? What's the matter? - he was tormented. - Or maybe I’ve already said this phrase before, a long time ago, and I said it unlovingly, insincerely, and now I’m ashamed. I don’t understand anything.” He looked at Vikulina again, but she suddenly moved away and whispered hastily: “Careful! We seem to be drawing attention to ourselves...” He also moved away and, trying to give his face a calm expression, quietly said: “Forgive me! I am so full of you that everything else has lost all meaning for me.” And again some kind of cloudy annoyance crept into his mood, and again he did not understand where it came from, why. “I love, I love and talk about my love so sincerely and simply that it cannot be either vulgar or ugly. Why am I suffering so much?" And he said to Vikulina: “I don’t know, maybe you’re laughing at me... But I don’t want to say anything. I can’t. I want to cuddle... A spasm grabbed his throat , and he fell silent. He accompanied her home, and everything was decided. Tomorrow she will come to him. They will have beautiful happiness, unheard of and unprecedented. - It’s like a dream!... She only feels a little sorry for her husband. But German Yensky pressed her to him and convinced her. “What should we do, dear,” he said, “if we are being pushed towards each other by some powerful force against which we cannot fight!” “Crazy!” she whispered. “Crazy!” he repeated. He returned home as if delirious. He walked from room to room, smiled, and the stars sang in his soul. “Tomorrow!” he whispered. “Tomorrow!” Oh, what will happen tomorrow! And because all lovers are superstitious, he mechanically he took the first book he came across from the table, opened it, pointed it with his finger and read: “She was the first to wake up and quietly asked: “Don’t you despise me, Evgeny?” “How strange! - Yensky grinned. - The answer is so clear, as if I asked fate out loud. What kind of thing is this?" And the thing was completely simple. Simply the last chapter from a woman’s book. He all at once went dark, shrank and walked away from the table on tiptoe. And the stars in his soul did not sing anything that night. Teffi - " Demonic Woman " A demonic woman differs from an ordinary woman primarily in her manner of dressing. She wears a black velvet cassock, a chain on her forehead, a bracelet on her leg, a ring with a hole “for potassium cyanide, which will certainly be sent to her next Tuesday,” a stiletto behind her collar, a rosary on her elbow and a portrait of Oscar Wilde on her left garter. She also wears ordinary items of a lady's toilet, but not in the place where they are supposed to be. So, for example, a demonic woman will allow herself to put a belt only on her head, an earring on her forehead or neck, a ring on thumb, watch on your feet. At the table, the demonic woman does not eat anything. She doesn't eat anything at all. - For what? A demonic woman can occupy a wide variety of social positions, but for the most part she is an actress. Sometimes it's just a divorced wife. But she always has some kind of secret, some kind of tear or gap that cannot be talked about, which no one knows and should not know. - For what? Her eyebrows are raised like tragic commas and her eyes are half-lowered. To the gentleman escorting her from the ball and conducting a languid conversation about aesthetic eroticism from the point of view of an erotic esthete, she suddenly says, trembling with all the feathers on her hat: “We’re going to church, my dear, we’re going to church, quickly, quickly.” , quicker. I want to pray and weep before the dawn has yet risen. The church is locked at night. The kind gentleman suggests weeping right on the porch, but the “one” has already faded away. She knows that she is cursed, that there is no salvation, and obediently bows her head, burying her nose in a fur scarf. - For what? The demonic woman always feels a desire for literature. And often secretly writes short stories and prose poems. She doesn't read them to anyone. - For what? But he casually says that famous critic Alexander Alekseevich, having mastered her manuscript at the risk of his life, read it and then cried all night and even, it seems, prayed - the latter, however, is not certain. And two writers predict a great future for her if she finally agrees to publish her works. But the public will never be able to understand them, and it will not show them to the crowd. - For what? And at night, left alone, she unlocks the desk, takes out sheets of paper carefully copied on a typewriter and spends a long time rubbing off the written words with an eraser: “Return,” “To return.” - I saw the light of the clock at five in the morning in your window. - Yes, I worked. - You are ruining yourself! Expensive! Take care of yourself for us! - For what? At a table laden with tasty things, she lowers her eyes, drawn by an irresistible force to the jellied pig. “Marya Nikolaevna,” her neighbor, a simple, non-demonic woman, with earrings in her ears and a bracelet on her hand, and not on any other place, says to the hostess, “Marya Nikolaevna, please give me some wine.” The demonic one will cover her eyes with her hand and speak hysterically: - Guilt! Guilt! Give me some wine, I'm thirsty! I will drink! I drank yesterday! I drank for three days and tomorrow... yes, and tomorrow I will drink! I want, I want, I want wine! Strictly speaking, what is so tragic about the fact that the lady drinks a little for three days in a row? But the demonic woman will be able to arrange things in such a way that the hair on everyone’s head will stand up. - He drinks. - How mysterious! - And tomorrow, she says, I’ll drink... A simple woman will start to have a snack and say: - Marya Nikolaevna, please, a piece of herring. I love onions. The demonic one will open her eyes wide and, looking into space, scream: “Herring?” Yes, yes, give me some herring, I want to eat herring, I want it, I want it. Is this an onion? Yes, yes, give me onions, give me a lot of everything, everything, herring, onions, I’m hungry, I want vulgarity, rather... more... more, look everyone... I’m eating herring! Basically, what happened? I just developed an appetite and craved something salty. And what an effect! - You heard? You heard? - Don't leave her alone tonight. - ? - And the fact that she will probably shoot herself with this same potassium cyanide that will be brought to her on Tuesday... There are unpleasant and ugly moments of life when an ordinary woman, stupidly staring at the bookcase, crumples a handkerchief in her hands and says with trembling lips: - Actually, I don’t have long... just twenty-five rubles. I hope that next week or in January... I will be able... The demonic will lie with her chest on the table, prop her chin with both hands and look straight into your soul with mysterious, half-closed eyes: Why am I looking at you? I will tell you. Listen to me, look at me... I want, - do you hear? - I want you to give it to me now, - do you hear? - now twenty-five rubles. I want this. Do you hear? - Want. So that it was you, exactly me, who gave exactly twenty-five rubles. I want! I'm a tvvvar!... Now go... go... without turning around, leave quickly, quickly... Ha-ha-ha! Hysterical laughter must shake her entire being, even both beings, hers and his. - Hurry... hurry, without turning around... leave forever, for life, for life... Ha-ha-ha! And he will be “shocked” by his being and will not even realize that she simply grabbed the quarter note from him without giving back. - You know, she was so strange today... mysterious. She told me not to turn around. - Yes. There is a sense of mystery here. - Maybe... she fell in love with me... - ! - Secret! Teffi - " About the Diary " A man always keeps a diary for posterity. “So, he thinks, after death they will find it in the papers and evaluate it.” In the diary, the man does not talk about any facts of external life. He only sets out his deep philosophical views on this or that subject. "January 5. How, in essence, does a person differ from a monkey or an animal? Is it just that he goes to work and there he has to endure all sorts of troubles..." "February 10. And our views on a woman! We are looking for there is fun and entertainment in it and, having found it, we leave it. But this is how a hippopotamus looks at a woman..." "March 12. What is beauty? No one has ever asked this question before. But, in my opinion, there is beauty is nothing more than a certain combination of lines and known colors. And ugliness is nothing more than a certain violation of known lines and known colors. But why, for the sake of a certain combination, are we ready for all sorts of madness, but for the sake of a violation we do not lift a finger? Why? is the combination more important than the violation? This is something to think about long and hard.” "April 5. What is a sense of duty? And is it this feeling that takes possession of a person when he pays a bill, or something else? Maybe after many thousands of years, when these lines fall into the eyes of some thinker, he will read them and will think about how I am his distant ancestor..." "April 6. People invented airplanes. Why? Can this stop the rotation of the earth around the sun for at least one thousandth of a second?.." ---- A man likes to read occasionally your diary. Only, of course, not the wife - the wife still won’t understand anything. He reads his diary to a club friend, a gentleman he met at the races, a bailiff who came with a request to “indicate exactly which things in this house belong to you personally.” But the diary is being written not for these connoisseurs of human art, connoisseurs of the depths of the human spirit, but for posterity. ---- A woman always writes a diary for Vladimir Petrovich or Sergei Nikolaevich. That's why everyone always writes about their appearance. "December 5th. Today I was especially interesting. Even on the street everyone flinched and turned to look at me." “January 5. Why are they all going crazy because of me? Although I am really very beautiful. Especially my eyes. They, according to Eugene’s definition, are blue, like the sky.” “February 5. This evening I undressed in front of the mirror. My golden body was so beautiful that I couldn’t stand it, went up to the mirror, reverently kissed my image right on the back of my head, where my fluffy curls curl so playfully.” "March 5. I myself know that I am mysterious. But what should I do if I am like that?" “April 5. Alexander Andreevich said that I looked like a Roman hetaera and that I would gladly send ancient Christians to the guillotine and watch them tormented by tigers. Am I really like that?” “May 5. I would like to die very, very young, no older than 46 years old. Let them say on my grave: “She did not live long.” No longer than a nightingale's song." "June 5th. V came again. He is mad, and I am cold as marble." "June 6. V. is going crazy. He speaks amazingly beautifully. He says, "Your eyes are as deep as the sea." But even the beauty of these words does not excite me. I like it, but don't care." "July 6th. I pushed him away. But I'm suffering. I became pale as marble and wide open eyes mine quietly whisper: “For what, for what.” Sergei Nikolaevich says that eyes are the mirror of the soul. He is very smart and I am afraid of him." "August 6th. Everyone finds that I have become even more beautiful. God! How will it end?" ---- A woman never shows her diary to anyone. She hides it in a closet, having first wrapped it in an old capet. And only hints at its existence to whoever needs it. Then she will even show it, only, of course, from afar, whoever needs it. Then she will let you hold it for a minute, and then, of course, don’t take it away by force! And “whoever needs it” will read it and find out how beautiful she was on April 5th and what Sergei Nikolaevich and the madman said about her beauty V. And if "whoever needs it" himself has not noticed what is needed until now, then, having read the diary, he will probably pay attention to what is needed. A woman's diary never passes on to posterity. A woman burns it as soon as it is served his purpose.

Humorous stories

...For laughter is joy, and therefore in itself is good.

Spinoza. "Ethics", part IV. Position XLV, scholium II.

Curry favor

Leshka has been numb for a long time right leg, but he did not dare change his position and listened eagerly. It was completely dark in the corridor, and through the narrow crack of the ajar door one could only see a brightly lit piece of the wall above the kitchen stove. A large dark circle topped with two horns wavered on the wall. Leshka guessed that this circle was nothing more than the shadow of his aunt’s head with the ends of the scarf sticking up.

The aunt came to visit Leshka, whom only a week ago she had designated as a “boy for room services,” and was now conducting serious negotiations with the cook who was her patron. The negotiations were of an unpleasantly alarming nature, the aunt was very worried, and the horns on the wall rose and fell steeply, as if some unprecedented beast was goring its invisible opponents.

It was assumed that Leshka washes his galoshes in the front. But, as you know, man proposes, but God disposes, and Leshka, with a rag in his hands, listened behind the door.

“I realized from the very beginning that he was a bungler,” the cook sang in a rich voice. - How many times do I tell him: if you, guy, are not a fool, stay in front of your eyes. Don’t do shitty things, but stay in front of your eyes. Because Dunyashka scrubs. But he doesn’t even listen. Just now the lady was screaming again - she didn’t interfere with the stove and closed it with a firebrand.

The horns on the wall are agitated, and the aunt moans like an Aeolian harp:

- Where can I go with him? Mavra Semyonovna! I bought him boots, without drinking or eating, I gave him five rubles. For the alteration of the jacket, the tailor, without drinking or eating, tore off six hryvnia...

“No other way than to send him home.”

- Darling! The road, no food, no food, four rubles, dear!

Leshka, forgetting all precautions, sighs outside the door. He doesn't want to go home. His father promised that he would skin him seven times, and Leshka knows from experience how unpleasant that is.

“It’s still too early to howl,” the cook sings again. “So far, no one is chasing him.” The lady only threatened... But the tenant, Pyotr Dmitrich, is very interceding. Right behind Leshka. That's enough, Marya Vasilievna says, he's not a fool, Leshka. He, he says, is a complete idiot, there’s no point in scolding him. I really stand up for Leshka.

- Well, God bless him...

“But with us, whatever the tenant says is sacred.” Because he is a well-read person, he pays carefully...

- And Dunyashka is good! – the aunt twirled her horns. - I don’t understand people like this - telling lies on a boy...

- Truly! True. Just now I tell her: “Go open the door, Dunyasha,” affectionately, as if in a kind way. So she snorts in my face: “Grit, I’m not your doorman, open the door yourself!” And I sang everything to her here. How to open doors, so you, I say, are not a doorman, but how to kiss a janitor on the stairs, so you are still a doorman...

