Dostoevsky f m white nights read. “...Or was he created in order to stay at least for a moment in the neighborhood of your heart?...

Fedor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky

White Nights

...Or was he created for this purpose?

To stay for just a moment

In the neighborhood of your heart?...

Iv. Turgenev

NIGHT ONE

It was a wonderful night, the kind of night that can only happen when we are young, dear reader. The sky was so starry, such a bright sky that, looking at it, you involuntarily had to ask yourself: can all sorts of angry and capricious people really live under such a sky? This is also a young question, dear reader, very young, but God send it to your soul more often!.. Speaking about capricious and various angry gentlemen, I could not help but remember my well-behaved behavior all that day. From the very morning I began to be tormented by some amazing melancholy. It suddenly seemed to me that everyone was abandoning me, alone, and that everyone was abandoning me. Of course, everyone has the right to ask: who are all these people? because I’ve been living in St. Petersburg for eight years now, and I haven’t been able to make almost a single acquaintance. But why do I need acquaintances? I already know the whole of St. Petersburg; That’s why it seemed to me that everyone was leaving me when the whole of St. Petersburg rose up and suddenly left for the dacha. I became afraid to be alone, and for three whole days I wandered around the city in deep melancholy, absolutely not understanding what was happening to me. Whether I go to Nevsky, whether I go to the garden, whether I wander along the embankment - not a single face from those whom I am accustomed to meeting in the same place, at a certain hour, for a whole year. They, of course, don’t know me, but I know them. I know them briefly; I have almost studied their faces - and I admire them when they are cheerful, and I mope when they become misty. I almost became friends with one old man whom I meet every single day, at a certain hour, on the Fontanka. The face is so important, thoughtful; He keeps whispering under his breath and waving his left hand, and in his right he has a long, knotty cane with a gold knob. Even he noticed me and takes emotional part in me. If it happened that I would not be at the same place on the Fontanka at a certain hour, I am sure that the blues would attack him. This is why we sometimes almost bow to each other, especially when we are both in a good mood. The other day, when we had not seen each other for two whole days and on the third day we met, we were already grabbing our hats, but fortunately we came to our senses in time, lowered our hands and walked next to each other with sympathy. I am also familiar with the houses. When I walk, everyone seems to run ahead of me into the street, look at me through all the windows and almost say: “Hello; How is your health? and I, thank God, am healthy, and a floor will be added to me in the month of May.” Or: “How is your health? and I’ll be repaired tomorrow.” Or: “I almost burned out, and at the same time I was scared,” etc. Of these, I have favorites, there are short friends; one of them intends to undergo treatment this summer with an architect. I’ll come in every day on purpose so that they don’t cover it up somehow, God forbid!.. But I’ll never forget the story of one very pretty light pink house. It was such a nice little stone house, it looked at me so welcomingly, it looked so proudly at its clumsy neighbors that my heart rejoiced when I happened to pass by. Suddenly, last week, I was walking down the street and, as I looked at a friend, I heard a plaintive cry: “And they are painting me yellow!” Villains! barbarians! they spared nothing: neither columns, nor cornices, and my friend turned yellow as a canary. I was almost filled with bile on this occasion, and I still was not able to see my disfigured poor man, who was painted to match the color of the celestial empire.

So, you understand, reader, how familiar I am with all of St. Petersburg.

I have already said that I was tormented by anxiety for three whole days, until I guessed the reason for it. And I felt bad on the street (this one wasn’t there, that one wasn’t there, where did so-and-so go?) - and at home I wasn’t myself. For two evenings I sought: what am I missing in my corner? Why was it so awkward to stay there? - and with bewilderment I looked around my green, smoky walls, the ceiling, hung with cobwebs, which great success Matryona was getting confused, looking through all her furniture, inspecting every chair, thinking, is there trouble here? (because if I have even one chair that’s not standing the way it was yesterday, then I’m not myself) I looked out the window, and it was all in vain... it didn’t feel any easier! I even decided to call Matryona and immediately gave her a fatherly reprimand for the cobwebs and general sloppiness; but she just looked at me in surprise and walked away without answering a word, so that the web is still happily hanging in place. Finally, only this morning I figured out what was the matter. Eh! Why, they’re running away from me to the dacha! Forgive me for the trivial word, but I had no time for high-flown language... because everything that was in St. Petersburg either moved or moved to the dacha; because every respectable gentleman of respectable appearance who hired a cab, in my eyes immediately turned into a respectable father of the family, who, after ordinary official duties, goes lightly to the depths of his family, to the dacha; because every passerby now had a completely special kind, who almost said to everyone he met: “We, gentlemen, are here only in passing, but in two hours we will leave for the dacha.” If the window opened, on which thin fingers, white as sugar, first drummed, and the head of a pretty girl poked out, beckoning to a peddler with pots of flowers, I immediately, immediately imagined that these flowers were only bought that way, that is, not at all for to enjoy spring and flowers in a stuffy city apartment, but that very soon everyone will move to the dacha and take the flowers with them. Moreover, I had already made such progress in my new, special kind of discoveries that I could already unmistakably, by one look, indicate which dacha someone lived in. The inhabitants of the Kamenny and Aptekarsky Islands or the Peterhof Road were distinguished by their studied elegance of techniques, smart summer suits and the beautiful carriages in which they arrived in the city. Residents of Pargolovo, even further away, at first glance “inspired” with their prudence and solidity; the visitor to Krestovsky Island had a calm and cheerful appearance. Did I manage to meet a long procession of dray drivers, lazily walking with reins in their hands next to carts loaded with whole mountains of all kinds of furniture, tables, chairs, Turkish and non-Turkish sofas and other household belongings, on which, on top of all this, she often sat, at the very top Voza, a frail cook who cherishes her master's property like the apple of her eye; whether I looked at the boats, heavily loaded with household utensils, gliding along the Neva or Fontanka, to the Black River or the islands - the carts and boats multiplied tenfold, became lost in my eyes; it seemed that everything was up and moving, everything was moving in whole caravans to the dacha; it seemed that all of Petersburg was threatening to turn into a desert, so that finally I felt ashamed, offended and sad: I had absolutely nowhere to go and there was no need to go to the dacha. I was ready to leave with every cart, to leave with every gentleman of respectable appearance who hired a cab; but no one, absolutely no one, invited me; as if they had forgotten me, as if I were truly a stranger to them!

I walked a lot and for a long time, so that I had already completely forgotten, as usual, where I was, when suddenly I found myself at the outpost. Instantly I felt cheerful, and I stepped beyond the barrier, walked between the sown fields and meadows, did not hear fatigue, but only felt with all my strength that some burden was falling from my soul. All the passers-by looked at me so welcomingly that they almost bowed resolutely; everyone was so happy about something, every single one of them was smoking cigars. And I was glad as never happened to me before. It was as if I suddenly found myself in Italy - nature struck me so strongly, a half-sick city dweller who almost suffocated within the city walls.

There is something inexplicably touching in our St. Petersburg nature, when, with the onset of spring, it suddenly displays all its power, all the powers given to it by heaven, becomes pubescent, discharged, adorned with flowers... Somehow, involuntarily, it reminds me of that wasted girl and the ailment, which you sometimes look at with regret, sometimes with some kind of compassionate love, sometimes you simply don’t notice it, but which suddenly, for one moment, somehow unexpectedly becomes inexplicably, wonderfully beautiful, and you, amazed, intoxicated , you involuntarily ask yourself: what force made these sad, thoughtful eyes shine with such fire? what brought the blood to those pale, thinner cheeks? what filled these with passion gentle features faces? Why is this chest heaving so much? What so suddenly brought strength, life and beauty to the face of the poor girl, made it sparkle with such a smile, come alive with such a sparkling, sparkling laugh? You look around, you are looking for someone, you guess... But the moment passes, and perhaps tomorrow you will again meet the same thoughtful and absent-minded look as before, the same pale face, the same humility and timidity in your face. movements and even repentance, even traces of some kind of deadening melancholy and annoyance for a momentary infatuation... And it’s a pity for you that instant beauty withered so quickly, so irrevocably, that it flashed before you so deceptively and in vain - it’s a pity because even you didn't have time to love her...

Fedor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky

White Nights

...Or was he created for this purpose?

To stay for just a moment

In the neighborhood of your heart?...

Iv. Turgenev

NIGHT ONE

So, you understand, reader, how familiar I am with all of St. Petersburg.

I have already said that I was tormented by anxiety for three whole days, until I guessed the reason for it. And I felt bad on the street (this one wasn’t there, that one wasn’t there, where did so-and-so go?) - and at home I wasn’t myself. For two evenings I sought: what am I missing in my corner? Why was it so awkward to stay there? - and with bewilderment I examined my green, smoky walls, the ceiling hung with cobwebs, which Matryona had planted with great success, I looked through all my furniture, examined every chair, thinking, is this where the trouble lies? (because if I have even one chair that’s not standing the way it was yesterday, then I’m not myself) I looked out the window, and it was all in vain... it didn’t feel any easier! I even decided to call Matryona and immediately gave her a fatherly reprimand for the cobwebs and general sloppiness; but she just looked at me in surprise and walked away without answering a word, so that the web is still happily hanging in place. Finally, only this morning I figured out what was the matter. Eh! Why, they’re running away from me to the dacha! Forgive me for the trivial word, but I had no time for high-flown language... because everything that was in St. Petersburg either moved or moved to the dacha; because every respectable gentleman of respectable appearance who hired a cab, in my eyes immediately turned into a respectable father of the family, who, after ordinary official duties, goes lightly to the depths of his family, to the dacha; because every passer-by now had a completely special appearance, which almost said to everyone he met: “We, gentlemen, are here only in passing, but in two hours we will leave for the dacha.” If the window opened, on which thin fingers, white as sugar, first drummed, and the head of a pretty girl poked out, beckoning to a peddler with pots of flowers, I immediately, immediately imagined that these flowers were only bought that way, that is, not at all for to enjoy spring and flowers in a stuffy city apartment, but that very soon everyone will move to the dacha and take the flowers with them. Moreover, I had already made such progress in my new, special kind of discoveries that I could already unmistakably, by one look, indicate which dacha someone lived in. The inhabitants of the Kamenny and Aptekarsky Islands or the Peterhof Road were distinguished by their studied elegance of techniques, smart summer suits and the beautiful carriages in which they arrived in the city. Residents of Pargolovo, even further away, at first glance “inspired” with their prudence and solidity; the visitor to Krestovsky Island had a calm and cheerful appearance. Did I manage to meet a long procession of dray drivers, lazily walking with reins in their hands next to carts loaded with whole mountains of all kinds of furniture, tables, chairs, Turkish and non-Turkish sofas and other household belongings, on which, on top of all this, she often sat, at the very top Voza, a frail cook who cherishes her master's property like the apple of her eye; whether I looked at the boats, heavily loaded with household utensils, gliding along the Neva or Fontanka, to the Black River or the islands - the carts and boats multiplied tenfold, became lost in my eyes; it seemed that everything was up and moving, everything was moving in whole caravans to the dacha; it seemed that all of Petersburg was threatening to turn into a desert, so that finally I felt ashamed, offended and sad: I had absolutely nowhere to go and there was no need to go to the dacha. I was ready to leave with every cart, to leave with every gentleman of respectable appearance who hired a cab; but no one, absolutely no one, invited me; as if they had forgotten me, as if I were truly a stranger to them!

The main theme is love. The main genres are a sentimental story, a journey, in the lyrics - idyll, pastoral. The ideological basis is a protest against the depravity of aristocratic society. The main property is the desire to represent the human personality in the movements of the soul, thoughts, feelings, aspirations.

The very name “sentimentalism” (from the English sentimental - sensitive, French sentiment - feeling) indicates that feeling becomes central aesthetic category this direction. In this regard, the sentimentalists contrasted feeling with the reason of the classicists. The main idea is a peaceful, idyllic human life in the lap of nature. The village (the center of natural life, moral purity) city (symbol of evil, unnatural life, vanity). The author sympathizes with the heroes, his task is to make them empathize, evoke compassion, and tears of tenderness.

A departure from the straightforwardness of classicism in the depiction of characters and their assessment; - emphasized subjectivity of approach to the world; - cult of feelings; - cult of nature; - the cult of innate moral purity, innocence; - says rich spiritual world representatives of the lower classes.

England: Laurence Sterne is the author of A Sentimental Journey and the novel Tristam Shandy, Richardson is the author of Clarissa Garlow. France: Jean-Jacques Rousseau is the author of the novel in letters “Julia, or the New Heloise.” Russia: M.N. Muravyov, N.M. Karamzin, V.V. Kapnist, young V.A. Zhukovsky.

At the end of the 18th century, in connection with the largest historical events– With the peasant uprising led by Pugachev and the French bourgeois revolution, in the depths of the Russian enlightenment, a new philosophy was born, in which reason is the main engine of progress, but at the same time the human soul was forgotten. Karamzin and his supporters argued that the path to the happiness of people and the common good - in the education of feelings. Love and tenderness, as if flowing from person to person, turn into kindness and mercy. “The tears shed by readers,” wrote Karamzin, “always flow from love for good and nourish it.”

On this basis the literature of sentimentalism arose, for which the main thing is internal the world of man with his simple and simple joys. In this case, a very close connection is established between sensitivity and morality. The conflicts between ordinary people, “Sensitive” heroes and the prevailing morality in society are quite acute. They can end in the death or misfortune of the hero.

In 1810, signs of a crisis of sentimentalism were revealed. But the life of the genre did not end. As for the journey, which included a story, history, memoirs, a political essay, an everyday scene, it acquired other literary forms: adventure novel, travel novel, travel essay. The sentimental story contributed to the humanization of society; it aroused genuine interest in man. Love, faith in the salvation of one’s own feelings, the coldness and hostility of life, the condemnation of society - all this can be encountered if you leaf through the pages of works of Russian literature, and not only of the 19th century, but also of the 20th century.

In prose, the story and the journey became typical forms of sentimentalism. Both genres are associated with the name of Karamzin. The example of the genre of the story for the Russian reader was “Poor Liza”, and the travel - his “Letters of a Russian Traveler”. Sad story Lisa is told through the mouth of the author-hero. Remembering Lisa’s family and patriarchal life, Karamzin introduces the famous formula “And peasant women know how to love!”, which sheds new light on the problem of social inequality. Rudeness and bad manners of souls are not always the lot of the poor. Karamzin describes with completeness and detail the change in Liza’s moods from the first signs of flaring love to deep despair and hopeless suffering that led to suicide. Lisa had not read any novels, and she had never experienced this feeling before, even in her imagination.

