On the cemetery over fresh clay embankment. AND
Read also
Easy breath
"Summer evening, Yamchchitsy Troika, an endless deserted Bolshak ..." The bunin music of prosaic letters do not confuse with any other, paints live in it, sounds, smells ... Bunin did not drink novels. But pure Russian and received worldwide confession The genre of the story or a small story he brought to perfection.
This book includes the most famous stories and stories of the writer: " Antonovskaya apples"," Village "," Sukhodol "," Light breath ".
Ivan Bunin Easy Breathing
On the cemetery, over fresh clay embankment is a new cross from oak, strong, heavy, smooth.
April, gray days; Monuments of the cemetery, spacious, county, are still far away through bare trees, and the cold wind rises and rings a porcelain wreath at the foot of the cross.
In the very same cross, the cross is pretty large, a convex porcelain medallion, and in the medallion - a photographic portrait of a gymnasium with joyful, strikingly alive eyes.
This is Olya Meshcherskaya.
The girl she did not stand out in the crowd of brown gymnasic dresses: what could be said about her, except that she was from the number of pretty, rich and happy girls, that she is capable, but playful and very careless to those instructions that she makes her cool lady ? Then she began to flourish, not developing by day, but by the hour. At fourteen, she has thin waist and slender legs, breasts were already well different and all those forms whose charm has never expressed the human word; In fifteen she was already heard by beauty. How carefully combed some of her friends, as was chopped, as they watched their restrained movements! And she was not afraid of anything - neither ink spots on the fingers, neither the painted face, no disheveled hair, nor the knee-driving on the knee. Without her worries and effort and somehow imperceptibly came to her all that it was so distinguished by her in the past two years from the entire gymnasium, - grace, elegacity, dexterity, clear eye glitter ... Nobody danced so on the bala like Olya Meshcherskaya Nobody ran so on the skates, as she, at whom they did not care for the balls, as much as he was behind her, and for some reason no one had loved so younger classes as her. She became unnoticed by her girl, and her gymnasic glory was imperceptibly strengthened, and she had already taken any senses that she was windy, he could not live without fans that the Shenshin gymnasist was inseractlessly in love with her, as if she would love him, but so a change in handling him that he attempted suicide ...
Olya Meshcherskaya, the last winter, was completely crazy from fun, as they said in the gymnasium. Winter was snowy, sunny, frosty, early Sun designed the sun for the high spruce of a snowy gymnasium garden, invariably, the radiant, promising and tomorrow frost and sun, walking on the cathedral street, skating rink in the city garden, pink evening, music and this in all sides The crowd sliding on the rink, in which Olya Meshcherskaya seemed the most carefree, the most happy. And once, on a big change, when she was swirl on the national team from the first-graders he driving and blissfully called her, it was unexpectedly called to the boss. She stopped with a scatter, he made only one deep breath, quickly and already familiar female movement recovered her hair, jerked the corners of the apron to the shoulders and, shining her eyes, ran upstairs. The boss, you can talk, but gray, calmly sat with knitting in my hands at the desk, under royal portrait.
"Hello, Mademoiselle Meshcherskaya," she said in French, without raising her eyes from knitting. - I, unfortunately, is no longer forced to call you here to talk with you about your behavior.
"I listen, Madame," answered Meshcherskaya, coming to the table, looking at her clearly and alive, but without any expression on his face, and sat so easily and gracefully as soon as she knew that one.
"To listen to me, you will be bad, I, unfortunately, was convinced of this," said the boss and, pulling a thread and wrapped on the lacquered floor, the Meshcherskaya looked with curiosity, raised his eyes. "I will not repeat, I will not speak extensively," she said.
Meshcherskaya really liked this unusually pure and large office, so well breathable in frosty days with warm shiny Dutch and the freshness of the valley in the writing desk. She looked at the young king, to the full growth of the written among some brilliant hall, on a smooth sample in dairy, neatly corrugated hair, the boss and expectantly silent.
"You are no longer a girl," the boss said meaningfully, in secretly starting annoying.
- Yes, Madame, - Simply, Meshcherskaya answered almost fun.
"But not a woman," the boss said even more significant, and her matte face was slightly excited. - First of all, what is this hairstyle? This is a female hairstyle!
- I'm not guilty, Madame, that I have good hair, "Answered Meshcherskaya and slightly touched both hands his beautifully cleaned head.
- Oh, that's how you are not to blame! - said the boss. - You are not guilty in the hairstyle, not to blame for these expensive ridges, is not to blame that we ruin our parents on twenty rubles! But, I repeat to you, you absolutely overlook that you are only a gymnasics ...
And then Meshcherskaya, without losing simplicity and calm, suddenly politely interrupted her:
- Sorry, Madame, you are mistaken: I am a woman. And to blame for this - you know who? Friend and neighbor Pope, and your brother Alexey Mikhailovich Malyutin. It happened last summer in the village ...
And a month later, after this conversation, the Cossack officer, an ugly and plebeian species, who had nothing to do with that circle to which Olya Meshcherskaya was shot on the platform of the station, among the big crowd of the people, just arriving with the train. And the incredible, who stunned the boss, the recognition of Oli Meshcherskaya was completely confirmed: the officer stated his judicial investigator that the Meshcheck was set up, he was close to him, swore to be his wife, and at the station, on the day of the murder, speaking him in Novocherkassk, suddenly told him that she And I didn't think to love him that all these conversations about marriage were one of her mockery over him, and let him read the diary page, where it was said about Malyutin.