- Lord have mercy! From these years to everything I spied. The girl is young, she should live and live. One salary, no food, no...

- Me, what? I told her straight out: how to open doors, you’re not a doorman. She, you see, is not a doorman! And how to accept gifts from a janitor, she is a doorman. Yes, lipstick for the tenant...

Trrrrr...” the electric bell crackled.

- Leshka! Leshka! - the cook shouted. - Oh, you, you failed! Dunyasha was sent away, but he didn’t even listen.

Leshka held his breath, pressed himself against the wall and stood quietly until the angry cook swam past him, angrily rattling her starched skirts.

“No, pipes,” thought Leshka, “I won’t go to the village. I’m not a stupid guy, I’ll want to, so I’ll quickly curry favor. You can’t wipe me out, I’m not like that.”

And, waiting for the cook to return, he walked with decisive steps into the rooms.

“Be, grit, before our eyes. And what kind of eyes will I be when no one is ever home?

He walked into the hallway. Hey! The coat is hanging - a tenant of the house.

He rushed to the kitchen and, snatching the poker from the dumbfounded cook, rushed back into the rooms, quickly opened the door to the tenant’s room and went to stir the stove.

The tenant was not alone. With him was a young lady, wearing a jacket and a veil. Both shuddered and straightened up when Leshka entered.

“I’m not a stupid guy,” thought Leshka, poking the burning wood with a poker. “I’ll irritate those eyes.” I’m not a parasite - I’m all in business, all in business!..”

The firewood crackled, the poker rattled, sparks flew in all directions. The lodger and the lady were tensely silent. Finally, Leshka headed towards the exit, but stopped right at the door and began to anxiously examine the wet spot on the floor, then turned his eyes to the guest’s feet and, seeing the galoshes on them, shook his head reproachfully.

“Here,” he said reproachfully, “they left it behind!” And then the hostess will scold me.

The guest flushed and looked at the tenant in confusion.

“Okay, okay, go ahead,” he calmed embarrassedly.

And Leshka left, but not for long. He found a rag and returned to wipe the floor.

He found the lodger and his guest silently bending over the table and immersed in contemplation of the tablecloth.

“Look, they were staring,” thought Leshka, “they must have noticed the spot.” They think I don't understand! Found a fool! I understand. I work like a horse!”

And, approaching the thoughtful couple, he carefully wiped the tablecloth under the tenant’s very nose.

- What are you doing? - he was scared.

- Like what? I can't live without my eye. Dunyashka, the oblique devil, only knows a dirty trick, and she’s not the doorman to keep order... The janitor on the stairs...

- Go away! Idiot!

But the young lady frightenedly grabbed the tenant’s hand and spoke in a whisper.

“He’ll understand...” Leshka heard, “the servants... gossip...”

The lady had tears of embarrassment in her eyes, and in a trembling voice she said to Leshka:

- Nothing, nothing, boy... You don’t have to close the door when you go...

The tenant grinned contemptuously and shrugged.

Leshka left, but, having reached the front hall, he remembered that the lady asked not to lock the door, and, returning, opened it.

The tenant jumped away from his lady like a bullet.

“Eccentric,” Leshka thought as he left. “It’s light in the room, but he’s scared!”

Leshka walked into the hallway, looked in the mirror, and tried on the resident’s hat. Then he walked into the dark dining room and scratched the cupboard door with his nails.

- Look, you unsalted devil! You're here all day, like a horse, working, and all she knows is locking the closet.

I decided to go stir the stove again. The door to the resident's room was closed again. Leshka was surprised, but entered.

The tenant sat calmly next to the lady, but his tie was on one side, and he looked at Leshka with such a look that he only clicked his tongue:

“What are you looking at! I myself know that I’m not a parasite, I’m not sitting idly by.”

The coals are stirred, and Leshka leaves, threatening that he will soon return to close the stove. A quiet half-moan, half-sigh was his answer.

Autumn is mushroom time.
Spring – dental.
In autumn they go to the forest to pick mushrooms.
In the spring - go to the dentist for teeth.
I don’t know why this is so, but it is true.
That is, I don’t know about teeth, but I know about mushrooms. But why every spring do you see bandaged cheeks on people who are completely unsuited to this look: cab drivers, officers, cafe singers, tram conductors, wrestlers-athletes, racing horses, tenors and infants?
Is it because, as the poet aptly put it, “the first frame is put out” and it blows from everywhere?
In any case, this is not such a trifle as it seems, and recently I became convinced of how strong impression This dental time leaves in a person and how acutely the very memory of it is experienced.
I once went to visit some good old friends for a chat. I found the whole family at the table, obviously having just had breakfast. (I used the expression “to the light” here because I long ago understood that this means simply without an invitation, and you can go “to the light” both at ten o’clock in the morning and at night, when all the lamps are turned off.)
Everyone was assembled. A mother, a married daughter, a son and his wife, a maiden daughter, a student in love, a granddaughter's friend, a high school student and a country acquaintance.
I have never seen this calm bourgeois family in such a strange state. Everyone's eyes glowed with some kind of painful excitement, their faces became blotchy.
I immediately realized that something had happened here. Otherwise, why would everyone be there, why would the son and wife, who usually came only for a minute, sit and worry.
That's right, some kind of family scandal, and I didn't bother asking.
They sat me down, quickly poured some tea on me, and all eyes turned to the owner’s son.
“Well, I’ll continue,” he said.
A brown face with a fluffy wart looked out from behind the door: it was the old nanny who was listening too.
- Well, so, he applied the forceps a second time. Hellish pain! I roar like a beluga, I kick my legs, and he pulls. In a word, everything is as it should be. Finally, you know, I pulled it out...
“I’ll tell you after you,” the young lady suddenly interrupts.
“And I would like... A few words,” says the student in love.
“Wait, we can’t do it all at once,” the mother stops.
The son waited a moment with dignity and continued:
“...He pulled it out, looked at the tooth, shuffled around and said: “Pardon, it’s not the same one again!” And he goes back into his mouth for the third tooth! No, think about it! I say: “Dear sir! If you…"
- Lord have mercy! - the nanny groans outside the door. - Just give them free rein...
“And the dentist says to me: “What are you afraid of?” - a dacha acquaintance suddenly snapped. - “There is something to be afraid of! Just before you, I removed all forty-eight teeth from one patient!” But I was not confused and said: “Excuse me, why so many? It was probably not a patient, but a cow!” Ha ha!
“It doesn’t happen to cows either,” the high school student poked his head in. – A cow is a mammal. Now I'll tell you. In our class…
- Shh! Shh! - they hissed all around. - Do not interrupt. It's your turn next.
“He was offended,” the narrator continued, “but now I think that he removed ten of the patient’s teeth, and the patient himself removed the rest!.. Ha ha!”
- Now I! - the schoolboy shouted. - Why am I always the latest?
- This is just a dental bandit! - the dacha acquaintance triumphed, pleased with his story.
“And last year I asked the dentist how long his filling would last,” the young lady became worried, “and he said: “Five years, but we don’t need our teeth to outlive us.” I say: “Am I really going to die in five years?” I was terribly surprised. And he pouted: “This question is not directly related to my specialty.”
- Just give them free rein! – the nanny behind the door gets excited.
The maid comes in, collects the dishes, but cannot leave. She stops as if spellbound, with a tray in her hands.

Turns red and pale. It’s obvious that she has a lot to tell, but she doesn’t dare.
“One of my friends pulled out his tooth. It hurt terribly! - said the student in love.
- We found something to tell! – the high school student jumped up and down. – Very interesting, I think! Now I! In our classroom...
“My brother wanted to pull a tooth,” the bonna began. - They advise him that there is a dentist living across the stairs. He went and called. Mr. Dentist himself opened the door for him. He sees that the gentleman is very handsome, so it’s not even scary to pull a tooth. He says to the gentleman: “Please, I beg you, pull out my tooth.” He says: “Well, I would love to, but I don’t have anything. Does it hurt a lot?” The brother says: “It hurts a lot; tear straight with tongs.” - “Well, maybe with tongs!” I went and looked and brought some large tongs. My brother opened his mouth, but the tongs wouldn’t fit. The brother got angry: “What kind of dentist are you,” he said, “when you don’t even have instruments?” And he was so surprised. “Yes,” he says, “I’m not a dentist at all!” I am an engineer". - “So how do you go about pulling teeth if you are an engineer?” “Yes, I am,” he says, “and I’m not interfering. You came to me yourself. I thought you knew that I am an engineer, and you were just asking for help as a human being. And I’m kind, and well...”
“And the fershal tore at me,” the nanny suddenly exclaimed with inspiration. - He was such a scoundrel! He grabbed it with a tong, and in one minute he tore it out. I didn’t even have time to breathe. “Give me,” he says, “the old woman, fifty dollars.” Turned it once and it was fifty dollars. “Nice,” I say. “I didn’t even have time to breathe!” And he answered me: “Why,” he said, “do you want me to drag you across the floor by the tooth for four hours for your fifty dollars? “You are greedy,” he says, “that’s all, and it’s quite a shame!”
- By God, it’s true! - the maid suddenly squealed, finding that the transition from the nanny to her was not too offensive for the gentlemen. - By God, all this is the absolute truth. They are flayers! My brother went to pull a tooth, and the doctor told him: “You have four roots on this tooth, all intertwined and attached to your eye. I can’t take less than three rubles for this tooth.” Where can we pay three rubles? We are poor people! So the brother thought, and said: “I don’t have that kind of money with me, but you can get me this tooth today for one and a half rubles. In a month I’ll receive a payment from the owner, then you’ll make it to the end.” But no! I didn't agree! Give him everything at once!
- Scandal! - Suddenly, a dacha acquaintance came to his senses, looking at his watch. - Three hours! I'm late for work!
- Three? My God, let’s go to Tsarskoe! – the son and his wife jumped up.
- Ah! I didn’t feed Baby! – my daughter began to fuss.
And everyone left, hot and pleasantly tired.
But I went home very unhappy. The fact is that I myself really wanted to tell a dental story. They didn’t offer it to me.
“They are sitting,” I think, “in their close, united bourgeois circle, like Arabs around a fire, telling their tales. Will they think about a stranger? Of course, I don’t really care, but I’m still a guest. It’s indelicate on their part.”
Of course I don't care. But nevertheless, I still want to tell you...
It was in a remote provincial town, where there was no mention of dentists. I had a toothache, and they referred me to a private doctor who, according to rumors, knew a thing or two about teeth.
She has arrived. The doctor was sad, lop-eared, and so thin that he could only be seen in profile.
- Tooth? It's horrible! Well, show me! I showed.
- Does it really hurt? How strange! Such a beautiful tooth! So, does that mean it hurts? Well, this is terrible! Such a tooth! Downright amazing!
He walked up to the table with a businesslike step and looked for some kind of long pin, probably from his wife’s hat.
- Open your mouth!
He quickly bent down and poked me in the tongue with a pin. Then he carefully wiped the pin and examined it as if it were a valuable tool that might be useful again and again, so as not to get damaged.
- Sorry, madam, that's all I can do for you.
I silently looked at him and felt how round my eyes had become. He raised his eyebrows sadly.
– I’m sorry, I’m not an expert! I do what I can!..
* * *
So I told you.