Therefore, it opened stronger and more joyfully in the girl’s heart when she met Erast. Lisa falls in love, but with love comes fear, she is afraid that thunder will kill her like a criminal, for “the fulfillment of all desires is the most dangerous temptation of love.” Karamzin's merit was that in his story there is no villain, but an ordinary “guy” belonging to a secular circle. Karamzin was the first to see this guy young nobleman, to some extent the predecessor of Eugene Onegin. Erast was a rather rich nobleman, with a fair mind and a kind heart, kind by nature, but weak and flighty. Erast’s naturally kind heart is related to Lisa, but unlike her, he received a bookish, artificial upbringing, his dreams are lifeless, and his character is spoiled and unstable. Without removing the guilt from Erast, the writer sympathizes with him. Social and wealth inequality separates and destroys good people and become an obstacle to their happiness. Therefore, the story ends with a pacifying chord.

Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin His sense of beauty is developed to the highest degree, like no one else. The brighter the inspiration, the more painstaking work must be required to fulfill it. We read poems from Pushkin that are so smooth, so simple, and it seems to us that this is how he developed it into this form. But we can’t see how much work he put in to make it so simple and smooth... L. Tolstoy

Almost forty years later A.S. Pushkin wrote "Belkin's Tale". He was pleased to report that Baratynsky, who read them, “laughs and fights.” Pushkin rejoiced at Baratynsky’s laughter: this meant that the poet understood Pushkin’s plan. “Belkin’s Tales” is sentimentalism “on the contrary”; it is a hidden parody, stylization that destroys the aesthetics of sentimentalism.

The main pretext of the story is obvious: this is Karamzin’s “Poor Liza.” The connection between the texts is established not only at the level of the names of the main characters, but also at the level of the plots, which are in relation to partial parallelism: “Poor Liza” tells about a peasant girl who fell in love with a nobleman and, after his betrayal, committed suicide, and in “The Peasant Young Lady” " - about a noble girl who partially imitated the Karamzin conflict and, as a result, married a nobleman.

Pushkin needed a sentimentalist plot in order to assign a new hero to his poetics (namely as a hero, and not minor character) - a simple person. Sentimentalism (represented by Richardson, Lessing, Karamzin, and partly Rousseau) created a certain canon love story. According to this canon, the idyllic life of “ordinary people”, existing in accordance with the natural law of human existence, is invaded by the figure of a nobleman lover, who destroys this life because of his nature distorted by unnatural upbringing and way of life.

So, in 1830, Pushkin creates the Russian realistic prose. In his “Station Agent” he wins back the figure of the “common man” from sentimentalism, turning him into a “small” man, but no less “complex” than other “magnitudes”. Ten years later, this type will become the basis of Gogol’s “The Overcoat”, and then many other works. In the meantime, Pushkin is completing his cycle (he completes it not chronologically, but compositionally, which for understanding author's position much more important) “A Peasant Young Lady,” in which she consistently demythologizes the figure of “a peasant woman who also knows how to love.”

First of all, main character The story, like other district young ladies dear to the author’s heart, was brought up on novels: “Raised in the clean air, in the shade of their gardens, they draw knowledge of the world and life from books” (As we see, Karamzin’s propaganda work was a success). At the same time, Pushkin, as befits an “episentimentalist,” does not forget to contrast them with more educated city women: “In the capitals, women receive, perhaps, a better education; but the skill of the world soon smoothes out the character and makes souls as monotonous as hats.”

The development of intrigue is also based on the sentimentalist standard: Liza-Akulina shows enviable caution, and Alexey, having given his word, keeps it to the end. At the same time, Alexei, as befits a sentimentalist hero, is struck by “thoughts and feelings that are unusual in a simple girl,” while Liza is driven, in addition to sincere feelings, by a proud desire “to finally see the Tugilov landowner at the feet of the daughter of the Priluchinsky blacksmith.”

The episode with correspondence is especially curious (how can one imagine a sentimental story without correspondence! After all, the novel in letters, along with “Travels,” is an invention and a favorite genre of sentimentalism). Akulina again demonstrates an understanding that is completely unusual for a peasant girl, learning to read and write in three lessons, which allows lovers to communicate through letters. Pushkin says with remarkable seriousness that “Akulina, apparently, got used to a better way of speaking, and her mind noticeably developed and formed” (Karamzin, of course, would have been glad to see such a wonderful example of the success of his pedagogical program).

KARAMZINPUSHKIN Even before the sun rose, Liza got up, went down to the bank of the Moscow River, sat down on the grass and, saddened, looked at the white mists that waved in the air and, rising up, left shiny drops on the green cover of nature. Silence reigned everywhere. But soon the rising luminary of the day awakened all creation; The groves and bushes came to life, the birds fluttered and sang, the flowers raised their heads to drink in the life-giving rays of light. But Lisa still sat sadly. The dawn was shining in the east, and the golden rows of clouds seemed to be waiting for the sun, like courtiers waiting for the sovereign; clear sky, the morning freshness, dew, breeze and birdsong filled Lisa’s heart with infantile gaiety; afraid of some familiar meeting, she seemed not to walk, but to fly. Approaching the grove standing on the border of her father's property, Lisa walked more quietly.

KARAMZIN PUSHKIN Karamzin’s landscape is static, clearly drawn in detail. Thus, in the portraits of classic artists, even the background is clearly drawn; in portraits of artists of the romantic movement, details of the landscape create the mood, as in the paintings of L.V. Borovikovsky. The narrator is in one place and from there he observes the hasty changes in the picture of the morning. High style vocabulary: “sun rising”, “silence reigned”, rising luminary” - creates an elevated mood B Pushkin's painting It is not silence that reigns, but the sun. Movement is felt in every combination of words. Objects are devoid of heavy definitions that constrain impulse. Everything is subordinated to the movements of Lisa, who “didn’t walk, but flew.” Nature seems to follow the dynamics of the narrative, we see only the most essential, as in the paintings of O.A. Kiprensky.

“POOR LISA” “PEASANT GIRL” “Beautiful, dear Lisa”, “tender Lisa”, “timid Lisa” “She was seventeen years old. Her dark eyes enlivened her dark and very pleasant face. She was the only and therefore spoiled child. Her agility and minute-by-minute pranks delighted her father and drove her Madame Miss Jackson, a forty-year-old prim girl, into despair, who bleached her hair and raised her eyebrows, re-read Pamela twice a year, received two thousand rubles for it, and died of boredom in this barbaric Russia. »

Let us note that the heroes of the story constantly fluctuate between the sociocultural stereotypes instilled in them by literature and genuine feelings; Moreover, sometimes the very adherence to the automatism of the stereotype spurs the feeling (a collision unthinkable for sentimentalism): “He spoke in the language of true passion and at that moment he was definitely in love.” However, the heroes' orientation to book models is not a reason for censure: “romantic” thoughts are just their natural habitat. At the same time, a happy ending occurs not because the heroes follow the “dictation of their hearts” or “do what they should,” but because it is unlikely that the story could have turned out differently: “the time has come - they got married.” So Pushkin says goodbye to Russian sentimentalism of the Karamzinist kind, erecting a kind of monument to it, in which familiar features are combined into a rather unexpected structure.

Main character In the story, Alexey Berestov became above prejudices, or - to put it more precisely - he was ready to become, was ready to step over the conventions that his noble statute imposed on him and which were not reconciled with his inner world, his morals and consciousness. Denial of these prejudices, exposing them, a kind look at life and man - this, it seems to me, is the main idea of the story The Young Lady-Peasant.

ERAST ALEXEY BERESTOV Erast was a rather rich nobleman, with a fair mind and a kind heart, kind by nature, but weak and flighty. He led an absent-minded life, thought only about his own pleasure, looked for it in secular amusements, but often did not find it: he was bored and complained about his fate. Alexey was, in fact, a great guy. It would really be a pity if his slender figure was never pulled together by a military uniform, and if, instead of showing off on a horse, he spent his youth bent over office papers. Seeing how he always galloped first when hunting, without making out the way, the neighbors agreed that he would never make a good chief executive. The young ladies glanced at him, and others looked at him; but Alexey did not do much with them, and they believed that the reason for his insensitivity love affair Sentimentalism is the most sensual and emotional movement in literature; I believe that the main goal of sentimentalism is to show the beauty and purity of love, to elevate it. To be a sentimental person means to be kind, sympathetic, to respond with your soul to everything that surrounds you. Sensitive was a person who could admire the beauty of nature and works of art; love between a man and a woman was perceived by him as virtuous. Sentimental works are very deep and romantic, I believe that they are accessible to any reader, because the feeling of love is familiar to everyone from childhood. Another goal of sentimentalism is to erase the boundaries of social inequality: a gentleman is in love with a peasant woman, and a young lady is in love with a peasant. Sentimental works are relevant in our time, because sometimes we get lost in everyday life and forget about feelings, but this is the most important thing in life.

...Or was he created for this purpose?
To stay for just a moment
In the neighborhood of your heart?..
Iv. Turgenev

Night one

It was a wonderful night, the kind of night that can only happen when we are young, dear reader. The sky was so starry, such a bright sky that, looking at it, you involuntarily had to ask yourself: can all sorts of angry and capricious people really live under such a sky? This is also a young question, dear reader, very young, but God send it to your soul more often!.. Speaking about capricious and various angry gentlemen, I could not help but remember my well-behaved behavior all that day. From the very morning I began to be tormented by some amazing melancholy. It suddenly seemed to me that everyone was abandoning me, alone, and that everyone was abandoning me. Of course, everyone has the right to ask: who are all these people? because I’ve been living in St. Petersburg for eight years now and I haven’t been able to make almost a single acquaintance. But why do I need acquaintances? I already know the whole of St. Petersburg; That’s why it seemed to me that everyone was leaving me when the whole of St. Petersburg rose up and suddenly left for the dacha. I became afraid to be alone, and for three whole days I wandered around the city in deep melancholy, absolutely not understanding what was happening to me. Whether I go to Nevsky, whether I go to the garden, whether I wander along the embankment - not a single face from those whom I am accustomed to meeting in the same place at a certain hour, for a whole year. They, of course, don’t know me, but I know them. I know them briefly; I have almost studied their faces - and I admire them when they are cheerful, and I mope when they become misty. I almost became friends with one old man whom I meet every single day, at a certain hour, on the Fontanka. The face is so important, thoughtful; He keeps whispering under his breath and waving his left hand, and in his right he has a long, knotty cane with a gold knob. Even he noticed me and takes emotional part in me. If it happened that I would not be at the same place on the Fontanka at a certain hour, I am sure that the blues would attack him. This is why we sometimes almost bow to each other, especially when we are both in a good mood. The other day, when we had not seen each other for two whole days and on the third day we met, we were already grabbing our hats, but fortunately we came to our senses in time, lowered our hands and walked next to each other with sympathy. I am also familiar with the houses. When I walk, everyone seems to run ahead of me into the street, look at me through all the windows and almost say: “Hello; How is your health? and I, thank God, am healthy, and a floor will be added to me in the month of May.” Or: “How is your health? and I’ll be repaired tomorrow.” Or: “I almost burned out, and at the same time I was scared,” etc. Of these, I have favorites, there are short friends; one of them intends to undergo treatment this summer with an architect. I’ll come in every day on purpose so that it doesn’t get healed somehow, God forbid!.. But I’ll never forget the story of one very pretty light pink house. It was such a nice little stone house, it looked at me so welcomingly, it looked so proudly at its clumsy neighbors that my heart rejoiced when I happened to pass by. Suddenly last week I was walking down the street, and as I looked at a friend, I heard a plaintive cry: “And they’re painting me yellow!” Villains! barbarians! they spared nothing: neither columns, nor cornices, and my friend turned yellow as a canary. I almost burst with bile on this occasion, and I still was not able to see my disfigured poor man, who was painted to match the color of the celestial empire.

So, you understand, reader, how familiar I am with all of St. Petersburg.

F. M. Dostoevsky. White Nights. Audiobook

I have already said that I was tormented by anxiety for three whole days, until I guessed the reason for it. And I felt bad on the street (this one wasn’t there, that one wasn’t there, where did so-and-so go?) - and at home I wasn’t myself. For two evenings I sought: what am I missing in my corner? Why was it so awkward to stay there? - and with bewilderment I looked around my green, smoky walls, the ceiling hung with cobwebs, which Matryona had planted with great success, looked through all my furniture, examined every chair, thinking, is there trouble here? (because if I have even one chair that’s not standing the way it was yesterday, then I’m not myself) I looked at the window, and it was all in vain... it didn’t feel any easier! I even decided to call Matryona and immediately gave her a fatherly reprimand for the cobwebs and general sloppiness; but she just looked at me in surprise and walked away without answering a word, so that the web is still happily hanging in place. Finally, only this morning I figured out what was the matter. Eh! Why, they’re running away from me to the dacha! Forgive me for the trivial word, but I had no time for high-flown language... because everything that was in St. Petersburg either moved or moved to the dacha; because every respectable gentleman of respectable appearance who hired a cab driver, before my eyes, immediately turned into a respectable father of a family, who, after ordinary official duties, goes lightly to the depths of his family, to the dacha; because every passer-by now had a completely special appearance, which almost said to everyone he met: “We, gentlemen, are here only in passing, but in two hours we will leave for the dacha.” If the window opened, on which thin fingers, white as sugar, first drummed, and the head of a pretty girl poked out, beckoning to a peddler with pots of flowers, I immediately, immediately imagined that these flowers were only bought that way, that is, not at all for to enjoy spring and flowers in a stuffy city apartment, but that very soon everyone will move to the dacha and take the flowers with them. Moreover, I had already made such progress in my new, special kind of discoveries that I could already unmistakably, by one look, indicate which dacha someone lived in. The inhabitants of the Kamenny and Aptekarsky Islands or the Peterhof Road were distinguished by their studied elegance of techniques, smart summer suits and the beautiful carriages in which they arrived in the city. Residents of Pargolovo, even further away, at first glance “inspired” with their prudence and solidity; the visitor to Krestovsky Island had a calm and cheerful appearance. Did I manage to meet a long procession of dray drivers, lazily walking with reins in their hands next to carts loaded with whole mountains of all kinds of furniture, tables, chairs, Turkish and non-Turkish sofas and other household belongings, on which, on top of all this, she often sat, at the very top Voza, a frail cook who cherishes her master's property like the apple of her eye; I looked at the boats, heavily loaded with household utensils, gliding along the Neva or Fontanka, to the Black River or the islands - the carts and boats multiplied tenfold, became lost in my eyes; it seemed that everything was up and moving, everything was moving in whole caravans to the dacha; it seemed that all of Petersburg was threatening to turn into a desert, so that finally I felt ashamed, offended and sad; I absolutely had nowhere to go and there was no need to go to the dacha. I was ready to leave with every cart, to leave with every gentleman of respectable appearance who hired a cab; but no one, absolutely no one, invited me; as if they had forgotten me, as if I were truly a stranger to them!

