Teffi is about love. Teffi is all about love
The cabin was stuffy and intolerable, it smelled of a hot iron and hot oilcloth. It was impossible to lift the curtain, because the window looked out onto the deck, and so, in the dark, angry and in a hurry, Platonov shaved and changed his clothes.
“The moment the steamer moves, it will be cooler,” he consoled himself. "It wasn't sweeter on the train either."
Dressed in a light suit, white shoes, carefully combing his dark hair thinning at the crown, he went out onto the deck. It was easier to breathe here, but the deck was all burning from the sun, and not the slightest movement of air was felt, in spite of the fact that the steamer was already shaking a little and slowly sailing away, slowly turning, the gardens and bell towers of the mountainous coast.
The time was unfavorable for the Volga. End of July. The river was already shallowing, the steamers moved slowly, measuring the depth.
There were extremely few passengers in the first class: a huge fat merchant in a cap with his wife, an old and quiet one, a priest, two disgruntled elderly ladies.
Platonov walked the steamer several times.
"Boring!"
Although, due to some circumstances, it was very convenient. Most of all he was afraid to meet acquaintances.
"But still, why is it so empty?"
And suddenly from the premises of the steamship saloon a dashing chanson tune was heard. He sang a husky baritone to the accompaniment of a rattling piano. Platonov smiled and turned to these pleasant sounds.
The steamer salon was empty ... Only at the piano, decorated with a bouquet of colored feather grass, sat a dumpy young man in a blue chintz shirt. He sat sideways on a stool, lowering his left knee to the floor, like a coachman on an irradiation, and, dashingly spreading his elbows, also somehow in a coachman's way (as if he ruled in a troika), beat the keys.
“You have to be a little touchy,
A little bit strict,
And he's ready! "
He shook a mighty mane of ill-combed blond hair.
“And on concessions
Doves will go
And trawl-la-la-la, And trawl-la. "
I noticed Platonov and jumped up.
Let me introduce myself, Okulov, cholera medical student.
Oh yes, - Platonov realized. - That's why there are so few passengers. Cholera.
What the hell is cholera? Drink too much - well, they are sick. I've been on which flight and have not yet stated a single case.
The student Okulov's face was healthy, red, darker than hair, and the expression on it was the same as that of a person preparing to give someone in the face: a crucified mouth, swollen nostrils, bulging eyes. As if nature had fixed this penultimate moment, and so it let the student along throughout his life.
Yes, my dear, - said the student. - Patented Lean. Not a single lady. And he sits down, so such a muzzle that seasickness on calm water done. Are you driving for pleasure? It wasn't worth it. The river is rubbish. Heat, stinks. On the docks there is swearing. Captain - God knows what; he must be drunk, because he doesn't drink vodka at the table. His wife is a girl - married for four months. I was trying with her, as with good. You fool, your forehead is cracking. She decided to teach me. "From the jubilant, idle chatter" and "benefit the people." Just think - a mother-commander! If you please see, from Vyatka - with requests and mental bends. Spat and threw. But, you know this tune! Pretty cute:
"From my flowers
Wonderful aroma…. "
They sing in all cafes.
He quickly turned, sat down "on the beam", shook his hair and drove off:
“Alas, mother,
Oh, what is it ... "
"Well, a medic!" - thought Platonov and went to wander around the deck.
By lunchtime, the passengers crawled out. That same mastodon merchant with his wife, boring old women, a priest, some two other merchants and a person with long, flowing hair, in dirty linen, in a copper pince-nez, with newspapers in protruding pockets.
We dined on deck, each at his own table. The captain also came, gray, puffy, gloomy, in a shabby linen jacket. With him is a girl of about fourteen, smooth, with a twisted braid, in a chintz dress.
Platonov was already finishing his traditional botvinya when a doctor came up to his table and shouted to the footman:
My device is here!
Please please! - Platonov invited him, - I am very glad.
The medic sat down. I asked for vodka, herring.
Pa-arsh river! - he began a conversation. - "Volga, Volga, in the spring with abundant water, you do not flood the fields so much ..." Not so. The Russian intellectual always teaches something. The Volga, you see, does not flood like that. He knows better how to flood.
Excuse me, - put in Platonov, - you seem to be confusing something. However, I don’t really remember.
I don’t remember myself, ”the student agreed good-naturedly. - Have you seen our fool?
What a fool?
Yes to the mother-commander. Here sits with the captain. He doesn't look here on purpose. I am outraged by my "cafe-chanting nature."
How? - Platonov was surprised. - This girl? Why, she's not more than fifteen years old.
No, a little more. Seventeen or something. Is he good? I told her: “It's like marrying a badger. How did the priest agree to marry you? " Ha ha! Badger with a booger! So what do you think? Offended! What a fool!
The evening was quiet, pink. The colored lanterns on the buoys were lit, and the steamer glided between them magically, sleepily. The passengers scattered early to their cabins, only on the lower deck the heavily laden carpenters were still busy and the Tartar whined the mosquito song.
The breeze stirred on the nose white light shawl, attracted Platonov.
The small figurine of Kapiton's wife clung to the side and did not move.
Are you dreaming? asked Platonov.
She shuddered, turned around in alarm.
Oh! I thought again this ...
You thought this medic? A? Indeed, a vulgar type.
Then she turned her delicate thin face with huge eyes, the color of which was already difficult to distinguish, towards him.
Platonov spoke in a tone that inspires confidence. He condemned the doctor for the chansonnets very severely. He even expressed his surprise that such vulgarity could occupy him when fate gave him full opportunity to serve the holy cause of helping suffering humanity.
The little captain turned to him entirely, like a flower to the sun, and even opened her mouth.
The moon swam out, very young, had not yet shone brightly, but hung in the sky just as a decoration. The river splashed slightly. The forests of the highland coast were darkened.