Dexterity of hands

On the door of a small wooden booth, where local youth danced and performed charity performances on Sundays, there was a long red poster:
“Specially passing through, at the request of the public, a session of the grandest fakir of black and white magic.
The most amazing tricks, such as burning a handkerchief in front of one’s eyes, extracting a silver ruble from the nose of the most respectable public, and so on, contrary to nature.”
A sad head looked out of the side window and sold tickets.
It had been raining since the morning. The trees of the garden around the booth became wet, swollen, and were doused with gray, fine rain obediently, without shaking themselves off.
At the very entrance a large puddle bubbled and gurgled. Only three rubles worth of tickets were sold.
It was getting dark.
The sad head sighed, disappeared, and a small, shabby gentleman of indeterminate age crawled out of the door.
Holding his coat at the collar with both hands, he raised his head and looked at the sky from all sides.
- Not a single hole! Everything is gray! In Timashev there is a burnout, in Shchigra there is a burnout, in Dmitriev there is a burnout... In Oboyan there is a burnout, in Kursk there is a burnout... And where is there not a burnout? Where, I ask, is there no burnout? I sent an honorary card to the judge, to the head, to the police officer... I sent it to everyone. I'll go refill the lamps.
He glanced at the poster and couldn’t look away.
-What else do they want? An abscess in the head or what?
By eight o'clock they began to gather.
Either no one came to the places of honor, or servants were sent. Some drunks came to the standing places and immediately began to threaten that they would demand the money back.
By half past nine it became clear that no one else would come. And those who were sitting were all cursing so loudly and definitely that it became dangerous to delay any longer.
The magician put on a long frock coat, which became wider with each tour, sighed, crossed himself, took a box with mysterious accessories and went on stage.
He stood silently for a few seconds and thought:
“The fee is four rubles, kerosene is six hryvnia - that’s nothing, but the premises are eight rubles, so that’s already something! Golovin's son has a place of honor - let him. But how will I leave and what will I eat, I’m asking you.
And why is it empty? I would flock to such a program myself.”
- Bravo! - one of the drunks yelled. The magician woke up. He lit a candle on the table and said:
– Dear audience! Let me give you a preface. What you will see here is not anything miraculous or witchcraft, which is contrary to our Orthodox religion and is even prohibited by the police. This doesn't even happen in the world. No! Far from it! What you will see here is nothing less than dexterity and dexterity of hands. I give it to you honestly that there will be no mysterious witchcraft here. Now you will see the extraordinary appearance of a hard-boiled egg in a completely empty scarf.
He rummaged in the box and took out a colorful scarf rolled into a ball. His hands were shaking slightly.
- Please see for yourself that the scarf is completely empty. Here I am shaking it out.
He shook out the handkerchief and stretched it with his hands. “In the morning, one bun for a penny and tea without sugar,” he thought. “What about tomorrow?”
“You can be sure,” he repeated, “that there is no egg here.”
The audience began to stir and whisper. Someone snorted. And suddenly one of the drunks boomed:
- You're lying! Here's an egg.
- Where? What? – the magician was confused.
- And tied it to a scarf with a string.
“On the other side,” voices shouted. - It shines through on the candle.
The embarrassed magician turned over the handkerchief. Indeed, there was an egg hanging on a string.
- Oh you! – someone spoke in a friendly manner. - If you go behind the candle, it wouldn’t be noticeable. And you climbed ahead! Yes, brother, you can’t.
The magician was pale and smiled crookedly.
“It’s true,” he said. “However, I warned you that this is not witchcraft, but purely sleight of hand.” Sorry, gentlemen...” his voice trembled and stopped.
- OK! OK!
- There’s nothing here!
- Go ahead!
– Now let’s move on to the next amazing phenomenon, which will seem even more amazing to you.

Let one of the most respectable audience lend his handkerchief.
The public was shy.
Many had already taken it out, but after looking closely, they hastened to put it in their pockets.
Then the magician approached the head's son and extended his trembling hand.
“I could, of course, use my handkerchief, since it is completely safe, but you might think that I changed something.”
Golovin’s son gave him his handkerchief, and the magician unfolded it, shook it and stretched it.
- Please make sure! A completely intact scarf. Golovin's son looked proudly at the audience.
- Now look. This scarf has become magical. So I roll it up into a tube, then I bring it to the candle and light it. Lit. The entire corner was burned off. Do you see?
The audience craned their necks.
- Right! - the drunk shouted. - It smells like burning.
“Now I’ll count to three and the scarf will be whole again.”
- Once! Two! Three!! Please take a look! He proudly and deftly straightened out his handkerchief.
- A-ah!
- A-ah! – the audience also gasped.
There was a huge burnt hole in the middle of the scarf.
- However! - Golovin’s son said and sniffled.
The magician pressed the handkerchief to his chest and suddenly began to cry.
- Gentlemen! Most respectable pu... No collection!.. Rain in the morning... didn’t eat... didn’t eat - a penny for a bun!
- But we’re nothing! God be with you! - the audience shouted.
- Damn us animals! The Lord is with you.
But the magician sobbed and wiped his nose with a magic handkerchief.
- Four rubles to collect... premises - eight rubles... oh-oh-oh-eighth... oh-oh-oh...
Some woman sobbed.
- That's enough for you! Oh my God! Turned my soul out! - they shouted all around.
A head in an oilskin hood poked its head through the door.
- What is this? Go home!
Everyone stood up anyway. We left. They sloshed through the puddles, were silent, and sighed.
“What can I tell you, brothers,” one of the drunks suddenly said clearly and loudly.
Everyone even paused.
- What can I tell you! After all, the scoundrel people have gone away. He will rip your money off you, and he will rip your soul out. A?
- Blow up! - someone hooted in the darkness.
- Exactly what to inflate. Come on! Who's with us? One, two... Well, march! People without any conscience... I also paid money that was not stolen... Well, we’ll show you! Zhzhiva.

Exam

I was given three days to prepare for the geography exam. Manichka spent two of them trying on a new corset with a real planchette. On the third day in the evening I sat down to study.
I opened the book, unfolded the map and immediately realized that I knew absolutely nothing. No rivers, no mountains, no cities, no seas, no bays, no bays, no lips, no isthmuses - absolutely nothing.
And there were many of them, and each piece was famous for something.
The Indian Sea was famous for its typhoon, Vyazma for its gingerbread, the Pampas for its forests, Llanos for its steppes, Venice for its canals, China for its respect for its ancestors.
Everything was famous!
The good sweetheart sits at home, and the thin one runs around the world - and even the Pinsk swamps were famous for fevers.
Manichka might still have time to memorize the names, but she would never be able to cope with fame.
- Lord, let your servant Mary pass the exam in geography!
And she wrote in the margins of the card: “Lord, please! Lord, please! Lord, please!”
Three times.
Then I made a wish: I’ll write “Lord, grant” twelve times, then I’ll pass the exam.
I wrote it twelve times, but as I was finishing the last word, I incriminated myself:
- Yeah! I'm glad I finished writing it to the end. No, mother! If you want to pass the exam, write twelve more times, or better yet, all twenty.
She took out a notebook, since there was little space in the margins of the map, and sat down to write. She wrote and said:
– Do you imagine that you will write twenty times and still pass the exam? No, my dear, write fifty times! Maybe then something will come of it. Fifty? I'm glad you'll get rid of it soon! A? A hundred times, and not a word less...
The pen crackles and blots.
Manichka refuses dinner and tea. She has no time. Her cheeks are burning, she is shaking all over from the hasty, feverish work.
At three o'clock in the morning, having filled two notebooks and a gag, she fell asleep over the table.

* * *
Dull and sleepy, she entered the classroom.
Everyone was already gathered and sharing their excitement with each other.
– Every minute my heart stops for half an hour! - said the first student, rolling her eyes.
There were already tickets on the table. The most inexperienced eye could instantly divide them into four types: tickets bent into a tube, a boat, corners up and corners down.
But the dark personalities from the last benches, who had concocted this cunning thing, found that everything was still not enough, and hovered around the table, straightening the tickets to make it more visible.
- Manya Kuksina! - they shouted. – What tickets have you memorized? A? Now, pay close attention: the boat is the first five numbers, and the tube is the next five, and with the corners...
But Manichka didn’t listen to the end. She thought with sadness that all this scientific technology was not created for her, who had not memorized a single ticket, and said proudly:
– It’s a shame to cheat like that! You need to study for yourself, not for grades.
The teacher came in, sat down, indifferently collected all the tickets and, carefully straightening them, shuffled them. A quiet groan passed through the class. They became agitated and swayed like rye in the wind.
- Mrs. Kuksina! Come here. Manichka took the ticket and read it. “Climate of Germany. Nature of America. Cities of North America"…
– Please, Mrs. Kuksina. What do you know about the climate in Germany?
Manichka looked at him with such a look, as if she wanted to say: “Why are you torturing animals?” - and, gasping for breath, stammered:
– The climate of Germany is famous for the fact that there is not much difference between the climate of the north and the climate of the south, because Germany, the further south, the further north...
The teacher raised one eyebrow and looked carefully at Manichka’s mouth.
- Yes, sir! He thought and added:
– You know nothing about the climate of Germany, Mrs. Kuksina. Tell us what you know about the nature of America?
Manichka, as if depressed by the teacher’s unfair attitude towards her knowledge, lowered her head and meekly answered:
– America is famous for the Pampas.
The teacher was silent, and Manichka, after waiting a minute, added barely audibly:
– And the Pampas are Llanos.
The teacher sighed noisily, as if he had woken up, and said with feeling:
- Sit down, Mrs. Kuksina.

* * *
The next exam was in history.
The cool lady warned sternly:
- Look, Kuksina! You won't be given two re-exams. Prepare well for history, otherwise you will stay for a second year! What a shame!
The whole next day Manichka was depressed. I wanted to have fun and bought ten servings of pistachio from the ice cream man, and in the evening I took castor oil against my will.
But the next day - the last before the exams - I lay on the sofa, reading Marlitt’s “The Second Wife” to rest my head, overworked by geography.
In the evening I sat down with Ilovaisky and timidly wrote ten times in a row: “Lord, grant...”
She smiled bitterly and said:
- Ten times! God really needs ten times! If only I had written a hundred and fifty times, it would have been a different matter!
At six o'clock in the morning, the aunt from the next room heard Manichka talking to herself in two tones.
One tone moaned:
- I can’t take it anymore! Ugh, I can't! Another said sarcastically:
- Yeah! Can not! You can’t write “Lord, grant” one thousand six hundred times, but pass the exam - that’s what you want! So give it to you! For this write two hundred thousand times! Nothing! Nothing!
The frightened aunt sent Manichka to bed.
- Can not be so. You also need to cram in moderation. If you get too tired, you won’t be able to answer anything tomorrow.
There is an old painting in the classroom.
Frightened whispers and excitement, and the heart of the first student, stopping every minute for three hours, and tickets walking around the table on four legs, and the teacher indifferently shuffling them.
Manichka sits and, awaiting her fate, writes on the cover of an old notebook: “Lord, grant.”
All you have to do is write exactly six hundred times, and it will hold up brilliantly!
- Mrs. Kuksina Maria!
No, I didn’t have time!
The teacher gets angry, sarcastic, asks everyone not according to their tickets, but randomly.
– What do you know about Anna Ioannovna’s wars, Mrs. Kuksina, and their consequences?
Something dawned on Manichka’s tired head:
– Anna Ioannovna’s life was fraught... Anna Ioannovna was fraught... Anna Ioannovna’s wars were fraught...
She paused, gasping, and said again, as if finally remembering what she needed:
– The consequences for Anna Ioannovna were fraught...
And she fell silent.
The teacher took the beard into his palm and pressed it to his nose.
Manichka followed this operation with all her soul, and her eyes said: “Why are you torturing animals?”
“Will you tell me now, Madame Kuksina,” the teacher asked insinuatingly, “why the Maid of Orleans was nicknamed Orleans?”
Manichka felt that this was the last question, a question entailing enormous, most “fraught consequences.” The correct answer was with him: a bicycle, promised by his aunt for moving to the next class, and eternal friendship with Liza Bekina, from whom, having failed, she will have to be separated. Lisa has already endured it and will cross over safely.
- Well, sir? – the teacher hurried, apparently burning with curiosity to hear Manichka’s answer. - Why was she nicknamed Orleans?
Manichka mentally vowed to never eat sweets or be rude. She looked at the icon, cleared her throat and answered firmly, looking the teacher straight in the eyes:
- Because she was a girl.

My first Tolstoy

I remember.
I am nine years old.
I am reading “Childhood” and “Adolescence” by Tolstoy. I read and re-read.
Everything in this book is familiar to me.
Volodya, Nikolenka, Lyubochka - they all live with me, they are all so similar to me, to my sisters and brothers. And their house in Moscow with their grandmother is our Moscow house, and when I read about the living room, sofa or classroom, I don’t even need to imagine anything - these are all our rooms.
Natalya Savvishna - I also know her well - this is our old woman Avdotya Matveevna, my grandmother’s former serf. She also has a chest with pictures pasted on the lid. Only she is not as kind as Natalya Savvishna. She's a grump. The elder brother even recited about her: “And he did not want to bless anything in all of nature.”
But still, the similarity is so great that, reading lines about Natalya Savvishna, I always clearly see the figure of Avdotya Matveevna.
All our own, all relatives.
And even the grandmother, looking inquiringly with stern eyes from under the frill of her cap, and the bottle of cologne on the table next to her chair - it’s all the same, everything is familiar.
Only the tutor St-Jerome is a stranger, and I hate him along with Nikolenka. Yes, how I hate it! Longer and stronger, it seems, than he himself, because he eventually made peace and forgave, and I continued this way all my life. “Childhood” and “Adolescence” entered my childhood and adolescence and merged with it organically, as if I had not read them, but simply lived them.
But in the history of my soul, in its first flowering, another work of Tolstoy pierced like a red arrow - “War and Peace”.