Illustration for F. M. Dostoevsky’s story “White Nights”

There is something inexplicably touching in our St. Petersburg nature, when, with the onset of spring, it suddenly displays all its power, all the powers given to it by heaven, becomes pubescent, discharged, adorned with flowers... Somehow, it involuntarily reminds me of that girl, stunted and sickness, which you sometimes look at with regret, sometimes with some kind of compassionate love, sometimes you simply don’t notice it, but which suddenly, for one moment, somehow unexpectedly becomes inexplicably, wonderfully beautiful, and you, amazed, intoxicated, you involuntarily ask yourself: what force made these sad, thoughtful eyes shine with such fire? what brought the blood to those pale, thinner cheeks? What has filled these tender features with passion? Why is this chest heaving so much? What so suddenly brought strength, life and beauty to the face of the poor girl, made it sparkle with such a smile, come alive with such a sparkling, sparkling laugh? You look around, you are looking for someone, you guess... But the moment passes, and perhaps tomorrow you will again meet the same thoughtful and absent-minded look as before, the same pale face, the same humility and timidity in movements and even repentance, even traces of some kind of deadening melancholy and annoyance for a momentary infatuation... And it’s a pity for you that the momentary beauty withered so quickly, so irrevocably, that it flashed before you so deceptively and in vain - it’s a pity because you can’t even love her there was time...

Still, my night was better than my day! That's how it was.

I came back to the city very late, and ten o’clock had already struck when I began to approach the apartment. My road went along the canal embankment, on which at this hour you will not meet a living soul. True, I live in the most remote part of the city. I walked and sang, because when I am happy, I certainly hum something to myself, like everyone else. happy man who has neither friends nor good acquaintances and who, in a joyful moment, has no one to share his joy with. Suddenly the most unexpected adventure happened to me.

A woman stood to the side, leaning against the canal railing; Leaning on the grating, she apparently looked very carefully at the muddy water of the canal. She was dressed in a cute yellow hat and a flirty black cape. “This is a girl, and definitely a brunette,” I thought. She didn’t seem to hear my steps, didn’t even move when I walked past, holding my breath and with my heart pounding. "Strange! - I thought, “she must be really thinking about something,” and suddenly I stopped dead in my tracks. I thought I heard a muffled sob. Yes! I was not deceived: the girl was crying, and a minute later there was more and more sobbing. My God! My heart sank. And no matter how timid I am with women, it was such a moment!.. I turned back, stepped towards her and would certainly have said: “Madam!” - if only I didn’t know that this exclamation has already been uttered a thousand times in all Russian high-society novels. This alone stopped me. But while I was looking for the word, the girl woke up, looked around, caught herself, looked down and slid past me along the embankment. I immediately followed her, but she guessed, left the embankment, crossed the street and walked along the sidewalk. I didn't dare cross the street. My heart was fluttering like a caught bird. Suddenly one incident came to my aid.

On the other side of the sidewalk, not far from my stranger, a gentleman in a tailcoat, respectable years old, but one cannot say that he had a respectable gait, suddenly appeared. He walked, staggering and carefully leaning against the wall. The girl walked like an arrow, hastily and timidly, as all girls generally walk who do not want anyone to volunteer to accompany them home at night, and, of course, the swinging gentleman would never have caught up with her if my fate had not advised me his look for artificial means. Suddenly, without saying a word to anyone, my master takes off and flies as fast as he can, running, catching up with my stranger. She walked like the wind, but the swaying gentleman overtook, overtook, the girl screamed - and... I bless fate for the excellent knotty stick that happened this time in my right hand. I instantly found myself on the other side of the sidewalk, instantly the uninvited gentleman understood what was going on, took into account an irresistible reason, fell silent, fell behind, and only when we were already very far away did he protest against me in quite energetic terms. But his words barely reached us.

“Give me your hand,” I said to my stranger, “and he won’t dare pester us anymore.”

She silently gave me her hand, still trembling with excitement and fear. Oh, uninvited master! how I blessed you at this moment! I glanced at her: she was pretty and brunette - I guessed right; Tears of recent fright or former grief still glistened on her black eyelashes - I don’t know. But a smile was already sparkling on his lips. She also glanced at me furtively, blushed slightly and looked down.

“You see, why did you drive me away then?” If I had been here, nothing would have happened...

- But I didn’t know you: I thought you too...

- Do you really know me now?

- A little. For example, why are you trembling?

- Oh, you guessed it right the first time! - I answered in delight that my girlfriend is smart: this never interferes with beauty. - Yes, at first glance you guessed who you were dealing with. That’s right, I’m timid with women, I’m nervous, I don’t argue, no less than you were a minute ago when this gentleman scared you... I’m kind of scared now. It was like a dream, and even in my dreams I never imagined that I would ever talk to any woman.

- How? isn't it already?

“Yes, if my hand trembles, it’s because it has never been clasped by such a pretty little hand as yours.” I'm completely unaccustomed to women; that is, I never got used to them; I’m alone... I don’t even know how to talk to them. And now I don’t know - did I tell you something stupid? Tell me straight; I warn you, I am not touchy...

- No, nothing, nothing; against. And if you already demand that I be frank, then I will tell you that women like such timidity; and if you want to know more, then I like her too, and I will not drive you away from me all the way home.

“What you will do to me,” I began, gasping with delight, “is that I will immediately stop being timid and then - goodbye to all my means!”

- Facilities? what means, for what? This is really bad.

- I’m sorry, I won’t, it came out of my mouth; but how do you want there to be no desire at such a moment...

- Do you like it, or what?

- Well, yes; Yes, for God's sake, be kind. Judge who I am! After all, I’m already twenty-six years old, and I’ve never seen anyone. Well, how can I speak well, deftly and appropriately? It will be more profitable for you when everything is open, outward... I don’t know how to remain silent when my heart speaks in me. Well, it doesn’t matter... Believe it or not, not a single woman, ever, ever! No dating! and I only dream every day that finally, someday I will meet someone. Oh, if you only knew how many times I have been in love this way!..

- But how, in whom?..

- Yes, not to anyone, to the ideal, to the one that you dream about in a dream. I create entire novels in my dreams. Oh, you don't know me! True, it’s impossible without that, I met two or three women, but what kind of women are they? these are all such housewives that... But I’ll make you laugh, I’ll tell you that several times I thought of talking, just like that, to some aristocrat on the street, of course, when she was alone; speak, of course, timidly, respectfully, passionately; to say that I am dying alone, so that she does not drive me away, that there is no way to recognize at least some woman; to inspire her that even in a woman’s duties it is not possible to refuse the timid plea of such an unfortunate person as me. That, finally, all I demand is just to say a few brotherly words to me, with sympathy, not to drive me away from the first step, to take my word for it, to listen to what I have to say, to laugh me, if you like, to reassure me, to say two words to me, just two words, then at least let her and I never meet!.. But you laugh... However, that’s why I’m saying it...

- Don't be annoyed; I laugh at the fact that you are your own enemy, and if you had tried, you would have succeeded, perhaps, even if it was on the street; the simpler the better... None kind woman, unless she is stupid or especially angry about something at this moment, she would not dare to send you away without these two words that you are so timidly begging for... However, what am I! Of course, I would take you for a madman. I judged by myself. I myself know a lot about how people live in the world!

“Oh, thank you,” I shouted, “you don’t know what you’ve done for me now!”

- Good good! But tell me why you knew that I was the kind of woman with whom... well, whom you considered worthy... of attention and friendship... in a word, not a mistress, as you call it. Why did you decide to approach me?

- Why? Why? But you were alone, that gentleman was too bold, now it’s night: you yourself must agree that this is a duty...

- No, no, even before, there, on the other side. After all, you wanted to come to me?

- There, on the other side? But I really don’t know how to answer: I’m afraid... You know, I was happy today; I walked, sang; I was out of town; this has never happened to me before happy moments. You... maybe it seemed to me... Well, forgive me if I remind you: it seemed to me that you were crying, and I... I couldn’t hear it... my heart was embarrassed... Oh my God! Well, really, couldn’t I grieve for you? Was it really a sin to feel brotherly compassion for you?.. Sorry, I said compassion... Well, yes, in a word, could I really offend you by involuntarily taking it into my head to approach you?..

“Leave it, enough, don’t talk...” said the girl, looking down and squeezing my hand. “It’s my own fault for talking about this; but I’m glad that I wasn’t mistaken about you... but now I’m home; I need to go to the alley here; there are two steps... Goodbye, thank you...

- So is it really, will we never see each other again?.. Will it really remain like this?

“You see,” the girl said, laughing, “at first you only wanted two words, and now... But, however, I won’t tell you anything... Maybe we’ll meet again...

“I’ll come here tomorrow,” I said. - Oh, forgive me, I’m already demanding...

- Yes, you are impatient... you almost demand...

- Listen, listen! – I interrupted her. - Forgive me if I tell you something like that again... But here’s the thing: I can’t help but come here tomorrow. I'm a dreamer; I have so little real life that I consider moments like this, as now, so rare that I cannot help but repeat these minutes in my dreams. I will dream about you all night, all week, all year. I will certainly come here tomorrow, exactly here, to this same place, at this very hour, and I will be happy, remembering yesterday. This place is so nice to me. I already have two or three such places in St. Petersburg. I even cried once from the memory, like you... Who knows, maybe you, ten minutes ago, cried from the memory... But forgive me, I forgot again; Have you ever been especially happy here...

“Okay,” said the girl, “I’ll probably come here tomorrow, also at ten o’clock.” I see that I can’t stop you anymore... That’s the thing, I need to be here; don’t think that I’m making an appointment with you; I'm warning you, I need to be here for myself. But... well, I’ll tell you straight out: it will be okay if you come; firstly, there may be troubles again, like today, but that’s aside... in a word, I would just like to see you... to say a few words to you. But, you see, you won’t judge me now? Don’t think that I make dates so easily... I wouldn’t even make an appointment if... But let it be my secret! Just forward the agreement...

- Agreement! speak, say, say everything in advance; “I agree to everything, I’m ready for anything,” I cried out in delight, “I am responsible for myself - I will be obedient, respectful... you know me...

“It’s precisely because I know you that I’m inviting you tomorrow,” the girl said, laughing. - I know you completely. But look, come with a condition; first of all (just be so kind as to do what I ask - you see, I’m speaking frankly), don’t fall in love with me... This is impossible, I assure you. I’m ready for friendship, here’s my hand to you... But you can’t fall in love, please!

“I swear to you,” I shouted, grabbing her hand...

- Come on, don’t swear, I know you can catch fire like gunpowder. Don't judge me if I say so. If only you knew... I also don’t have anyone with whom I could say a word, who I could ask for advice. Of course, you shouldn’t look for advisers on the street, but you’re an exception. I know you as if we had been friends for twenty years... Isn’t it true, you won’t change?..

“You’ll see... but I don’t know how I’ll survive even a day.”

– Sleep better; good night - and remember that I have already entrusted myself to you. But you exclaimed so well just now: is it really possible to give an account of every feeling, even brotherly sympathy! Do you know, this was said so well that the thought immediately flashed through my mind to trust you...

- For God's sake, but what? What?

- Till tomorrow. Let this be a secret for now. So much the better for you; at least from a distance it will look like a novel. Maybe I’ll tell you tomorrow, or maybe not... I’ll talk to you in advance, we’ll get to know each other better...

- Oh, yes, I’ll tell you everything about myself tomorrow! But what is it? It’s like a miracle is happening to me... Where am I, my God? Well, tell me, are you really unhappy that you didn’t get angry, as someone else would have done, and didn’t drive me away at the very beginning? Two minutes and you made me happy forever. Yes! happy; who knows, maybe you have reconciled me with yourself, resolved my doubts... Maybe such moments come to me... Well, I’ll tell you everything tomorrow, you will know everything, everything...

- Okay, I accept; you will begin...

- Agree.

- Goodbye!

And we parted. I walked all night; I could not decide to return home. I was so happy... see you tomorrow!

Night two

- Well, here we are! - she told me, laughing and shaking both hands.

– I’ve been here for two hours already; you don’t know what happened to me all day!

- I know, I know... but to the point. Do you know why I came? After all, it’s not nonsense to talk like yesterday. Here's the thing: we need to act smarter moving forward. I thought about all this for a long time yesterday.

- In what ways to be smarter? For my part, I'm ready; but, really, nothing smarter has ever happened to me in my life than now.

- Indeed? First of all, I beg you, don’t shake my hands like that; secondly, I inform you that I have been thinking about you for a long time today.

- Well, how did it end?

- How did it end? It ended with the need to start everything again, because at the end of it all, I decided today that you are still completely unknown to me, that yesterday I acted like a child, like a girl, and, of course, it turned out that it was all my fault. kind heart, that is, I praised myself, as it always ends when we start sorting out our own. And because, in order to correct the mistake, I decided to find out about you myself. in more detail. But since there is no one to find out about you, you must tell me everything yourself, all the ins and outs. Well, what kind of person are you? Hurry up - start, tell your story.

- History! - I shouted, frightened, - history! But who told you that I have my story? I have no story...

- So how did you live if there is no history? – she interrupted, laughing.

- Absolutely no stories! so he lived, as we say, on his own, that is, completely alone - alone, completely alone - do you understand what one is?

- Yes, like one? So you've never seen anyone?

- Oh no, I see, I see - but still I’m alone.

- Well, aren’t you talking to anyone?

- In a strict sense, with no one.

- Who are you, explain yourself! Wait, I guess: you probably have a grandmother, just like me. She is blind, and for my entire life she has not let me go anywhere, so I have almost forgotten how to speak completely. And when I was naughty two years ago, she saw that you couldn’t stop me, she called me in, and pinned my dress to hers - and so we’ve been sitting all day long since then; she knits a stocking, even though she is blind; and I sit next to her, read or read a book out loud to her - like this strange custom, which has been pinned for two years now...

- Oh my God, what a misfortune! No, I don’t have such a grandmother.

- And if not, how can you sit at home?..

- Listen, do you want to know who I am?

- Well, yes, yes!

- In the strict sense of the word?

- In the strictest sense of the word!

- Excuse me, I’m a type.

- Type, type! what type? - the girl shouted, laughing as if she had not been able to laugh for a whole year. - Yes, it’s great fun with you! Look: there is a bench here; let's sit down! No one walks here, no one will hear us, and - begin your story! because, you won’t convince me, you have a story, and you’re just hiding. Firstly, what is a type?

- Type? the guy is original, he’s such a funny person! - I answered, bursting into laughter myself following her childish laughter. - This is such a character. Listen: do you know what a dreamer is?

- Dreamer! Excuse me, how could you not know! I'm a dreamer myself! Sometimes you sit next to your grandmother and something doesn’t come to mind. Well, you start dreaming, and then you change your mind - well, I’m just marrying a Chinese prince... But that’s good for another time - dreaming! No, but God knows! Especially if you already have something to think about,” the girl added this time quite seriously.

- Perfect! Since you married the Chinese Bogdykhan, then you will understand me completely. Well, listen... But excuse me: I don’t know your name yet?

- Finally! We remembered too early!

