Kuprin garnet bracelet download txt. "Garnet bracelet"

For the first time, like many, I must have read this work a long time ago, back in school. It did not touch me in any way, did not impress me, did not remember. I must not have understood, I was still at a young age, I didn’t feel it.
I decided to re-read it, but even now this story is for me some kind of crumpled, understatement, absurdity. The characters are described superficially, and the main character Vera was completely not understood by me. What is known about her, except that she is a proud beauty, independent and calm? Yes, basically nothing. A completely faceless character, even minor characters such as Vera's sister Anna or General Anosov are described in more detail and colorfully.
The main theme of the story is love. Love is sincere, real, which "is repeated only once in a thousand years." However, only General Anosov speaks of this feeling - a man who, in his own words, has never loved and is not sure whether that same true love still exists in the world - mainly from a man. And all his thoughts are just fantasies about love, which, in his opinion, it should be. But his examples are of the same type, one-sided, thoughts are fragmentary, blurry.
Zheltkov is truly a novelist, a lover of sweet words, a dreamy hero-lover, a tragic character, moreover, more like a pursuer, a crazy maniac. Although the author tried several times to introduce the idea that he is not, he is in the mind, he is not crazy, this is love, the real one! Convinced some, not me. Where did his love come from? After all, he is not familiar with Vera, he did not communicate with her, he does not know her personal qualities, her soul. He was only seduced by her flexible frame, beautiful proud noble face, perhaps her high position in society. After all, he did not choose the poor squiggle for his sighs. No, he needs a bird of higher flight, it is much more pleasant to dream of such a bird. For life, for full acuity of sensations, people need vivid feelings, hobbies. They are expressed in our work, in interests, in the people around us. And Zheltkov had nothing, he was empty and was not drawn to anything, but it is impossible to live without feelings. And when there is no love, some people need to invent it, and so there are manias, illusions, fixations on one object. And for me, his love was not real, it was pure insanity with the beauty of an unfamiliar woman. I would not be surprised if it turned out that in the corner of his room there is an altar in honor of his beloved, with candles and a voodoo doll made from her hair.
As it turned out, for Vera, only the suicide of the admirer is a real confirmation of love. How else to explain the fact that she spat on him for so many years, he annoyed her with his surveillance, his incessant letters, causing only ridicule or a headache. And as soon as her passionate admirer killed himself, she realized - yes, this feeling was one in a million in strength.
Why did she feel guilty towards him? Because she accidentally became the object of his blind worship, the heroine of his manic delirium? It's not her fault. Or the reason is that she could not reciprocate his feelings? But there is no real love out of compulsion or out of pity. Most likely, she was ashamed that she interrupted this illusion of love, eradicated the last hope for mutual feeling in him, she became the cause of the death of a man, this spineless romantic. However, was it worth continuing all this farce? Or did she regret that she missed the one« true love? KnifeA woman wants not only to be loved, but also to love herself. And not to be the object of passion of a mysterious, crazy pursuer-admirer.

A. I. Kuprin

Garnet bracelet

L. van Beethoven. 2 Son. (op. 2, no. 2).

Largo Appassionato

In mid-August, before the birth of the new moon, the bad weather suddenly set in, which is so characteristic of the northern coast of the Black Sea. Sometimes for whole days a thick fog lay heavily over the land and the sea, and then the huge siren in the lighthouse roared day and night like a mad bull. Then from morning till morning it rained incessantly, fine as water dust, turning clay roads and paths into solid thick mud, in which carts and carriages got stuck for a long time. Then a fierce hurricane blew from the north-west, from the side of the steppe; from him the tops of the trees swayed, bending down and straightening up, like waves in a storm, the iron roofs of the dachas rattled at night, it seemed as if someone was running on them in shod boots, the window frames trembled, the doors slammed, and the chimneys howled wildly. Several fishing boats got lost in the sea, and two did not return at all: only a week later the corpses of fishermen were thrown out in different places on the coast.

The inhabitants of the suburban seaside resort - mostly Greeks and Jews, cheerful and suspicious, like all southerners - hastily moved to the city. Cargo drogs stretched endlessly along the softened highway, overloaded with all sorts of household items: mattresses, sofas, chests, chairs, washstands, samovars. It was pitiful, and sad, and disgusting to look through the muddy muslin of rain at this miserable belongings, which seemed so worn out, dirty and beggarly; on the maids and cooks sitting on the top of the wagon on a wet tarpaulin with some kind of irons, tins and baskets in their hands, on sweaty, exhausted horses, which now and then stopped, trembling at the knees, smoking and often carrying sides, on hoarsely cursing quails, wrapped up from the rain in mats. It was even sadder to see the abandoned dachas with their sudden spaciousness, emptiness and bareness, with mutilated flower beds, broken glass, abandoned dogs and all kinds of dacha rubbish from cigarette butts, pieces of paper, shards, boxes and apothecary's vials.

But by the beginning of September, the weather suddenly changed abruptly and quite unexpectedly. Quiet, cloudless days immediately set in, so clear, sunny and warm that there were none even in July. On the dry, compressed fields, on their prickly yellow bristles, autumn cobwebs shone with a mica sheen. The calmed trees silently and obediently dropped their yellow leaves.