Platonov did not want to go into a stuffy cabin, and in order to keep this sweet, slightly whitening night face by his side, he kept talking, talking on the most lofty topics, sometimes even ashamed of himself: "Well, what a healthy nonsense!"
The dawn was already pink when, sleepy and emotionally moved, he went to bed.
The next day was that most fateful, the twenty-third of July, when Vera Petrovna was supposed to board a steamer - just for a few hours, for one night.
He had already received about a dozen letters and telegrams concerning this meeting, which had been contrived in the spring. It was necessary to coordinate his business trip to Saratov with her non-business trip, to friends in the estate. It seemed like a wonderful poetic rendezvous, about which no one will ever know. Vera Petrovna's husband was busy building a distillery and could not carry it out. Things went swimmingly.
It rained during the day. The garden is damp.
We are sitting on the terrace, watching the lights of Saint-Germain and Virofle shimmer on the horizon. This distance from here, from our high forest mountain, looks like an ocean, and we make out the lanterns of the pier, the flashes of the lighthouse, the signal lights of the ships. The illusion is complete.
Quiet.
Across open doors salon, we listen to the last sadly passionate chords of the "Dying Swan", which the radio brought us from some foreign country.
Quiet again.
We sit in the semi-darkness, a red eye rises, the light of a cigar flashes.
- Why are we silent, like Rockefeller digesting his dinner? We didn’t set a record to live to be a hundred years old, ”said the baritone in the semidarkness.
- And Rockefeller is silent?
- He is silent for half an hour after breakfast and half an hour after lunch. Began to be silent at forty. Now he is ninety-three. And he always invites guests to dinner.
- Well, what about them?
- They are also silent.
- Such a fool!
- Why?
- Because they hope. If the poor man decided to be silent for digestion, everyone would decide that it is impossible to drive with such a fool and acquaintances. And he probably feeds them with some hygienic carrot?
- Well, of course. And he chews each piece at least sixty times.
- Such impudent!
- Let's talk better about something delicious. Petronius, tell us some of your adventures.
The cigar burst into flames, and the one who was nicknamed Petronius here because of his leggings and ties to match the suit, hissed in a lazy voice:
- Well, if you please. About what?
- Anything about eternal love, - said loudly female voice... - Have you ever met eternal love?
- Well, of course. Only this and met. All of them were exceptionally eternal.
- Yes you! Really? Tell us at least one case.
- One case? There are so many of them that it is difficult to choose directly.
- And all eternal?
- All eternal. Well, for example, I can tell you one little carriage adventure. It was, of course, a long time ago. It is not customary to talk about those that were recently. So, it was in prehistoric times, that is, before the war. I went from Kharkov to Moscow. The ride is long, boring, but I'm a kind person, fate took pity on me and sent a very pretty companion to the small station. I looked - stern, did not look at me, read a book, gnaw candy. Well, in the end we got to talking. The lady turned out to be very, indeed, strict. Almost from the first sentence she announced to me that she loves her husband with eternal love, to the grave, amen.
N. A. Teffi
All about love
La presse franèaise et étrangère
O. Zeluck, editeur
Fairy Carabosse
Insurance
Two diaries
About eternal love
Mr. Furtenau's cat
Don Quixote and the Turgenev girl
Two novels with foreigners
The choice of the cross
Points of view
Banal story
Psychological fact
Gentleman
Miracle of spring
Blessed are the departed
Woman's share
Atmosphere of love
Easter story
Saleswoman's story
a wise man
Opened caches
Virtuoso of feeling
The untold about Faust
The cabin was stuffy, it smelled unbearably of a hot iron and hot oilcloth. It was impossible to lift the curtain, because the window looked out onto the deck, and so, in the dark, angry and in a hurry, Platonov shaved and changed his clothes.
The moment the steamer moves, it will be cooler, ”he consoled himself. It wasn't sweeter on the train either.
Dressed in a light suit, white shoes, carefully combing his dark hair thinning at the crown, he went out onto the deck. It was easier to breathe here, but the deck was all burning from the sun and not the slightest movement of air was felt, in spite of the fact that the steamer was already shaking a little and slowly sailing away, slowly turning, the gardens and bell towers of the mountainous coast.
The time was unfavorable for the Volga. End of July. The river was already shallowing, the steamers moved slowly, measuring the depth.
There were extremely few passengers in the first class: a huge fat merchant in a cap with his wife, old and quiet, a priest, two disgruntled elderly ladies,
Platonov walked the steamer several times.
Boring!
Although in view of some circumstances it was very convenient. Most of all he was afraid to meet acquaintances.
But still, why is it so empty?
And suddenly from the premises of the steamship saloon a dashing chanson tune was heard. He sang a husky baritone to the accompaniment of a rattling piano.
Platonov smiled and turned to these pleasant sounds.
The steamer salon was empty ... Only at the piano, decorated with a bouquet of colored feather grass, sat a dumpy young man in a blue chintz shirt. He sat sideways on a stool, lowering his left knee to the floor, like a coachman on an irradiation, and dashingly spreading his elbows, also somehow in a coachman's way (as if he ruled with a troika) beat on the keys.
"You have to be a little bit messy
A little bit stupid
And he's ready! "
He shook a mighty mane of ill-combed blond hair.
"And make concessions
Doves go
And trawl-la-la-la
And trawl-la ".
I noticed Platonov and jumped up.
Let me introduce myself, Okulov, cholera medical student.
Oh, yes - Platonov realized. - That's why there are so few passengers. Cholera.
What the hell is cholera? Drink too much - well, they are sick. I've been on which flight and have not yet stated a single case.
The student Okulov's face was healthy, red, darker than hair, and the expression on it was the same as that of a person preparing to give someone in the face: a crucified mouth, swollen nostrils, bulging eyes. As if nature had fixed this penultimate moment, and so it let the student along throughout his life.