- Oh my god! Yes, it didn’t even occur to me, I was already feeling good...

- My name is Nastenka.

- Nastenka! but only?

- Only! Isn’t that enough for you, you insatiable one!

- Is it enough? A lot, a lot, on the contrary, a lot, Nastenka, you are a kind girl, since from the first time you became Nastenka for me!

- That's the same! Well!

- Well, Nastenka, listen to what a funny story this is about.

I sat down next to her, assumed a pedantically serious pose and began as if written:

– Yes, Nastenka, if you don’t know it, there are quite strange corners in St. Petersburg. It’s as if the same sun that shines for all the people of St. Petersburg does not look into these places, but some other, new one looks in, as if specially ordered for these corners, and shines on everything with a different, special light. In these corners, dear Nastenka, it is as if a completely different life survives, not like the one that boils near us, but one that may exist in the thirtieth unknown kingdom, and not here, in our serious, very serious time. This life is a mixture of something purely fantastic, ardently ideal and at the same time (alas, Nastenka!) dull and prosaic and ordinary, not to say incredibly vulgar.

- Ugh! Oh my God! what a preface! What am I going to hear?

– You will hear, Nastenka (I think I will never get tired of calling you Nastenka), you will hear that strange people live in these corners - dreamers. A dreamer - if you need a detailed definition of it - is not a person, but, you know, some kind of creature of the neuter kind. For the most part, he settles somewhere in an inaccessible corner, as if he is hiding there even from daylight, and if he gets in, he will grow to his corner like a snail, or at least he is very similar in this respect to that interesting animal, which is both an animal and a house together, which is called a turtle. Why do you think he loves his four walls so much, which are always painted green, smoky, dull and prohibitively smoked? Why does this funny gentleman, when one of his rare acquaintances comes to visit him (and he ends up with the fact that his acquaintances are all transferred), why does this funny man meet him so embarrassed, so changed in face and in such confusion, as if did he just commit a crime within his own four walls, as if he were fabricating fake papers or some poems to send to a magazine with an anonymous letter, which indicates that the real poet has already died and that his friend considers it a sacred duty to publish his verses? Why, tell me, Nastenka, does the conversation not go well with these two interlocutors? Why does neither laughter, nor some kind of lively word escape the tongue of a suddenly puzzled friend who suddenly enters, who otherwise very much loves laughter, and lively words, and conversations about the fair sex, and other cheerful topics? Why, finally, is this friend, probably a recent acquaintance, and at the first visit - because in that case there will be no second, and the friend will not come another time - why is the friend himself so embarrassed, so stiff, for all his wit ( if only he has one), looking at the upturned face of the owner, who, in turn, had already become completely lost and out of his depth after gigantic, but futile efforts to smooth out and spice up the conversation, to show, for his part, knowledge of secularism, also talk about the beautiful field and at least with such humility please the poor, misplaced person who came to visit him by mistake? Why, finally, does the guest suddenly grab his hat and quickly leave, suddenly remembering a most necessary matter that never happened, and somehow frees his hand from the hot squeezes of the owner, who is trying in every possible way to show his repentance and correct what was lost? Why does the departing friend burst out laughing as he walks out the door and immediately vows to himself never to come to this eccentric, although this eccentric is, in essence, a most excellent fellow, and at the same time cannot deny his imagination a little whim: to compare, at least in a remote way, the physiognomy of his recent interlocutor throughout the meeting with the appearance of that unfortunate kitten who was crushed, intimidated and offended in every possible way by children, who treacherously captured him, embarrassed him into dust, which finally hid away from them under a chair, into the darkness, and there for a whole hour at his leisure he is forced to bristle, snort and wash his offended snout with both paws and for a long time after that look with hostility at nature and life and even at the handout from the master's dinner, reserved for him by the compassionate housekeeper?

“Listen,” interrupted Nastenka, who had been listening to me all the time in surprise, with her eyes and mouth open, “listen: I don’t know at all why all this happened and why exactly you are asking me such ridiculous questions; but what I know for sure is that all these adventures certainly happened to you, from word to word.

“Without a doubt,” I answered with the most serious face.

“Well, if there is no doubt, then continue,” Nastenka answered, “because I really want to know how it will end.”

“You want to know, Nastenka, what our hero, or, better said, I, was doing in his corner, because the hero of the whole matter is me, in my own humble person; do you want to know why I was so alarmed and lost for the whole day due to an unexpected visit from a friend? Do you want to know why I jumped up so much and blushed so much when the door to my room was opened, why I didn’t know how to receive a guest and died so shamefully under the weight of my own hospitality?

- Well, yes, yes! - Nastenka answered, - that’s the point. Listen: you tell a wonderful story, but is it possible to tell it in a less beautiful way? Otherwise you sound like you’re reading a book.

- Nastenka! - I answered in an important and stern voice, barely restraining myself from laughing, - dear Nastenka, I know that I am telling a beautiful story, but it’s my fault, otherwise I don’t know how to tell. Now, dear Nastenka, now I look like the spirit of King Solomon, who was in a bottle for a thousand years, under seven seals, and from whom all these seven seals were finally removed. Now, dear Nastenka, when we got together again after such a long separation, - because I had known you for a long time, Nastenka, because I had been looking for someone for a long time, and this is a sign that I was looking for you and that we were destined now “to see each other,” now thousands of valves have opened in my head, and I must pour out a river of words, otherwise I will suffocate. So, I ask you not to interrupt me, Nastenka, but to listen, submissively and obediently; otherwise I will shut up.

- No, no, no! no way! speak! Now I won't say a word.

– I continue: there is, my friend Nastenka, one hour in my day that I love extremely. This is the very hour when almost all kinds of work, positions and obligations come to an end, and everyone rushes home to have dinner, lie down to rest, and right there, on the road, they invent other fun topics relating to the evening, night and all the remaining free time. At this hour, and our hero - because let me, Nastenka, talk in the third person, because it is terribly embarrassing to tell all this in the first person - so, at this hour, our hero, who was also not idle, follows the others. But a strange feeling of pleasure plays on his pale, seemingly somewhat wrinkled face. He looks with concern at the evening dawn, which is slowly fading in the cold St. Petersburg sky. When I say he’s looking, I’m lying: he’s not looking, but he’s contemplating somehow unconsciously, as if he’s tired or busy at the same time with something else, more interesting subject , so that only briefly, almost involuntarily, can he devote time to everything around him. He is happy because he has finished with things that are annoying to him before tomorrow, and he is happy, like a schoolboy who has been released from the classroom to his favorite games and pranks. Look at him from the side, Nastenka: you will immediately see that the joyful feeling has already happily affected his weak nerves and painfully irritated imagination. So he was thinking about something... Are you thinking about lunch? about tonight? What is he looking at like that? Is this the gentleman of respectable appearance who bowed so picturesquely to the lady who rode past him on speedy horses in a shiny carriage? No, Nastenka, what does he care about all this trifle now! He is now rich in his own special life; somehow he suddenly became rich, and it was not in vain that the farewell ray of the fading sun sparkled so cheerfully before him and evoked a whole swarm of impressions from his warmed heart. Now he barely notices the road on which before the smallest detail could strike him. Now the “goddess of fantasy” (if you read Zhukovsky, dear Nastenka) has already woven her golden foundation with a whimsical hand and has gone to develop the front patterns of an unprecedented, bizarre life - and, who knows, maybe she has transferred it with a whimsical hand to the seventh crystal heaven from the excellent granite sidewalk , along which he walks on his way home. Try to stop him now, ask him suddenly: where is he standing now, what streets did he walk along? - He probably would not have remembered anything, neither where he walked, nor where he was standing now, and, blushing with annoyance, he would certainly have lied something to save appearances. That is why he shuddered so much, almost screamed and looked around in fear when one very respectable old woman politely stopped him in the middle of the sidewalk and began to ask him about the road that she had lost. Frowning with annoyance, he walks on, barely noticing that more than one passer-by smiled, looking at him, and turned after him, and that some little girl, timidly giving way to him, laughed loudly, looking with all her eyes at his wide, contemplative smile. and hand gestures. But the same fantasy, in its playful flight, picked up the old woman, and the curious passers-by, and the laughing girl, and the peasants who were immediately having dinner on their barges that dammed the Fontanka (let’s say our hero was passing through it at that time), and made everyone playfully and everything fell into its own pattern, like flies into a cobweb, and with a new acquisition the eccentric had already entered his gratifying hole, had already sat down to dinner, had already dined a long time ago and woke up only when the pensive and eternally sad Matryona, who was serving him, was already done. I cleared the table and handed him the pipe, woke up and remembered with surprise that he had already had lunch, decisively overlooking how this happened. The room went dark; his soul is empty and sad; a whole kingdom of dreams was collapsing around him, collapsing without a trace, without noise or crackling, rushing by like a dream, and he himself doesn’t remember what he was dreaming about. But some dark sensation, from which his chest ached and trembled slightly, some new desire seductively tickled and irritated his fantasy and imperceptibly summoned a whole swarm of new ghosts. Silence reigns in the small room; solitude and laziness pamper the imagination; it ignites slightly, boils slightly, like water in the coffee pot of old Matryona, who is serenely fiddling around in the kitchen nearby, preparing her cook’s coffee. Now it is already bursting with light flashes, now the book, taken without purpose and at random, falls out of the hands of my dreamer, who has not even reached the third page. His imagination is again tuned, excited, and suddenly again new world, a new, charming life flashed before him in its brilliant perspective. New dream – new happiness! New trick refined, voluptuous poison! Oh, what does he need in our real life! In his bribed view, you and I, Nastenka, live so lazily, slowly, sluggishly; in his opinion, we are all so dissatisfied with our fate, we are so languid with our lives! And indeed, look, in fact, how at first glance everything between us is cold, gloomy, as if angry... “Poor things!” - my dreamer thinks. And it’s no wonder what he thinks! Look at these magical ghosts, which are so charmingly, so whimsically, so boundlessly and broadly composed before him in such a magical, animated picture, where in the foreground, the first person, of course, is himself, our dreamer, with his dear person. Look, what a variety of adventures, what an endless swarm of enthusiastic dreams. You might ask, what does he dream about? Why ask this! yes about everything... about the role of the poet, first unrecognized, and then crowned; about friendship with Hoffmann; St. Bartholomew's Night, Diana Vernon, heroic role in the capture of Kazan by Ivan Vasilyevich, Clara Movbray, Eufia Dens, the council of prelates and Hus before them, the rise of the dead in Robert (remember the music? It smells like a cemetery!), Minna and Brenda, the battle of Berezina, reading a poem Countess V-y-D-y, Danton, Cleopatra ei suoi amanti, house in Kolomna, has her own corner, and next to her is a sweet creature who listens to you in winter evening, with your mouth and eyes open, how you listen to me now, my little angel... No, Nastenka, what is he, what is he, a voluptuous sloth, in the life that we so want with you? he thinks that this is a poor, pitiful life, not foreseeing that for him, perhaps, someday the sad hour will strike when he will give all his fantastic years , and will not give for joy, not for happiness, and will not want to choose at that hour of sadness, repentance and unrestrained grief. But while it has not yet arrived, this terrible time - he does not want anything, because he is above desires, because everything is with him, because he is satiated, because he himself is the artist of his life and creates it for himself every hour according to new arbitrariness. And this fabulous, fantastic world is created so easily, so naturally! As if all this really wasn’t a ghost! Really, I’m ready to believe at another moment that this whole life is not an excitation of feelings, not a mirage, not a deception of the imagination, but that it is really real, real, existing! Why, tell me, Nastenka, why is the spirit embarrassed at such moments? Why, by some magic, by some unknown arbitrariness, does the pulse quicken, tears splash from the dreamer’s eyes, his pale, moistened cheeks glow, and his whole existence is filled with such irresistible joy? Why do whole sleepless nights pass, like one moment, in inexhaustible joy and happiness, and when the dawn flashes a pink ray through the windows and the dawn illuminates the gloomy room with its dubious fantastic light, as here in St. Petersburg, our dreamer, tired, exhausted, rushes on the bed and falls asleep, transfixed by the delight of his painfully shocked spirit and with such a painfully sweet pain in his heart? Yes, Nastenka, you will be deceived and involuntarily believe in someone else that real, true passion excites his soul, you involuntarily believe that there is something alive, tangible in his ethereal dreams! And what a deception - for example, love descended into his chest with all the inexhaustible joy, with all the languid torment... Just look at him and see for yourself! Do you believe, looking at him, dear Nastenka, that he really never knew the one he loved so much in his ecstatic dreams? Did he really only see her in seductive ghosts and did he only dream about this passion? Didn’t they really go through so many years of their lives hand in hand - alone, together, throwing away the whole world and connecting each of their worlds, their lives with the life of a friend? Wasn’t it she, at the late hour, when separation came, not she who lay, sobbing and yearning, on his chest, not hearing the storm that broke out under the harsh sky, not hearing the wind that tore and carried away the tears from her black eyelashes? Was it really all a dream - and this garden, sad, abandoned and wild, with paths overgrown with moss, secluded, gloomy, where they so often walked together, hoped, yearned, loved, loved each other for so long, “so long and tenderly "! And this strange, great-grandfather’s house, in which she lived for so long, alone and sadly, with her old, gloomy husband, always silent and bilious, who frightened them, timid as children, sadly and fearfully hiding their love from each other? How they suffered, how afraid they were, how innocent and pure their love was, and how (certainly, Nastenka) evil people were! And my God, was it really not her that he met later, far from the shores of his homeland, under a foreign sky, midday, hot, in a marvelous eternal city, in the splendor of a ball, with the thunder of music, in a palazzo (certainly a palazzo), drowned in a sea of lights , on this balcony, entwined with myrtle and roses, where she, recognizing him, so hastily took off her mask and, whispering: “I am free,” trembling, threw herself into his arms, and, screaming with delight, clinging to each other, they in one moment they forgot grief, and separation, and all the torment, and the gloomy house, and the old man, and the gloomy garden in a distant homeland, and the bench on which, with a last, passionate kiss, she broke free from his embrace, numb in desperate agony... Oh , you must agree, Nastenka, that you will flutter up, become embarrassed and blush, like a schoolboy who has just stuffed an apple stolen from a neighboring garden into his pocket, when some long, healthy guy, a merry fellow and joker, your uninvited friend, will open your door and shout as if nothing had happened: “And I, brother, am from Pavlovsk this minute!” My God! the old count died, indescribable happiness comes - and here people come from Pavlovsk!

I fell pathetically silent, ending my pathetic exclamations. I remember that I terribly wanted to somehow force myself to laugh, because I already felt that some kind of hostile imp was stirring inside me, that my throat was already starting to seize, my chin was twitching, and that my eyes were becoming more and more moist... I expected that Nastenka, who was listening to me, having opened her smart eyes, would burst out laughing with all her childish, uncontrollably cheerful laughter, and was already repenting that she had gone far, that it was in vain to tell what had long been boiling in my heart, about which I could talk like in writing, because I had long ago prepared a verdict on myself, and now I could not resist reading it, confessing, not expecting that they would understand me; but, to my surprise, she remained silent, after a while she lightly shook my hand and with some timid sympathy asked:

“Have you really lived your whole life like this?”

