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humorous stories

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

Spinoza. "Ethics", part IV.

Position XLV, scholia II.

Cursed

Leshka's right leg was numb for a long time, but he did not dare to change his position and listened eagerly. It was completely dark in the corridor, and through the narrow slit of the half-open door one could see only a brightly lit piece of the wall above the kitchen stove. A large dark circle surmounted by two horns hovered on the wall. Lyoshka guessed that this circle was nothing more than a shadow from his aunt's head with the ends of the scarf sticking up.

My aunt had come to visit Lyoshka, whom she had identified only a week ago as "boys for room service," and was now in serious negotiations with the cook who had patronized her. The negotiations were of an unpleasantly disturbing nature, the aunt was very agitated, and the horns on the wall rose and fell abruptly, as if some unseen beast butted their invisible opponents.

It was assumed that Lyoshka washes galoshes in the front. But, as you know, a person proposes, but God disposes, and Lyoshka, with a rag in his hands, was eavesdropping outside the door.

“I understood from the very beginning that he was a bungler,” the cook sang in a rich voice. - How many times I tell him: if you, guy, are not a fool, keep your eyes open. Don't do shit, but keep your eyes open. Because - Dunyashka scrubs. And he does not lead with his ear. This morning again the lady shouted - she didn’t interfere in the stove and closed it with a firebrand.

The horns on the wall are agitated, and the aunt groans like an aeolian harp:

"Where can I go with him?" Mavra Semyonovna! I bought him boots, not to eat, not to eat, I gave him five rubles. For a jacket for alteration, a tailor, not a drink, not eaten, ripped off six hryvnias ...

- No other way than to send home.

- Cute! The road, no food, no food, four roubles, dear!

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

“Well, it’s still too early to howl,” the cook sings again. - So far, no one is driving him. The lady only threatened... But the tenant, Pyotr Dmitritch, is very protective. Right up the mountain for Leshka. Enough of you, says Marya Vasilievna, he says he is not a fool, Leshka. He, he says, is a uniform adeot, and there is nothing to scold him. Just a mountain for Leshka.

Well, God bless him...

- And with us, what the tenant says is sacred. Because he is a well-read person, he pays carefully ...

- And Dunya is good! - the aunt twisted her horns. - I don’t understand such a people - to let a sneak on a boy ...

- True! True. This morning I say to her: “Go open the doors, Dunyasha,” affectionately, as if in a kind way. So she snorts in my face: “I, grit, you are not a doorman, open it yourself!” And I drank it all to her. How to open doors, so you, I say, are not a porter, but how to kiss a janitor on the stairs, so you are all a doorman ...

- Lord have mercy! From these years to everything, dospying. The girl is young, to live and live. One salary, not a drink, not ...

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

Trrrr…” the electric bell crackled.

- Leshka-a! Leshka-a! cried the cook. - Oh, you, you failed! Dunyasha was sent away, but he doesn’t even listen with his ear.

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

“No, pipes,” Leshka thought, “I won’t go to the village. I'm not a fool guy, I want to, I'll curry favor so quickly. Don't rub me, not like that."

And, after waiting for the return of the cook, he went with resolute steps into the rooms.

“Be, grit, in front of your eyes. And in what eyes will I be when no one is ever at home.

He went into the front. Hey! The coat hangs - the tenant of the house.

He rushed to the kitchen and, snatching the poker from the dumbfounded cook, rushed back into the rooms, quickly threw open the door to the lodger's quarters, and went to stir in the stove.

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

"I'm not a fool," Leshka thought, jabbing a poker at the burning firewood. “I’ll wet those eyes.” I’m not a parasite - I’m all in business, all in business! .. "

Firewood crackled, the poker rattled, sparks flew in all directions. The tenant and the lady were tensely silent. Finally, Lyoshka headed for the exit, but at the very door he stopped and began to anxiously examine the damp spot on the floor, then he turned his eyes to the guest's legs and, seeing galoshes on them, shook his head reproachfully.

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

The guest blushed and looked at the tenant in bewilderment.

“All right, all right, go on,” he soothed embarrassedly.

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

He found the tenant and guest silently bent over the table and immersed in the contemplation of the tablecloth.

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

And, going up to the pensive couple, he diligently wiped the tablecloth under the very nose of the tenant.

- What are you? - he got scared.

- Like what? I can't live without my eyes. Dunyashka, a slash, knows only a sneak, and she is not a janitor to look after order ... A janitor on the stairs ...

- Go away! Moron!

But the young lady, frightened, grabbed the tenant by the hand and began to whisper something.

- He will understand ... - Lyoshka heard, - servants ... gossip ...

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

“Nothing, nothing, boy… You don’t have to close the doors when you go…”

The tenant smiled contemptuously and shrugged his shoulders.

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

The lodger bounced off his lady like a bullet.

“An eccentric,” Leshka thought, leaving. “It’s light in the room, and he gets scared!”

Lyoshka went into the hall, looked in the mirror, tried on the tenant's hat. Then he went into the dark dining room and scratched the cupboard door with his nails.

“Look, damn unsalted!” You're here all day, like a horse, work, and she only knows the closet locks.

I decided to go again to stir in the stove. The door to the tenant's room was closed again. Lyoshka was surprised, but he entered.

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

“What are you looking at! I myself know that I am not a parasite, I do not sit idly by.”

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

Lyoshka went and got bored: you can’t think of any more work. I looked into the lady's bedroom. It was quiet there. The lamp was glowing in front of the image. It smelled of perfume. Lyoshka climbed onto a chair, looked at the faceted pink lamp for a long time, devoutly crossed himself, then dipped his finger into it and oiled his hair over his forehead. Then he went to the dressing table and sniffed each bottle in turn.

- Eh, what's here! No matter how hard you work, if not in front of your eyes, they don’t count for anything. At least break your forehead.

He wandered sadly into the hallway. In the dim living room something squeaked under his feet, then a curtain fluttered from below, followed by another ...

"Cat! he thought. - Look, look, again to the tenant in the room, again the lady will be furious, like the other day. You're joking!.. "

Joyful and animated, he ran into the cherished room.