Yes, my dear, the student said. - Patented Lean. Not a single lady. And he sits down, so muzzle that seasickness in calm water is done. Are you going for pleasure? It wasn't worth it. The river is rubbish. Heat, stinks. On the docks there is swearing. Captain - the devil knows what; he must be drunk, because he doesn't drink vodka at the table. His wife is a girl - married for four months. I was trying with her as a good one. You fool, your forehead is cracking. She decided to teach me. "From the jubilant, idle chatter" and "benefit the people." Just think - the commander's mother! If you please see, from Vyatka with requests and mental bends. Spat and threw. But, you know, this tune? Pretty cute:
"From my flowers
A wonderful scent ... "
They sing in all cafes.
He quickly turned, sat down "on the beam", shook his hair and drove off.
"Alas, mother
Oh what is ... "
What a medic! - thought Platonov and went to wander around the deck.
By lunchtime, the passengers crawled out. That same merchant Maotodont with his wife, boring old women, a priest, some two other merchants and a person with long, flowing hair in dirty linen, in a copper pince-nez, with newspapers in protruding pockets.
We dined on deck, each at his own table. The captain also came, gray, puffy, gloomy, in a shabby linen jacket. With him is a girl of about fourteen, smooth, with a twisted braid, in a chintz dress.
Platonov was already finishing his traditional botvinya when a doctor came up to his table and shouted to the footman:
My device is here!
Please please! - Platonov invited him. - I am glad.
The medic sat down. I asked for vodka, herring,
An arsh river! - he began the conversation. - "Volga, Volga, full of water in spring, you do not flood the fields like that" ... Not like that. The Russian intellectual always teaches something. The Volga, you see, does not flood like that. He knows better how to flood.
Excuse me, - put in Platonov, - you seem to be confusing something. However, I don’t really remember.
I don’t remember myself - the student agreed good-naturedly. Have you seen our fool?
What a fool?
Yes, mother to the commander. Here sits with the captain. He doesn't look here on purpose. Outraged by my "cafe-chanting nature" "
How? - Platonov was surprised. This girl? Why, she's not more than fifteen years old, sir.
No, a little more. Seventeen or something. Is he good? I said to her, "It's all the same what kind of badger to marry. How did the priest agree to marry you?" Ha ha! Badger with a booger! So what do you think? - Offended! What a fool!
The evening was quiet, pink. The colored lanterns on the buoys were lit, and the steamer glided between them magically, sleepily. The passengers scattered early to their cabins, only on the lower deck the heavily laden carpenters were still busy, and the Tartar whined the mosquito song.
A white light shawl stirred in the breeze on the nose, pulled Platonov.
The small figurine of the captain's wife clung to the side and did not move.
Are you dreaming? asked Platonov.
She shuddered, turned around fearfully.
Oh! I thought again this ...
Did you think this medic? A? Really vulgar type.
Then she turned her delicate thin face with huge eyes, the color of which was already difficult to distinguish, towards him.
Platonov spoke in a tone that inspires confidence. He condemned the doctor for the chansonnets very severely. He even expressed his surprise that such vulgarity could occupy him when fate gave him full opportunity to serve the holy cause of helping suffering humanity.
The little captain turned to him entirely, like a flower to the sun, and even opened her mouth,
The moon swam out, very young, had not yet shone brightly, but hung in the sky just like a decoration. The river splashed slightly. The forests of the highland coast were darkened. Quiet.
Platonov did not want to go into a stuffy cabin, and in order to keep this sweet, slightly whitening night face near him, he kept talking, talking on the most lofty topics, sometimes even ashamed of himself.
What a healthy nonsense!
The dawn was already pink when, sleepy and emotionally moved, he went to bed.
The next day, it was the most fateful twenty-third of July, when Vera Petrovna was supposed to board a steamer - just for a few hours, for one night.
He had already received about a dozen letters and telegrams concerning this meeting, which had been contrived in the spring. It was necessary to coordinate his business trip to Saratov with her non-business trip to friends in the estate. It seemed like a wonderful poetic rendezvous, about which no one will ever know. Vera Petrovna's husband was busy building a distillery and could not carry it out. Things went swimmingly.
The upcoming meeting did not bother Platonov. He had not seen Vera Petrovna for three months, and for flirting this is a long time. Erodes away. But nevertheless, the meeting seemed pleasant, like entertainment, like a break between difficult St. Petersburg affairs and unpleasant business dates awaiting him in Saratov.
To shorten the time, he went to bed right after breakfast and slept until five. I combed my hair thoroughly, wiped myself with cologne, cleaned my cabin, just in case, and went out on deck to inquire if that pier was soon. I remembered the captain, looked with my eyes, did not find. Well, there’s no need for it now.
At the small pier there was a carriage and some gentlemen and a lady in a white dress were bustling about.
Platonov decided that, just in case, it would be wiser to hide. Maybe the spouse himself is seeing off. He went behind the pipe and left when the pier was already out of sight.
Arkady Nikolaevich!
Expensive!
Vera Petrovna is red, with hair sticking to her forehead - "eighteen miles in this heat!" - breathing heavily with excitement, squeezing his hand.
Crazy ... crazy ... - he repeated, did not know what to say.
And suddenly, behind me, the joyful cry of an unpleasantly familiar voice:
Aunty! That's a surprise! Where are you going? the cholera student yelled.
He wiped off Platonov with his shoulder and, pressing on the bewildered lady, kissed her on the cheek.
This ... let me introduce you ... - she babbled with an expression of hopeless despair, - this is my husband's nephew. Vasya Okulov.
Yes, we are already well acquainted, the student had good-natured fun. And you know, auntie, you are very fat in the village! By God! What sides! Straight to the pedestal!
Oh, leave! Vera Petrovna babbled almost crying.
And I didn’t know you knew each other! - the student continued to have fun. - Or maybe you met on purpose? Rendezvous? Ha ha ha! Come on, aunt, I'll show you your cabin. Goodbye, Monsieur Platonov. Shall we dine together?