“All my life, Nastenka,” I answered, “all my life, and it seems I’ll end up like this!”

“No, this can’t be done,” she said worriedly, “this won’t happen; That way, perhaps, I’ll live my whole life next to my grandmother. Listen, do you know that it’s not at all good to live like this?

- I know, Nastenka, I know! – I cried, no longer holding back my feelings. “And now I know more than ever that I lost all my best years! Now I know this, and I feel more painful from such a consciousness, because God himself sent me you, my good angel, to tell me this and prove it. Now, when I sit next to you and talk to you, I’m already scared to think about the future, because in the future there will be loneliness again, again this musty, unnecessary life; and what will I dream about when in reality I was so happy next to you! Oh, be blessed, you, dear girl, for not rejecting me the first time, for the fact that I can already say that I lived at least two evenings in my life!

- Oh, no, no! - Nastenka screamed, and tears sparkled in her eyes, “no, it won’t happen like this anymore; We won’t part like that! What are two evenings!

- Oh, Nastenka, Nastenka! Do you know how long it took you to reconcile me with yourself? Do you know that now I won’t think as badly about myself as I thought at other moments? Do you know that perhaps I will no longer grieve over the fact that I committed a crime and sin in my life, because such a life is a crime and a sin? And don’t think that I’m exaggerating anything for you, for God’s sake don’t think so, Nastenka, because sometimes moments of such melancholy, such melancholy come over me... Because at these moments it’s already beginning to seem to me that I’ll never be able to start living real life, because it already seemed to me that I had lost all tact, all sense of the present, the real; because, finally, I cursed myself; because after my fantastic nights, moments of sobering up are already upon me, which are terrible! Meanwhile, you hear how the crowd of people thunders around you and swirls in the whirlwind of life, you hear, you see how people live - they live in reality, you see that life is not ordered for them, that their life will not scatter, like a dream, like a vision, that their life is eternally renewed, eternally young, and not a single hour of it is like another, while the fearful fantasy, the slave of the shadow, the idea, the slave of the first cloud that suddenly covers the sun and squeezes with melancholy the real St. Petersburg heart that is so dear, is dull and monotonous with your sun - and what a fantasy in melancholy! You feel that she is finally getting tired, this inexhaustible fantasy is exhausted in the eternal tension, because you are growing up, you are surviving from your previous ideals: they are broken into dust, into fragments; if there is no other life, then you have to build it from the same rubble. Meanwhile, the soul asks and wants something else! And in vain the dreamer rummages through his old dreams, as if in ashes, looking for in this ashes at least some spark to fan it, to warm the cold heart with a renewed fire and resurrect in it again everything that was previously so sweet that touched the soul, what boiled the blood, what pulled tears from the eyes and so luxuriously deceived! Do you know, Nastenka, what I have come to? Do you know that I am already forced to celebrate the anniversary of my feelings, the anniversary of what was so sweet before, which, in essence, never happened - because this anniversary is still celebrated according to the same stupid, ethereal dreams - and to do this, because even these stupid dreams do not exist, because there is nothing with which to survive them: after all, even dreams survive! Do you know that now I love to remember and visit at a certain time those places where I was once happy in my own way, I love to build my present in harmony with the irrevocably past, and I often wander around like a shadow, without need and without purpose, sadly and sadly through the back streets and streets of St. Petersburg. What memories! I remember, for example, that here exactly a year ago, exactly at this same time, at this same hour, along this same sidewalk, I was wandering just as lonely, just as sadly as now! And you remember that even then the dreams were sad, and although it was no better before, you still somehow feel that it was as if it was easier and more peaceful to live, that there was no such black thought that is now attached to me; that there were no such remorse of conscience, the gloomy, gloomy remorse that now gives no rest day or night. And you ask yourself: where are your dreams? and you shake your head and say: how quickly the years fly by! And again you ask yourself: what have you done with your years? where did you bury yours best time? Did you live or not? Look, you tell yourself, look how cold the world is getting. Years will pass, and after them will come gloomy loneliness, shaking old age will come with a stick, and after them melancholy and despondency. Your fantasy world will turn pale, your dreams will freeze, fade and fall off like yellow leaves from the trees... Oh Nastenka! after all, it will be sad to remain alone, completely alone, and not even have anything to regret - nothing, absolutely nothing... because everything that I lost, all this, all was nothing, a stupid, round zero, it was just a dream!

- Well, don’t pity me any more! - Nastenka said, wiping away a tear that rolled out of her eyes. - It's over now! Now we will be alone; Now no matter what happens to me, we will never part. Listen. I am a simple girl, I studied little, although my grandmother hired a teacher for me; but, really, I understand you, because everything that you told me now, I myself lived when my grandmother pinned me to the dress. Of course, I wouldn’t have told it as well as you did, I didn’t study,” she added timidly, because she still felt some respect for my pathetic speech and my high style, “but I’m very glad that you are completely opened up to me. Now I know you, completely, completely. And guess what? I want to tell you my story, all without hiding, and then you will give me advice for that. you are very clever man; do you promise that you will give me this advice?

“Oh, Nastenka,” I answered, “although I have never been an adviser, much less a smart adviser, but now I see that if we always live like this, it will be somehow very smart, and everyone gives each other lots of smart advice! Well, my pretty Nastenka, what advice do you have? Tell me straight; I am now so cheerful, happy, brave and smart that I can’t reach into my pocket for a word.

- No no! - Nastenka interrupted, laughing, - I need more than one smart advice, I need heartfelt, brotherly advice, just as you would have loved me for a century!

“He’s coming, Nastenka, he’s coming!” – I shouted in delight. “And if I had loved you for twenty years, I still wouldn’t love you more than I do now!”

- Your hand! - said Nastenka.

- Here she is! - I answered, giving her my hand.

- So, let's begin my story!

Nastenka's story

– You already know half the story, that is, you know what I have old grandmother…

“If the other half is as short as this one...” I interrupted, laughing.

- Be silent and listen. First of all, an agreement: don’t interrupt me, otherwise I’ll probably get confused. Well, listen attentively.

I have an old grandmother. I came to her when I was a very little girl, because both my mother and father died. One must think that grandmother was richer before, because now she remembers better days. She taught me French and then hired me a teacher. When I was fifteen years old (and now I’m seventeen), we finished studying. It was at this time that I was naughty: I won’t tell you what I did; It is enough that the offense was minor. Only my grandmother called me to her one morning and said that since she was blind, she would not look after me, she took a pin and pinned my dress to hers, and then she said that we would sit like this all our lives, if, of course, I won't get better. In a word, at first there was no way to leave: work, read, and study - all next to your grandmother. I tried to cheat once and persuaded Thekla to sit in my place. Fekla is our worker, she is deaf. Thekla sat down instead of me; At that time, my grandmother fell asleep in her chair, and I went nearby to see my friend. Well, the worst has come to an end. Grandma woke up without me and asked about something, thinking that I was still sitting quietly in place. Fekla sees that her grandmother is asking, but she herself doesn’t hear what she’s talking about, she thought and thought about what she should do, unfastened the pin, and started to run...

Here Nastenka stopped and began to laugh. I laughed with her. She stopped immediately.

– Listen, don’t laugh at grandma. It’s me who laughs because it’s funny... What can I do when my grandmother is really like that, but I still love her a little. Well, that’s when it happened to me: they immediately put me in my place again and no, no, it was impossible to move.

Well, I forgot to tell you that we, that is, grandmother, have our own house, that is, a small house, only three windows, completely wooden and as old as grandmother; and at the top there is a mezzanine; So a new tenant has moved into our mezzanine...

- So there was an old tenant too? – I noticed in passing.

“Of course there was,” answered Nastenka, “and who knew how to remain silent better than you.” True, he could barely move his tongue. He was an old man, dry, dumb, blind, lame, so that finally it became impossible for him to live in the world, and he died; and then we needed a new tenant, because we can’t live without a tenant: with my grandmother’s pension, that’s almost all of our income. The new tenant, as luck would have it, was a young man, not from here, just visiting. Since he didn’t bargain, the grandmother let him in, and then asked: “What, Nastenka, is our tenant young or not?” I didn’t want to lie: “So, I say, grandma, it’s not that he’s very young, but he’s not an old man.” - “Well, and good-looking?” - asks the grandmother.

I don't want to lie again. “Yes, I say, pleasant-looking, grandma!” And grandma says: “Oh! punishment, punishment! I’m telling you this, granddaughter, so that you don’t stare at him. What a century! Look, he’s such a small dweller, but he’s also pleasant-looking: it’s not like in the old days!”

And grandma would do everything in the old days! And in the old days she was younger, and in the old days the sun was warmer, and in the old days the cream did not sour so quickly - everything is in the old days! So I sit and remain silent, but I think to myself: why is it that grandmother herself is trying to persuade me, asking if the tenant is good, if he is young? Yes, just like that, I just thought, and then I started counting stitches again, knitting a stocking, and then I completely forgot.

So one morning a tenant comes to us to ask about the fact that they promised to wallpaper his room. Word for word, the grandmother is talkative, and says: “Go, Nastenka, to my bedroom, bring the bills.” I immediately jumped up, blushed all over, I don’t know why, and forgot that I was sitting pinned down; no, to spank her quietly so that the tenant doesn’t see - she jerked so hard that grandma’s chair moved. When I saw that the lodger now knew everything about me, I blushed, stood rooted to the spot, and suddenly began to cry - I felt so ashamed and bitter at that moment that I couldn’t even look at the light! The grandmother shouts: “Why are you standing there?” - and I’m even worse... The tenant saw that I was ashamed of him, took his leave and immediately left!

Since then, when I make a little noise in the hallway, I feel like I’m dead. Here, I think, the tenant is coming, and slowly, just in case, I’ll remove the pin. Only it wasn’t him, he didn’t come. Two weeks passed; lodger and sends to tell Thekla that he has a lot of French books and that everything good books, so you can read; So doesn’t grandma want me to read them to her so that she won’t get bored? Grandmother agreed with gratitude, but kept asking whether the books were moral or not, because if the books are immoral, then, Nastenka says, you can’t read, you’ll learn bad things.

- What will I learn, grandma? What is written there?

- A! - he says, - they describe how young people seduce well-behaved girls, how they, under the pretext of wanting to take them for themselves, take them away from their parents’ house, how they then leave these unfortunate girls to the will of fate, and they die in the most pitiable way way. “I,” says the grandmother, “read a lot of such books, and everything, she says, is so beautifully described that you sit all night, quietly reading. “So,” he says, “Nastenka, make sure you don’t read them.” “What kind of books,” he says, “has he sent?”

– And all Walter Scott’s novels, grandma.

– Walter Scott novels! Anyway, are there any tricks here? Look, did he put some kind of love note in them?

“No,” I say, “grandmother, there is no note.”

- Look under the binding; Sometimes they stuff it into a binder, robbers!..

- No, grandmother, and there is nothing under the binding.

- Well, that’s the same!

So we started reading Walter Scott and in just one month we read almost half of it. Then he sent more and more, Pushkin sent, so that finally I could not be without books and stopped thinking about how to marry a Chinese prince.

This was the case when one day I happened to meet our tenant on the stairs. Grandma sent me for something. He stopped, I blushed, and he blushed; however, he laughed, said hello, asked about grandmother’s health and said: “What, have you read the books?” I answered: “I read it.” - “What, he says, did you like better?” I say: I liked Ivangoy and Pushkin the most.” This time it ended that way.

A week later I came across him again on the stairs. This time my grandmother didn’t send me, but for some reason I needed it myself. It was three o'clock, and the tenant was coming home at that time. "Hello!" - speaks. I told him: “Hello!”

“What,” he says, “aren’t you bored sitting with your grandmother all day?”

When he asked me this, I, I don’t know why, blushed, felt ashamed, and again I felt offended, apparently because others began asking about this matter. I really wanted to not answer and leave, but I didn’t have the strength.

“Listen,” he says, “you are a kind girl!” Sorry for talking to you like this, but I assure you that I wish you well better than your grandmother. Don't you have any friends to visit?

I say that there were none, that Mashenka was alone, and even she left for Pskov.

“Listen,” he says, “do you want to go to the theater with me?”

- To the theatre? what about grandma?

“Yes, you,” he says, “quietly from grandma...

“No,” I say, “I don’t want to deceive my grandmother.” Farewell!

“Well, goodbye,” he said, but he didn’t say anything.

Only after lunch does he come to us; sat down, talked to my grandmother for a long time, asked if she was going anywhere, if she had any acquaintances - and suddenly she said: “And today I took a box to the opera; "The Barber of Seville" is given; my friends wanted to go, but then they refused, and I still have the ticket in my hands.”

- “The Barber of Seville”! - the grandmother shouted, “is this the same barber that they used to give in the old days?”

“Yes,” he says, “this is the same barber,” and he looked at me. And I already understood everything, blushed, and my heart jumped with anticipation!

“But of course,” says the grandmother, “how could I not know!” I myself in the old days home theater Played Rosina!

- So, would you like to go today? - said the tenant. - My ticket is wasted.

“Yes, I guess we’ll go,” says Grandma, “why shouldn’t we go?” But Nastenka has never been to the theater.

My God, what joy! We immediately got ready, got ready and set off. Even though grandma is blind, she still wanted to listen to music, and besides, she is a kind old lady: she wanted to amuse me more, we would never have gotten together on our own. I won’t tell you what impression I had from “The Barber of Seville,” but all that evening our lodger looked at me so well and spoke so well that I immediately saw that he wanted to test me in the morning, suggesting that I be alone with I went with him. Well, what a joy! I went to bed so proud, so cheerful, my heart was beating so much that I had a slight fever, and all night I raved about “The Barber of Seville.”

I thought that after that he would come more and more often, but that was not the case. He almost completely stopped. So, once a month, he would come in, and then only to invite me to the theater. We went again a couple of times afterwards. Only I was completely unhappy with this. I saw that he simply felt sorry for me because I was with my grandmother in such a pen, but nothing more. On and on, and it came over me: I don’t sit, and I don’t read, and I don’t work, sometimes I laugh and do something to spite my grandmother, other times I just cry. Finally, I lost weight and almost became sick. The opera season passed, and the lodger stopped coming to us altogether; when we met - all on the same staircase, of course - he would bow so silently, so seriously, as if he didn’t even want to talk, and he would just go down to the porch, and I was still standing on half the stairs, red as a cherry, because all the blood started rushing to my head when I met him.

Now now is the end. Exactly a year ago, in the month of May, the tenant came to us and told my grandmother that he had completely worked out his business here and that he should again go to Moscow for a year. When I heard it, I turned pale and fell on a chair as if dead. Grandmother did not notice anything, and he, announcing that he was leaving us, bowed to us and left.