"I ran these lines and immediately, on the platform, where she walked, waiting until I finish reading, fired into her," said the officer. - This diary is this, take a look that it was written in it in the tenth of July last year.
The following was written in the diary:
"Now for the second hour of the night. I fastened hard, but immediately woke up ... now I became a woman! Dad, Mom and Tolya, everyone went to the city, I was alone. I was so happy that alone! I walked in the garden in the morning, in the field, it was in the forest, it seemed to me that I was one in the whole world, and I thought so good as never in my life. I lunch alone, then a whole hour played, I had such a feeling for the music that I would live without end and I would be so happy as no one. Then he fell asleep from dad in the office, and at four o'clock I woke me up, said Alexey Mikhailovich. I was very happy with him, I was so nice to take it and take it. He arrived at the pair of his Vyatok, very beautiful, and they all the time stood at the porch, he was left, because it was raining, and he wanted to dry in the evening. He regretted that he did not find dad, was very animated and kept himself with a cavalier, he joked a lot that he had long been in love with me. When we walked before tea in the garden, there was again charming weather, the sun glistened through the whole wet gardenAlthough it became very cold, and he led me at hand and said that he was Faust with Margarita. He is fifty-six years old, but he is still very beautiful and always dressed - I didn't like it only that he came to the Corycle, - it smells in English cologne, and the eyes are very young, black, and the beard is elegantly divided into two long pieces and completely silver. For tea, we sat on a glass veranda, I felt like unhealthy and lay on the ottoo, and he smoked, then I moved to me, began to say any kind of courtesy again, then consider and kiss my hand. I closed my face with a silk handkerchief, and he kissed me several times on his lips through a handkerchief ... I do not understand how it could happen, I went crazy, I never thought I was like this! Now I am one way out ... I feel such a disgust for him that I can not survive it! .. "
The city for these April days was clean, dry, the stones were coars, and it's easy and pleasant to go. Every Sunday, after the dinner, on the Cathedral Street, leading to the departure from the city, a little woman is sent in Touréra, in black like gloves, with an umbrella of ebony. It goes along the highway dirty area, where many worsted forges and freshly blowing field air; Further, between the male monastery and the Ostrog, whites the cloud slope of the sky and he seine the spring field, and then, when we grow up among the puddle under the wall of the monastery and turn to the left, you will see a big low garden, disconnected by a white fence, over the gates of which is written by the mother's audience. The little woman is finely baptized and is familiar to the main alley. Having reached the bench against the oak cross, she sits in the wind and on the spring cold hour, two, until her feet in light shoes and hand in a narrow skin. Listening to spring birds, sweetly singing and in the cold, listening to the winds of the wind in a porcelain wreath, she sometimes thinks that he would give half every cells, just before her eyes of this dead wreath. This wreath, this hill, Oak Cross! Is it possible that under him, whose eyes are so immortally shine from this convex porcelain medallion on the cross, and how to combine with this clean look, is the terrible, what is connected now with the name of Olya Meshcherskaya? But in the depths of the soul, the little woman is happy, like all the people devoted to some passionate dream.
This woman is the cool lady of Olya Meshcherskaya, an unclear girl, which has long been living any fiction replacing her valid life. At first, her brother was, the poor and not a wonderful ensign worker, - she joined his soul with him, with his future, which for some reason she appeared brilliant her. When he was killed under Mukden, she convinced himself that she was ideological worker. The death of Olya Meshchersk was captured by her new dream. Now Olya Meshcherskaya is the subject of its relentless dooms and feelings. She walks on her grave every holiday, by the hour does not descend the eyes from the oak cross, recalls the pale lyrco of Olya Meshcherskaya in the coffin, among the colors - and the fact that once overheard: once on a big change, walking along the gymnasium garden, Olya Meshcherskaya quickly, quickly He spoke to his beloved friend, full, high subboten:
- I am in one father's book - he has many old, funny books - read, what beauty should have a woman ... there, you understand, so much risen that you don't remember everything: well, of course, black, boiling a resin, - to her And it is written: boiling resin! - Black, like night, eyelashes, gently playing blush, thin mill, longer than an ordinary hand, - you understand, longer than ordinary! - Little leg, moderately big breasts, correctly rounded caviar, knee color of the sink, showing shoulders, - I learned a lot to learn, so it's all right! - But most importantly, do you know what? Easy breath! But I have it, - Listen, how I sigh, - because the truth is, there?
Now it's easy breathing again scattered in the world, in this cloudy sky, in this cold spring wind.
The central place in the work of the Bunin occupies a cycle of stories, who made up the collection " Dark alleys" When the book in 1943 went into the seal, she became the only one in Russian literature, where all the stories were about love. Thirty-eight novels, the author represents the reader of the Peripetics of Love. Short, dazzling, illuminated the soul of lovers as a flash. Love who visited this world for a moment, like a light breathing, and ready to disappear into any moment.
Theme of love in the work of the writer
Creativity Bunin is unique. Externally, on topics, it looks traditionally: life and death, loneliness and love, past and future, happiness and suffering. Bunin then breeds these extreme points of being, then rapidly brings. And fills the space between them with some sensations, deep and stronger. The essence of his art accurately reflects Rilke's words: "He, like a metal, burns and cuts his cold."