All evening he never lagged behind the unfortunate Vera Petrovna. It was only at dinner that he had the brilliant idea to go to the buffet himself to bake for warm vodka. These few minutes were barely enough to express despair and love and hope that maybe the villain will calm down at night.
When everyone is asleep, come to the deck, to the chimney, I will wait - Platonov whispered.
For God's sake be careful! He can gossip to her husband.
The evening came out very boring. Vera Petrovna was nervous. Platonov was angry and both of them all the time in the conversation tried to make it clear to the student that they had met quite by chance and were very surprised at this circumstance.
The student had fun, sang idiotic couplets and felt like the soul of society.
Well, now sleep, sleep, sleep! he ordered. “You’ll get up early tomorrow, there’s nothing to get tired of.” I am responsible for you to my uncle.
Vera Petrovna meaningfully shook Platonov's hand and left, accompanied by her nephew.
Now even "this" will become attached - he thought about the little captain.
After waiting half an hour, he quietly went out on deck and headed for the chimney.
She was already waiting for him, prettier in the misty twilight, wrapped in a long dark veil.
Vera Petrovna! Expensive! Horrible!
It's horrible! It's horrible! she whispered. - So much work was to persuade my husband. He did not want me to go alone to the Severyakovs, he is jealous of Mishka. I wanted to go in June, I pretended to be sick ... In general, everything was so difficult, such torture ...
Listen, Vera, dear! Let's go to my place! I’m really safer. We will sit quietly, quietly, without lighting a fire. I will only kiss cute eyes, I will only listen to your voice. After all, I heard him for so many months only in a dream. Your voice! How can you forget him! Faith! Tell me something!
T-those-those-those! - suddenly a hoarse bass sang over them,
Vera Petrovna quickly jumped aside.
What is this? - continued the student, because, of course, it was him ... - Fog, dampness, how can you sit on the river at night. Ah ah ah! Ay-yes aunt! So I'll write everything to my uncle. Sleep, sleep, sleep! Nothing, nothing! Arkady Nikolaevich, make her sleep. It will chill the stomach and seize cholera.
So take the risk! - did not appease the student. Dampness, fog!
What business is it to you! - Platonov was angry.
How what? I will answer for her in front of my uncle. And it's too late. Sleep, sleep, sleep. I will accompany you, aunty, and they will be on duty all night at the door, otherwise you will jump out again and will certainly chill your stomach.
In the morning, after a very cold farewell (“She’s still sulking at me,” Platonov wondered), Vera Petrovna got off the ship.
In the evening, a light figure in a light dress herself approached Platonov.
You are sad? she asked:
No. Why do you think so?
But what ... your Vera Petrovna has left, ”her voice rang out unexpectedly insolently, as if a challenge.
Platonov laughed:
But this is the aunt of your friend, the cholera student. She even looks like him - haven't you swept it out?
And suddenly she laughed, so trustingly, childishly, that he himself felt simple and cheerful. And at once this laugh seemed to make them friends and sincere conversations began. And then Platonov learned that the captain was an excellent man and promised to let her go to Moscow in the fall to study,
No, don't go to Moscow! Platonov interrupted her. I need to go to Petersburg,
How why? Because I'm there !!
And she took his hand with her slender hands and laughed with happiness.
In general, the night was wonderful. And already at dawn a heavy figure crawled out from behind the chimney and yawned:
Marusenok, midnight office! Time to sleep.
It was the captain.
And they spent one more night on deck. The grown moon showed Platonov the huge eyes of Marusenka, inspired and clear.
Do not forget my phone number - he said to these amazing eyes. “You don’t even have to give your name. I recognize you by your voice
How is it? Can not be! - she whispered admiringly. - Do you really know?
And what a wonderful life will begin after this phone! Theaters, of course, are the most serious - scholarly lectures and exhibitions. Art has great value... And beauty. For example, her beauty ...
And she listened! How I listened! And when something really struck her, she was so sweet, so especially saying "that's how!"
Early in the morning he got out in Saratov. At the pier, boring business people were already waiting for him, writhing unnaturally friendly faces. Platonov thought that one of these friendly faces would have to be caught for embezzlement, the other kicked out for idleness, and already preoccupied and angry in advance, he began to go down the ladder. Accidentally turning around, I saw her at the railing ... She screwed up her eyes with a sleepy face and pressed her lips tightly, as if afraid to cry, but her eyes shone so huge and happy that he involuntarily smiled at them.
In Saratov, business was overwhelmed in the afternoon, drunken intoxication in the evening. In Ochkin's cafe, which thundered all over the Volga with merchant carousing, it was necessary, as expected, to spend an evening with business people... Choirs sang - Gypsy, Hungarian, Russian. The eminent Volga merchant swaggered over the lackeys. Pouring forty-eight glasses, the footman accidentally splashed on the tablecloth.
You don’t know how to pour, you bastard!
The merchant tore off the tablecloth, the fragments rattled, the carpet and armchairs were poured with champagne.
Pour first!
The smell of wine, cigar smoke, noise.
Rytka! Rytka! - the Hungarian women wheezed in sleepy voices.
At dawn, a wild roar of rams was heard from the next office.
What's happened?
Mr. Apollosov are having fun. They always collect all the waiters at the end and make them sing in chorus.
They say: this Apollosov, a modest rural teacher, bought in installments from Heinrich Blok winning ticket and won seventy-five thousand. And as soon as he received the money, he sat down at Ochkin's. Now the capital is coming to an end. He wants to leave every last penny here. This is his dream. And then he will be asked to return to the same place, he will be the village teacher for a century and remember the luxurious life, as the waiters sang to him at dawn in unison.
Well, where, besides Russia and the soul of a Russian person, will you find such "happiness"?
Autumn has passed. Winter has come.