What should I do? I thought and thought, grieved and grieved, and finally decided. Tomorrow he had to leave, and I decided that I would finish everything in the evening, when my grandmother went to bed. And so it happened. I tied all the dresses I had into a bundle, as much linen as I needed, and with the bundle in my hands, neither alive nor dead, I went to the mezzanine to see our tenant. I think I walked up the stairs for an hour. When the door opened to him, he screamed, looking at me. He thought I was a ghost and rushed to give me some water because I could barely stand on my feet. My heart was beating so hard that my head hurt, and my mind was clouded. When I woke up, I started right away by putting my bundle on his bed, sat down next to him, covered myself with my hands and began to cry like crazy. He seemed to understand everything instantly and stood in front of me, pale and looking at me so sadly that my heart broke.

“Listen,” he began, “listen, Nastenka, I can’t do anything; I am a poor man; I don’t have anything yet, not even a decent place; How would we live if I married you?

We talked for a long time, but I finally went into a frenzy, said that I couldn’t live with my grandmother, that I would run away from her, that I didn’t want to be pinned down, and that, as he wanted, I would go with him to Moscow, because I can't live without him. And shame, and love, and pride - everything spoke inside me at once, and I almost fell on the bed in convulsions. I was so afraid of rejection!

He sat silently for several minutes, then stood up, came up to me and took my hand.

- Listen, my kind, my dear Nastenka! - he also began through tears, - listen. I swear to you that if I am ever able to get married, then you will certainly make up my happiness; I assure you, now only you can make up my happiness. Listen: I’m going to Moscow and will stay there for exactly a year. I hope to arrange my affairs. When I toss and turn, and if you don’t stop loving me, I swear to you, we will be happy. Now it’s impossible, I can’t, I have no right to promise anything. But I repeat, if this is not done in a year, then at least someday it will certainly happen; of course - in the event that you do not prefer someone else to me, because I cannot and do not dare bind you with any word.

That's what he told me and left the next day. Grandma was supposed not to say a word about it. That's what he wanted. Well, now my whole story is almost over. Exactly a year has passed. He arrived, he’s been here for three whole days and, and...

- And what? – I shouted, impatient to hear the end.

– And he still hasn’t shown up! - Nastenka answered, as if gathering strength, - not a word, not a breath...

Then she stopped, was silent for a while, lowered her head and suddenly, covering herself with her hands, began to sob so much that my heart turned over from these sobs.

I never expected such a denouement.

- Nastenka! - I began in a timid and insinuating voice, - Nastenka! For God's sake, don't cry! Why do you know? maybe it's not there yet...

- Here, here! – Nastenka picked up. “He’s here, I know it.” We had a condition, then, that evening, on the eve of departure: when we had already said everything that I told you, and agreed, we went out here for a walk, precisely on this embankment. It was ten o'clock; we sat on this bench; I no longer cried, it was sweet for me to listen to what he said... He said that he would come to us immediately upon arrival, and if I did not refuse him, then we would tell my grandmother everything. Now he has arrived, I know it, and he is gone, no!

And she burst into tears again.

- My God! Is there really no way to help the grief? – I shouted, jumping up from the bench in complete despair. - Tell me, Nastenka, is it possible for me to at least go to him?..

- Is it possible? - she said, suddenly raising her head.

- No, of course not! – I noticed, catching myself. - Here's what: write a letter.

- No, this is impossible, this is impossible! - she answered decisively, but with her head down and not looking at me.

- How can you not? why can't it? – I continued, seizing on my idea. - But, you know, Nastenka, what a letter! Letter to letter is different and... Oh, Nastenka, it’s so! Trust me, trust me! I won't give you bad advice. All this can be arranged. You started the first step - why now...

- You can’t, you can’t! Then I seem to be imposing...

- Oh, my dear Nastenka! - I interrupted, not hiding my smile, - no, no; you finally have the right, because he promised you. And from everything I see that he is a delicate person, that he did well,” I continued, more and more delighted with the logic of my own arguments and beliefs, “what did he do? He bound himself with a promise. He said that he would not marry anyone but you, if only he would marry; He left you complete freedom to refuse it even now... In this case, you can take the first step, you have the right, you have an advantage over him, at least, for example, if you wanted to untie him from this word...

- Listen, how would you write?

- Yes, this is a letter.

- This is how I would write: “Dear Sir...”

– Is this absolutely necessary, my dear sir?

- Definitely! However, why? I think…

- "Your Majesty!

Sorry that I…” However, no, no apologies are needed! Here the very fact justifies everything, write simply:

“I am writing to you. Forgive me my impatience; but for a whole year I was happy with hope; Is it my fault that now I can’t stand even a day of doubt? Now that you have already arrived, perhaps you have already changed your intentions. Then this letter will tell you that I do not complain or blame you. I don't blame you for not having power over your heart; such is my fate!

You noble man. You will not smile and become annoyed by my impatient lines. Remember that they are written by a poor girl, that she is alone, that there is no one to teach her or advise her, and that she has never been able to control her own heart. But forgive me that doubt crept into my soul even for one moment. You are incapable of even mentally offending the one who loved and loves you so much.”

- Yes Yes! this is exactly what I thought! - Nastenka shouted, and joy shone in her eyes. - ABOUT! you resolved my doubts, God himself sent you to me! Thank you, thank you!

- For what? because God sent me? - I answered, looking in delight at her joyful face.

- Yes, at least for that.

- Oh, Nastenka! After all, we thank other people for at least the fact that they live with us. I thank you for meeting me, for the fact that I will remember you for my whole century!

- Well, that's enough, that's enough! Now here’s what, listen: then there was a condition that as soon as he arrived, he would immediately make himself known by leaving me a letter in one place with some of my friends, kind and simple people who knew nothing about it ; or if it is impossible to write letters to me, because you can’t always tell everything in a letter, then on the same day he arrives, he will be here exactly at ten o’clock, where we planned to meet him. I already know about his arrival; but for the third day now there has been no letter or him. There is no way for me to leave my grandmother in the morning. Give my letter tomorrow to those good people I told you about: they will already forward it; and if there is an answer, then you yourself will bring it in the evening at ten o’clock.

- But a letter, a letter! After all, first you need to write a letter! So will all this happen the day after tomorrow?

“A letter...” Nastenka answered, a little confused, “a letter... but...”

But she didn’t finish. She first turned her face away from me, blushed like a rose, and suddenly I felt a letter in my hand, apparently written a long time ago, completely prepared and sealed. Some familiar, sweet, graceful memory flashed through my head.

“R,o—Ro, s,i—si, n,a—na,” I began.

- Rosina! - we both sang, I, almost hugging her with delight, she, blushing as only she could blush, and laughing through the tears that, like pearls, trembled on her black eyelashes.

- Well, that's enough, that's enough! Farewell now! - she said quickly. “Here is a letter for you, and here is the address to take it to.” Farewell! Goodbye! till tomorrow!

She squeezed both my hands tightly, nodded her head and flashed like an arrow into her alley. I stood still for a long time, following her with my eyes.

"Till tomorrow! till tomorrow!" - flashed through my head when she disappeared from my eyes.

Night three

Today was a sad, rainy day, without light, like my future old age. I am surrounded by such strange thoughts, such dark sensations, such questions that are not yet clear to me, crowding into my head - but somehow I have neither the strength nor the desire to resolve them. It’s not for me to solve all this!

We won't see each other today. Yesterday, when we said goodbye, clouds began to cover the sky and fog rose. I said that tomorrow would be a bad day; she did not answer, she did not want to talk against herself; for her this day is both bright and clear, and not a single cloud will cover her happiness.

- If it rains, we won’t see each other! - she said, - I won’t come.

I thought that she didn’t notice today’s rain, but yet she didn’t come.

Yesterday was our third date, our third white night...

However, how joy and happiness make a person beautiful! how my heart boils with love! It seems that you want to pour out your whole heart into another heart, you want everything to be fun, everyone to laugh. And how contagious this joy is! Yesterday there was so much tenderness in her words, so much kindness towards me in her heart... How she looked after me, how she caressed me, how she encouraged and tendered my heart! Oh, how much coquetry comes from happiness! And I... I took everything at face value; I thought she...

But, my God, how could I think this? how could I be so blind, when everything has already been taken by others, everything is not mine; when, finally, even this very tenderness of hers, her care, her love... yes, love for me, was nothing more than the joy of a speedy meeting with another, the desire to impose her happiness on me too?.. When he did not come, when we waited in vain, she frowned, she became timid and cowardly. All her movements, all her words were no longer so light, playful and cheerful. And, strangely enough, she redoubled her attention to me, as if instinctively wanting to pour out on me what she wanted for herself, for which she was afraid, if it did not come true. My Nastenka became so shy, so frightened that it seemed that she finally understood that I loved her and took pity on my poor love. Thus, when we are unhappy, we feel the unhappiness of others more strongly; the feeling does not break, but concentrates...

I came to her with with a full heart and barely waited for the date. I didn’t foresee what I would feel now, I didn’t foresee that it would all end differently. She was beaming with joy, she was waiting for an answer. The answer was himself. He had to come, run to her call. She arrived an hour before me. At first she laughed at everything, laughed at every word I said. I started to speak and fell silent.

– Do you know why I’m so happy? - she said, - so glad to look at you? love you so much today?

- Well? – I asked, and my heart trembled.

“I love you because you didn’t fall in love with me.” After all, someone else in your place would bother, pester, get tired, get sick, but you are so sweet!

Then she squeezed my hand so hard that I almost screamed. She laughed.

- God! what a friend you are! – she began a minute later very seriously. - Yes, God sent you to me! Well, what would happen to me if you weren’t with me now? How selfless you are! How well you love me! When I get married, we will be very friendly, more than like brothers. I will love you almost as much as I love him...

I felt somehow terribly sad at that moment; however, something similar to laughter stirred in my soul.

“You’re having a fit,” I said. – you are a coward; you think he won't come.

- God with you! “- she answered, “if I were less happy, I think I would cry from your disbelief, from your reproaches.” However, you gave me an idea and gave me a long thought; but I’ll think about it later, and now I’ll admit to you that you’re telling the truth. Yes! I’m somehow not myself; I’m somehow all in anticipation and I feel everything is somehow too easy. Come on, let’s leave about feelings!..

At this time, footsteps were heard, and a passer-by appeared in the darkness, walking towards us. We both trembled; she almost screamed. I lowered her hand and made a gesture as if I wanted to move away. But we were deceived: it was not him.

- What are you afraid of? Why did you abandon my hand? - she said, handing it to me again. - Well, what then? we will meet him together. I want him to see how much we love each other.

– How we love each other! – I shouted.

“Oh Nastenka, Nastenka! - I thought, - you said a lot with this word! From this kind of love, Nastenka, at other times the heart grows cold and the soul becomes heavy. Your hand is cold, mine is hot like fire. How blind you are, Nastenka!.. Oh! how unbearable a happy person is at other times! But I couldn’t get angry with you!..”

Finally my heart was full.

- Listen, Nastenka! - I shouted, - do you know what happened to me all day?

- Well, what, what is it? tell me soon! Why have you all been silent until now!

- First of all, Nastenka, when I fulfilled all your commissions, gave the letter, I was at your good people, then... then I came home and went to bed.

- Only that? – she interrupted, laughing.

“Yes, almost just that,” I answered reluctantly, because stupid tears were already welling up in my eyes. “I woke up an hour before our date, but it was as if I hadn’t slept. I don't know what happened to me. I walked to tell you all this, as if time had stopped for me, as if one sensation, one feeling should have remained with me from that time on forever, as if one minute should have lasted an eternity and as if my whole life had stopped for me... When I woke up, it seemed to me that some musical motive, familiar for a long time, heard somewhere before, forgotten and sweet, was now remembered by me. It seemed to me that he had been asking from my soul all my life, and only now...

- Oh, my God, my God! - Nastenka interrupted, - how is it all so? I don't understand a word.

- Oh, Nastenka! I wanted to somehow convey to you this strange impression...” I began in a plaintive voice, in which hope was still hidden, although very distant.

- Stop it, stop it, stop it! - she spoke, and in an instant she guessed, the cheat!

Suddenly she became somehow unusually talkative, cheerful, and playful. She took me by the arm, laughed, wanted me to laugh too, and every embarrassed word I said echoed in her with such a ringing, such a long laugh... I began to get angry, she suddenly started flirting.

“Listen,” she began, “I’m a little annoyed that you didn’t fall in love with me.” Look after this man! But still, Mr. adamant, you cannot help but praise me for being so simple. I tell you everything, I say everything, no matter what stupidity flashes through my head.

- Listen! It's eleven o'clock, I think? - I said as the steady sound of a bell rang out from a distant city tower. She suddenly stopped, stopped laughing and started counting.

“Yes, eleven,” she finally said in a timid, hesitant voice.

I immediately repented that I had frightened her, made her count the hours, and cursed myself for the fit of anger. I felt sad for her, and I did not know how to atone for my sin. I began to console her, look for the reasons for his absence, present various arguments and evidence. It was impossible to deceive anyone more easily than her at that moment, and everyone at that moment somehow joyfully listens to at least some kind of consolation, and is glad, glad, if there is even a shadow of justification.

“Yes, and it’s a funny thing,” I began, getting more and more excited and admiring the extraordinary clarity of my evidence, “and he couldn’t come; you deceived and lured me too, Nastenka, so that I lost track of time... Just think: he could barely receive the letter; Suppose he can’t come, suppose he answers, the letter will not arrive until tomorrow. I'll go pick him up tomorrow morning and let him know right away. Finally, imagine a thousand possibilities: well, he wasn’t at home when the letter arrived, and maybe he still hasn’t read it? After all, anything can happen.

- Yes Yes! - Nastenka answered, - I didn’t even think; of course, anything can happen,” she continued in the most accommodating voice, but in which, like an annoying dissonance, some other distant thought could be heard. “Here’s what you do,” she continued, “you go tomorrow, as early as possible, and if you get anything, let me know right away.” You know where I live, right? – And she began to repeat her address to me.

Then she suddenly became so tender, so timid with me... She seemed to listen carefully to what I told her; but when I turned to her with some question, she remained silent, became confused and turned her head away from me. I looked into her eyes and it was true: she was crying.

- Well, is it possible, is it possible? Oh, what a child you are! What childishness!.. Come on!

She tried to smile, to calm down, but her chin trembled and her chest was still heaving.

“I’m thinking about you,” she told me after a minute’s silence, “you are so kind that I would be made of stone if I didn’t feel it... Do you know what came to my mind now? I compared you both. Why is he not you? Why is he not like you? He is worse than you, although I love him more than you.

I didn't answer anything. She seemed to be waiting for me to say something.