- I am the damned one! I'll show you how to roam! I'll turn your face on the tail! ..

There was no face on the tenant.

"You're out of your mind, you wretched idiot!" he shouted. - Who are you scolding?

“Hey, vile, just give me an indulgence, so after that you won’t survive,” Leshka tried. “You can’t let her into the rooms!” From her only a scandal! ..

The lady, with trembling hands, straightened her hat that had fallen to the back of her head.

"He's kind of crazy, this boy," she whispered, frightened and embarrassed.

- Get out, you damned one! - and Lyoshka finally, to everyone's reassurance, dragged the cat out from under the sofa.

“Lord,” the tenant pleaded, “will you leave here at last?”

- Look, damn it, it scratches! She cannot be kept in the rooms. She was yesterday in the living room under the curtain ...

And Lyoshka long and detailed, not concealing a single detail, not sparing fire and colors, described to the amazed listeners all the dishonorable behavior of a terrible cat.

His story was heard in silence. The lady bent down and kept looking for something under the table, and the tenant, somehow strangely pressing Leshkin's shoulder, forced the narrator out of the room and closed the door.

“I’m a smart guy,” Leshka whispered, releasing the cat onto the back stairs. - Smart and hard worker. I'm going to close the oven now.

This time the tenant did not hear Leshka's steps: he was kneeling in front of the lady and, bowing his head low to her legs, froze without moving. And the lady closed her eyes and her whole face cringed, as if looking at the sun ...

"What is he doing there? Lesha was surprised. - Like chewing on a button on her shoe! Not ... apparently, he dropped something. I'll go look for…”

He approached and bent down so quickly that the tenant, who suddenly perked up, hit him painfully with his forehead right on the brow.

The lady jumped up all confused. Lyoshka climbed under a chair, searched under the table and stood up, spreading his arms.

- There is nothing there.

- What are you looking for? What do you finally need from us? shouted the lodger in an unnaturally thin voice, and blushed all over.

“I thought they dropped something ... It will disappear again, like a brooch from that lady, from a black one, who goes to drink tea with you ... The third day after leaving, I, grit, Lyosha, lost the brooch,” he turned directly to the lady , who suddenly began to listen to him very carefully, even opened her mouth, and her eyes became completely round.

- Well, I went behind the screen on the table and found it. And yesterday I forgot the brooch again, but it wasn’t I who cleaned it, but Dunyashka, - that’s the brooch, therefore, the end ...

“Honest to God, it’s true,” Lyoshka reassured her. - Dunyashka stole, slash. If it wasn't for me, she would steal everything. I clean everything like a horse ... by God, like a dog ...

But they didn't listen to him. The lady soon ran into the hallway, the tenant behind her, and both disappeared behind the front door.

Lyoshka went to the kitchen, where, going to bed in an old chest without a top, he said to the cook with a mysterious look:

- Tomorrow, slash the lid.

- Well! she was surprised with joy. - What did they say?

- If I say, it has become, I know.

The next day Leshka was kicked out.

Agility of hands

On the door of a small wooden booth, in which on Sundays local youth danced and performed charity performances, there was a long red poster:

“Specially in transit, at the request of the public, a session of the grandiose fakir from black and white magic.

The most amazing tricks, such as: burning a handkerchief in front of your eyes, extracting a silver ruble from the nose of a respectable public, and so on, contrary to nature.

A sad head peeped out of the side window and sold tickets.

It has been raining since morning. The trees in the garden around the booth got wet, swollen, and drenched in gray fine rain obediently, without shaking off.

At the very entrance, a large puddle was bubbling and gurgling. Tickets were sold for only three rubles.

It began to get dark.

The sad head sighed, disappeared, and a shabby little gentleman of indeterminate age crawled out of the door.

Holding his overcoat by the collar with both hands, he lifted his head and looked at the sky from all sides.

- Not a single hole! Everything is grey! A burnout in Timashev, a burnout in Shchigry, a burnout in Dmitriev... A burnout in Oboyan, a burnout in Kursk... And where is not a burnout? Where, I ask, is it not a burnout? I sent a ticket of honor to the judge, sent it to the head, sent it to the chief police officer ... sent it to everyone. I'm going to turn on the lights.

He glanced at the poster and couldn't tear himself away.

What else do they need? An abscess in the head or what?

By eight o'clock they began to gather.

Either no one came to places of honor, or servants were sent. Some drunks came to the standing places and immediately began to threaten that they would demand money back.

By half past ten it turned out that no one else would come. And those who were sitting were cursing so loudly and definitely that it became dangerous to delay it any longer.

The magician put on a long frock coat, which became wider with each tour, sighed, crossed himself, took a box with mysterious accessories and went on stage.

For a few seconds he stood silently and thought:

“The collection is four rubles, the kerosene is six hryvnias, that’s still nothing, but the room is eight rubles, so that’s what! Golovin's son is in a place of honor - let him. But how will I leave and what will I eat, I ask you.

And why is it empty? I myself would pour the crowd on such a program.

- Bravo! yelled one of the drunks.

The magician woke up. He lit a candle on the table and said:

- Dear audience! Let me preface you with a preface. What you will see here is not anything miraculous or witchcraft that is against our Orthodox religion and is even prohibited by the police. This doesn't even happen in the world. Not! Far from it! What you will see here is nothing but the dexterity and agility of the hands. I give you my word of honor that there will be no mysterious witchcraft here. Now you will see the extraordinary appearance of a hard-boiled egg in a completely empty handkerchief.

He rummaged through the box and pulled out a colorful handkerchief folded into a ball. His hands shook slightly.

“Let me assure you that the handkerchief is completely empty. Here I am shaking it out.

He shook out the handkerchief and stretched it out with his hands.

“In the morning, one kopeck bun and tea without sugar,” he thought. “What about tomorrow?”

“You can make sure,” he repeated, “that there is no egg here.

The audience stirred and whispered. Someone snorted. And suddenly one of the drunks buzzed:

– You-eat! Here is an egg.