The eternal themes, to which the writer is drawn, are expressed in its works with marginal brightness and tension. Bunin literally grips routine and familiar views, and from the first rows plunges the reader into a genuine life. Not just reveals the completeness of the feelings of his heroes, their hidden thoughtsand not afraid to show the true essence.
Many hymns are folded about love, beautiful and touching. But Bunin dared not only talk about it elevated feelingBut also to show, what dangers it is exposed. Buninish heroes live in anticipation of love, looking for it and often die, fell by her light breathing. Ivan Bunin shows that the love-passion blinds a person and leads to a dangerous feature, not dealing with who in front of her - a young girl who first encountered this feeling, or a man, a lot of learned in life, an elegant landowner or a peasant, who does not even have kind boost .
Bunin, perhaps, the first writer, in whose work, a sense of love plays such a significant role - in all its overflows and transitions, shades and nuances. Cruelty and at the same time charm of genuine feeling equally determined mental life Buninish heroes and explain what is happening with them. Love can be happiness and can be a tragedy. The story of such love is shown in one of famous stories Bunin "Light breath".
History of the plan
At the beginning of the 20th century, the question of life was widely discussed in the literature. Moreover, the previously established common sample in the form of a clear goal was changed by the new one. The most popular has become living lifewhich urged to imbued with a sense of value of life, which, regardless of the content, in itself value.
These ideas embodied in their creations many writers of that time, they were reflected in the work of the Bunin. The work of "light breathing" is one of them. The author told the story of this novel. Once in winter, walking along Capri, he accidentally wandered over one small cemetery, where he saw a grave cross with a photo of a young girl with alive and joyful eyes. Immediately made her mentally Olya Meshcherskaya and began to create a story about her with the delightful speed.
Easy breath
In his diary, Bunin wrote about one memoil from childhood. When he was seven years old, died younger sister, Favorite all at home. He fled on a snowy yard and, on the run, looked into the dark february sky and thought her little soul flies there. In all beings little boy There was some horror, a sense of an incomprehensible event.
Forever fell into the consciousness of the writer Girl, death, cloudy sky, winter, horror. And it was worthwhile to see a photo of a young girl on the grave cross, as childhood memories came to life and responded. It is possible, therefore, and I was able to write Ivan Bunin "Easy Breath" with delicious speed, because internally was ready for it.
"Easy breath" is the famous and most sensual poenin. K. Powesty, reading this story in one of the April numbers of the newspaper " Russian word"For the first time in 1916, he was published, wrote about deep emotional shock that everything inside him trembled from sorrow and love.
Powetsky re-read several times the same words about the easier breathing of Oli Meshcherskaya. After reading the story of the Bunin "Easy Breath", with the content of this touching novel, the words of Powesta could repeat many readers: "This is not a story, but an insight, the lifetime with her trepidation and love."
Careless youth
Olya Meshcherskaya was a noisy and cheerful gymnasium. Playful and careless, Olga, for fifteen years, has noticeably looked. Thin waist, slender legs and gorgeous hair made beauty from her. She bestly danced and skating, heard the favorite of the first grasses, but became the headache of the boss and his class lady.
One morning, the director caused Olya to himself, began to report for pranks and noticed that adult hairstyle, expensive ridges and shoes noticed to the face of the young girl. Olya interrupts it and says she is already a woman. And tells the amazed lady that Pope's friend is to blame for this, and her, the head of the gymnasium, brother, 56-year-old Alexey Mikhailovich Malyutin.
Diary Olya Meshcherskaya
A month after the recognition of the Olya, the leader of the gymnasium officer Malyutin shoots a young girl on the platform. In court, he stated that she seduced him and promised to become his wife. But suddenly he said that he did not love him, and talk about marriage just a mockery over him, and gave her diary, where about him, about Malyutin, it was written. He read this diary and immediately fired on the platform.
The girl wrote in her diary, that in the summer the family rested in the village. Parents and brother left for the city. His friend came to his father - the Cossack officer Malyutin - and was very upset, not to get his buddy. On the street just passed rain, and Olga invited Malyutin to visit. For tea, he joked a lot and said that he was in love with her. Olya, a little tired, faced the Tahtu, Malyutin began kissing her hand, then his lips, and Olya could not understand how everything happened. But now she feels a strong disgust
Porcelain medallion
Spring city became neat. For a clean pleasant road every Sunday, a woman in the mourning walks in a cemetery. She stops at the grave with a heavy oak cross, on which a porcelain medallion with a photo of a young gymnasics with amazingly alive eyes. Woman looked at the medallion and thought whether it was possible to combine this clean look with the horror that was connected now with the name Olya?
Olga's cool lady - an elocture already living in the world invented. At first, all her thoughts occupied the brother, not a noteworthy ensign. But after his death, the place in her mind was occupied by Olya, on the grave of which she comes every holiday. For a long time, it looks at the oak cross and remembers how he involuntarily became a witness of the conversation Olya with a friend.
Olga told that he read in one book, as it looks like beautiful woman - Boiling resin eyes, black, like night eyelashes, slender mill, longer than the ordinary hand, showed shoulders. And most importantly - the beauty should have a slight breathing. And she has it, Oli, it was.