I remember.
I am thirteen years old.
Every evening, to the detriment of the assigned lessons, I read and re-read the same book - “War and Peace”.
I am in love with Prince Andrei Bolkonsky. I hate Natasha, firstly, because I am jealous, and secondly, because she cheated on him.
“You know,” I say to my sister, “Tolstoy, in my opinion, wrote about her incorrectly.” No one could like her. Judge for yourself - her braid was “thin and short”, her lips were swollen. No, in my opinion, she could not be liked at all. And he was going to marry her simply out of pity.
Then I also didn’t like why Prince Andrei squealed when he was angry. I thought that Tolstoy also wrote this incorrectly. I knew for sure that the prince did not squeal.
Every evening I read War and Peace.
Those hours were painful when I was approaching the death of Prince Andrei.
It seems to me that I always hoped a little for a miracle. She must have hoped, because every time the same despair overwhelmed me when he died.
At night, lying in bed, I saved him. I forced him to throw himself on the ground with the others when the grenade exploded. Why couldn't any soldier think of pushing him? I would have guessed, I would have pushed.
Then she sent all the best modern doctors and surgeons to him.
Every week I read how he was dying, and hoped and believed in a miracle that maybe this time he would not die.
No. Died! Died!
A living person dies once, but this one dies forever, forever.
And my heart groaned, and I could not prepare my lessons. And in the morning... You yourself know what happens in the morning to a person who has not prepared a lesson!
And finally I thought of it. I decided to go to Tolstoy and ask him to save Prince Andrei. Even if he marries him to Natasha, I’ll even go for that, even that! – if only he didn’t die!
I asked the governess if the author could change anything in an already published work. She replied that it seemed possible, that authors sometimes make corrections for a new edition.
I consulted with my sister. She said that you definitely need to go to the writer with his card and ask him to sign, otherwise he won’t talk, and in general they don’t talk to minors.
It was very creepy.
Gradually I found out where Tolstoy lived. They said different things - that he was in Khamovniki, that he had left Moscow, that he was leaving the other day.
I bought a portrait. I began to think about what I would say. I was afraid I wouldn’t cry. I hid my intention from my family - they would laugh at me.
Finally I decided. Some relatives arrived, there was a fuss in the house - the time was convenient. I told the old nanny to take me “to a friend for lessons,” and off I went.
Tolstoy was at home. The few minutes that I had to wait in the hallway were too short for me to have time to escape, and it was awkward in front of the nanny.
I remember a plump young lady walked past me, humming something. This completely confused me. He walks so easily, and even hums and is not afraid. I thought that in Tolstoy’s house everyone walked on tiptoes and spoke in whispers.
Finally - him. He was shorter than I expected. He looked at the nanny and at me. I held out the card and, pronouncing “l” instead of “r” out of fear, stammered:
- Here, they wanted to sign the photograph.
He immediately took it from my hands and went into another room.
Then I realized that I couldn’t ask for anything, I wouldn’t dare tell anything, and that I was so disgraced, I died forever in his eyes, with my “plosil” and “photography”, that only God would allow me to get out quickly.
He returned and gave the card. I curtsied.
- And what about you, old lady? - he asked the nanny.
- It’s okay, I’m with the young lady.

That's all.
In bed I remembered “plosly” and “photoglafia” and cried into my pillow.
I had a rival in the class, Yulenka Arsheva. She, too, was in love with Prince Andrei, but so passionately that the whole class knew about it. She also scolded Natasha Rostova and also did not believe that the prince was squealing.
I carefully hid my feelings and, when Arsheva began to go wild, I tried to stay away and not listen, so as not to give myself away.
And once during a literature lesson, analyzing some literary types, the teacher mentioned Prince Bolkonsky. The whole class, as one person, turned to Arsheva. She sat red-faced, smiling tensely, and her ears were so filled with blood that they were even swollen.
Their names were connected, their novel was marked by ridicule, curiosity, condemnation, interest - all that attitude with which society always reacts to every novel.
And I, alone, with my secret “illegal” feeling, alone did not smile, did not greet, and did not even dare to look at Arsheva.
In the evening I sat down to read about his death. I read it and no longer hoped or believed in a miracle.
I read it with anguish and suffering, but did not complain. She bowed her head submissively, kissed the book and closed it.
“There was life, it was used up and ended.”

Funny in the sad

During Civil War There were many funny episodes that were not recorded anywhere or by anyone.
They, of course, will not go down in history, but over time they will either be completely forgotten, or be embellished with such inventions that they will lose all truth and interest.
History will mark big faces, big facts and events. On such and such a date, he will say, such and such a city was taken by such and such a general with heavy fighting and losses. The tactics of attack, defense, surrender of the city, panic of residents, some individual cases atrocities - but the events will not convey the color, taste, “living body”. In small funny or tragic stories of ingenuous eyewitnesses, sometimes real faces of events appear, alive and warm.
I remember in the newspapers that General Shkuro with a small detachment took a village occupied by the Bolsheviks.
That's what they write.
And they talk about it like this:
In the village occupied by the Bolsheviks, rumors had been circulating for several days about the approach of General Shkuro. The population was worried, the commissars, having locked the door and curtained the windows, packed their suitcases and hastily went on a “business trip.”
And then one fine morning, with a boom, leaning over the saddle, a Cossack flew along the main street. He flew by, reined in his horse at full speed near the headman’s house and, waving his whip over his head, shouted:
- So that everything is ready! Half an hour later the general enters the village.
He shouted, turned his horse and was off. Only the dust swirled and the stones clicked.

Instantly all the streets were swept away with a broom. Not a soul. The chickens and those were removed. The shutters and doors slammed shut. They locked themselves, sat, silent. The old woman lit the Thursday candle in front of the icons.
- God bless the misfortune!
And the village authorities, stealthily, made their way along the walls, gathered together, and were discussing among themselves: how they will serve bread and salt to the general, so is it possible to use the same towel with which the Bolsheviks were greeted, or is it awkward?
We thought about it and decided that it was okay.
- For every sneeze you can't say hello.
The hooves clicked.
- He's coming! It's coming!
- What is this?
The general and his friend are traveling with an orderly. He drives slowly and speaks angrily to the orderly about something. Either he’s dissatisfied or he’s giving strict orders.
The authorities ran out, scared. The general barely looks at them. Now he’s locked himself in the room allotted to him, laid out the cards, pokes with pins, cracks with a pen - he’s fighting.
Suddenly a Cossack came down the street again. Just as shaggy, seasoned, and scary as the one who rode up first.
The general heard, opened the window and asked:
- What else?
The horse is dancing under the Cossack, the Cossack from the horse reports - so and so, the cavalry is worried, wants to enter the village.
The general frowned.
- It is forbidden! Let her stay where she was. Let her into the village - he will plunder all the goods - she is very embittered.
The Cossack galloped - only sparks from under his hooves. And the general is back for his plans.
A quarter of an hour later another Cossack was on the other side. Just as shaggy, just as scary—like the same one. Directly to the general.
- The artillery is worried. He wants to enter the village.
The general got angry. Shouts to the whole village.
- You can't let them in here! They burn down all the houses, they are so angry. Let them wait outside the forest.
Before the Cossack had time to disappear from sight, a third one was rolling in from the third direction. He’s just as shaggy, and to the frightened villagers he looks like he’s the same one, which is beyond fear.
No, not the same one. He wanders around the village, swears, hurriedly looks for the general, doesn’t know where.
— The Plastuns want to go to the village.
General yells:
- Don't dare. They will destroy the entire village, they are so angry. I order the residents to immediately hand over all the weapons they have - otherwise I can’t guarantee anything!
The residents pulled out their weapons, hurried, and crossed themselves. They put them on carts. The Cossack and the orderly took him away themselves.
Follow them important step, unhurriedly, the general went out to calm the artillery. He left, and that was it. Only the next day did the residents find out that the general had arrived with only two Cossacks, that the messenger did not seem out of fear, but was really the same, and that the general had no cavalry, no artillery, no plastuns.
And this whole story, bleached and drained of blood, was printed with the words:
“General Shkuro with a small detachment took the village occupied by the Bolsheviks.”

* * *
I also remember the story about how “the high school students trembled.”
It happened in the Caucasus.
A detachment of gymnasium students from valiant Caucasian gymnasiums was supposed to hold off the Bolsheviks until the Cossacks arrived.
The high school students held back. They fought like the Leonids of Sparta according to the behests of Ilovaisky. Famously!
Suddenly, in the heat of battle, they hear a wild whistle from somewhere on the mountain. They turned around and trembled.
From above, from the mountain, something will fall down, but you won’t be able to tell what it is. Either people on horses, or just horses without people. The pikes are at the ready, the manes are flying, the arms and legs are dangling, the stirrups are clicking... There is a horse alone, the saddle is empty, one leg is sticking out of it and the pike on the side is shaking. Hop! a leg kicked, a shaggy Cossack emerged from under the horse’s belly, and how he squealed and howled! Squealing, clanging, howling, whistling.
- Cherrrty!
The high school students trembled and scattered. Only the Spartan heels sparkled.
- What are you doing, what a disgrace! - they reproached them later. - After all, it was our Cossacks who came to your aid.
- God be with them - it’s very scary. We fought with the enemy, but could not stand up to our ally.
* * *
I still remember funny story about the “Kharkov trick”.
Shortly before the capture of Kharkov by volunteers, a new photo, so loyal that she posted announcements everywhere: “Communists get a 50 percent discount. Comrade commissars are removed with love for nothing.”
Of course, it’s flattering for everyone to be photographed for nothing, and even with love!
The commissars put on new jackets, yellow boots up to their stomachs, belts, tourniquets, revolvers, in short, everything that was required for the commissar’s aesthetics, and went to take off.
“With pleasure,” they said in the photo. - Just be kind enough to present a document stating that you are really commissars. Otherwise, you know, many people would like to act for nothing...
The commissioners, of course, showed the documents, the photographer noted the names and positions of the customers in the book and photographed them with love.
The volunteers took possession of the city unexpectedly. Few of the Bolsheviks managed to escape. The rest changed their color from red to protective and began to wait for favorable times.
Suddenly - fuck! Arrest after arrest. And all the best and best repainted!
- How did you know?
- Where from? Yes, we had our own photography here. Here - all your documents are written down, and photographs are attached. It was these portraits that were used to search for you.
The Bolsheviks were very embarrassed, however, they gave their enemies their due.
- Cleverly! Even we haven’t thought of this yet.
We are going through a difficult and scary time. But life, life itself still laughs as much as it cries.
What does she care?

Curry favor

Leshka’s right leg had been numb for a long time, but he did not dare change his position and listened eagerly. It was completely dark in the corridor, and through the narrow crack of the ajar door one could only see a brightly lit piece of the wall above the kitchen stove. A large dark circle topped with two horns wavered on the wall. Leshka guessed that this circle was nothing more than the shadow of his aunt’s head with the ends of the scarf sticking up.
The aunt came to visit Leshka, whom only a week ago she had designated as a “boy for room services,” and was now conducting serious negotiations with the cook who was her patron. The negotiations were of an unpleasantly alarming nature, the aunt was very worried, and the horns on the wall rose and fell steeply, as if some unprecedented beast was goring its invisible opponents.
The conversation was carried on in a full voice, but in pathetic places it dropped to a whisper, loud and whistling.
It was assumed that Leshka washes his galoshes in the front. But, as you know, man proposes, but God disposes, and Leshka, with a rag in his hands, listened behind the door.
“I realized from the very beginning that he was a bungler,” the cook sang in a rich voice. - How many times do I tell him: if you, guy, are not a fool, stay in front of your eyes. Don’t do shitty things, but stay in front of your eyes. Because Dunyashka scrubs. But he doesn’t even listen. Just now the lady was screaming again - she didn’t interfere with the stove and closed it with a firebrand.