- Where? What? - the magician was confused.

- And tied to a scarf on a string.

The embarrassed magician turned over the handkerchief. Indeed, an egg hung on a string.

- Oh you! Someone spoke in a friendly way. - You would go behind a candle, that would be imperceptible. And you got ahead! Yes, brother, you can't.

The magician was pale and smiled wryly.

“It really is,” he said. - I, however, warned that this is not witchcraft, but only the agility of the hands. Excuse me, gentlemen…” His voice trembled and stopped.

- Okay! Okay!

“Now let’s move on to the next amazing phenomenon, which will seem even more amazing to you. Let someone from the most respectable audience lend his handkerchief.

The public was shy.

Many had already taken it out, but after looking carefully, they hurried to put it in their pockets.

Then the magician went up to Golovin's son and held out his trembling hand.

“I could, of course, have my handkerchief, as it is perfectly safe, but you might think that I changed something.

Golovin's son gave him his handkerchief, and the magician unfolded it, shook it, and stretched it out.

- Please make sure! A complete scarf.

Golovin's son proudly looked at the audience.

- Now look. This scarf is magical. So I roll it up with a tube, now I bring it to a candle and light it. Lit. Burnt out the whole corner. See?

The audience craned their necks.

- Right! the drunk shouted. - Smells burnt.

- And now I will count to three and - the handkerchief will be whole again.

- Once! Two! Three!! Please take a look!

He proudly and deftly straightened his handkerchief.

- Ah! the audience gasped.

There was a huge burnt hole in the middle of the scarf.

- However! - said Golovin's son and snuffled his nose.

The magician pressed the handkerchief to his chest and suddenly burst into tears.

- Lord! Most respectable pu ... No collection! .. Rain in the morning ... did not eat ... did not eat - a penny for a bun!

- Why, we're nothing! God is with you! the audience screamed.

- Kill us beasts! The Lord is with you.

But the magician was sobbing and wiping his nose with a magic handkerchief.

- Four rubles fee ... room - eight rubles ... vo-o-o-eight ... o-o-o-o ...

Some woman sighed.

- Yes, you are full! Oh my God! Soul turned out! shouted all around.

A head in an oilcloth hood poked through the door.

- What is it? Go home!

Everyone got up anyway. They left. They splashed through the puddles, were silent, sighed.

“And what can I tell you, brothers,” one of the drunks suddenly said clearly and loudly.

Everyone even paused.

- What can I tell you! After all, the scoundrel people have gone away. He will take money from you, he will turn your soul out. BUT?

- Inflate! - someone hooted in the mist.

- Exactly what to inflate. Aida! Who is with us? One, two ... Well, march! Without any conscience, the people ... I also paid the money not stolen ... Well, we'll show them! Zhzhiva.

penitential

The old nanny, living at rest in the general's family, came from confession.

She sat for a moment in her corner and was offended: the gentlemen were having dinner, there was a smell of something tasty, and there was a quick clatter of the maid serving the table.

- Pah! Passionate not Passionate, they don't care. Just to feed your womb. Reluctantly you sin, God forgive me!

She got out, chewed, thought, and went into the passage room. Sat on a chest.

The maid passed by, surprised.

- And why are you sitting here, nanny? Exactly a doll! By God - exactly a doll!

- Think what you say! the nanny snapped. - Such days, and she swears. Is it shown to swear on such days. There was a man at confession, and, looking at you, you will have time to get dirty before communion.

The maid was scared.

- Guilty, nanny! Congratulations, confession.

- "Congratulations!" Today is congratulations! Nowadays they strive, as it were, to offend and reproach a person. Just now their liquor spilled. Who knows what she spilled. You won't be smarter than God either. And the little young lady says: “That’s right, the nanny spilled it!” From such years and such words.

- Surprising even, nanny! So small and already everyone knows!

- Noneshnye children, mother, worse than obstetricians! Here they are, noneshnie children. Me, what! I don't judge. I was at confession, now I won’t take a sip of poppy dew until tomorrow, let alone ... And you say - congratulations. There is an old lady in the fourth week of fasting; I say to Sonya: "Congratulate the grandmother." And she snorts: “Here it is! very necessary!" And I say: “Grandma must be respected! The grandmother will die, she can deprive her of her inheritance. Yes, if I had some kind of woman, yes, every day I would have found something to congratulate. Good morning, grandma! Yes, good weather! Yes, Happy Holidays! Yes, with stale birthdays! Have a happy bite! Me, what! I don't judge. Tomorrow I'm going to take communion, I'm only saying that it's not good and rather shameful.

“Nanny, you should rest!” the maid fawned.

“I’ll stretch my legs, I’ll lie down in the coffin. I'm resting. You will have time to rejoice. I would have long been out of the world, but here I am not given to you. The young bone on the teeth crunches, and the old one across the throat becomes. Don't swallow.

- And what are you, nanny! And everyone is just looking at you, as if to respect.

- No, don't talk to me about respecters. It’s your respecters, but no one respected me from my youth, so it’s too late for me to be ashamed in my old age. You'd better go and ask the coachman where he drove the lady the other day ... Ask that.

- Oh, and what are you, nanny! the maid whispered, and even squatted down in front of the old woman. - Where did he take it? I'm, by God, no one ...

- Don't worry. To swear is a sin! For swearing, you know how God will punish! And he took me to a place where they show men moving. They move and sing. They spread the sheet, and they move along it. The little lady told me. By herself, you see, it’s not enough, so she was lucky with the girl. I would have found out myself, I would have taken a good twig and driven it along Zakharyevskaya! There's just no one to say. Does the current people understand sneak. Nowadays, everyone only cares about themselves. Ugh! Whatever you remember, you will sin! Lord forgive me!

“The master is a busy man, of course, it’s hard for them to see through everything,” the maid sang modestly lowering her eyes. “They are nice people.