Door in eternity
Overture Novels Bunin "Easy Breathing", the analysis of which we will now consider, carries the tragic junction of the plot. In the first lines of the work, the author presents the reader to the reader a harsh picture - a cold morning, the cemetery and the shining eyes of a young creature in the photo. This immediately creates a further installation that the reader will perceive all the events under this sign.
The author immediately deprives the plot of unpredictability. The reader knowing what happened ultimately switches his attention to what it happened. Then the bunin immediately moves to exposure, full of vitality. Slowly, saturatedly describes each item, filling her life and energy. And at the time of the highest reader's interest when Meshcherskaya says that she is a woman and it happened in the village, the author breaks his story, and the reader batches the next phrase: the girl shot a Cossack officer. What does the reader later sees in the novel of the Bunin "Easy Breath", the analysis of which we continue?
The author deprives this story so related Development. The Earth's Way Oli breaks at the time when she joined the way for which it was created. "Now I became a woman," in this voice, it sounds like horror and the glory. This new life May meet piercing happiness, and may turn pain and horror. Naturally, the reader has many questions: how did their relationship develop? And did they develop at all? What pushed a young girl to the old slave? Constantly destroying the sequence of events, which reaches the bunin in " Light breath»?
Analysis of this work shows that the author destroys the causal relationship. No matter how the development of their relationship, nor the motive of a girl who gave way to the will of a coarse officer. Both hero in this work is just an instrument of fate. And Olga's doomed in it, in its spontaneous gusts, in its charm. This frantic passion for life inevitably had to lead to a catastrophe.
The author, not satisfying the interest of the reader to events, could cause a negative reaction. But that did not happen. That is the skill of the Bunin. In the "easy breath", the analysis of which we are considering, the author smoothly and strongly switches the reader interest from the rapid running of events to the eternal peace. Waving suddenly the course of time, the author describes the space - urban streets, the square - and introduces the reader with the fate of the class lady. The narratives about her breaks the door to eternity.
Cold wind at the beginning of the story was an element of a landscape, in last rows He became a symbol of life - a light breathing was born in nature and returned there. The world of nature freezes in infinity.
Easy breath
Ivan Alekseevich Bunin
Easy breath
"Summer evening, Yamchchitsy Troika, an endless deserted Bolshak ..." The bunin music of prosaic letters do not confuse with any other, paints live in it, sounds, smells ... Bunin did not drink novels. But purely Russian and received worldwide recognition of the genre of the story or a small story he brought to perfection.
This book includes the most famous stories and stories of the writer: "Antonovsky apples", "Village", "Sukhodol", "Light breathing".
Ivan Bunin
Easy breath
On the cemetery, over fresh clay embankment is a new cross from oak, strong, heavy, smooth.
April, gray days; Monuments of the cemetery, spacious, county, are still far away through bare trees, and the cold wind rises and rings a porcelain wreath at the foot of the cross.
In the very same cross, the cross is pretty large, a convex porcelain medallion, and in the medallion - a photographic portrait of a gymnasium with joyful, strikingly alive eyes.
This is Olya Meshcherskaya.
The girl she did not stand out in the crowd of brown gymnasic dresses: what could be said about her, except that she was from the number of pretty, rich and happy girls, that she is capable, but playful and very careless to those instructions that she makes her cool lady ? Then she began to flourish, not developing by day, but by the hour. At fourteen years, she, with a thin waist and slender legs, have already been well described and all those forms whose charm has never expressed the human word; In fifteen she was already heard by beauty. How carefully combed some of her friends, as was chopped, as they watched their restrained movements! And she was not afraid of anything - neither ink spots on the fingers, neither the painted face, no disheveled hair, nor the knee-driving on the knee. Without her worries and effort and somehow imperceptibly came to her all that it was so distinguished by her in the past two years from the entire gymnasium, - grace, elegacity, dexterity, clear eye glitter ... Nobody danced so on the bala like Olya Meshcherskaya Nobody ran so on the skates, as she, at whom they did not care for the balls, as much as he was behind her, and for some reason no one had loved so younger classes as her. She became unnoticed by her girl, and her gymnasic glory was imperceptibly strengthened, and she had already taken any senses that she was windy, he could not live without fans that the Shenshin gymnasist was inseractlessly in love with her, as if she would love him, but so a change in handling him that he attempted suicide ...
Olya Meshcherskaya, the last winter, was completely crazy from fun, as they said in the gymnasium. Winter was snowy, sunny, frosty, early Sun designed the sun for the high spruce of a snowy gymnasium garden, invariably, the radiant, promising and tomorrow frost and sun, walking on the cathedral street, skating rink in the city garden, pink evening, music and this in all sides The crowd sliding on the rink, in which Olya Meshcherskaya seemed the most carefree, the most happy. And once, on a big change, when she was swirl on the national team from the first-graders he driving and blissfully called her, it was unexpectedly called to the boss. She stopped with a scatter, he made only one deep breath, quickly and already familiar female movement recovered her hair, jerked the corners of the apron to the shoulders and, shining her eyes, ran upstairs. The boss, two-way, but gray, calmly sat with knitting in his hands at the desk, under the royal portrait.
"Hello, Mademoiselle Meshcherskaya," she said in French, without raising her eyes from knitting. - I, unfortunately, is no longer forced to call you here to talk with you about your behavior.