“Of course, maybe I don’t quite understand him yet, I don’t quite know him.” You know, it was as if I was always afraid of him; he was always so serious, as if proud. Of course, I know that he only looks in such a way that there is more tenderness in his heart than in mine... I remember how he looked at me then, how I, remember, came to him with a bundle; but still, I somehow respect him too much, but it’s as if we’re not equal?

“No, Nastenka, no,” I answered, “this means that you love him more than anything in the world, and you love yourself much more.”

“Yes, let’s assume that this is so,” answered the naive Nastenka, “but do you know what came to my mind now? Only now I won’t talk about him, but in general; All this has been on my mind for a long time. Listen, why aren’t we all like brothers and brothers? Why the most best person always seems to be hiding something from the other and is silent from him? Why not say what’s in your heart right now, if you know that you won’t say your word to the wind? Otherwise, everyone looks as if he is harsher than he really is, as if everyone is afraid of offending their feelings if they show them very soon...

- Ax, Nastenka! you are telling the truth; “But this happens for many reasons,” I interrupted, more than ever at that moment I was constrained by my feelings.

- No no! - she answered with deep feeling. - For example, you are not like others! I really don’t know how to tell you what I feel; but it seems to me that you, for example... at least now... it seems to me that you are sacrificing something for me,” she added timidly, glancing briefly at me. “You’ll forgive me if I tell you this: I’m a simple girl; “I haven’t seen much in the world yet, and, really, sometimes I don’t know how to speak,” she added in a voice trembling from some hidden feeling, and trying to smile in the meantime, “but I just wanted to tell you that I’m grateful, that I too I feel all this... Oh, God grant you happiness for this! What you told me then about your dreamer is completely untrue, that is, I want to say, it doesn’t concern you at all. You are recovering, you are truly a completely different person than how you described yourself. If you ever fall in love, then God grant you happiness with her! And I don’t wish anything for her, because she will be happy with you. I know, I am a woman myself, and you must believe me if I tell you so...

She fell silent and shook my hand firmly. I, too, could not say anything from excitement. Several minutes passed.

- Yes, it’s obvious that he won’t come today! – she said finally, raising her head. - Late!..

“He will come tomorrow,” I said in the most confident and firm voice.

“Yes,” she added, amused, “I myself now see that he will come only tomorrow.” Well, then goodbye! till tomorrow! If it rains, I may not come. But the day after tomorrow I will come, I will certainly come, no matter what happens to me; be here without fail; I want to see you, I'll tell you everything.

And then, when we said goodbye, she gave me her hand and said, looking at me clearly:

– After all, we are together forever now, aren’t we?

ABOUT! Nastenka, Nastenka! If only you knew how alone I am now!

When nine o'clock struck, I could not sit in the room, got dressed and went out, despite the stormy time. I was there, sitting on our bench. I was about to go into their alley, but I felt ashamed, and I turned back without looking at their windows, without reaching two steps to their house. I came home in such melancholy as I had never been before. What a damp, boring time! If the weather had been good, I would have walked there all night...

But see you tomorrow, see you tomorrow! Tomorrow she will tell me everything.

However, there was no letter today. But, however, that’s how it should have been. They are already together...

Night four

God, how it all ended! How did it all end!

I arrived at nine o'clock. She was already there. I noticed her from afar; She stood, as she did then for the first time, leaning her elbows on the railing of the embankment, and did not hear me approach her.

- Nastenka! – I called out to her, trying to suppress my excitement.

She quickly turned to me.

- Well! - she said, - well! hurry up!

I looked at her in bewilderment.

- Well, where is the letter? Have you brought a letter? – she repeated, grabbing the railing with her hand.

“No, I don’t have a letter,” I said finally, “hasn’t he arrived yet?”

She turned terribly pale and for a long time looked at me motionless. I dashed her last hope.

- Well, God bless him! “- she finally said in a broken voice, “God bless him if he leaves me like that.”

She lowered her eyes, then wanted to look at me, but could not. For a few more minutes she overcame her excitement, but suddenly she turned away, leaning her elbows on the balustrade of the embankment, and burst into tears.

- Completeness, completeness! - I started to speak, but I didn’t have the strength to continue, looking at her, and what would I say?

“Don’t console me,” she said, crying, “don’t talk about him, don’t say that he will come, that he didn’t abandon me as cruelly, as inhumanly as he did.” For what, for what? Was there really anything in my letter, in this unfortunate letter?..

- Oh, how inhumanly cruel this is! – she started again. - And not a line, not a line! At least he would answer that he doesn’t need me, that he rejects me; otherwise not a single line for three whole days! How easy it is for him to offend and offend a poor, defenseless girl, who is to blame for loving him! Oh, how much I suffered in these three days! My God, my God! How will I remember that I came to him for the first time myself, that I humiliated myself in front of him, cried, that I begged him for at least a drop of love... And after that!.. Listen, - she spoke, turning to me, and her black eyes sparkled - but it’s not so! This cannot be so; it's unnatural! Either you or I have been deceived; Maybe he didn't receive the letter? Maybe he still doesn't know anything? How is it possible, judge for yourself, tell me, for God’s sake, explain to me - I cannot understand this - how can one act so barbarously and rudely, as he did to me! Not a single word! But they are more compassionate towards the last person in the world. Maybe he heard something, maybe someone told him about me? – she shouted, turning to me with a question. - What, what do you think?

- Listen, Nastenka, I will go to him tomorrow on your behalf.

“I’ll ask him everything, I’ll tell him everything.”

- You write a letter. Don't say no, Nastenka, don't say no! I will make him respect your action, he will know everything, and if...

“No, my friend, no,” she interrupted, “That’s enough!” Not another word, not a single word from me, not a line - that's enough! I don’t know him, I don’t love him anymore, I will... for... him...

She didn't finish.

- Calm down, calm down! “Sit here, Nastenka,” I said, sitting her down on the bench.

- Yes, I’m calm. Completeness! This is true! These are tears, this will dry out! What do you think, that I will ruin myself, that I will drown myself?..

My heart was full; I wanted to speak, but I couldn’t.

- Listen! - she continued, taking me by the hand, - tell me: wouldn’t you do something like that? You wouldn’t abandon someone who would come to you on her own, wouldn’t you throw shameless ridicule of her weak, stupid heart into her eyes? Would you take care of her? You would imagine that she was alone, that she did not know how to look after herself, that she did not know how to protect herself from loving you, that she was not to blame, that she was finally not to blame... that she did nothing!.. Oh my god, oh my god...

- Nastenka! – I finally shouted, unable to overcome my excitement. - Nastenka! you are tormenting me! You hurt my heart, you kill me, Nastenka! I can't be silent! I must finally speak, express what is boiling in my heart...

As I said this, I stood up from the bench. She took my hand and looked at me in surprise.

- What's wrong with you? – she finally said.

- Listen! – I said decisively. - Listen to me, Nastenka! What am I going to say now, everything is nonsense, everything is unrealizable, everything is stupid! I know that this can never happen, but I can’t remain silent. In the name of what you are now suffering from, I beg you in advance, forgive me!..

- Well, what, what? “- she said, stopping crying and looking intently at me, while strange curiosity shone in her surprised eyes, “what’s the matter with you?”

- This is impossible, but I love you, Nastenka! that's what! Well, now everything is said! – I said, waving my hand. “Now you will see if you can talk to me like you just spoke, if you can finally listen to what I am going to tell you...

- Well, well, what then? - Nastenka interrupted, - what of this? Well, I’ve known for a long time that you love me, but it just seemed to me that you loved me so, simply, somehow... Oh, my God, my God!

“At first it was simple, Nastenka, but now, now... I’m just like you when you came to him with your bundle.” Worse than like you, Nastenka, because he didn’t love anyone then, but you do.

-What are you telling me? Finally, I don’t understand you at all. But listen, why is this, that is, not why, but why are you doing this, and so suddenly... God! I'm talking nonsense! But you...

And Nastenka was completely confused. Her cheeks flushed; she lowered her eyes.

- What should I do, Nastenka, what should I do! I’m guilty, I used it for evil... But no, no, it’s not my fault, Nastenka; I hear it, I feel it, because my heart tells me that I’m right, because I can’t offend you with anything, I can’t offend you with anything! I was your friend; Well, here I am now a friend; I didn't change anything. Now my tears are flowing, Nastenka. Let them flow, let them flow – they don’t bother anyone. They will dry out, Nastenka...

“Sit down, sit down,” she said, sitting me on the bench, “oh, my God!”

- No! Nastenka, I won’t sit down; I can no longer be here, you can no longer see me; I'll say everything and leave. I just want to say that you would never know that I love you. I would keep my secret. I would not torment you now, at this moment, with my selfishness. No! but I couldn’t bear it now; you yourself started talking about it, you are to blame, you are to blame for everything, but I am not to blame. You can't drive me away from you...

- No, no, I’m not driving you away, no! - Nastenka said, hiding her embarrassment as best she could, poor thing.

-Aren't you driving me away? No! and I myself wanted to run away from you. I’ll leave, but I’ll say everything first, because when you were talking here, I couldn’t sit still, when you were crying here, when you were tormented because, well, because (I’ll call it, Nastenka), because you were being rejected, because they pushed away your love, I felt, I heard that in my heart there is so much love for you, Nastenka, so much love!.. And I felt so bitter that I could not help you with this love... that my heart broke, and I , I couldn’t be silent, I had to speak, Nastenka, I had to speak!..

- Yes Yes! tell me, talk to me like that! - Nastenka said with an inexplicable movement. – It may be strange for you that I’m talking to you like this, but... speak up! I'll tell you later! I'll tell you everything!..

– You feel sorry for me, Nastenka; you just feel sorry for me, my friend! What's lost is gone! what has been said cannot be taken back! Is not it? Well, now you know everything. Well, this is the starting point. OK then! now it's all wonderful; just listen. When you sat and cried, I thought to myself (oh, let me tell you what I thought!), I thought that (well, of course, this cannot be, Nastenka), I thought that you... I thought that somehow... well, in some completely outsider way, you don’t love him anymore. Then - I was already thinking about this yesterday and the day before, Nastenka - then I would have done this, I would certainly have done it in such a way that you would love me: after all, you said, because you yourself said, Nastenka, that you are already almost completely fell in love. Well, what next? Well, that's almost all I wanted to say; All that remains is to say what would have happened if you had loved me, only this, nothing more! Listen, my friend - because you are my friend after all - I, of course, am a simple, poor, so insignificant person, but that’s not the point (I somehow keep talking about the wrong things, it’s out of embarrassment, Nastenka ), but I would love you so much, so much that if you also loved him and continued to love the one I don’t know, you still wouldn’t notice that my love is somehow difficult for you. You would only hear, you would only feel every minute that a grateful, grateful heart is beating next to you, a warm heart that is for you... Oh, Nastenka, Nastenka! what have you done to me!..

“Don’t cry, I don’t want you to cry,” Nastenka said, quickly getting up from the bench, “come on, get up, come with me, don’t cry, don’t cry,” she said, wiping my tears with her handkerchief, “well.” , let's go now; Maybe I’ll tell you something... Yes, since now he has left me, since he has forgotten me, although I still love him (I don’t want to deceive you)... but listen, answer me. If I, for example, fell in love with you, that is, if I only... Oh, my friend, my friend! How will I think, how will I think that I insulted you then, that I laughed at your love, when I praised you for not falling in love!.. Oh God! how come I didn’t foresee this, how I didn’t foresee this, how I was so stupid, but... well, well, I made up my mind, I’ll say everything...

- Listen, Nastenka, you know what? I'll leave you, that's what! I'm just torturing you. Now you have remorse for the fact that you mocked, but I don’t want, yes, I don’t want you, except for your grief... I, of course, am to blame, Nastenka, but goodbye!

- Wait, listen to me: can you wait?

– What to expect, how?

- I love him; but it will pass, it must pass, it cannot but pass; It’s already passing, I hear... Who knows, maybe it will end today, because I hate him, because he laughed at me, while you cried here with me, that’s why you wouldn’t have rejected me like he did, because you love, but he didn’t love me, because I finally love you myself... yes, I love you! I love the way you love me; I myself told you this before, you heard it yourself, because I love you because you are better than him, because you are nobler than him, because, because he...

The poor girl's excitement was so strong that she did not finish, she laid her head on my shoulder, then on my chest, and cried bitterly. I consoled and persuaded her, but she could not stop; she kept shaking my hand and saying between sobs: “Wait, wait; I'll stop now! I want to tell you... don’t think that these tears are just from weakness, wait until they pass...” Finally she stopped, wiped away the tears, and we started walking again. I wanted to speak, but she kept asking me to wait for a long time. We fell silent... Finally she gathered her courage and began to speak...

“That’s what,” she began in a weak and trembling voice, but in which something suddenly rang that pierced me straight into my heart and ached sweetly in it, “don’t think that I’m so fickle and flighty, don’t think that I I can so easily and quickly forget and change... I loved him for a whole year and I swear to God that I have never, never even thought, been unfaithful to him. He despised it; he laughed at me - God bless him! But he hurt me and insulted my heart. I - I don’t love him, because I can only love what is generous, what understands me, what is noble; because I am like that myself, and he is unworthy of me - well, God bless him! He did better than if I were later deceived in my expectations and found out who he was... Well, it’s over! But who knows, my good friend,” she continued, shaking my hand, “who knows, maybe all my love was a deception of feelings, imagination, maybe it began as a prank, trifles, because I was under the supervision of grandmothers? Maybe I should love someone else, and not him, not that kind of person, someone else who would take pity on me and, and... Well, let’s leave it, let’s leave it,” Nastenka interrupted, choking with excitement, “I just wanted to tell you... I I wanted to say that if, despite the fact that I love him (no, I loved him), if, despite that, you still say... if you feel that your love is so great that it can finally displace the old one from my heart... if you want to take pity on me, if you don’t want to leave me alone in my fate, without consolation, without hope, if you want to love me always, as you love me now, then I swear that gratitude... that my love will finally be worthy of your love ...Will you take my hand now?

“Nastenka,” I cried, choking with sobs. - Nastenka!.. Oh Nastenka!..

- Well, that's enough, that's enough! Well, that's quite enough now! - she spoke, barely overpowering herself, - well, now everything has been said; is not it? So? Well, you are happy and I am happy; not a word about it anymore; Wait; spare me... Talk about something else, for God's sake!..

- Yes, Nastenka, yes! Enough about this, now I’m happy, I... Well, Nastenka, well, let’s talk about something else, quickly, let’s talk quickly; Yes! I'm ready…

And we didn’t know what to say, we laughed, we cried, we spoke thousands of words without connection or thought; we would walk along the sidewalk, then suddenly turn back and start crossing the street; then they stopped and again went to the embankment; we were like children...

“I live alone now, Nastenka,” I began, “and tomorrow... Well, of course, you know, Nastenka, I’m poor, I only have one thousand two hundred, but that’s okay...”