- I know your master! I know from childhood! If I didn't go to communion tomorrow, I would tell you about your master! Since childhood! People are going to mass - ours has not yet slept. People from the church are coming - our teas and coffees are drinking. And as soon as the Holy Mother dragged him to the general, a couch potato, a parasite, I can’t imagine! I already think: he stole this rank for himself! Wherever there is, but stole! There's just no one to try! And I've been thinking for a long time that I stole it. They think: the nanny is an old fool, everything is possible with her! It's stupid, maybe stupid. Yes, not everyone should be smart, someone needs to be stupid.

The maid glanced frightened at the door.

- Our business, nanny, official. God be with him! Let it go! We don't understand. Will you go to church early in the morning?

“I might not go to bed at all. I want to be the first to go to church. So that all rubbish does not climb ahead of people. Every cricket know your hearth.

- Who is climbing?

- Yes, the old woman is alone here. Icy, what keeps the soul. Before everyone else, God forgive me, the bastard will come to the church, and after everyone else will leave. Kazhinny time will stop everyone. And Hosha would sit down for a minute! All of us old women are surprised. No matter how strong you are, but while the clock is reading, you will sit down a little. And this echida is not otherwise than on purpose. Is it a static thing to survive so much! One old woman almost burned her handkerchief with a candle. And it's a pity that it didn't burn. Don't stare! Why stare! Is indicated to stare. I’ll come tomorrow before everyone else and stop it, so I suppose it will ease the force. I can't see her! Today I am on my knees, and I myself look at her. Yechida you, I think, echida! To burst your water bubble! It's a sin, and there's nothing you can do about it.

- Nothing, nanny, now that you have confessed, all the sins of the priest were forgiven. Now your darling is pure and innocent.

- Yes, damn it! Let go! This is a sin, but I must say: this priest confessed me badly. That's when they went to the monastery with the aunt and the princess, so you can say that he confessed. Already he tortured me, tortured, reproached, reproached, imposed three penances! All asked. He asked if the princess was thinking of renting out the meadows. Well, I repented, said I don't know. And entot alive soon. What is wrong? Yes, I say, father, what sins I have. The oldest ones. I love coffee and quarrel with servants. “And special ones,” he says, “no?” And what are the special ones? Every man has his own special sin. That's what. And instead of trying and shaming him, he took and read the leave. That's all for you! Somehow he took the money. I suppose I didn’t give up, that I don’t have any special ones! Ugh, sorry sir! Remember, you are wrong! Save and have mercy. Why are you sitting here? It would be better to go and think: “How am I living like this, and everything is not going well?” You are young girl! There's a crow's nest curled on her head! Have you thought about the days. On such days, let yourself be allowed. And nowhere from you, shameless ones, there is no passage! Having confessed, I came, let me - I thought - I'll sit quietly. Tomorrow, after all, go to communion. No. And then she got there. She came, did all sorts of dirty tricks, whichever is worse. Damn bastard, God forgive me. Look, I went with what force! Not long, mother! I know everything! Give me time, I'll drink everything to the lady! - Go to rest. God forgive me, who else will be attached!

Great post. Moscow.

The church bell hums with a distant dull rumble. Smooth blows merge into a continuous heavy groan.

Through the door, which is open to the cloudy pre-morning haze, one can see how, under quiet, cautious rustles, an obscure figure is moving. It either stands out unsteadily as a thick gray spot, then blurs again and completely merges with the muddy haze. The rustling subsides, a floorboard creaks and another one - away. Everything is quiet. It was the nanny who went to church in the morning.

She is fasting.

This is where it gets scary.

The girl curls up in her bed, barely breathing. And he listens and looks, listens and looks.

The hum becomes ominous. There is a sense of insecurity and loneliness. If you call, no one will come. What can happen? The night is ending, probably, the roosters have already sung dawn, and all the ghosts have gone home.

And their “friends” are in cemeteries, in swamps, in lonely graves under the cross, at the crossroads of deaf roads near the forest edge. Now none of them will dare to touch a person, now they serve early Mass and pray for all Orthodox Christians. So what's so terrible about it?

But the eight-year-old soul does not believe the arguments of reason. The soul shrinks, trembles and whimpers softly. The eight-year-old soul does not believe that this is a bell. Later, during the day, she will believe, but now, in anguish, in defenseless loneliness, she “does not know” that this is just a blessing. For her, this rumble is unknown. Something sinister. If longing and fear are translated into sound, then there will be this rumble. If longing and fear are translated into color, then there will be this unsteady gray haze.

And the impression of this pre-dawn melancholy will remain with this creature for many years, for a lifetime. This creature will wake up at dawn from an incomprehensible longing and fear. Doctors will prescribe sedatives for her, advise her on evening walks, open a window at night, stop smoking, sleep with a heating pad on her liver, sleep in an unheated room, and much, much more will advise her. But nothing will erase from the soul the stamp of predawn despair long imposed on it.

The girl was given the nickname "Kishmish". Kishmish is a small Caucasian raisin. She was nicknamed so, probably for her small stature, small nose, small hands. Generally, a trifle, a small fry. By the age of thirteen, she will quickly stretch, her legs will become long, and everyone will forget that she was once a sultana.

But, being a small sultana, she suffered greatly from this offensive nickname. She was proud and dreamed of advancing somehow and, most importantly, grandiosely, extraordinary. To become, for example, a famous strongman, to bend horseshoes, to stop a madly racing troika on the move. It also beckoned to be a robber, or, perhaps, even better - an executioner. The executioner is more powerful than the robber, because he will prevail in the end. And could any of the adults, looking at a thin, fair-haired, short-haired girl quietly knitting a beaded ring, could it have occurred to anyone what formidable and imperious dreams were wandering in her head? By the way, there was another dream - to be a terrible ugly, not just ugly, but such that people were frightened. She went to the mirror, squinted her eyes, stretched her mouth and stuck out her tongue to one side. At the same time, she first pronounced in a bass, on behalf of an unknown gentleman, who does not see her face, but speaks in the back of her head:

- Allow me to invite you, madam, to a quadrille.

Then a face was made, a full turn and the answer to the gentleman followed:

- Okay. Just kiss my crooked cheek first.

The cavalier was supposed to run away in terror. And then after him:

– Ha! Ha! Ha! Don't you dare!