"I listen, Madame," answered Meshcherskaya, coming to the table, looking at her clearly and alive, but without any expression on his face, and sat so easily and gracefully as soon as she knew that one.
"To listen to me, you will be bad, I, unfortunately, was convinced of this," said the boss and, pulling a thread and wrapped on the lacquered floor, the Meshcherskaya looked with curiosity, raised his eyes. "I will not repeat, I will not speak extensively," she said.
Meshcherskaya really liked this unusually pure and large office, so well breathable in frosty days with warm shiny Dutch and the freshness of the valley in the writing desk. She looked at the young king, to the full growth of the written among some brilliant hall, on a smooth sample in dairy, neatly corrugated hair, the boss and expectantly silent.
"You are no longer a girl," the boss said meaningfully, in secretly starting annoying.
- Yes, Madame, - Simply, Meshcherskaya answered almost fun.
"But not a woman," the boss said even more significant, and her matte face was slightly excited. - First of all, what is this hairstyle? This is a female hairstyle!
"I'm not guilty, Madame that I have good hair," Meshcherskaya replied and slightly touched her beautiful head her hands.
- Oh, that's how you are not to blame! - said the boss. - You are not guilty in the hairstyle, not to blame for these expensive ridges, is not to blame that we ruin our parents on twenty rubles! But, I repeat to you, you absolutely overlook that you are only a gymnasics ...
And then Meshcherskaya, without losing simplicity and calm, suddenly politely interrupted her:
- Sorry, Madame, you are mistaken: I am a woman. And to blame for this - you know who? Friend and neighbor Pope, and your brother Alexey Mikhailovich Malyutin. It happened last summer in the village ...
And a month later, after this conversation, the Cossack officer, an ugly and plebeian species, who had nothing to do with that circle to which Olya Meshcherskaya was shot on the platform of the station, among the big crowd of the people, just arriving with the train. And the incredible, who stunned the boss, the recognition of Oli Meshcherskaya was completely confirmed: the officer stated his judicial investigator that the Meshcheck was set up, he was close to him, swore to be his wife, and at the station, on the day of the murder, speaking him in Novocherkassk, suddenly told him that she And I didn't think to love him that all these conversations about marriage were one of her mockery over him, and let him read the diary page, where it was said about Malyutin.
"I ran these lines and immediately, on the platform, where she walked, waiting until I finish reading, fired into her," said the officer. - This diary is this, take a look that it was written in it in the tenth of July last year.
The following was written in the diary:
"Now for the second hour of the night. I fastened hard, but immediately woke up ... now I became a woman! Dad, Mom and Tolya, everyone went to the city, I was alone. I was so happy that alone! I walked in the garden in the morning, in the field, it was in the forest, it seemed to me that I was one in the whole world, and I thought so good as never in my life. I lunch alone, then a whole hour played, I had such a feeling for the music that I would live without end and I would be so happy as no one. Then he fell asleep from dad in the office, and at four o'clock I woke me up, said Alexey Mikhailovich. I was very happy with him, I was so nice to take it and take it. He arrived at the pair of his Vyatok, very beautiful, and they all the time stood at the porch, he was left, because it was raining, and he wanted to dry in the evening. He regretted that he did not find dad, was very animated and kept himself with a cavalier, he joked a lot that he had long been in love with me. When we walked before tea in the garden, there was again charming weather, the sun glistened through the whole wet garden, although it became very cold, and he led me at hand and said that he was Faust with Margarita. He is fifty-six years old, but he is still very beautiful and always dressed - I didn't like it only that he came to the Corycle, - it smells in English cologne, and the eyes are very young, black, and the beard is elegantly divided into two long pieces and completely silver. For tea, we sat on a glass veranda, I felt like unhealthy and lay on the ottoo, and he smoked, then I moved to me, began to say any kind of courtesy again, then consider and kiss my hand. I closed my face with a silk handkerchief, and he kissed me several times on his lips through a handkerchief ... I do not understand how it could happen, I went crazy, I never thought I was like this! Now I am one way out ... I feel such a disgust for him that I can not survive it! .. "
The city for these April days was clean, dry, the stones were coars, and it's easy and pleasant to go. Every Sunday, after the dinner, on the Cathedral Street, leading to the departure from the city, a little woman is sent in Touréra, in black like gloves, with an umbrella of ebony. It goes along the highway dirty area, where many worsted forges and freshly blowing field air; Further, between the male monastery and the Ostrog, whites the cloud slope of the sky and he seine the spring field, and then, when we grow up among the puddle under the wall of the monastery and turn to the left, you will see a big low garden, disconnected by a white fence, over the gates of which is written by the mother's audience. The little woman is finely baptized and is familiar to the main alley. Having reached the bench against the oak cross, she sits in the wind and on the spring cold hour, two, until her feet in light shoes and hand in a narrow skin. Listening to spring birds, sweetly singing and in the cold, listening to the winds of the wind in a porcelain wreath, she sometimes thinks that he would give half every cells, just before her eyes of this dead wreath. This wreath, this hill, Oak Cross! Is it possible that under him, whose eyes are so immortally shine from this convex porcelain medallion on the cross, and how to combine with this clean look, is the terrible, what is connected now with the name of Olya Meshcherskaya? But in the depths of the soul, the little woman is happy, like all the people devoted to some passionate dream.