Platonov's winter began a difficult one, with various unpleasant stories in business relations. I had to work a lot, and the work was nervous, hectic and responsible.
And so, somehow expecting an important visit, he was sitting in his office. The phone rang.
Who is speaking?
Who am I"? asked Platonov irritably. Sorry, I'm very busy.
Don't you recognize? It's me.
Ah, madam, - said Platonov with annoyance. - I assure you that I have absolutely no time to deal with riddles now. I am very busy. Be so kind as to be straightforward.
A! - guessed Platonov. Well, how did I know, of course. How can I not recognize your sweet voice, Vera Petrovna!
Silence. And then quietly and sadly, sadly:
Vera Petrovna? Here's how ... If so, then nothing ... I don't need anything ...
And suddenly he remembered:
Why, it's small! Little on the Volga! Lord, what have I done! So offend the little one!
I found out! I found out - he shouted into the phone, himself surprised at his joy and despair. - For God's sake! For God's sake! After all, I found out!
But no one responded.
It was a great restaurant with kebabs, dumplings, piglet, sturgeon and an art program. The artistic program was not limited to some Russian numbers "Lapotchki", yes "Bubliks", yes "Black Eyes". Among the performers were black women, and Mexicans, and Spaniards, and gentlemen of a vaguely jazz tribe, singing obscure nasal words in all languages, wiggling their hips. Even notoriously Russian artists, crossing themselves behind the scenes, sang an encore in French and English.
Dancing numbers, which allowed the artists not to reveal their nationality, were performed by ladies with the most supernatural names: Takuza Muk. Rutuf Yay-yay. Ekama Yuya.
Swarthy, almost black exotic women with long green eyes howled among them. There were also pink-gold blondes and fiery red with brown skin. Almost all of them, down to the mulattos, were, of course, Russians. Even this is not difficult to achieve with our talents. "Our sister is poverty" will teach you not that.
The decor of the restaurant was gorgeous. It was this word that defined her best. Not luxurious, not lush, not sophisticated, but chic.
Colored lampshades, fountains, green aquariums with goldfish embedded in the walls, carpets, a ceiling painted with incomprehensible pieces, among which one could guess now a bulging eye, now a raised leg, now a pineapple, now a piece of nose with a monocle stuck to it, now a crustacean tail. It seemed to those sitting at the tables that all this was falling on their heads, but it seems that this was precisely the task of the artist.
The servant was polite, did not say to late guests:
The restaurant was visited by as many foreigners as Russians. And it was often seen how some French or Englishman, who, apparently, had already visited this institution, brought his friends with him and, with the expression on the face of a magician swallowing burning tow, threw the first glass of vodka into his mouth and, bulging his eyes, stuffed it into throat with a patty. The friends looked at him as if he were a brave eccentric, and, smiling incredulously, smelled their glasses.
The French love to order pies. For some reason they are amused by this word, which they pronounce with an emphasis on "o". This is very strange and inexplicable. In all Russian words, the French emphasize, according to the property of their language, on last word... In all - except for the word "pies".
Vava von Mersen, Musya Riven and Gogosya Livensky were sitting at the table. Gogos was from a higher circle, albeit from a distant periphery; therefore, despite his sixty-five years, he continued to respond to the nickname Gogos.
Vava von Mersen, who also grew up long ago into an elderly Varvara, in finely curled, dry, tobacco-colored beads, so thoroughly smoked that if you cut them off and chop finely, you could fill the pipe of some undemanding sea-going skipper with them.
Musya Riven was a young, just for the first time divorced child, sad, sentimental and tender, which did not prevent her from clapping glass after glass of vodka, to no avail and imperceptibly neither for her nor for others.
Gogos was a charming conversationalist. He knew everyone and talked about everyone loudly and a lot, occasionally, in risky places in his speech, following the Russian habit, he switched to French, partly so that "the servants do not understand", partly because the French indecency is piquant, and the Russian offends the ear.
Gogos knew in which restaurant what exactly to order, shook hands with all the maitre d-hotels, knew the name of the cook and remembered what, where and when he ate.
He loudly applauded the successful numbers of the program and shouted in a lordly bass:
Thank you brother!
Well done, girl!
He knew many visitors, made a welcome gesture to them, sometimes buzzed throughout the hall:
Comment ca va? Anna Petrovna en bonne santé?
In a word, he was a wonderful client who filled the hall with one person by three quarters.
Opposite them, against the other wall, an interesting company took a table. Three ladies. All three are more than elderly. To put it simply, old women.
The whole affair was conducted by a small, sturdy one, with her head screwed directly into the bust, without any hint of a neck. A large diamond brooch rested against a double chin. Her gray, well-combed hair was covered with a flirty black hat, her cheeks were powdered with pinkish powder, her very modestly toasty mouth bared porcelain-blue teeth. A magnificent silver fox fluffed above the ears. The old woman was very elegant.
The other two were of little interest and were apparently invited by a smart old woman.
She chose both wine and dishes very carefully, and the guests, obviously, "lip not stupid", sharply expressed their opinion, and defended the position. They began to eat together, with the fire of real temperament. They walked sensibly and with concentration. Flushed quickly. The main old woman was all full, even a little blue, and her eyes bulged and glazed. But all three were in a joyful, excited mood, like blacks who had just skinned an elephant, when joy requires the continuation of the dance, and satiety falls to the ground.
Funny old women! - said Vava von Mersen, pointing at cheerful company your lorgnette.
Yes, - Gogos said enthusiastically. - Happy age. They no longer need to keep the line, they don’t need to conquer someone, to like someone. With money and a good stomach, this is the happiest age. And the most careless. You no longer need to build your life. Everything is ready,
Look at this one, the main one, - said Musya Riven, contemptuously dropping the corners of her mouth. - Just some kind of funny cow. I can see what she was like all her life.