The horns on the wall are agitated, and the aunt moans like an Aeolian harp:
- Where can I go with him? Mavra Semyonovna! I bought him boots, without drinking or eating, I gave him five rubles. For the alteration of the jacket, the tailor, without drinking or eating, tore off six hryvnia...
“No other way than to send him home.”
- Darling! The road, no food, no food, four rubles, dear!
Leshka, forgetting all precautions, sighs outside the door. He doesn't want to go home. His father promised that he would skin him seven times, and Leshka knows from experience how unpleasant that is.
“It’s still too early to howl,” the cook sings again. “So far, no one is chasing him.” The lady only threatened... But the tenant, Pyotr Dmitrich, is very interceding. Right behind Leshka. That's enough, Marya Vasilievna says, he's not a fool, Leshka. He, he says, is a complete idiot, there’s no point in scolding him. I really stand up for Leshka.
- Well, God bless him...
“But with us, whatever the tenant says is sacred.” Because he is a well-read person, he pays carefully...
- And Dunyashka is good! – the aunt twirled her horns. - I don’t understand people like this - telling lies on a boy...
- Truly! True. Just now I tell her: “Go open the door, Dunyasha,” affectionately, as if in a kind way. So she snorts in my face: “Grit, I’m not your doorman, open the door yourself!” And I sang everything to her here. How to open doors, so you, I say, are not a doorman, but how to kiss a janitor on the stairs, so you are still a doorman...
- Lord have mercy! From these years to everything I spied. The girl is young, she should live and live. One salary, no food, no...
- Me, what? I told her straight out: how to open doors, you’re not a doorman. She, you see, is not a doorman! And how to accept gifts from a janitor, she is a doorman. Yes, lipstick for the tenant...
Trrrrr...” the electric bell crackled.
- Leshka! Leshka! - the cook shouted. - Oh, you, you failed! Dunyasha was sent away, but he didn’t even listen.
Leshka held his breath, pressed himself against the wall and stood quietly until the angry cook swam past him, angrily rattling her starched skirts.
“No, pipes,” thought Leshka, “I won’t go to the village. I’m not a stupid guy, I’ll want to, so I’ll quickly curry favor. You can’t wipe me out, I’m not like that.”
And, waiting for the cook to return, he walked with decisive steps into the rooms.
“Be, grit, before our eyes. And what kind of eyes will I be when no one is ever home?
He walked into the hallway. Hey! The coat is hanging - a tenant of the house.
He rushed to the kitchen and, snatching the poker from the dumbfounded cook, rushed back into the rooms, quickly opened the door to the tenant’s room and went to stir the stove.
The tenant was not alone. With him was a young lady, wearing a jacket and a veil. Both shuddered and straightened up when Leshka entered.
“I’m not a stupid guy,” thought Leshka, poking the burning wood with a poker. “I’ll irritate those eyes.” I’m not a parasite - I’m all in business, all in business!..”
The firewood crackled, the poker rattled, sparks flew in all directions. The lodger and the lady were tensely silent. Finally, Leshka headed towards the exit, but stopped right at the door and began to anxiously examine the wet spot on the floor, then turned his eyes to the guest’s feet and, seeing the galoshes on them, shook his head reproachfully.
“Here,” he said reproachfully, “they left it behind!” And then the hostess will scold me.
The guest flushed and looked at the tenant in confusion.
“Okay, okay, go ahead,” he calmed embarrassedly.
And Leshka left, but not for long. He found a rag and returned to wipe the floor.
He found the lodger and his guest silently bending over the table and immersed in contemplation of the tablecloth.
“Look, they were staring,” thought Leshka, “they must have noticed the spot.” They think I don't understand! Found a fool! I understand. I work like a horse!”
And, approaching the thoughtful couple, he carefully wiped the tablecloth under the tenant’s very nose.
- What are you doing? - he was scared.
- Like what? I can't live without my eye. Dunyashka, the oblique devil, only knows a dirty trick, and she’s not the doorman to keep order... The janitor on the stairs...
- Go away! Idiot!
But the young lady frightenedly grabbed the tenant’s hand and spoke in a whisper.
“He’ll understand...” Leshka heard, “the servants... gossip...”
The lady had tears of embarrassment in her eyes, and in a trembling voice she said to Leshka:
- Nothing, nothing, boy... You don’t have to close the door when you go...
The tenant grinned contemptuously and shrugged.
Leshka left, but, having reached the front hall, he remembered that the lady asked not to lock the door, and, returning, opened it.
The tenant jumped away from his lady like a bullet.
“Eccentric,” Leshka thought as he left. “It’s light in the room, but he’s scared!”
Leshka walked into the hallway, looked in the mirror, and tried on the resident’s hat. Then he walked into the dark dining room and scratched the cupboard door with his nails.
- Look, you unsalted devil! You're here all day, like a horse, working, and all she knows is locking the closet.
I decided to go stir the stove again. The door to the resident's room was closed again. Leshka was surprised, but entered.

The tenant sat calmly next to the lady, but his tie was on one side, and he looked at Leshka with such a look that he only clicked his tongue:
“What are you looking at! I myself know that I’m not a parasite, I’m not sitting idly by.”
The coals are stirred, and Leshka leaves, threatening that he will soon return to close the stove. A quiet half-moan, half-sigh was his answer.
Leshka went and felt sad: he couldn’t think of any more work. I looked into the lady's bedroom. It was quiet there. The lamp glowed in front of the image. It smelled like perfume. Leshka climbed onto a chair, looked at the faceted pink lamp for a long time, crossed himself earnestly, then dipped his finger into it and oiled his hair above his forehead. Then he went to the dressing table and sniffed all the bottles in turn.
- Eh, what’s wrong! No matter how much you work, if you don’t see them, they don’t count as anything. At least break your forehead.
He wandered sadly into the hallway. In the dimly lit living room, something squeaked under his feet, then the bottom of the curtain swayed, followed by another...
"Cat! – he realized. - Look, look, back to the tenant’s room, again the lady will get mad, like the other day. You’re being naughty!..”
Joyful and animated, he ran into the treasured room.
- I am the damned one! I'll show you to hang around! I’ll turn your face right on its tail!..
The occupant had no face.
“Are you crazy, you unfortunate idiot!” - he shouted. -Who are you scolding?
“Hey, you vile one, just give him some slack, you’ll never survive,” Leshka tried. “You can’t let her into your room!” She's nothing but a scandal!..
The lady with trembling hands straightened her hat, which had slipped onto the back of her head.
“He’s kind of crazy, this boy,” she whispered in fear and embarrassment.
- Shoot, damn it! - and Leshka finally, to everyone’s reassurance, dragged the cat out from under the sofa.
“Lord,” the tenant prayed, “will you finally leave here?”
- Look, damn it, it’s scratching! It cannot be kept in rooms. Yesterday she was in the living room under the curtain...
And Leshka, at length and in detail, without hiding a single detail, without sparing fire and color, described to the amazed listeners all the dishonest behavior of the terrible cat.
His story was listened to in silence. The lady bent down and kept looking for something under the table, and the tenant, somehow strangely pressing Leshka’s shoulder, pushed the narrator out of the room and closed the door.
“I’m a smart guy,” Leshka whispered, letting the cat out onto the back stairs. - Smart and hard worker. I'll go close the stove now.
This time the tenant did not hear Leshkin’s steps: he stood in front of the lady on his knees and, bowing his head low and low to her legs, froze, without moving. And the lady closed her eyes and shrank her whole face, as if she was looking at the sun...
"What is he doing there? – Leshka was surprised. “Like he’s chewing a button on her shoe!” No... apparently he dropped something. I'll go look..."
He approached and bent down so quickly that the tenant, who had suddenly perked up, hit him painfully with his forehead right on the eyebrow.
The lady jumped up all confused. Leshka reached under the chair, searched under the table and stood up, spreading his arms.
– There’s nothing there.
- What are you looking for? What do you finally want from us? - the tenant shouted in an unnaturally thin voice and blushed all over.
“I thought they dropped something... It’ll disappear again, like the brooch of that little dark lady who comes to you for tea... The day before yesterday, when I left, I, Lyosha, lost my brooch,” he turned directly to the lady , who suddenly began to listen to him very carefully, even opened her mouth, and her eyes became completely round.
- Well, I went behind the screen on the table and found it. And yesterday I forgot my brooch again, but it wasn’t I who put it away, but Dunyashka, so that means the end of the brooch...
- So it's true! – the lady suddenly cried out in a strange voice and grabbed the tenant by the sleeve. - So it's true! Truth!
“By God, it’s true,” Leshka reassured her. - Dunyashka stole it, damn it. If it weren't for me, she would have stolen everything. I clean everything up like a horse... by God, like a dog...
But they didn’t listen to him. The lady quickly ran into the hallway, the tenant behind her, and both disappeared behind the front door.
Leshka went to the kitchen, where, going to bed in an old trunk without a top, he said to the cook with a mysterious look:
- Tomorrow the slash is closed.
- Well! – she was joyfully surprised. - What did they say?
- Since I’m talking, it’s become, I know.
The next day Leshka was kicked out.

Repentant

The old nanny, living in retirement with the general's family, came from confession.
I sat in my corner for a minute and was offended: the gentlemen were having dinner, there was a smell of something tasty, and I could hear the quick clatter of the maid serving the table.
- Ugh! Passionate is not Passionate, they don’t care. Just to feed your womb. You will sin unwillingly, God forgive me!
She got out, chewed, thought and went into the passage room. She sat down on the chest.
A maid passed by and was surprised.
- Why are you, nanny, sitting here? Exactly a doll! By God - exactly a doll!
- Think about what you are saying! – the nanny snapped. - Such days, and she swears. Is it appropriate to swear on such days? The man was at confession, but looking at you, you’ll have time to get dirty before communion.
The maid was scared.
- It's my fault, nanny! Congratulations on your confession.
- "Congratulations!" Nowadays they really congratulate! Nowadays they strive to offend and reproach a person. Just now their liqueur spilled. Who knows what she spilled. You won’t be smarter than God either. And the little lady says: “It’s probably the nanny who spilled it!” From such a age and such words.
– It’s even amazing, nanny! They are so small and already know everything!
- These children, mother, are worse than obstetricians! That's what they are, children of today. Me, what! I don't judge. I was there at confession, now I won’t take a sip of poppy dew until tomorrow, let alone... And you say – congratulations. There's an old lady fasting in the fourth week; I say to Sonechka: “Congratulate the little woman.” And she snorts: “Here you go!” very necessary!" And I say: “You have to respect the little woman!” The old woman will die and may be deprived of her inheritance.” Yes, if only I had some kind of woman, I would find something to congratulate every day. Good morning, grandma! Yes with good weather! Yes, happy holiday! Yes, happy birthday! Have a happy bite! Me, what! I don't judge. I’m going to take communion tomorrow, all I’m saying is that it’s not good and quite shameful.
- You should rest, nanny! - the maid fawned.
“I’ll stretch my legs and lie down in a coffin.” I'm taking a rest. There will be time for you to rejoice. They would have disappeared from the world long ago, but I won’t give myself to you. The young bone crunches on the teeth, and the old bone gets stuck in the throat. You won't eat it.
- And what are you, nanny! And everyone is just looking at you, as if to respect you.
- No, don’t tell me about respecters. You have respect, but no one respected me even from a young age, so in my old age it’s too late for me to be ashamed. Better than the coachman over there, go and ask where he took the lady the other day... That’s what you ask.
- Oh, what are you talking about, nanny! – the maid whispered and even squatted down in front of the old woman. -Where did he take it? I, by golly, don’t tell anyone...
- Don’t be afraid. It's a sin to swear! For godlessness, you know how God will punish you! And he took me to a place where they show men moving. They move and sing. They spread out a sheet, and they move around on it. The little lady told me. You see, it’s not enough on her own, so she took the girl too. I would have found out myself, taken a good twig and driven it along Zakharyevskaya! There's just no one to tell. Do the people of today understand the lies? Nowadays, everyone only cares about themselves. Ugh! Whatever you remember, you will sin! Lord forgive me!
“The master is a busy man, of course, it’s hard for him to see everything,” the maid sang, modestly lowering her eyes. - They are pretty people.
- I know your master! I've known it since childhood! If I didn’t have to go to communion tomorrow, I would tell you about your master! Been like this since childhood! People are going to mass - ours has not yet recovered. People from the church are coming - ours is drinking tea and coffee. And I just can’t imagine how the Holy Mother, a lazy, free spirit, managed to reach the level of a general! I really think: he stole this rank for himself! Wherever he is, he stole it! There’s just no one to try! And I’ve been realizing for a long time that I stole it. They think: the nanny is an old fool, so with her everything is possible! Stupid, maybe even stupid. But not everyone can be smart, someone needs to be stupid.
The maid looked back at the door in fear.
- Our business, nanny, is official. God be with him! Let go! It's not for us to sort it out. Will you go to church early in the morning?
“I might not go to bed at all.” I want to come to church before everyone else. So that all sorts of rubbish does not get ahead of people.

Every cricket knows its nest.
- Who is it that’s climbing?
- Yes, the old lady is alone here. Chilling, in which the soul is held. God forgive me, the scoundrel will come to the church before everyone else, and he will leave later than everyone else. One day he will outlast everyone. And I would like to sit down for a minute! All of us old women are surprised. No matter how hard you try, while the clock reads, you will sit down a little. And this vitriol is nothing other than on purpose. Is it enough to just survive! One old woman almost burned her handkerchief with a candle. And it’s a pity that it didn’t burn. Don't stare! Why stare! Is it indicated to stare? Tomorrow I’ll come before everyone else and stop it, so I’ll probably reduce the momentum. I can't see her! I’m on my knees today, and I keep looking at her. You're a viper, I think you're a viper! May your water bubble burst! It’s a sin, but there’s nothing you can do about it.
“It’s okay, nanny, now that you’ve confessed, you’ve forgiven your priest’s ass all his sins.” Now your darling is pure and innocent.
- Yes, the hell with it! Let go! This is a sin, but I must say: this priest confessed me poorly. When I went to the monastery with my aunt and princess, I can say that I confessed. He tortured me, tortured me, reproached me, reproached me, imposed three penances! I asked everything. He asked if the princess was thinking of renting out the meadows. Well, I repented and said that I don’t know. And this one is alive soon. Why am I sinful? Well, I say, father, what are my sins. The oldest women. I love Kofiy and quarrel with the servants. “Aren’t there any special ones,” he says? What are the special ones? Each person has his own special sin. That's what. And instead of trying and shaming him, he took a vacation and read it. That's all for you! I suppose he took the money. I suppose he didn’t give change because I didn’t have much! Ugh, God forgive me! If you remember, you will sin! Save and have mercy. Why are you sitting here? It would be better if I walked and thought: “How can I live like this and everything is not good?” Girl you are young! There's a crow's nest on her head! Have you thought about what days it is? On such days, let yourself be allowed to do so. And there is no way around you, shameless ones! Having confessed, I came, let me - I thought - I’ll sit quietly. Tomorrow I have to go and take communion. No. And then I got there. She came and said all sorts of nasty things, worse than anything. Damn washcloth, God forgive me. Look, I went with such force! Not long, mother! I know everything! Give it time, I’ll drink everything to the lady! - Go and rest. God forgive me, someone else will get attached!