- Of course not, but grandma has a pension; so she won’t embarrass us. We need to take grandma.

- Of course, we need to take grandma... But Matryona...

- Oh, and we have Thekla too!

- Matryona is kind, only one flaw: she has no imagination, Nastenka, absolutely no imagination; but that's nothing!..

- Doesn't matter; they both can be together; just move in with us tomorrow.

- Like this? to you! Okay, I'm ready...

- Yes, you will hire from us. We have a mezzanine up there; it is empty; there was a lodger, an old woman, a noblewoman, she moved out, and my grandmother, I know, wants to let the young man in; I say: “Why a young man?” And she says: “Yes, I’m already old, but don’t think, Nastenka, that I want to marry you to him.” I guessed that this was for...

- Oh, Nastenka!..

And we both laughed.

- Well, completeness, completeness. And where do you live? I forgot.

- There at the -sky bridge, in Barannikov’s house.

- It's such big house?

- Yes, such a big house.

- Oh, I know good house; only you know, leave him and move in with us as soon as possible...

- Tomorrow, Nastenka, tomorrow; I owe a little for the apartment there, but that’s nothing... I’ll get my salary soon...

– You know, maybe I’ll give lessons; I’ll teach myself and give lessons...

- Well, that’s great... and I’ll receive an award soon, Nastenka.

- So tomorrow you will be my lodger...

- Yes, and we will go to The Barber of Seville, because now they will give it again soon.

“Yes, we’ll go,” Nastenka said, laughing, “no, it’s better we listen not to “The Barber,” but to something else...

- Well, okay, something else; Of course, it will be better, otherwise I didn’t think about it...

As we said this, we both walked around as if in a haze, a fog, as if we ourselves did not know what was happening to us. They would stop and talk for a long time in one place, then again they would start walking and go to God knows where, and again there would be laughter, again tears... Then Nastenka would suddenly want to go home, I don’t dare stop her and I would want to take her all the way home; we set off and suddenly, after a quarter of an hour, we find ourselves on the embankment near our bench. Then she will sigh, and again a tear will come to her eyes; I’ll feel shy, cold... But she immediately shakes my hand and drags me to walk again, chat, talk...

“It’s time now, it’s time for me to go home; “I think it’s very late,” Nastenka finally said, “we’ve had enough of being so childish!”

“Yes, Nastenka, but now I won’t fall asleep; I won't go home.

“I don’t think I’ll fall asleep either; only you will guide me...

- Definitely!

“But now we will certainly get to the apartment.”

- Definitely, definitely...

– Honestly?.. because you have to return home someday!

“Honestly,” I answered, laughing...

- Well, let's go!

- Let's go.

- Look at the sky, Nastenka, look! Tomorrow will be a wonderful day; what a blue sky, what a moon! Look: this yellow cloud is now covering it, look, look!.. No, it passed by. Look, look!..

But Nastenka did not look at the cloud, she stood silently rooted to the spot; after a minute she began to somehow timidly, press closely to me. Her hand trembled in my hand; I looked at her... She leaned on me even more.

At that moment a young man walked past us. He suddenly stopped, looked at us intently and then took a few steps again. My heart trembled...

- It is he! - she answered in a whisper, even closer, pressing herself even more reverently against me... I could barely stand on my feet.

- Nastenka! Nastenka! it's you! - a voice was heard behind us, and at that same moment the young man took several steps towards us...

God, what a scream! how she shuddered! how she escaped from my hands and fluttered towards him!.. I stood and looked at them like I was dead. But she barely gave him her hand, barely threw herself into his arms, when suddenly she turned to me again, found herself next to me, like the wind, like lightning, and before I had time to come to my senses, she clasped my neck with both hands and kissed me deeply, passionately. . Then, without saying a word to me, she rushed to him again, took his hands and pulled him along with her.

I stood for a long time and looked after them... Finally, both of them disappeared from my eyes.

Morning

My nights ended in the morning. It wasn't a good day. It was raining and knocking sadly on my windows; it was dark in the room, cloudy outside. My head ached and felt dizzy; a fever crept through my limbs.

“The postman brought a letter to you, father, by city mail,” Matryona said above me.

- Letter! from whom? – I shouted, jumping up from my chair.

- I don’t know, father, look, maybe it’s written there from someone.

I broke the seal. It's from her!

“Oh, forgive me, forgive me! - Nastenka wrote to me, - on my knees I beg you, forgive me! I deceived both you and myself. It was a dream, a ghost... I languished for you today; forgive me, forgive me!..

Do not blame me, because I have not changed in anything before you; I said that I would love you, and now I love you, more than I love you. Oh my God! If only I could love you both at once! Oh, if only you were he!”

“Oh, if only he were you!” - flew through my head. I remembered your words, Nastenka!

“God knows what I would do for you now! I know it's hard and sad for you. I insulted you, but you know - if you love, how long will you remember the insult. Do you love me!

Thank you Yes! thank you for this love. Because it was imprinted in my memory like a sweet dream that you remember for a long time after waking up; because I will forever remember that moment when you so brotherly opened your heart to me and so generously accepted my murdered gift as a gift, in order to protect it, cherish it, heal it... If you forgive me, then the memory of you will be exalted in me forever a grateful feeling for you that will never be erased from my soul... I will keep this memory, I will be faithful to it, I will not betray it, I will not betray my heart: it is too constant. Just yesterday it returned so quickly to the one to whom it belonged forever.

We will meet, you will come to us, you will not leave us, you will forever be my friend, my brother... And when you see me, you will give me your hand... right? you will give it to me, you have forgiven me, haven't you? Do you still love me?

Oh, love me, don’t leave me, because I love you so much at this moment, because I am worthy of your love, because I will deserve it... my dear friend! I'm marrying him next week. He came back in love, he never forgot about me... You won’t be angry because I wrote about him. But I want to come to you with him; you will love him, won't you?..

Forgive us, remember and love your

Nastenka."

I re-read this letter for a long time; tears begged from my eyes. Finally it fell out of my hands and I covered my face.

- Iris! and the killer whale! - Matryona began.

- What, old woman?

“And I removed all the cobwebs from the ceiling; now at least get married, invite guests, then at the same time...

I looked at Matryona... She was still a cheerful, young old woman, but I don’t know why, suddenly she appeared to me with a dull look, with wrinkles on her face, bent, decrepit... I don’t know why, I suddenly imagined that my room had aged the same way, like the old woman. The walls and floors were faded, everything became dull; There were even more cobwebs. I don’t know why, when I looked out the window, it seemed to me that the house opposite had also become decrepit and faded in turn, that the plaster on the columns was peeling and crumbling, that the cornices were blackened, cracked, and the walls were dark yellow. bright color became piebald...

Or a ray of sun, suddenly peeking out from behind a cloud, again hid under a rain cloud, and everything again dimmed in my eyes; or maybe the whole prospect of my future flashed before me so unwelcomingly and sadly, and I saw myself as I am now, exactly fifteen years later, older, in the same room, just as lonely, with the same Matryona, who is not at all I haven't gotten any wiser in all these years.

But so that I remember my offense, Nastenka! So that I can catch up dark cloud on your clear, serene happiness, so that I, bitterly reproaching, would bring melancholy to your heart, stung him with secret remorse and made him beat sadly in a moment of bliss, so that I would crush at least one of these delicate flowers that you wove into your black curls when you went to the altar with him... Oh, never, never! May your sky be clear, may your sweet smile be bright and serene, may you be blessed for the moment of bliss and happiness that you gave to another, lonely, grateful heart!

My God! A whole minute of bliss! Is this really not enough for a person’s entire life?..

White Nights

Sentimental novel

From the memories of a dreamer

...Or was he created for this purpose?

To stay for just a moment

In the neighborhood of your heart?..

Iv. Turgenev

Night one

It was a wonderful night, the kind of night that can only happen when we are young, dear reader. The sky was so starry, such a bright sky that, looking at it, you involuntarily had to ask yourself: can all sorts of angry and capricious people really live under such a sky? This is also a young question, dear reader, very young, but God send it to your soul more often!.. Speaking about capricious and various angry gentlemen, I could not help but remember my well-behaved behavior all that day. From the very morning I began to be tormented by some amazing melancholy. It suddenly seemed to me that everyone was abandoning me, alone, and that everyone was abandoning me. Of course, everyone has the right to ask: who are all these people? because I’ve been living in St. Petersburg for eight years now and I haven’t been able to make almost a single acquaintance. But why do I need acquaintances? I already know the whole of St. Petersburg; That’s why it seemed to me that everyone was leaving me when the whole of St. Petersburg rose up and suddenly left for the dacha. I became afraid to be alone, and for three whole days I wandered around the city in deep melancholy, absolutely not understanding what2 was happening to me. Whether I go to Nevsky, whether I go to the garden, whether I wander along the embankment - not a single face from those whom I am accustomed to meeting in the same place at a certain hour, for a whole year. They, of course, don’t know me, but I know them. I know them briefly; I have almost studied their faces - and I admire them when they are cheerful, and I mope when they become misty. I almost became friends with one old man whom I meet every single day, at a certain hour, on the Fontanka. The face is so important, thoughtful; He keeps whispering under his breath and waving his left hand, and in his right he has a long, knotty cane with a gold knob. Even he noticed me and takes emotional part in me. If it happened that I would not be at the same place on the Fontanka at a certain hour, I am sure that the blues would attack him. This is why we sometimes almost bow to each other, especially when we are both in a good mood. The other day, when we had not seen each other for two whole days and on the third day we met, we were already grabbing our hats, but fortunately we came to our senses in time, lowered our hands and walked next to each other with sympathy. I am also familiar with the houses. When I walk, everyone seems to run ahead of me into the street, look at me through all the windows and almost say: “Hello; How is your health? and I, thank God, am healthy, and a floor will be added to me in the month of May.” Or: “How is your health? and I’ll be repaired tomorrow.” Or: “I almost burned out, and at the same time I was scared,” etc. Of these, I have favorites, there are short friends; one of them intends to undergo treatment this summer with an architect. I’ll come in every day on purpose so that it doesn’t get healed somehow, God forbid!.. But I’ll never forget the story of one very pretty light pink house. It was such a nice little stone house, it looked at me so welcomingly, it looked so proudly at its clumsy neighbors that my heart rejoiced when I happened to pass by. Suddenly last week I was walking down the street, and as I looked at a friend, I heard a plaintive cry: “And they’re painting me yellow!” Villains! barbarians! they spared nothing: neither columns, nor cornices, and my friend turned yellow as a canary. I was almost filled with bile on this occasion, and I still was not able to see my disfigured poor man, who was painted to match the color of the celestial empire.

So, you understand, reader, how familiar I am with all of St. Petersburg.

I have already said that I was tormented by anxiety for three whole days, until I guessed the reason for it. And I felt bad on the street (this one wasn’t there, that one wasn’t there, where did so-and-so go?) - and at home I wasn’t myself. For two evenings I sought: what am I missing in my corner? Why was it so awkward to stay there? - and with bewilderment I looked around my green, smoky walls, the ceiling hung with cobwebs, which Matryona had planted with great success, looked through all my furniture, examined every chair, thinking, is there trouble here? (because if I have even one chair that’s not standing the way it was yesterday, then I’m not myself) I looked at the window, and it was all in vain... it didn’t feel any easier! I even decided to call Matryona and immediately gave her a fatherly reprimand for the cobwebs and general sloppiness; but she just looked at me in surprise and walked away without answering a word, so that the web is still happily hanging in place. Finally, only this morning I figured out what was the matter. Eh! Why, they’re running away from me to the dacha! Forgive me for the trivial word, but I had no time for high-flown language... because everything that was in St. Petersburg either moved or moved to the dacha; because every respectable gentleman of respectable appearance who hired a cab driver, before my eyes, immediately turned into a respectable father of a family, who, after ordinary official duties, goes lightly to the depths of his family, to the dacha; because every passer-by now had a completely special appearance, which almost said to everyone he met: “We, gentlemen, are here only in passing, but in two hours we will leave for the dacha.” If the window opened, on which thin fingers, white as sugar, first drummed, and the head of a pretty girl poked out, beckoning to a peddler with pots of flowers, I immediately, immediately imagined that these flowers were only bought that way, that is, not at all for to enjoy spring and flowers in a stuffy city apartment, but that very soon everyone will move to the dacha and take the flowers with them. Moreover, I had already made such progress in my new, special kind of discoveries that I could already unmistakably, by one look, indicate which dacha someone lived in. The inhabitants of the Kamenny and Aptekarsky Islands or the Peterhof Road were distinguished by their studied elegance of techniques, smart summer suits and the beautiful carriages in which they arrived in the city. Residents of Pargolovo, even further away, at first glance “inspired” with their prudence and solidity; the visitor to Krestovsky Island had a calm and cheerful appearance. Did I manage to meet a long procession of dray drivers, lazily walking with reins in their hands next to carts loaded with whole mountains of all kinds of furniture, tables, chairs, Turkish and non-Turkish sofas and other household belongings, on which, on top of all this, she often sat, at the very top Voza, a frail cook who cherishes her master's property like the apple of her eye; I looked at the boats, heavily loaded with household utensils, gliding along the Neva or Fontanka, to the Black River or the islands - the carts and boats multiplied tenfold, became lost in my eyes; it seemed that everything was up and moving, everything was moving in whole caravans to the dacha; it seemed that all of Petersburg was threatening to turn into a desert, so that finally I felt ashamed, offended and sad; I absolutely had nowhere to go and there was no need to go to the dacha. I was ready to leave with every cart, to leave with every gentleman of respectable appearance who hired a cab; but no one, absolutely no one, invited me; as if they had forgotten me, as if I were truly a stranger to them!

There is something inexplicably touching in our St. Petersburg nature, when, with the onset of spring, it suddenly displays all its power, all the powers given to it by heaven, becomes pubescent, discharged, adorned with flowers... Somehow, it involuntarily reminds me of that girl, stunted and sickness, which you sometimes look at with regret, sometimes with some kind of compassionate love, sometimes you simply don’t notice it, but which suddenly, for one moment, somehow unexpectedly becomes inexplicably, wonderfully beautiful, and you, amazed, intoxicated, you involuntarily ask yourself: what force made these sad, thoughtful eyes shine with such fire? what brought the blood to those pale, thinner cheeks? What has filled these tender features with passion? Why is this chest heaving so much? What so suddenly brought strength, life and beauty to the face of the poor girl, made it sparkle with such a smile, come alive with such a sparkling, sparkling laugh? You look around, you are looking for someone, you guess... But the moment passes, and perhaps tomorrow you will again meet the same thoughtful and absent-minded look as before, the same pale face, the same humility and timidity in movements and even repentance, even traces of some kind of deadening melancholy and annoyance for a momentary infatuation... And it’s a pity for you that the momentary beauty withered so quickly, so irrevocably, that it flashed before you so deceptively and in vain - it’s a pity because you can’t even love her there was time...