This woman is the cool lady of Olya Meshcherskaya, an unclear girl who has long been living any fiction that replaces the actual life. At first, her brother was, the poor and not a wonderful ensign worker, - she joined his soul with him, with his future, which for some reason she appeared brilliant her. When he was killed under Mukden, she convinced himself that she was ideological worker. The death of Olya Meshchersk was captured by her new dream. Now Olya Meshcherskaya is the subject of its relentless dooms and feelings. She walks on her grave every holiday, by the hour does not descend the eyes from the oak cross, recalls the pale lyrco of Olya Meshcherskaya in the coffin, among the colors - and the fact that once overheard: once on a big change, walking along the gymnasium garden, Olya Meshcherskaya quickly, quickly He spoke to his beloved friend, full, high subboten:
- I am in one father's book - he has many old, funny books - read, what beauty should have a woman ... there, you understand, so much risen that you don't remember everything: well, of course, black, boiling a resin, - to her And it is written: boiling resin! - Black, like night, eyelashes, gently playing blush, thin mill, longer than an ordinary hand, - you understand, longer than ordinary! - Little leg, moderately big breasts, correctly rounded caviar, knee color of the sink, showing shoulders, - I learned a lot to learn, so it's all right! - But most importantly, do you know what? Easy breath! But I have it, - Listen, how I sigh, - because the truth is, there?
Now it's easy breathing again scattered in the world, in this cloudy sky, in this cold spring wind.
On the cemetery, over fresh clay embankment is a new cross from oak, strong, heavy, smooth.
April, gray days; Monuments of the cemetery, spacious, county, are still far away through bare trees, and the cold wind rises and rings a porcelain wreath at the foot of the cross.
In the very same cross, the cross is pretty large, a convex porcelain medallion, and in the medallion - a photographic portrait of a gymnasium with joyful, strikingly alive eyes.
This is Olya Meshcherskaya.
The girl she did not stand out in the crowd of brown gymnasic dresses: what could be said about her, except that she was from the number of pretty, rich and happy girls, that she is capable, but playful and very careless to those instructions that she makes her cool lady ? Then she began to flourish, not developing by day, but by the hour. At fourteen years, she, with a thin waist and slender legs, have already been well described and all those forms whose charm has never expressed the human word; In fifteen she was already heard by beauty. How carefully combed some of her friends, as was chopped, as they watched their restrained movements! And she was not afraid of anything - neither ink spots on the fingers, neither the painted face, no disheveled hair, nor the knee-driving on the knee. Without her worries and effort and somehow imperceptibly came to her all that it was so distinguished by her in the past two years from the entire gymnasium, - grace, elegacity, dexterity, clear eye glitter ... Nobody danced so on the bala like Olya Meshcherskaya Nobody ran so on the skates, as she, at whom they did not care for the balls, as much as he was behind her, and for some reason no one had loved so younger classes as her. She became unnoticed by her girl, and her gymnasic glory was imperceptibly strengthened, and she had already taken any senses that she was windy, he could not live without fans that the Shenshin gymnasist was inseractlessly in love with her, as if she would love him, but so a change in handling him that he attempted suicide ...
Olya Meshcherskaya, the last winter, was completely crazy from fun, as they said in the gymnasium. Winter was snowy, sunny, frosty, early Sun designed the sun for the high spruce of a snowy gymnasium garden, invariably, the radiant, promising and tomorrow frost and sun, walking on the cathedral street, skating rink in the city garden, pink evening, music and this in all sides The crowd sliding on the rink, in which Olya Meshcherskaya seemed the most carefree, the most happy. And once, on a big change, when she was swirl on the national team from the first-graders he driving and blissfully called her, it was unexpectedly called to the boss. She stopped with a scatter, he made only one deep breath, quickly and already familiar female movement recovered her hair, jerked the corners of the apron to the shoulders and, shining her eyes, ran upstairs. The boss, two-way, but gray, calmly sat with knitting in his hands at the desk, under the royal portrait.
"Hello, Mademoiselle Meshcherskaya," she said in French, without raising her eyes from knitting. - I, unfortunately, is no longer forced to call you here to talk with you about your behavior.
"I listen, Madame," answered Meshcherskaya, coming to the table, looking at her clearly and alive, but without any expression on his face, and sat so easily and gracefully as soon as she knew that one.
"To listen to me, you will be bad, I, unfortunately, was convinced of this," said the boss and, pulling a thread and wrapped on the lacquered floor, the Meshcherskaya looked with curiosity, raised his eyes. "I will not repeat, I will not speak extensively," she said.
Meshcherskaya really liked this unusually pure and large office, so well breathable in frosty days with warm shiny Dutch and the freshness of the valley in the writing desk. She looked at the young king, to the full growth of the written among some brilliant hall, on a smooth sample in dairy, neatly corrugated hair, the boss and expectantly silent.
"You are no longer a girl," the boss said meaningfully, in secretly starting annoying.
- Yes, Madame, - Simply, Meshcherskaya answered almost fun.
"But not a woman," the boss said even more significant, and her matte face was slightly excited. - First of all, what is this hairstyle? This is a female hairstyle!
"I'm not guilty, Madame that I have good hair," Meshcherskaya replied and slightly touched her beautiful head her hands.