Probably survived perfectly, - said Gogos approvingly. - Let others live and live. Cheerful, healthy, rich. Maybe she was not even bad-looking. Now, of course, it is difficult to judge. A lump of pink fat.
I think I was stingy, greedy and stupid, - put in Vava von Mersen. - Look how she eats, how she drinks, sensual animal.
Still, someone probably loved her, and even married her, ”Musya Riven drawled dreamily.
Someone just got married for money. You always assume romance that never happens in life.
The conversation was interrupted by Tyulya Rovtsyn. He was from the same periphery of the circle as Gogos, therefore, he retained the name Tully until he was sixty-three years old. Tulle was also sweet and pleasant, but poorer than Gogosi and all the more minor. After chatting for a few minutes, he got up, looked around and went over to the cheerful old women. They rejoiced at him, as an old acquaintance, and sat him down at their table.
Meanwhile, the program went on as usual.
A young man stepped out onto the stage, licked his lips like a cat that ate chicken, and sang an English song with a howling and intermittent jingle of jazz. The words of the song were sentimental and even sad, the motive was monotonously dull. But jazz did its job without delving into these details, and it turned out that the sad gentleman was tearfully telling about his love failures, and some crazy man was jumping wildly, roaring, whistling and hitting the crying gentleman on the head with a copper tray.
Then two Spanish women danced to the same music. One of them screamed as she ran away, which greatly lifted the mood of the audience.
Then a Russian singer came out with French surname... First he sang a French romance, then an encore - an old Russian:
"Your meek slave, I will kneel.
"I am not fighting a ruinous fate,
"I am to shame, to the bitterness of humiliation -
"I will do everything for the happiness of being with you."
Listen! Listen! - Gogos suddenly became wary. - Oh, how many memories! What a terrible tragedy this romance has to do with it. Poor Kolya Izubov ... Maria Nikolaevna Rutte ... Count ...
"When my gaze meets your eyes,
"I am all overwhelmed with excruciating delight"
The singer took it out languidly.
I knew all of them, - recalled Gogos. - This is Kolya Izubov's romance. Lovely music. He was very talented. Sailor ...
... "So blissful stars reflect
A raging, bottomless ocean ... "
The singer continued.
How charming she was! Both Kolya and the count were in love with her like crazy. And Kolya challenged the count to a duel. The count killed him. Maria Nikolaevna's husband was then in the Caucasus. Returns, and then this scandal, and Maria Nikolaevna takes care of the dying Kolya. The count, seeing that Maria Nikolaevna was with Kolya all the time, shoots himself in the forehead, leaving her a letter to her that he knew about her love for Kolya. The letter, of course, falls into the hands of her husband, and he demands a divorce. Maria Nikolaevna loves him passionately and is literally innocent of anything. But Rutte does not believe her, takes an appointment for Far East and tosses her alone. She is in despair, suffering madly, wants to go to a monastery. Six years later, her husband calls her to his place in Shanghai. She flies there, reborn. Finds him dying. Lived together for only two months. I understood everything, all the time I loved her alone and was tormented. In general, this is such a tragedy that one is simply surprised. how this little woman was able to survive all this. Then I lost sight of her. I only heard that she got married and her husband was killed in the war. She seems to have died too. Killed during the revolution. Tullya knew her well, he even suffered in his time.
If, lady, you have a son, I will sew him a hat. One barrel is red, the other is yellow - ha-ha-ha! Well, and if a daughter, then you really need a cap with lace.
V last time she said such funny nonsense that even sad Ilka was amused. Senka told me that some German had a goat, and that they had hung a red woolen fire with bells on this goat's neck. The bells are not the same as on horses, but small, golden ones, and they sing like that. So, here, Senka wants one bell, or two to cut off and hide for the little one,
We will tie it to a string, he will strum with handles and will become cheerful for life. And in our city you can't buy tash bells anyway. It can be seen imported. It doesn't matter if you cut one off, they won't notice. And even if they notice, they will not find out who. Ha-ha-ha!
Senka is stupid, roguish, but she did it so simply and cheerfully that the century would not part with her. But there was a serious obstacle to happiness with Senka. In her past - two guys and not a single husband. One child died in the village, the other, "as if alive." The angry Ilkin's husband will not allow Senka to hire him.
She was already getting ready to lie to something, to portray Senka as a victim, but somehow she did not know how to approach this matter. At the very thought of a conversation with Stan, a heartbeat began.
But, here, somehow he himself spoke.
You need to find a nanny for your unborn child.
Ilka was agitated, suffocated, prepared to speak, but he continued:
But I was lucky, ”he said solemnly. - I have outlined a teacher for the child. This is the sister of the pharmacist's wife. Deprived of the opportunity to have her own family, she is ready to sacrifice herself to the interests of someone else's child.
God! - thought Ilka. - How awful he speaks. Well, what are the interests of the child? How sad and scary everything is done.
This woman, or rather, this girl, her name is Kazimira Karlovna, has never served. We will have her first place. And what is very valuable - she is hunchbacked.
Ilka's lips turned pale.
Is it valuable? she asked quietly.
Yes, valuable, ”he repeated, and stubbornly puffed out his forehead. - You, of course, cannot understand this, although now, preparing for motherhood, you should have been more sensitive to your duty,
He lit a cigarette and began to shake his knee.
Angry! - thought Ilka. - And what?
A child should learn from the first days of life to love everything that is disadvantaged. He will become attached to his ugly teacher - she, fortunately, is extremely ugly, except bad figure- and will suffer with her from the injections and ridicule of the vulgar crowd. This woman, or rather a girl, had already made it a condition in advance not to force her to walk with her child in the park. She has already acquired a place for her grave in the cemetery and will carry a stroller with a child there every day. I find it to be wonderful. In the park, where passers-by will gasp and admire the child, they will only instill vanity in the young soul. What is it for? And she also made it a condition not to take any guests to the nursery. There is nothing to show the child. Yes, probably, and she herself is unpleasant to once again catch mocking eyes on herself.