Kishmish was taught the sciences. At first - only the Law of God and calligraphy.

They taught that every work must begin with prayer.

Kishmish liked it. But referring, by the way, to the career of a robber, Kishmish became alarmed.

“And the robbers,” Kishmish asked, “when they go to rob, should they also pray?”

She was vaguely answered. They replied: "Don't talk nonsense." And Kishmish did not understand - did this mean that the robbers do not need to pray, or that they absolutely need to, and this is so clear that it is stupid to ask about it.

When Kishmish grew up and went to confession for the first time, a fracture occurred in her soul. Terrible and domineering dreams went out.

They sang the trio “May my prayer be corrected” very well.

Three boys went out into the middle of the church, stopped at the very altar and sang with angelic voices. And under these blissful sounds the soul was humbled, touched. I wanted to be white, light, airy, transparent, to fly away in the sounds and incense smoke there, under the very dome, where the white dove of the Holy Spirit spread its wings.

There was no place for a robber here. And the executioner and even the strongman did not fit here at all. The ugly monster would have stood somewhere outside the door and would have covered her face. It would be inappropriate to scare people here. Ah, if only one could become a saint! How wonderful it would be! Being a saint is so beautiful, so tender. And this is above all and above all. This is more important than all teachers and bosses and all governors.

But how do you become a saint? You will have to do miracles, but Kishmish did not know how to do miracles in the least. But that's not where they start. Start with a holy life. You need to become meek, kind, distribute everything to the poor, indulge in fasting and abstinence.

Now, how to give everything to the poor? She has a new spring coat. Here it, first of all, and to give.

But why would mom be angry? It will be such a scandal and such a beating that it’s scary to think. And mom will be upset, and the saint should not upset or upset anyone. Maybe give it to the poor, and tell your mother that the coat was just stolen? But a saint is not supposed to lie. Terrible position. Here is a robber - it is easy for him to live. Lie as much as you like, and still laugh with insidious laughter. So how were they made, these saints? It's just that they were old - all at least sixteen years old, and even just old people. They didn't have to listen to their mother. They just took all their good and immediately distributed it. So you can't start with this. This will come to an end. We must begin with meekness and obedience. And more with abstinence. You only need to eat black bread with salt, drink - only water straight from the tap. And here again the trouble. The cook gossips that she drank raw water, and she will get it. There is typhus in the city, and my mother does not allow drinking raw water. But maybe when mom realizes that Kishmish is a saint, she won't make any obstacles?

And how wonderful it is to be a saint. Now this is such a rarity. All friends will be surprised:

- Why is it over Kishmish - radiance?

- How, don't you know? Yes, she's been a saint for a long time.

– Ah! Oh! It can not be.

- Yes, see for yourself.

And Kishmish sits and smiles meekly and eats black bread with salt.

The guests are envious. They don't have holy children.

Maybe she's faking it?

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

Nadezhda Alexandrovna Teffi spoke about herself to the nephew of the Russian artist Vereshchagin Vladimir: “I was born in St. Petersburg in the spring, and as you know, our St. Petersburg spring is very changeable: sometimes the sun shines, sometimes it rains. Therefore, I also have, as on the pediment of the ancient Greek theater, two faces: laughing and crying.

Surprisingly happy was the writer's fate Teffi. Already by 1910, having become one of the most popular writers in Russia, she was published in the largest and most famous newspapers and magazines of St. after another, collections of her stories are published. Taffy witticisms are on everyone's lips. Her fame is so wide that even Teffi perfumes and Teffi candies appear.

Nadezhda Alexandrovna Teffi.

At first glance, it seems that everyone understands what a fool is and why a fool is the more stupid, the rounder.

However, if you listen and look closely, you will understand how often people are mistaken, taking the most ordinary stupid or stupid person for a fool.

What a fool, people say. He always has nothing in his head! They think that a fool sometimes has trifles in his head!

The fact of the matter is that a real round fool is recognized, first of all, by his greatest and most unshakable seriousness. The smartest person can be windy and act thoughtlessly - a fool is constantly discussing everything; having discussed, he acts accordingly and, having acted, knows why he did it this way and not otherwise.

Nadezhda Alexandrovna Teffi.

People are very proud that in their everyday life there is a lie. Her black power is glorified by poets and playwrights.

“The darkness of low truths is dearer to us than the uplifting deceit,” thinks the traveling salesman, posing as an attaché at the French embassy.

But, in essence, a lie, no matter how great, or subtle, or clever, it will never go beyond the most ordinary human actions, because, like all such, it comes from a cause! and leads to the goal. What is extraordinary here?

Nadezhda Alexandrovna Teffi.

We divide all people in relation to us into "us" and "strangers".

Ours are those that we probably know about, how old they are and how much money they have.

The years and money of strangers are hidden from us completely and forever, and if for some reason this secret is revealed to us, strangers will instantly turn into their own, and this last circumstance is extremely disadvantageous for us, and here's why: they consider it their duty to cut the truth in your eyes without fail -womb, while strangers should delicately lie.

The more a person has his own, the more he knows about himself bitter truths and the harder it is for him to live in the world.

You will meet, for example, a stranger on the street. He will smile at you kindly and say:

Nadezhda Alexandrovna Teffi.

It certainly happens quite often that a person, having written two letters, seals them up by mixing up the envelopes. From this then all sorts of funny or unpleasant stories come out.

And since this happens for the most part with. scattered and frivolous people, then they, somehow in their own way, in a frivolous way, extricate themselves from a stupid situation.

But if such a misfortune slams a family man, a respectable one, then there’s not much fun here.

Nadezhda Alexandrovna Teffi.

It was a long time ago. This was four months ago.

We sat in the fragrant southern night on the banks of the Arno.

That is, we were not sitting on the shore - where to sit there: damp and dirty, and indecent, but we were sitting on the balcony of the hotel, but it’s customary to say so for poetry.

The company was mixed - Russian-Italian.

Nadezhda Alexandrovna Teffi.