- Oh, that's how you are not to blame! - said the boss. - You are not guilty in the hairstyle, not to blame for these expensive ridges, is not to blame that we ruin our parents on twenty rubles! But, I repeat to you, you absolutely overlook that you are only a gymnasics ...
And then Meshcherskaya, without losing simplicity and calm, suddenly politely interrupted her:
- Sorry, Madame, you are mistaken: I am a woman. And to blame for this - you know who? Friend and neighbor Pope, and your brother Alexey Mikhailovich Malyutin. It happened last summer in the village ...
And a month later, after this conversation, the Cossack officer, an ugly and plebeian species, who had nothing to do with that circle to which Olya Meshcherskaya was shot on the platform of the station, among the big crowd of the people, just arriving with the train. And the incredible, who stunned the boss, the recognition of Oli Meshcherskaya was completely confirmed: the officer stated his judicial investigator that the Meshcheck was set up, he was close to him, swore to be his wife, and at the station, on the day of the murder, speaking him in Novocherkassk, suddenly told him that she And I didn't think to love him that all these conversations about marriage were one of her mockery over him, and let him read the diary page, where it was said about Malyutin.
On the cemetery, over fresh clay embankment is a new cross from oak, strong, heavy, smooth.
April, gray days; Monuments of the cemetery, spacious, county, are still far away from bare trees, and the cold wind rises and rings a porcelain wreath at the foot of the cross.
In the very same cross, the cross is pretty large, a convex porcelain medallion, and in the medallion - a photographic portrait of a gymnasium with joyful, strikingly alive eyes.
This is Olya Meshcherskaya.
The girl she did not stand out in the crowd of brown gymnasic dresses: what could be said about her, except that she was from the number of pretty, rich and happy girls, that she is capable, but playful and very careless to those instructions that she makes her cool lady ? Then she began to flourish, not developing by day, but by the hour. At fourteen years, she has, with a thin waist and slender legs, breasts were already well different and all those forms whose charm had never expressed the human word; In fifteen she was already heard by beauty. How carefully some of her girlfriends were harsh, as was chopped, as they watched their restrained movements! And she was not afraid of anything - neither ink spots on the fingers, neither the painted face, nor the rash hair, nor patrol in the fall on the knee. Without her worries and effort and somehow imperceptibly came to her all that it was so distinguished by her in the last two years out of the entire gymnasium - grace, elegacity, dexterity, clear shine eye ... Nobody danced so on the bala like Olya Meshcherskaya Nobody ran so on the skates, as she, at whom they did not care for the balls as much as it was behind her, and for some reason no one had loved so younger classes like her. She became unnoticed by a girl, and her gymnasic glory was imperceptibly reproached, and she had already taken any senses that she was windy, he could not live without fans that the Shenshin gymnasiste was in love with her, as if she had loved him, but so changed in handling him that he attempted suicide.
Olya Meshcherskaya, the last winter, was completely crazy from fun, as they said in the gymnasium. Winter was snowy, sunny, frosty, early Sun designed the sun for the high spruce of a snowy gymnasium garden, invariably, the radiant, promising and tomorrow frost and sun, walking on the cathedral street, skating rink in the city garden, pink evening, music and this in all sides The crowd sliding on the rink, in which Olya Meshcherskaya seemed the most carefree, the most happy. And once, on a big change, when she swirl was rushed along the team from the first-graders who were driven and blissfully called her first-graders, it was unexpectedly called to the boss. She stopped with a scatter, made only one deep breath, quickly and already familiar female movement recovered her hair, pulled the corners of the apron to the shoulders and, shining her eyes, ran upstairs. The boss, two-way, but gray, calmly sat with knitting in his hands at the desk, under the royal portrait.
Hello, Mademoiselle Meshcherskaya, "she said in French, without raising her eyes from knitting. - I, unfortunately, is no longer forced to call you here to talk with you about your behavior.
I listen, Madame, "Meshcherskaya replied, coming to the table, looking at her clear and alive, but without any expression on his face, and sat so easily and gracefully as soon as she knew that one.
You will listen to me badly, I, unfortunately, I was convinced of this, "said the boss and, pulling a thread and wrapped on the lacquered floor, the Meshcherskaya looked with curiosity, raised his eyes. "I will not repeat, I will not speak extensively," she said.
Meshcherskaya really liked this unusually pure and large office, so well breathable in frosty days with warm shiny Dutch and the freshness of the valley in the writing desk. She looked at the young king, to the full growth of the written among some brilliant hall, on a smooth sample in dairy, neatly corrugated hair, the boss and expectantly silent.
You are no longer a girl, - the boss said meaningfully, secretly starting annoying.
Yes, Madame, - Simply, Meshcherskaya answered almost fun.
But not a woman, - the boss said even more significant, and her matte face was slightly excited. - First of all, - what is this hairstyle? This is a female hairstyle!
I'm not guilty, Madame, that I have good hair, "Meshcherskaya replied and slightly touched both hands his beautifully cleaned head.
Oh, that's how you are not to blame! - said the boss. - You are not to blame for hairstyle, not to blame for these expensive ridges, not to blame that we ruin our parents on twenty rubles! But, I repeat to you, you absolutely overlook that you are only a gymnasics ...