I don't understand, - said Ilka, and blushed. - Why, suddenly, "mocking eyes?" Who laughs at humpbacks?
Everything! - the husband snapped. - You are the first. If you don’t laugh, you don’t approve. Yes, sir.
Ilka began to cry.
I do not understand your desire to surround the child with ugliness and suffering. For what? Why torture him? That he is a runaway convict, or what? Yes, he, perhaps, in himself will be kind and compassionate.
The saints slept with lepers! - Stanya said gloomily.
Now you will be looking for a leper nanny! - Ilka shouted with despair. “Every time you give me these lepers. No, if I were a saint, I would not go to sleep with a leper. I would give him my bed and leave. A leper patient, he needs peace, comfort. And here, if you please, huddle up to the wall, and next to this bearded saint snores and emphasizes his selflessness. Not good. He loves not the leper, but himself. He does not care about him, but about overcoming disgust in himself in the name of self-improvement, I will not give the child to the lepers. Lie with them yourself.
She jumped up and, crying and bumping into the chairs and the lintel of the door, went to her room and lay down. And all of her was shaking, as if shivering. And then a doze came and bells rang in the yard, not horse bells, but thin, sharp ones, probably goats, the ones that the cheerful Senka stole for the baby. Bells rang and the terrible wheels rumbled. And suddenly a squeak, a squeal. Ilka got up, crept up to the window and saw. She saw a huge rattletrap. The rear wheels are three times the size of the front and are upholstered in thick iron. And in front of the rattle, huge rats roll, roll from belly to back, - soft, fat, entangled in red lines and squeak. And he climbs out of the rattle, looking for
Annotation
Nadezhda Aleksandrovna Teffi (Lokhvitskaya, married Buchinskaya; 1872-1952) is a brilliant Russian writer who began her creative way from poems and newspaper feuilletons and left, along with A. Averchenko, I. Bunin and others prominent representatives Russian emigration significant literary heritage... Teffi's works, funny and sad, are always witty and good-natured, filled with love for the characters, understanding human weaknesses, compassion for troubles ordinary people... The reward for this herd people's love to Teffi and the title of "queen of laughter".
Here the reader will find the collection "All About Love".
Unfortunately, some of the stories are missing in the file.
http://ruslit.traumlibrary.net
Nadezhda Aleksandrovna Teffi (Lokhvitskaya)
All about love
Insurance
Two diaries
About eternal love
Mr. Furtenau's cat
Don Quixote and the Turgenev girl
Two novels with foreigners
The choice of the cross
Points of view
Banal story
Psychological fact
Gentleman
Miracle of spring
Blessed are the departed
Woman's share
Atmosphere of love
Easter story
Saleswoman's story
a wise man
Opened caches
Bright life
Virtuoso of feeling
The untold about Faust
Nadezhda Aleksandrovna Teffi (Lokhvitskaya)
Collected works in five volumes
Volume 3. All about love. Town. Lynx
All about love
Flirting
The cabin was stuffy and intolerable, it smelled of a hot iron and hot oilcloth. It was impossible to lift the curtain, because the window looked out onto the deck, and so, in the dark, angry and in a hurry, Platonov shaved and changed his clothes.
“The moment the steamer moves, it will be cooler,” he consoled himself. "It wasn't sweeter on the train either."
Dressed in a light suit, white shoes, carefully combing his dark hair thinning at the crown, he went out onto the deck. It was easier to breathe here, but the deck was all burning from the sun, and not the slightest movement of air was felt, in spite of the fact that the steamer was already shaking a little and slowly sailing away, slowly turning, the gardens and bell towers of the mountainous coast.
The time was unfavorable for the Volga. End of July. The river was already shallowing, the steamers moved slowly, measuring the depth.
There were extremely few passengers in the first class: a huge fat merchant in a cap with his wife, an old and quiet one, a priest, two disgruntled elderly ladies.
Platonov walked the steamer several times.
"Boring!"
Although, due to some circumstances, it was very convenient. Most of all he was afraid to meet acquaintances.
"But still, why is it so empty?"
And suddenly from the premises of the steamship saloon a dashing chanson tune was heard. He sang a husky baritone to the accompaniment of a rattling piano. Platonov smiled and turned to these pleasant sounds.
The steamer salon was empty ... Only at the piano, decorated with a bouquet of colored feather grass, sat a dumpy young man in a blue chintz shirt. He sat sideways on a stool, lowering his left knee to the floor, like a coachman on an irradiation, and, dashingly spreading his elbows, also somehow in a coachman's way (as if he ruled in a troika), beat the keys.
“You have to be a little touchy,
A little bit strict,
And he's ready! "
He shook a mighty mane of ill-combed blond hair.
“And on concessions
Doves will go
And trawl-la-la-la, And trawl-la. "
I noticed Platonov and jumped up.
Let me introduce myself, Okulov, cholera medical student.
Oh yes, - Platonov realized. - That's why there are so few passengers. Cholera.
What the hell is cholera? Drink too much - well, they are sick. I've been on which flight and have not yet stated a single case.
The student Okulov's face was healthy, red, darker than hair, and the expression on it was the same as that of a person preparing to give someone in the face: a crucified mouth, swollen nostrils, bulging eyes. As if nature had fixed this penultimate moment, and so it let the student along throughout his life.
Yes, my dear, - said the student. - Patented Lean. Not a single lady. And he sits down, so muzzle that seasickness in calm water is done. Are you driving for pleasure? It wasn't worth it. The river is rubbish. Heat, stinks. On the docks there is swearing. Captain - God knows what; he must be drunk, because he doesn't drink vodka at the table. His wife is a girl - married for four months. I was trying with her, as with good. You fool, your forehead is cracking. She decided to teach me. "From the jubilant, idle chatter" and "benefit the people." Just think - a mother-commander! If you please see, from Vyatka - with requests and mental bends. Spat and threw. But, you know this tune! Pretty cute:
"From my flowers
Wonderful aroma…. "
They sing in all cafes.