A demonic woman differs from an ordinary woman primarily in her manner of dressing. She wears a black velvet cassock, a chain on her forehead, a bracelet on her leg, a ring with a hole “for cyanide, which they will certainly bring to her next Tuesday”, a stiletto behind her collar, a rosary on her elbow and a portrait of Oscar Wilde on her left garter.

She also wears ordinary items of ladies' toiletry, but not in the place where they are supposed to be. So, for example, a demonic woman will allow herself to wear a belt only on her head, an earring - on her forehead or neck, a ring - on her thumb, a watch - on her leg.

At the table, the demonic woman does not eat anything. She never eats at all.

Nadezhda Alexandrovna Teffi.

Nadezhda Alexandrovna Teffi.

Ivan Matveitch, parting his lips mournfully, watched with submissive melancholy as the doctor's hammer, rebounding elastically, clicked on his thick sides.

Well, yes, said the doctor, and walked away from Ivan Matveitch. You can't drink, that's what. Do you drink a lot?

One glass before breakfast and two before dinner. Cognac, the patient answered sadly and sincerely.

N-yes. All this will have to be abandoned. There you have a liver somewhere. Is it possible?

He speaks only on practical topics, without jokes, jokes, without smiles. If he grins, it will certainly be ironic, pulling the corners of his mouth down.

He occupies a modest position in emigration: he sells spirits and herrings. Perfumes smell like herrings, herrings smell like perfume.

Trades poorly. Persuades unconvincingly:

Bad spirits? So it's cheap. Get sixty francs for these very perfumes in the store, and I have nine. And they smell bad, so you sniff them vividly. And people don't get used to it.

What? Does herring smell like cologne? It doesn't hurt her taste. Not much. Here the Germans, they say, eat such cheese that it smells like a dead person. But nothing. They don't get offended. Nauseous? I don't know, nobody complained. No one died from nausea either. Nobody complained about dying.

Grey, red eyebrows. Redheads and moving. He loved to talk about his life. I understand that his life is a model of meaningful and correct actions. Telling, he teaches and at the same time shows distrust of your ingenuity and susceptibility.

Our surname is Vuryugin. Not Voryugin, as many allow themselves to joke, namely Vuryugin, from a completely unknown root. We lived in Taganrog. They lived in such a way that not a single Frenchman, even in his imagination, can have such a life. Six horses, two cows. Garden, land. The father kept the shop. What? Yes, everything was. If you want a brick, get a brick. If you want vegetable oil - if you please, oil. If you want a sheepskin coat, get a sheepskin coat. There was even a finished dress. Yes, what! Not like here - he vilified for a year, everything will be shiny. We had such materials that we never dreamed of here. Strong, with pile. And the styles are dexterous, wide, any artist will put on - he will not lose. Fashionable. Here they have about fashion, I must say, rather weak. They put out brown leather boots in the summer. Ahah! in all stores, ah-ah, the latest fashion. Well, I walk, I look, but I just shake my head. I wore boots like that twenty years ago in Taganrog. Won when. Twenty years ago, and fashion has only now come to them here. Mods, nothing to say.

And how do the ladies dress? Did we wear such cakes on our heads? Yes, we would be ashamed to go out in front of people with such a cake. We dressed fashionably, chic. And here they have no idea about fashion.

They are boring. Terribly boring. Metro yes cinema. Would we have in Taganrog so on the subway to dangle? Several hundred thousand people travel on the Paris metro every day. And you will begin to assure me that they all travel on business? Well, you know, as they say, lie, but don't lie. Three hundred thousand people a day, and all to the point! Where are these things of theirs? How do they show themselves? In trade? In trade, excuse me, stagnation. In the works, too, excuse me, stagnation. So where, one wonders, are the cases in which three hundred thousand people, day and night, bulging their eyes, rush through the subway? I'm surprised, I'm in awe, but I don't believe it.

In a foreign land, of course, it’s hard and you don’t understand much. Especially for a lonely person. During the day, of course, you work, but in the evenings you just run wild. Sometimes you go to the washbasin in the evening, look at yourself in the mirror and say to yourself:

"Vuryugin, Vuryugin! Are you a hero and a handsome man? Are you a trading house? And are you six horses, and are you two cows? Your lonely life, and you have shrunk like a flower without a root."

And now I must tell you that I decided to somehow fall in love. As they say - decided and signed. And there lived on our stairs in our hotel "Trezor" a young mistress, very sweet and even, speaking between us, pretty. Widow. And she had a five-year-old boy, nice. The boy was very nice.

The lady was wow, she made a little money by sewing, so she didn’t really complain. And you know - our refugees - you invite her to drink tea, and she, like a thin accountant, only counts everything and counts everything: “Oh, they didn’t pay fifty, but here they underpaid sixty, and a room is two hundred a month, and three francs on the metro in a day". They count and subtract - longing takes. It is interesting with a lady that she would say something beautiful about you, and not about her scores. Well, this lady was special. Everything hums something, although it is not frivolous, but, as they say, with requests, with an approach to life. She saw that a button on a thread was hanging on my coat, and immediately, without saying a word, she brought a needle and sewed it on.

Well, I, you know, further - more. Decided to fall in love. And a nice boy. I like to take things seriously. And especially in a case like this. You have to be able to reason. I didn’t have trifles in my head, but a legal marriage. He asked, among other things, if she had her own teeth. Although young, but anything can happen. There was one teacher in Taganrog. Also young, and then it turned out - a false eye.

Well, then, I'm getting accustomed to my lady and absolutely, then, I've weighed everything.

You can get married. And one unexpected circumstance opened my eyes that I, as a decent and conscientious person, I’ll say more - a noble person, it’s impossible to marry her. After all, just think? - such an insignificant, it would seem, case, but turned my whole life into an old notch.

And that's how it was. We were sitting at her house one evening, very comfortable, remembering what soups were in Russia. Fourteen were counted, but the peas were forgotten. Well, it was funny. That is, she laughed, of course, I don’t like to laugh. I was rather annoyed at a memory defect. Here, then, we are sitting, remembering the former power, and the little boy is right there.

Give, - says, - maman, caramel.