And then Meshcherskaya, without losing simplicity and calm, suddenly politely interrupted her:
Sorry, Madame, you are mistaken: I am a woman. And to blame for this - you know who? Friend and neighbor Pope, and your brother Alexey Mikhailovich Malyutin. It happened last summer in the village ...
And a month after this conversation, the Cossack officer, an ugly and plebeian species, who had nothing to do with that circle to which Olya Meshcherskaya was shot on the platform of the station, among the big crowd of the people, just arriving with the train. And the incredible, who stunned the boss, the recognition of Oli Meshcherskaya was completely confirmed: the officer stated his judicial investigator that the Meshcheck was set up, he was close to him, swore to be his wife, and at the station, on the day of the murder, speaking him in Novocherkassk, suddenly told him that she And I did not think to never love him that all these conversations about marriage - one mockery of it, and let him read the diary page, where it was said about Malyutin.
I ran these lines and immediately, on the platform, where she walked, waiting until I finish reading, shot it, "the officer said. - This diary, so he, take a look, which was written in it in the tenth of July last year. The following was written in the diary: "Now the second hour of the night. I fastened hard, but immediately woke up ... now I became a woman! Dad, Mom and Tolya, everyone went to the city, I was alone. I was so happy that alone! I walked in the garden in the morning, in the field, was in the forest, it seemed to me that I was alone around the world, and I thought so good, more than ever in my life. I lunch alone, then a whole hour played, I had such a feeling for the music that I would live without end and I would be so happy as no one. Then he fell asleep from dad in the office, and at four o'clock I woke me up, said Alexey Mikhailovich. I was very happy with him, I was so nice to take it and take it. He arrived at the pair of his Vyatok, very beautiful, and they all the time stood at the porch, he was left, because it was raining, and he wanted to dry in the evening. He regretted that he did not find dad, was very animated and kept himself with a cavalier, joked a lot that he had long been inquiring in me. When we walked in front of the tea in the garden, there was again charming weather, the sun glistened through the whole wet garden, although it became very cold, and he kept me at her arm and said that he was Faust with Margarita. He is fifty-six years old, but it is still very beautiful and always well dressed - I didn't like it only that he came to the Wilder, - smells in English cologne, and the eyes are very young, black, and the beard is elegantly divided into two long parts and completely silver. For tea, we sat on a glass veranda, I felt like unhealthy and lay on the ottoo, and he smoked, then I moved to me, began to say any kind of courtesy again, then consider and kiss my hand. I closed the face with a silk handkerchief, and he kissed me several times on his lips through a handkerchief ... I do not understand how it could happen, I went crazy, I never thought I was like this! Now I am one way out ... I feel such a disgust for him that I can not survive this! ... "
The city for these April days was clean, dry, the stones were coars, and it's easy and pleasant to go. Every Sunday, after the dinner, on the Cathedral Street leading to the departure from the city, a little woman is sent in Touréra, in black husky gloves, with a black tree umbrella. It passes through the highway dirty square, where many wicked forges and freshly blowing field air; Next, between male monastery and the uncertainty, whites the cloudy slope of the sky and gray the spring field, and then, when it is going among the puddle under the wall of the monastery and turn to the left, you will see a big low garden, acquired by a white fence, over the gate of which is written god's Mother. The little woman is finely baptized and is familiar to the main alley. Having reached the bench against the oak cross, she sits in the wind and on the spring cold hour, two, until her feet in light shoes and hand in a narrow skin. Listening to spring birds, sweetly singing and in the cold, listening to the wind of the wind in a porcelain wreath, she sometimes thinks that he would give half every cells, if only it was not before her eyes of this dead wreath. This wreath, this hill, Oak Cross! Is it possible that under him, whose eyes are so immortally shine from this convex porcelain medallion on the cross, and how to combine with this clean look, is the terrible, what is connected now with the name of Olya Meshcherskaya? - But in the depths of the soul, the little woman is happy, like all the people devoted to some passionate dream.
This woman is the cool lady of Olya Meshcherskaya, an unclear girl who has long been living any fiction that replaces the actual life. At first, her brother was, the poor and not a wonderful ensign man, she connected his soul with him, with his future, which for some reason she appeared to her brilliant. When he was killed under Mukden, she convinced himself that she was ideological worker. The death of Olya Meshchersk was captured by her new dream. Now Olya Meshcherskaya is the subject of its relentless dooms and feelings. She goes to her grave every holiday, by the hour does not descend the eyes from the Oak Cross, remembers the pale lyrum Olya Meshcherskaya in the coffin, among the colors - and the fact that once overheard: Once, on a big change, walking along the gymnasium garden, Olya Meshcherskaya quickly, Quickly spoke to her beloved friend, full, high subbotens:
I am in one father's book, "he has many old funny books," read what beauty should have a woman ... There, you understand, so much risen that you don't remember everything: well, of course, black, boiling with a resin, - to her God And it is written: boiling resin! - Black, like night, eyelashes, gently playing blush, thin camp, longer than an ordinary hand, - you understand, longer than ordinary! - Little leg, moderately big breasts, correctly rounded caviar, knee color of the sink, shovels, - I learned a lot to learn, so all this is true! - But most importantly, do you know what? - Easy breath! But I have it, - Listen, how I sigh, - because the truth is, there?
Now it's easy breathing again scattered in the world, in this cloudy sky, in this cold spring wind.