Insider

Fyodor Ivanovich received a reprimand at work and returned home in a very bad mood. To relieve his soul, he began to hire a cab driver from Gostiny Dvor to the Petrograd side for fifteen kopecks.
The driver answered briefly but forcefully. An interesting conversation ensued, all of different wishes. Suddenly someone tugged Fyodor Ivanovich by the sleeve. He turned around.
In front of him stood an unfamiliar thin brunette with a gloomily animated face, like that of a man who has just lost his wallet, and said quickly but monotonously:
- And we are already here! Did I really want to go here? Well, what can I do when she dragged me in? For a lousy five hundred rubles, for a person to be led around like a sheep on a rope, I’ll tell you, you have to have desperation in your voice!
Fyodor Ivanovich first became angry, then surprised.
"Who it? Why are you climbing?”
“Sorry, dear sir,” he said, “I don’t have the honor...
But the stranger did not let me finish.
- Well, I already know what you will say! So I’ll tell you straight out that I couldn’t stay with you because you didn’t leave me your address. Well, who should I ask? Samuelson's? So Samuelson will say that he has never seen you.
“I don’t know any Samuelson,” answered Fyodor Ivanovich. - And I ask you...
- Well, since you want him to tell me your address when you are even strangers. And Mankina bought a carpet, so they already imagine it... Well, what is a carpet? I'm asking you!
“Please, dear sir,” Fyodor Ivanovich bothered to insert, “leave me alone!”
The stranger looked at him, sighed and spoke as quickly and monotonously as before:
- Well, I have to tell you that I got married. She has such a face, like all Shavli! They said about her that her eye was made of glass, so this, it should be noted, is true. They said that it has a crooked side, so that’s also true. They also said that character... So this is so true! You say, when did he get married? So I'll tell you that it's been a long time. Let me count: September... October... um... November... yes, November. So I've been married for five days now. I suffered there for two days, and on the road for two days... And who is to blame? So you will be surprised! Soloveitchik!
Fyodor Ivanovich really seemed surprised. The narrator was triumphant.
- Nightingale! Abramson told me: “Why don’t you buy yourself a pharmacy? So you buy a pharmacy.” Well, who doesn't want to have a pharmacy? I'm asking you. Show me the fool! And Soloveitchik says: “Let’s go to Madame Tselkovnik, she has a daughter, so it’s a daughter! Has a dowry of three thousand. You will have money for a pharmacy." I was so happy... well, I thought to myself, let it be there, if everything was already bad, it could be a little more! I went to Mogilev, shot at a large pharmacy... What are you looking at? Well, he didn’t really shoot, he only aimed for himself. I've had my eye on it. But Madame Tselkovnik doesn’t give money and hides her daughter. She gave herself a lousy five hundred rubles as a deposit. I took. Who won't take a deposit? I'm asking you! Show me the fool. And Shelkin took me to the Khasins, they have five thousand in real money for their daughter. The Khasins are throwing a ball, there are a lot of guests... they dance so intelligently. And Soloveitchik jumps the highest. I think to myself: I’d rather take five thousand and shoot at Karfunkel’s pharmacy right across the square. Well, Soloveitchik says: “Money? Do the Khasins have money? Let me not have money like they do!” You will tell me why I believed Soloveitchik? Oh! You should know that he has two shops and a loan; it's not you and me. Noble!! Well, to put it bluntly, he did marry Madmazel Khasina, and I married Tselkovnik. So she also ordered that she be taken to Petrograd at my expense! Did you see this? By God, this is such a face that I just can’t forget it! I was walking along Bolshoy Bolshoy now, I wanted to shoot at the pharmacy. Well, what is there! I met you, it’s so nice that I’m one of my own.
- Yes, allow me, finally! - Fyodor Ivanovich roared. - After all, we don’t know each other!
Soloveitchik's victim raised his eyebrows in surprise.
- We? We don't know each other? Well, you surprise me to death! Let me! Did you go to Shavli the summer before last? Yeah! Let's go! Did you go with Mr. Land Surveyor to look at the forest? Yeah! So I’ll tell you that you went to the watchmaker Magaziner, and near the door one gentleman warned you that Magaziner had gone to eat. Well, that same gentleman was me, eh! Well?

In stereo-photo-cinema-matoscope-bio-phono and so on. – graph

– Please, Mr. Explainer, don’t mix up the coils again like that time.
- What happened that time? I do not understand.
- And the fact that the screen depicted Wilhelm and the descent of the battleship, and you were lying out of natural history about some kind of butterfly pollen. There could be big troubles, not to mention the fact that I don’t want to pay money for nothing. You are an excellent speaker, I don’t argue, and you know your business superbly, but sometimes you need to look at the screen.
– I can’t turn my back to the public. It’s the idiot driver who’s confusing it, so tell him.
– You can squint your eyes so that you can see. In short, be careful. Its time to begin.
Ddzz...” the lantern hissed. The explainer cleared his throat and, standing with his back to the screen, held his inspired face directly up to the light.
- Dear sirs and dear madams! - he began. – Before you is the most venerable river in North America, the so-called Amazon, due to the passion of the beautiful ladies there for horse riding. The Amazon rolls its majestic waves day and night, forming waterfalls, headwaters and tributaries, under the splash of which various events take place. Bushes, trees, sand and other varieties of nature border its picturesque shores.
Now one moment... And now we are present at the gloomy ruins of the Colosseum. Horror grips the limbs and rivets the attention. Here the powerful tyrant demonstrated his cruelty. (Hm... change, or something, it’s not a century!..) Well, now, as if by the wave of a magic wand, we are transported to marvelous Greece and stop in front of the statue of St. Cypris, which has been striking for many centuries with the grace of its posture. (Well?) And here is the most venerable city of Venice, whose beauty exceeds the play of the most experienced consideration.
Dzzz...
Here are the excavations of Pompeii. The corpse of a dog and two lovers, whose pose proves to the amazed spectators that our ancestors knew how to love just like our descendants.
Dzzz... (Huh? Leave me alone! I know it myself.)
Now let's make a temporary digression into the field of natural history. Here is a picture that can be observed with the help of a miracle microscope, the pride of the twentieth century. He shows the smallest anatomists invisible to the eye, a flea the size of an elephant and an infusoria in a piece of cheese. There is a lot that is inexplicable in nature, and people, without knowing it, carry entire worlds under the nail of any of their fingers.
Now let's look at Vesuvius: what could be more majestic than this erupting picture of nature... (What? What do I care! It's my own fault. It's not my fault. Put the next one! Oh, damn!) Before you, dear sirs, is a rare specimen of viviparous fish. Nature in its generous diversity... (Why Vesuvius, when I started talking about fish? Just keep one thing. Get better! I'll get better for you!) Smoke pours out of a grandiose vent in the form of a funnel and is picturesquely outlined against the azure blue of the southern sky. One more wave of the magic wand (how long will it take you to dig?) ... and here we are on the shores of Naples, the most wonderful city in the world. The proverb is a thousand times right (don’t interrupt!), saying: “He who has not drunk water from Naples has not drunk anything.” (What? A fossil? Who told you to! Change the coil, damn you!..) The surroundings of this respected city are also beautiful. Here before us is Pygmalion, brought to life with the help of his inspiration (Like a pig? Why a pig? You always climb into the wrong box! Put it aside!) um... wondrous marble sculpture, which he personally carved (Again! I told you, put it aside! You think that if you show a pig with its tail first, it will already be Pygmalion) from the finest marble. There are many wonders of nature, but this does not make the wonders of art any worse.
Dzzz...

And here is the second example of the wondrous creativity of unknown hands - the Venus de Milo, venerable by all. Having counted her beauty among the gods, she, nevertheless, reveals modesty (as I said... Why correct! It needs to be directly removed and put aside. You can’t have a pig when I’m talking about another reel!), which shows the modesty inherent to the ancient Greeks, even on the highest steps of the public staircase... (and you are your own! This is just some kind of cross on my life!) stairs. And here’s one more moment... from this group of unknown chisel we are thrown into the vast steppe of our great and formidable father... (if you want to show your pig twelve times in a row, then it’s better to have an intermission, because the public can demand the money back. Everyone paid and has the right to demand. I'm telling you, you better turn off the lamp. What? Mr. Director will figure it out - who!). And now, dear sirs and dear madams, let us take a break for ten minutes, after which we will again embark on our distant wanderings around the world, which so develop the mental abilities and spiritual properties of our nature, despite the fact that we accomplish them while sitting on comfortable chairs. (You idiot! You, you idiot!) So, goodbye on the island of Celebes among the local customs and amazing surroundings.

Resort

The season is dying.
Summer residents are leaving, baths and swimming pools are closing.
In Kurhaus there is talk about railway, about ships, about the imminent departure.
Ladies go shopping, buy souvenirs: wooden painted vases, Finnish knives and aprons.
– How much does “Mitya Maxa” cost? - the lady asks the snub-nosed, white-eyed shopkeeper.
“Colma mark,” he answers.
- Colma... um... how much is this for Colma? – the lady asks her companion.
- Three... three, I think.
- How much for our money?
- Three times thirty-seven... um... three times three is nine, and three times seven... doesn’t multiply...
“Life in Finland is tiring,” the first one complains. - All day long you just walk and change from mark to ruble, from meter to arshin, from kilometer to mile, and from kilogram to pood. My head is spinning. I suffered all summer, but if you ask, I still don’t know how many arshins, that is, marks, are in a kilogram.
//— * * * —//
The young pharmacist's assistant feels the withering of life the hardest of all.
Every Thursday he danced in the Kursaal with mad Hungarian women with young rheumatic women taking mud baths.
Every morning he ran to the pier and bought himself a fresh flower for his buttonhole.
The flowers were brought by the surrounding fishermen directly on boats, along with the fish, and these gifts of nature kindly exchanged scents along the way. Therefore, in the Kurhaus restaurant they often served pike, which smelled like left-handed salmon, and the pink carnation on the pharmacist’s chest smelled like herring.
Oh, unforgettable dance evenings to the sounds of the city orchestra: violin, trumpet and drum!
Along the walls, on benches and chairs, sit mothers, aunties who have already lost the courage to show their grace in public, and younger sisters who have not yet dared.
There is a dance schedule on the wall.
The trumpet began to hum, the violin squealed, and the drum beat.
- This seems to be Polish? - one of the sitting mothers guesses.
- Oh no, mommy, square dance! “New square dance,” says my sister.
“Don’t swing your legs and don’t twitch your nose,” the auntie intervenes. - This is not a quadrille, but a mazurka.
The manager, a long-legged student, a Swede, thinks for a moment, but, taking a quick glance at the schedule, boldly shouts:
- Valsons!

And so the pharmacist’s young assistant, bending languidly, embraces the tight figure of the lady who is being treated for rheumatism in her hand, and begins to smoothly rotate her around the room. The scarlet carnation between their noses smells like perch.
- Pas d'espagne! “Red and wet,” the manager shouts, and his head is shaking from the effort.
A high school student jumps out, small, fat, in a bubbling canvas blouse. In front of him, holding his hand, the elderly governess of one of the doctors is stamping her feet. The schoolboy feels like a true Spaniard, clicks his tongue, and the governess gloomily advances on him, like a bull on a bullfighter.
The little cadet, having pulled off his blouse, suddenly shuffled in front of one of the aunts. She took this as an invitation and started dancing. To the horror of the little cadet, the aunt showed purely Spanish passion and tirelessness in dancing. She wriggled, clicked her heels and sent bacchanalian smiles to her tiny beau.
The pharmacist's assistant made such pretzels with his long legs that the old colonel, who was watching the dancing at the door, was even offended.
“If only they could station soldiers, they would stop this mischief.”
The manager again copes with the schedule and calls everyone to the Hungarian.
Passions flare up. Gender, age, social status- everything fades away and drowns in the echoing clatter of feet, squeals and roar of the orchestra.
Here is a female doctor in a hygienic hood rushing about with a twelve-year-old thin-legged croquet player, here are two young ladies - one for a gentleman, here ten year old girl with a gray-haired Swede; here is a strange person in velvet shoes and a pair of canvas kicking, hugging a medical student.
At exactly one o'clock in the morning the orchestra immediately falls silent. In vain the dancers, dangling their legs in the air, raised for the pas de zephyr, beg to play for at least five more minutes. The musicians gloomily roll up their notes and crawl out of the choir. They silently pass by the audience, and many wonder out loud how three people were able to make such a terrible noise.
//— * * * —//
The next morning, a languid apothecary apprentice, smiling mysteriously, pounded chalk and mint in a mortar.
The door opens. She. Lady suffering from rheumatism in hand.
“Bitte... Marienbad...” she babbles, but her eyes say: “Do you remember?”
– Artificial or natural? - he asks quietly, and his eyes answer: “I remember! I remember!"
“Ten pence worth of absorbent cotton,” she sighs (“You can see how hard it is to leave here”).
He takes out cotton wool, wraps it up and slowly smothers it with oppoponax.
In his buttonhole he has a withered carnation from yesterday. Today no new flowers were brought.
Autumn.