He quickly turned, sat down "on the beam", shook his hair and drove off:
“Alas, mother,
Oh, what is it ... "
"Well, a medic!" - thought Platonov and went to wander around the deck.
By lunchtime, the passengers crawled out. That same mastodon merchant with his wife, boring old women, a priest, some two other merchants and a person with long, flowing hair, in dirty linen, in a copper pince-nez, with newspapers in protruding pockets.
We dined on deck, each at his own table. The captain also came, gray, puffy, gloomy, in a shabby linen jacket. With him is a girl of about fourteen, smooth, with a twisted braid, in a chintz dress.
Platonov was already finishing his traditional botvinya when a doctor came up to his table and shouted to the footman:
My device is here!
Please please! - Platonov invited him, - I am very glad.
The medic sat down. I asked for vodka, herring.
Pa-arsh river! - he began a conversation. - "Volga, Volga, in the spring with abundant water, you do not flood the fields so much ..." Not so. The Russian intellectual always teaches something. The Volga, you see, does not flood like that. He knows better how to flood.
Excuse me, - put in Platonov, - you seem to be confusing something. However, I don’t really remember.
I don’t remember myself, ”the student agreed good-naturedly. - Have you seen our fool?
What a fool?
Yes to the mother-commander. Here sits with the captain. He doesn't look here on purpose. I am outraged by my "cafe-chanting nature."
How? - Platonov was surprised. - This girl? Why, she's not more than fifteen years old.
No, a little more. Seventeen or something. Is he good? I told her: “It's like marrying a badger. How did the priest agree to marry you? " Ha ha! Badger with a booger! So what do you think? Offended! What a fool!
The evening was quiet, pink. The colored lanterns on the buoys were lit, and the steamer glided between them magically, sleepily. The passengers scattered early to their cabins, only on the lower deck the heavily laden carpenters were still busy and the Tartar whined the mosquito song.
A white light shawl stirred in the breeze on the nose, pulled Platonov.
The small figurine of Kapiton's wife clung to the side and did not move.
Are you dreaming? asked Platonov.
She shuddered, turned around in alarm.
Oh! I thought again this ...
You thought this medic? A? Indeed, a vulgar type.
Then she turned her delicate thin face with huge eyes, the color of which was already difficult to distinguish, towards him.
Platonov spoke in a tone that inspires confidence. He condemned the doctor for the chansonnets very severely. He even expressed his surprise that such vulgarity could occupy him when fate gave him full opportunity to serve the holy cause of helping suffering humanity.
The little captain turned to him entirely, like a flower to the sun, and even opened her mouth.
The moon swam out, very young, had not yet shone brightly, but hung in the sky just as a decoration. The river splashed slightly. The forests of the highland coast were darkened.
Platonov did not want to go into a stuffy cabin, and in order to keep this sweet, slightly whitening night face by his side, he kept talking, talking on the most lofty topics, sometimes even ashamed of himself: "Well, what a healthy nonsense!"
The dawn was already pink when, sleepy and emotionally moved, he went to bed.
The next day was that most fateful, the twenty-third of July, when Vera Petrovna was supposed to board a steamer - just for a few hours, for one night.
About this date ...
About eternal love Nadezhda Teffi
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Title: About Eternal Love
About the book "About Eternal Love" Nadezhda Teffi
An excellent collection of stories by Nadezhda Teffi "About Eternal Love" acquaints the reader with the vision of the theme of love and relationships between the sexes through the eyes of a satirist.
Nadezhda Teffi is a Russian writer on topical issues. Her stories, feuilletons and essays are full of satirical sharp statements, at times a cynical look at familiar things.
The story "About Eternal Love", included in the collection of the same name, demonstrates the difference in the perception of the theme of eternal love in the eyes of men and women. A woman passionately desires romanticism in a relationship, and a man desires carnal pleasures. A woman perceives the concept of eternal love as something immortal and unshakable, for which one can die, and a man, as temporary entertainment. A woman desires spiritual closeness, and a man runs away from this, considering the spiritual connection a trap.
Other works from the collection "On Eternal Love" are saturated with no less realism, cynical perception of reality and satire, characteristic of the writer. Her stories are topical and witty, despite the fact that they were written decades ago.
Teffi's hope has always been strong in small literary forms, she managed to fit voluminous thoughts in several lines, point out flaws, ridicule them in a mild form. The reader, getting acquainted with Teffi's stories, involuntarily thinks about the vicissitudes of fate and injustice surrounding humanity and created by his own hands.
After spending the second half of her life in exile, Nadezhda Teffi began to write less satirical feuilletons, turning to the topic of human relationships. She became bored of making fun of clumsy officials, thieving merchants and prim aristocrats and snobs. The theme of love and loneliness in a foreign land became the basis of her writing.
Teffi's stories are all about lightness and grace of narration, a lot of psychological details, presented naturally, without embellishment. In the collection "On Eternal Love" unrestrained passions do not boil, but the author reveals many aspects of such a complex and multifaceted concept as love.
For readers hitherto unfamiliar with the work of the Russian satire queen Nadezhda Teffi, we recommend that you definitely read touching, cute and witty essays about love - so different, sometimes frankly funny and deadly sad, but full of irony and hope.
On our website about books lifeinbooks.net you can download for free or read online book"About Eternal Love" by Nadezhda Teffi epub formats, fb2, txt, rtf, pdf for iPad, iPhone, Android and Kindle. The book will give you a lot pleasant moments and a real pleasure to read. Buy full version you can contact our partner. Also, here you will find last news from literary world, find out the biography of your favorite authors. For aspiring writers, there is a separate section with useful tips and recommendations, interesting articles, thanks to which you yourself can try your hand at literary skills.