And she replies:

No more, you've already eaten three.

And he, well, whine - give it, give it.

And I say, nobly joking:

Come here, I'll spank you.

And she tell me the fatal point:

Well, where are you! You are a soft person, you cannot spank him.

And then the abyss opened up at my feet.

To take upon myself the upbringing of a baby at just such an age when their brother is supposed to be beaten is absolutely impossible with my character. I can't take it on myself. Will I ever get it out? No, I won't. I can't fight. And what? To destroy a child, the son of a beloved woman.

Excuse me, - I say, - Anna Pavlovna. I'm sorry, but our marriage is a utopia in which we will all drown. Because I can’t be a real father and educator to your son. Not only that, but I won’t be able to tear it out even once.

I spoke very reservedly, and not a single fiber of my face twitched. Maybe the voice was slightly suppressed, but I vouch for the fiber.

She, of course - ah! Oh! Love and all that, and you don’t need to tear the boy, they say, he is so good.

Good, - I say, - good, but it will be bad. And please don't insist. Be firm. Remember that I can't fight. The future of the son should not be played with.

Well, she, of course, a woman, of course, screamed that I was a fool. But it all worked out, and I don't regret it. I acted nobly and for the sake of my own blindness of passion did not sacrifice the young organism of a child.

I took myself completely in hand. He gave her a day or two to calm down and came to explain sensibly.

Well, of course, a woman cannot perceive. Charged "fool yes fool." Completely unfounded.

And so this story ended. And I can say I'm proud. I forgot pretty soon, because I consider all reminiscences unnecessary. For what? Pawn them in a pawnshop, or what?

Well, and so, having considered the situation, I decided to marry. Only not in Russian, pipes, sir. You have to be able to reason. Where do we live? Directly I ask you - where? In France. And since we live in France, it means that we need to marry a Frenchwoman. Began to search.

I have a French friend here. Musyu Emelyan. Not quite a Frenchman, but he has been living here for a long time and knows all the rules.

Well, this Musyu introduced me to one young lady. Serves at the post office. Pretty. Only, you know, I look, and her figure is very pretty. Thin, long. And the dress sits like a glove.

"Hey, I think it's rubbish!"

No, I say, this one doesn't suit me. I like it, there are no words, but you need to be able to reason. Such a thin, folded girl can always buy herself a cheap dress - so for seventy-five francs. And I bought a dress - so here you can’t hold it with your teeth at home. Will go dancing. But is it good? Am I getting married in order for my wife to dance? No, I say, find me a model of another edition. Tighter. - And you can imagine - I found it alive. A small model, but a kind of, you know, short-haired rammer, and, as they say, you can’t buy fat on your back. But, in general, wow and also an employee. You do not think that some kind of sledgehammer. No, she has curls and puffs, and everything, like thin ones. Only, of course, you can’t get a ready-made dress for her.

Having discussed and pondered all this, I, therefore, opened up to her, in what it was supposed to, and the march to Mary.

And about a month later she asked for a new dress. I asked for a new dress, and I very willingly say:

Of course, ready to buy?

Here she blushed a little and answered carelessly:

I don't like ready ones. They sit badly. It’s better to buy me a blue fabric, and we’ll give it to sew.

I kiss her very willingly and go to buy. Yes, as if by mistake I buy the most inappropriate color. Like buckskin, like horses are.

She is a little confused, but thanks. It's impossible - the first gift, and it's easy to repel it. He also understands his line.

And I am very happy with everything and recommend her a Russian dressmaker. I've known her for a long time. Drala was more expensive than a Frenchwoman, and she sewed so that you just spit and whistle. She sewed a collar to the sleeve of one client, and even argued. Well, this very couture girl sewed a dress for my lady. Well, you don’t have to go straight to the theater, it’s so funny! A buckwheat heifer, and nothing more. Oh, poor thing, she tried to cry, and remade, and repainted - nothing helped. So the dress hangs on a nail, and the wife sits at home. She is French, she understands that you can’t make dresses every month. Well, we live a quiet family life. And very pleased. And why? And because you need to be able to reason.

Taught her to cook cabbage rolls.

Happiness is also not given by itself. You need to know how to take it.

And everyone, of course, would like to, but not everyone can.

Virtuoso of feeling

The most interesting thing about this man is his posture.

He is tall, thin, with a bare eagle's head on his outstretched neck. He walks in the crowd, spreading his elbows, slightly swaying at the waist and proudly looking around. And since at the same time he is usually taller than everyone else, it seems as if he is sitting on a horse.

He lives in exile on some "crumbs", but, in general, not bad and neat. He rents a room with the right to use the salon and the kitchen and likes to cook special stewed pasta himself, which greatly amazes the imagination of the women he loves.

His last name is Gutbrecht.

Liza met him at a banquet in favor of "cultural undertakings and continuations."

He, apparently, outlined it even before seating in places. She clearly saw how he, having galloped past her three times on an invisible horse, gave spurs and galloped to the steward and was explaining something to him, pointing to her, Liza. Then both of them, both the rider and the steward, for a long time looked at the tickets with the names laid out on plates, made some wisdom there, and in the end Liza turned out to be Gutbrecht's neighbor.

Gutbrecht immediately, as they say, took the bull by the horns, that is, he squeezed Lizochka's hand near the elbow and said to her with a quiet reproach:

Expensive! Well, why not? Well, why not?

At the same time, his eyes were covered from below with a cock's film, so that Liza was even frightened. But there was nothing to be afraid of. This technique, known to Gutbrecht as "number five" ("working number five"), was called among his friends simply "rotten eyes".

Look! Gut has already used his rotten eyes!

However, he immediately released Lizochka's hand and said in the calm tone of a man of the world:

We will start, of course, with herring.

And suddenly he again made rotten eyes and whispered in a voluptuous whisper:

God, how good she is!

And Liza did not understand to whom this referred - to her or to the herring, and from embarrassment she could not eat.

Then the conversation began.

When we go to Capri, I will show you an amazing dog cave.

Lisa trembled. Why should she go with him to Capri? What an amazing gentleman!