Instead of politics

Const. Erberg

We sat down to dinner.
The head of the family, a retired captain, with a drooping, wet mustache and round, surprised eyes, looked around as if he had just been pulled out of the water and could not yet come to his senses. However, this was his usual appearance, and none of the family was embarrassed by this.
Looking with silent amazement at his wife, at his daughter, at the tenant who rented a room from them with dinner and kerosene, he tucked his napkin into his collar and asked:
- Where is Petka?
“God knows where they hang out,” answered the wife. “You can’t kick them out of school with a stick, and you can’t lure them home with a roll of bread.” Playing around with the boys somewhere.
The tenant grinned and added a word:
- That's right, everything is politics. There are different rallies there. Where the adults go, so do they.
“Oh no, my dear,” the captain bulged his eyes. – This matter, thank God, is over. No talking, no chatter. It's over, sir. Now you need to do business, and not wag your tongue. Of course, I am retired now, but I am not sitting idle either. So I’ll come up with some invention, take out a patent and sell it, to the shame of Russia, somewhere abroad.
- What do you want to invent?
– I probably don’t know yet. I'll invent something. Lord, you never know how many things haven’t been invented yet! Well, for example, let’s say, I’ll invent some kind of machine that will gently wake me up every morning at the appointed hour.

I turned the knob in the evening and it woke me up. A?
“Daddy,” said the daughter, “but it’s just an alarm clock.”
The captain was surprised and fell silent.
“Yes, you’re really right,” the tenant remarked tactfully. “Politics was ringing in our heads.” Now you feel how the thought is resting.
A red-cheeked third-grader rushed into the room, kissed his mother’s cheek as he walked, and shouted loudly:
– Tell me: why is the gymnasium Asia, and not the gymnasium Africa?
- Lord have mercy! Crazy! Where are you going? Why are you late for lunch? And the soup is cold.
- I don’t want soup. Why not the African anthem?
- Well, give me a plate: I’ll put you a cutlet.
- Why is it a summer cat and not a winter cat? – the schoolboy asked busily and handed him a plate.
“They probably whipped him today,” the father guessed.
- Why did you flog, and not we flogged? – the schoolboy muttered, stuffing a piece of bread into his mouth.
- No, have you seen the fool? – the surprised captain was indignant.
//— * * * —//
- Why is it white-chicken and not black-rooster? – asked the high school student, holding out the plate for the second portion.
- What? At least he was ashamed of his father and mother?!..
- Petya, wait, Petya! – the sister suddenly shouted. - Tell me, why do they say b-believe, and not say d-doubt? A?
The high school student thought for a minute and, looking up at his sister, replied:
- Why pan-coupons, and not boorish coupons!
The tenant chuckled.
- Ham-coupons... Don’t you think, Ivan Stepanych, that this is interesting? Ham coupons!..
But the captain was completely at a loss.
- Sonechka! - he said pitifully to his wife. - Kick this... Petka out of the table! Please, for my sake.
- Why, you can’t do it yourself, or what? Petya, do you hear? Daddy orders you to leave the table. Go to your room! You won't get anything sweet!

The high school student pouted.
“I’m not doing anything bad... our whole class says so... Well, I’ll take the rap for everyone!”
- Nothing, nothing! It was said - get out. If you don't know how to behave at the table, just sit at home!
The high school student stood up, pulled off his jacket and, pulling his head into his shoulders, went to the door.
Having met the maid with a dish of almond jelly, he sobbed and, swallowing tears, said:
- It’s vile to treat relatives this way... It’s not my fault... Why is it winey and not beery?!..
Everyone was silent for several minutes. Then the daughter said:
“I can tell why I’m guilty and not beer-cotton.”
- Oh, at least stop it! – her mother waved at her. - Thank God: not small...
The captain was silent, moved his eyebrows, was surprised and whispered something.
- Ha ha! This is wonderful,” the tenant rejoiced. “And I also came up with an idea: why I live on earth and not die on earth.” A? This is, you know, in French. We live. It means “I love you.” I know a little languages, that is, as much as every secular person is entitled to. Of course, I am not a linguist...
- Ha-ha-ha! - my daughter burst into tears. - Why Dubrovin, and not aspen, the same?..
The mother suddenly became thoughtful. Her face became tense and attentive, as if she was listening to something.
- Wait, Sashenka! Wait a minute. How is this... I forgot again...
She looked at the ceiling and blinked her eyes.
- Oh yes! Why Satan... no... why the devil... no, not like that!..
The captain stared at her in horror.
- Why are you barking?
- Wait! Wait! Do not interrupt. Yes! Why do they say to draw and not to devil?
- Oh, mom! Mother! Ha ha ha! Why “dad-kidney” and not...
- Get out, Alexandra! Be silent! – the captain shouted and jumped out from behind the table.

//— * * * —//
The tenant couldn't sleep for a long time. He tossed and turned and kept thinking about what he would ask tomorrow. The young lady sent him and the maid two notes in the evening. One at nine o’clock: “Why hug-mother, and not hug-father?” Another - at eleven: “Why a shirt, and not ninety-nine kopecks?”
He answered both in a suitable tone and was now tormented, thinking of what to treat the young lady tomorrow.
“Why... why...” he whispered half asleep.
Suddenly someone quietly knocked on the door.
No one answered, but the knock was repeated.
The tenant stood up and wrapped himself in a blanket.
- Ay-ay! What a prank! – he laughed quietly, unlocking the doors, and suddenly jumped back.
In front of him, still fully dressed, stood the captain with a candle in his hands. His surprised face was pale, and an unusual tense thought knitted his round eyebrows.
“Guilty,” he said. - I won’t bother you... I’ll just be a minute... I came up with an idea...
- What? What? Invention? Really?
- I came up with an idea: why ink, and why ink from some other river? No... it was somehow different for me... it worked out better... But it’s my fault... I may have bothered you... So, I couldn’t sleep, I looked at the light...
He smiled wryly, shuffled and quickly walked away.

New circular

Evel Khasin stood on the shore and watched as his son pulled the ferry across a narrow, overgrown river.
On the ferry there was a cart, a dejected horse and a dejected little man.
Doubt stirred in Evel's soul.
- Did you take money from him in advance? - he shouted to his son.
The son answered something. Evel didn’t hear and wanted to ask again, but suddenly he heard hurried steps along the road. He turned around. His daughter ran straight to him, obviously with some amazing news. She cried, waved her arms, squatted, clutched her head.
- Oh, dad! It's coming! Oh, what should we do now!
- Who's going?
- Oh, Mr. Constable!..
Evel clasped his hands, looked up questioningly, but, not finding any sign in the sky, shook his head reproachfully and started running towards the house.
- Ginda! - he shouted in the hallway. - Is it true?
“Oh, really,” answered a sobbing voice from behind the curtain.
- I came on Thursday, three days have passed since Thursday. Only three days. Why didn’t you tell him?
“I reported, I already transferred it,” Ginda’s voice sobbed. “I put in some grains, I cut some lard, some chicken with a crest...
- Maybe I forgot the bulb?
- And she poured bulba...
A girl ran into the house.
- Oh, dad! It's coming! Oh, close!
“Or maybe he came on horseback,” says Evel, and hope trembles in his voice.
- Not! He arrived in a clunker. He tied the horse to the fence and walked to the hut.

Someone knocked on the window.
- Hey! Evel Khasin, ferryman!
Evel made a kind face and ran out into the street.
“And how surprised we were…” he began.
But the constable was concerned and immediately got down to business.
– Are you the ferryman Evel Khasin?
- Well, well, Mr. Constable, you should know...
– What is known there? - the constable snapped, as if he sensed some unpleasant hints. “We can’t know anything in front of the authorities.” So a new circular has been issued. Jew, that is, who has an unsympathetic distribution in surrounding nature and dangerously excites the residents, which means, wow! Invested with power at the cap. Understood? Since I consider you pleasant and don’t see any disorder in you, live. I don't care - live.
- Mister Constable! Have I ever...
- Shut up! I have to watch now. Twice a week I will visit and check with the surrounding residents. If anyone does anything, and so on, my punishment is short. Left shoulder forward! Ma-arsh! Understood?
- How can you not understand! Maybe I realized it a long time ago.
- You can go if you need to do some housekeeping. I'll smoke a pipe here. I don't have time either. There are thirty people here, all in different parts. And I'm alone. A day is not enough to see them all.
Evel pulled his head into his shoulders, sighed and went into the hut.
- Ginda! Carry what you need, put it in the clunker. They are in a hurry.

//— * * * —//
- Oh, Evel! Get up quickly! Can't you hear the calls? Or your heart has gone deaf. Well, I'll wake him up. Do you know who our Chaim is pulling on the ferry? Mr. Stanovoy! The Stanovoi is being pulled by our Chaim, carrying the misfortune on a rope straight to our house.
Evel jumped up, pale and disheveled. He looked at the ceiling, thought, and shook his head.
- This, Ginda, you are already lying.
- Let him drive like I’m lying! - Ginda sobbed.
Then he suddenly realized, he began to rush about, and rushed to the window.
- Two! Drive the boar to punya. Drive quickly! Lock the doors!
- Oh, chase the boar! – Ginda also caught herself. - Oh, Devoska, go ahead, close the doors.
It was just time.
The fat bailiff got out of the chaise.
- Still in the chaise! – Evel whispered sadly. - Still, not on horseback!.. Ginda, go to the pantry, take out the goose...
Ginda sobbed and reached into her pocket for the keys. And Evel already bowed and said in the most kind voice:
- Your Excellency! And how surprised we were...
- Are you surprised? Why are you surprised, Jew? Did the police officer read the new circular to you?
- The officers, sir, read...
- K-kanalya! Got it... - He thought for a minute. “Well, sir, that means it’s completely up to you to behave in such a way as to sit still.” You rent a ferry, you have income, you should value it. Look at your vegetable garden... If you start planting sedition, you’ll go to hell. If you don’t please the authorities and the people in general... Don’t you plant cabbage? I need cabbage. Twenty heads of cabbage... Terenty, go pick one - he has a garden over there. He'll also slip in some lousy ones. It should be pleasant and completely safe for everyone. Understood? If anyone notices a dangerous inclination in you, threatening to corrupt the morals of the civilian population and seduce you into seditious activities, violating state principles and spreading... What kind of girl is this? Daughter? Let him go and pluck some peas. I need a lot... and spreading an unpleasant impression due to any physical, moral or other properties... Do you keep pigs? Why not? And what's that? Whose tracks are these? Yours, or what? There's a punka behind the barn. Pig?
- Your Excellency! May I be as rich as a pig! Your...
- Why are you lying! Stunned! Who are you talking to?! Who are you lying to? Scoundrel! The raven won't collect the bones!.. Open the door. I want to buy a pig from you.
– Your Excellency! I didn't lie. God knows! It's not a pig! It's a boar...
- B-stupid! Tell Terenty to twist him with a rope. You can tie it at the back. And the boar is so skinny. Scoundrels! They keep the cattle and eat the swill themselves. Okay, don't whine! I'm not angry... The money is mine.