Across from her sat a tall, plump lady of the caryatid type. Beautiful, majestic.

To divert the conversation from the dog cave, Liza praised the lady:

Really, how interesting?

Gutbrecht turned his bare head contemptuously, turned away just as contemptuously, and said:

Wow muzzle.

This "muzzle" did not suit the majestic profile of the lady so surprisingly that Liza even laughed.

He pursed his lips with a bow and suddenly blinked like an offended child. It was called by him "to make a musenka".

Babe! You are laughing at Vovochka!

What Vovochka? Liza was surprised.

Above me! I'm Vovochka! - pouting lips, capricious eagle head.

How strange you are! Liza was surprised. - You are old, but you are gentle like a little one.

I am fifty years old! Gutbrecht said sternly and blushed. He was offended.

Well, yes, I also say that you are old! Liza was sincerely perplexed.

Gutbrecht was also perplexed. He took six years off himself and thought "fifty" sounded very young.

My dear, - he said and suddenly switched to "you". - My dear, you are deeply provincial. If I had more time, I would take care of your development.

Why are you suddenly talking ... - Liza tried to be indignant.

But he interrupted her:

Be quiet. Nobody hears us.

And he added in a whisper:

I myself will protect you from slander.

"This dinner should be over soon!" thought Liza.

But then a speaker spoke, and Gutbrecht fell silent.

I live a strange but deep life! he said when the speaker was silent. - I devoted myself to the psychoanalysis of female love. It is difficult and painstaking. I make experiments, classify, draw conclusions. Lots of surprises and interesting things. You know Anna Petrovna, of course? The wife of our famous figure?

Of course, I know, - answered Liza. - A very respectable lady.

Gutbrecht chuckled and, spreading his elbows, prancing around in place.

So this most respectable lady is such a devil! Devilish temperament. The other day she came to me on business. I handed her business papers and suddenly, without letting her come to her senses, grabbed her by the shoulders and dug my lips into her lips. And if you only knew what happened to her! She almost passed out! Completely beside herself, she rolled me a plop and ran out of the room. The next day I was supposed to visit her on business. She didn't accept me. You understand? She does not vouch for herself. You cannot imagine how interesting such psychological experiments are. I am not Don Juan. No. I'm thinner! More soulful. I am a virtuoso of feeling! Do you know Vera Ex? This proud, cold beauty?

Of course I know. Vidal.

So. I recently decided to wake up this marble Galatea! The opportunity soon presented itself, and I got my way.

Yes you! Liza was surprised. - Really? So why are you talking about it? Is it possible to tell!

I have no secrets from you. I didn't care for her for a single minute. It was a cold and cruel experiment. But it's so curious that I want to tell you everything. There should be no secrets between us. So. It was in the evening, at her house. I was invited to dinner for the first time. There was, among others, this big Stok or Strok, something like that. They also said about him that he had an affair with Vera Ex. Well, yes, this is gossip based on nothing. She is cold as ice and has only woken to life for a moment. I want to tell you about this moment. So, after dinner (there were six of us, all, apparently, her close friends) we moved into a dim drawing room. Of course, I am near Vera on the couch. The conversation is general, uninteresting. Faith is cold and inaccessible. She is wearing an evening dress with a huge cutout at the back. And here I am, without stopping secular conversation, quietly but authoritatively extending my hand and quickly slapping it several times on my bare back. If you only knew what happened to my Galatea! How suddenly this cold marble revived! Indeed, just think: a person is in the house for the first time, in the salon of a decent and cold lady, in the company of her friends, and suddenly, without saying a bad word, that is, I want to say, completely unexpectedly, such an intimate gesture. She jumped up like a tigress. She didn't remember herself. In it, probably for the first time in her life, a woman woke up. She squealed and with a quick movement threw me a plop. I don't know what would happen if we were alone! What the animated marble of her body would be capable of. She was rescued by that vile Stoke. Lines. He yelled:

“Young man, you are an old man, but you behave like a boy,” and he kicked me out of the house.

We haven't met since. But I know that this moment she will never forget. And I know that she will avoid meeting me. Poor thing! But have you quieted down, my dear girl? Are you afraid of me. Don't be afraid of Vovochka!

He made a "musenka", pursing his lips with a bow and blinking his eyes.

Little Vovochka.

Stop it, said Liza irritably. - They are looking at us.

It doesn't matter if we love each other. Ah, women, women. All of you are on the same page. You know what Turgenev said, that is, Dostoevsky is a famous playwright writer and connoisseur. "A woman needs to be surprised." Oh, how true that is. My latest novel... I surprised her. I threw money like Croesus and was meek like Madonna. I sent her a decent bouquet of carnations. Then a huge box of chocolates. One and a half pounds, with a bow. And so, when she, intoxicated with her power, was already prepared to look at me as a slave, I suddenly stopped pursuing her. Do you understand? How it immediately got on her nerves. All this madness, flowers, sweets, in the project an evening at the Paramount cinema and suddenly - stop. I'm waiting for a day or two. And suddenly a call. I knew it. She is. Pale, trembling enters ... "I'm just for a minute." I take her face with both hands and say authoritatively, but still - out of delicacy - inquiringly: "Mine?"

She removed me...

And rolled a puff? Liza asked matter-of-factly.

N-not really. She quickly mastered herself. As an experienced woman, she realized that suffering awaited her. She recoiled and murmured with pale lips: "Give me, please, two hundred and forty-eight francs until Tuesday."

So what? - Liza asked.

Well, nothing.

And then?

She took the money and left. I didn't see her again.

And didn't give up?

What a child you are! After all, she took the money to somehow justify her visit to me. But she coped with herself, immediately broke this fiery thread that stretched between us. And I fully understand why she avoids meeting. After all, there is a limit to her powers. Behold, my dear child, what dark abysses of voluptuousness I have opened before your frightened eyes. What an amazing woman! What an exceptional impulse!

Lisa thought.

Yes, of course, she said. - And in my opinion, you'd better plop. More practical. BUT?

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Copyright: Hope Taffy