//— * * * —//
Ebel suffered from fever for two days.
On the third day I went out to bask in the sun. Ginda came up. They started talking about the wild boar, remembering what it was like.
“He maybe weighed eight pounds...” Evel sighed.
- Or maybe nine - and nine and a half. Anything is possible. Why not?
“I would sell it in the city for ten rubles, so for every Sabbath we would have a herring and the money would be hidden.”
“And I would have killed him and salted him.” A piece of clothing would have lasted a long time for Mr. Constable. Now what will I give? They don't like cucumbers...
- I would sell it and pay the rent. Sorry for the boar. It was good. And it’s a shame to cut it.
- It's a pity! – Ginda agreed. - Good.
But Evel no longer listened to her. He became all alert, and his hair stood on end.
- Calls...
“Calls...” Ginda echoed in a moaning whisper.
- It’s himself...
- Myself…
Evel did not raise his eyes to the sky this time. Why ask, since you already know.
The trio was rushing straight towards them.
Before the horses had time to stop, something buzzed and growled in the carriage... Evel rushed forward.
- Seditionists! Yes, I’ll grind you into powder, merrrz... Do you understand the circular?
“Oh, I understand,” Evel howled. - Mister policeman explained, Mr. His Excellency the bailiff explained... I understand! Your Excellency! I wish I didn’t understand as much as I do!
- Be silent! Has the circular been clarified?
- Oh, how they explained it! Everything was explained down to the last boar...
- What? What are you allowing yourself to do? Do you know that if I want, there won’t be a wet spot left of you. Go change me twenty rubles. Alive! The piece of paper is behind me.
– Your high shine...
The police officer barked. Evel bent his knees and staggered into the hut.
Ginda was already sitting there, undoing the lining at the hem of her dress.
Evel sat down next to him and waited.
A wad of dirty rags emerged from the lining. Trembling fingers unwrapped it and poured the contents onto his lap.

- Only seventeen rubles and eighty-seven kopecks... It will kill!
– There’s still some cabbage left... Maybe they’re eating cabbage...
Evel raised his eyes to the ceiling and spoke quietly.
- Oh, righteous God! Good and just God! Make them eat cabbage!..

Fashionable lawyer

There were few people in court that day. It was not expected to be an interesting meeting.
On the benches behind the fence, three young guys in blouses languished and sighed. There are several students and young ladies in the public areas, and two reporters in the corner.
Next in line was the case of Semyon Rubashkin. He was accused, as it was stated in the protocol, “for spreading exciting rumors about the dissolution of the First Duma” in a newspaper article.
The accused was already in the hall and walking in front of the public with his wife and three friends. Everyone was animated, a little excited by the unusual situation, chatting and joking.
“If only we could start soon,” said Rubashkin, “I’m hungry as a dog.”
“And from here we’ll go straight to Vienna for breakfast,” the wife dreamed.
- Ha! ha! ha! That’s how they’ll hide him in prison, that’s how you’ll have breakfast,” the friends joked.
“It’s better to go to Siberia,” the wife flirted, “for eternal settlement.” Then I'll marry someone else.
The friends laughed in unison and clapped Rubashkin on the shoulder.
A stout gentleman in a tailcoat entered the hall and, nodding arrogantly to the accused, sat down at the music stand and began selecting papers from his briefcase.
- Who else is this? - asked the wife.
- Yes, this is my lawyer.

- Advocate? - the friends were surprised. - You're crazy! Get a lawyer for such a nonsense matter! Yes, my friend, this is a joke for the chickens. What will he do? He has nothing to say! The court will directly order termination.
– Yes, as a matter of fact, I had no intention of inviting him. He offered his services himself. And he doesn't take money. We, he says, take on such matters out of principle. The fee only insults us. Well, of course, I didn’t insist. Why insult him?
“It’s not good to insult,” the wife agreed.
- On the other hand, how does he bother me? Well, he'll chat for five minutes. And maybe it will also bring benefits. Who knows? They'll even think of imposing some kind of fine there, and that will settle the matter.
“Yes, that’s true,” the friends agreed.
The lawyer stood up, straightened his sideburns, frowned and walked up to Rubashkin.
“I have considered your case,” he said and added gloomily: “Take courage.”
Then he returned to his place.
- Oddball! - the friends burst out laughing.
“Damn,” Rubashkin shook his head worriedly. - It smells like a fine.

//— * * * —//
- Please stand up! The trial is coming! - the bailiff shouted.
The accused sat down behind his fence and nodded to his wife and friends from there, smiling embarrassed and proud, as if he had received a vulgar compliment.
- Hero! – one of the friends whispered to his wife.
- Orthodox! - Meanwhile, the accused cheerfully answered the chairman’s question.
– Do you recognize yourself as the author of the article signed with the initials S.R.?
- I admit it.
– What else do you have to say about this matter?
“Nothing,” Rubashkin was surprised.
But then a lawyer jumped out.
His face turned purple, his eyes rolled out, his neck became red. It looked like he was choking on a lamb bone.
- Gentlemen judges! - he exclaimed. - Yes, this is him in front of you, this is Semyon Rubashkin. He is the author of an article and spreader of rumors about the dissolution of the First Duma, an article signed with only two letters, but these letters are S.R. Why two, you ask. Why not three, I also ask. Why did he, a gentle and devoted son, not place his father's name? Is it because he only needed two letters S. and R.? Is he not a representative of a formidable and powerful party?
Gentlemen judges! Do you really allow the idea that my client is just a modest newspaper scribbler who uttered an unfortunate phrase in an unsuccessful article? No, gentlemen, judges! You have no right to insult him, which may be hidden power, so to speak, the core, I would say, the emotional essence of our great revolutionary movement.
His guilt is insignificant, you say. No! - I exclaim. No! – I will protest.
The chairman called the bailiff and asked to clear the hall of the public.
The lawyer took a sip of water and continued:
– You need heroes in white hats! You do not recognize humble workers who do not rush forward shouting “hands up!”, but who secretly and namelessly lead a mighty movement. Was the leader of the Moscow bank robbery wearing a white hat? Was there a white hat on the head of the one who sobbed with joy on the day of vonder’s murder... However, I am authorized by my client only within certain limits. But even within these limits I can do a lot.
The chairman asked to close the doors and remove witnesses.
“Do you think that a year in prison will make a rabbit out of this lion for you?”
He turned and pointed his hand at Rubashkin’s confused, sweaty face for several moments. Then, pretending to have difficulty tearing himself away from the majestic spectacle, he continued:
- No! Never! He will sit as a lion and come out as a hundred-headed hydra! He will wrap himself around his stunned enemy like a boa constrictor, and the bones of administrative tyranny will crunch pitifully on his mighty teeth.
Have you prepared Siberia for him? But gentlemen, judges! I won't tell you anything. I’ll just ask you: where is Gershuni? Gershuni, exiled by you to Siberia?
And why? Could prison, exile, hard labor, torture (which, by the way, were not used against my client for some reason), could all these horrors have wrested from his proud lips at least a word of confession or at least one of the names of his thousand accomplices?
No, Semyon Rubashkin is not like that! He will proudly ascend the scaffold, he will proudly dismiss his executioner and, saying to the priest: “I do not need consolation!” – he himself will put the noose around his proud neck.
Gentlemen judges! I already see this noble image on the pages of Bylyo, next to my article about last minutes this great fighter, whom hundred-year-old rumor will make a legendary hero of the Russian revolution.
I will also exclaim him last words, which he will say with a bag on his head: “Let the vile perish...”
The chairman deprived the defender of the floor.
The defense attorney obeyed, asking only to accept his statement that his principal, Semyon Rubashkin, absolutely refused to sign the request for pardon.

//— * * * —//
The court, without leaving to deliberate, immediately changed the article and sentenced the tradesman Semyon Rubashkin to deprivation of all rights to his estate and to betrayal. death penalty by hanging.
The defendant was unconsciously carried out of the courtroom.
//— * * * —//
In the court cafeteria, the youth gave the lawyer a loud ovation.
He smiled welcomingly, bowed, and shook hands.
Then, after eating sausages and drinking a glass of beer, he asked the court chronicler to send him a proof of his defense speech.
“I don’t like typos,” he said.
//— * * * —//
In the corridor he was stopped by a gentleman with a distorted face and pale lips. It was one of Rubashkin's friends.
//— * * * —//
- Is it really all over? No hope?
The lawyer smiled darkly.
- What can you do! The nightmare of Russian reality!..

Nadezhda Aleksandrovna Teffi (Nadezhda Lokhvitskaya, by her husband - Buchinskaya) - poetess, memoirist, critic, publicist, but above all - one of the most famous satirical writers of the Silver Age, competing with Averchenko himself. After the revolution, Teffi emigrated, but in emigration her extraordinary talent blossomed even brighter. It was there that many of Teffi’s classic stories were written, depicting the life and customs of the “Russian Abroad” from a very unexpected angle...

The collection includes stories by Teffi different years, written both at home and in Europe. The reader is presented with a veritable gallery of funny, bright characters, many of which reveal the real contemporaries of the writer - people of art and political figures, famous " socialites"and philanthropists, revolutionaries and their opponents.

Teffi
Humorous stories

...For laughter is joy, and therefore in itself is good.

Spinoza. "Ethics", part IV.

Position XLV, scholium II.

Curry favor

Leshka’s right leg had been numb for a long time, but he did not dare change his position and listened eagerly. It was completely dark in the corridor, and through the narrow crack of the ajar door one could only see a brightly lit piece of the wall above the kitchen stove. A large dark circle topped with two horns wavered on the wall. Leshka guessed that this circle was nothing more than the shadow of his aunt’s head with the ends of the scarf sticking up.

The aunt came to visit Leshka, whom only a week ago she had designated as a “boy for room services,” and was now conducting serious negotiations with the cook who was her patron. The negotiations were of an unpleasantly alarming nature, the aunt was very worried, and the horns on the wall rose and fell steeply, as if some unprecedented beast was goring its invisible opponents.

It was assumed that Leshka washes his galoshes in the front. But, as you know, man proposes, but God disposes, and Leshka, with a rag in his hands, listened behind the door.

“I realized from the very beginning that he was a bungler,” the cook sang in a rich voice. - How many times do I tell him: if you, guy, are not a fool, stay in front of your eyes. Don’t do shitty things, but stay in front of your eyes. Because Dunyashka scrubs. But he doesn’t even listen. Just now the lady was screaming again - she didn’t interfere with the stove and closed it with a firebrand.

The horns on the wall are agitated, and the aunt moans like an Aeolian harp:

- Where can I go with him? Mavra Semyonovna! I bought him boots, without drinking or eating, I gave him five rubles. For the alteration of the jacket, the tailor, without drinking or eating, tore off six hryvnia...

“No other way than to send him home.”

- Darling! The road, no food, no food, four rubles, dear!

Leshka, forgetting all precautions, sighs outside the door. He doesn't want to go home. His father promised that he would skin him seven times, and Leshka knows from experience how unpleasant that is.

“It’s still too early to howl,” the cook sings again. “So far, no one is chasing him.” The lady only threatened... But the tenant, Pyotr Dmitrich, is very interceding. Right behind Leshka. That's enough, Marya Vasilievna says, he's not a fool, Leshka. He, he says, is a complete idiot, there’s no point in scolding him. I really stand up for Leshka.

- Well, God bless him...

“But with us, whatever the tenant says is sacred.” Because he is a well-read person, he pays carefully...

- And Dunyashka is good! – the aunt twirled her horns. - I don’t understand people like this - telling lies on a boy...

- Truly! True. Just now I say to her: “Go open the door, Dunyasha,” affectionately, as if in a kind way. So she snorts in my face: “Grit, I’m not your doorman, open the door yourself!” And I sang everything to her here. How to open doors, so you, I say, are not a doorman, but how to kiss a janitor on the stairs, so you are still a doorman...

- Lord have mercy! From these years to everything I spied. The girl is young, she should live and live. One salary, no food, no...

- Me, what? I told her straight out: how to open doors, you’re not a doorman. She, you see, is not a doorman! And how to accept gifts from a janitor, she is a doorman. Yes, lipstick for the tenant...

Trrrrr...” the electric bell crackled.

- Leshka! Leshka! - the cook shouted. - Oh, you, you failed! Dunyasha was sent away, but he didn’t even listen.

Leshka held his breath, pressed himself against the wall and stood quietly until the angry cook swam past him, angrily rattling her starched skirts.

“No, pipes,” thought Leshka, “I won’t go to the village. I’m not a stupid guy, I’ll want to, I’ll quickly curry favor. You can’t bully me, I’m not like that.”

And, waiting for the cook to return, he walked with decisive steps into the rooms.

“Be, God, in front of my eyes. And what kind of eyes will I be when no one is ever home?”

He walked into the hallway. Hey! The coat is hanging - a tenant of the house.

He rushed to the kitchen and, snatching the poker from the dumbfounded cook, rushed back into the rooms, quickly opened the door to the tenant’s room and went to stir the stove.

The tenant was not alone. With him was a young lady, wearing a jacket and a veil. Both shuddered and straightened up when Leshka entered.

“I’m not a stupid guy,” thought Leshka, poking the burning wood with a poker. “I’ll irritate those eyes. I’m not a parasite - I’m still in business, I’m still in business!”

The firewood crackled, the poker rattled, sparks flew in all directions. The lodger and the lady were tensely silent. Finally, Leshka headed towards the exit, but stopped right at the door and began to anxiously examine the wet spot on the floor, then turned his eyes to the guest’s feet and, seeing the galoshes on them, shook his head reproachfully.