Princess Vera Nikolaevna Sheina, the wife of the marshal of the nobility, could not leave the dachas, because the repairs in their city house had not yet been completed. And now she was very glad of the lovely days that had come, the silence, the solitude, the clean air, the chirping of the swallows on the telegraph wires that flocked to fly away, and the gentle salty breeze that weakly blew from the sea.

In addition, today was her name day - September 17th. According to sweet, distant memories of childhood, she always loved this day and always expected something happy and wonderful from him. Her husband, leaving in the morning on urgent business in the city, put a case with beautiful pear-shaped pearl earrings on her night table, and this gift amused her even more.

She was alone in the whole house. Her unmarried brother Nikolai, a fellow prosecutor, who usually lived with them, also went to the city, to the court. For dinner, the husband promised to bring a few and only the closest acquaintances. It turned out well that the name day coincided with summer time. In the city, one would have to spend money on a big ceremonial dinner, perhaps even on a ball, but here, in the country, one could manage with the smallest expenses. Prince Shein, despite his prominent position in society, and perhaps thanks to him, could barely make ends meet. The huge family estate was almost completely upset by his ancestors, and he had to live above his means: to make receptions, do charity, dress well, keep horses, etc. Princess Vera, whose former passionate love for her husband had long since passed into a strong, faithful feeling, true friendship, tried with all her might to help the prince refrain from complete ruin. She in many ways, imperceptibly for him, denied herself and, as far as possible, economized in the household.

Now she was walking in the garden and carefully cutting flowers for the dinner table with scissors. The flower beds were empty and looked disordered. Multi-colored terry carnations were blooming, as well as levka - half in flowers, and half in thin green pods that smelled of cabbage, rose bushes still gave - for the third time this summer - buds and roses, but already shredded, rare, as if degenerate. On the other hand, dahlias, peonies and asters bloomed magnificently with their cold, arrogant beauty, spreading an autumnal, grassy, ​​sad smell in the sensitive air. The rest of the flowers, after their luxurious love and excessive abundant summer motherhood, quietly showered countless seeds of a future life on the ground.

Close by on the highway came the familiar sound of a three-ton car horn. It was the sister of Princess Vera, Anna Nikolaevna Friesse, who had promised in the morning to come by phone to help her sister receive guests and take care of the house.

Subtle hearing did not deceive Vera. She walked towards. A few minutes later a graceful carriage came to an abrupt halt at the dacha gate, and the driver, deftly jumping down from the seat, flung open the door.

The sisters kissed happily. From early childhood, they were attached to each other by a warm and caring friendship. In appearance, they were strangely not similar to each other. The eldest, Vera, took after her mother, a beautiful Englishwoman, with her tall, flexible figure, gentle, but cold and proud face, beautiful, although rather large hands, and that charming sloping of her shoulders, which can be seen in old miniatures. The youngest - Anna, - on the contrary, inherited the Mongolian blood of her father, a Tatar prince, whose grandfather was baptized only at the beginning of the 19th century and whose ancient family went back to Tamerlane, or Lang-Temir, as her father proudly called her, in Tatar, this great bloodsucker. She was half a head shorter than her sister, somewhat broad in the shoulders, lively and frivolous, a mocker. Her face was of a strongly Mongolian type, with rather noticeable cheekbones, with narrow eyes, which, moreover, she squinted due to myopia, with an arrogant expression in her small, sensual mouth, especially in her full lower lip slightly protruding forward - this face, however, captivated some then an elusive and incomprehensible charm, which consisted, perhaps, in a smile, perhaps in the deep femininity of all features, perhaps in a piquant, provocatively coquettish facial expression. Her graceful ugliness excited and attracted the attention of men much more often and stronger than her sister's aristocratic beauty.

She was married to a very rich and very stupid man who did absolutely nothing, but was registered with some charitable institution and had the title of chamber junker. She could not stand her husband, but she gave birth to two children from him - a boy and a girl; She decided not to have any more children, and never did. As for Vera, she greedily wanted children and even, it seemed to her, the more the better, but for some reason they were not born to her, and she painfully and ardently adored the pretty anemic children of her younger sister, always decent and obedient, with pale mealy faces and curled flaxen doll hair.

Anna consisted entirely of cheerful carelessness and sweet, sometimes strange contradictions. She willingly indulged in the most risky flirting in all the capitals and in all the resorts of Europe, but she never cheated on her husband, whom, however, she contemptuously ridiculed both in the eyes and behind the eyes; she was extravagant, terribly fond of gambling, dancing, strong impressions, sharp spectacles, visited dubious cafes abroad, but at the same time she was distinguished by generous kindness and deep, sincere piety, which forced her even to secretly accept Catholicism. She had a rare beauty back, chest and shoulders. Going to big balls, she was exposed much more than the limits allowed by decency and fashion, but it was said that under the low neckline she always wore a sackcloth.

Vera, on the other hand, was strictly simple, coldly and a little condescendingly kind to everyone, independent and royally calm.

My God, how good are you here! How good! - said Anna, walking with quick and small steps next to her sister along the path. - If possible, let's sit a little on the bench above the cliff. I haven't seen the sea in such a long time. And what a wonderful air: you breathe - and your heart rejoices. In the Crimea, in Miskhor, last summer I made an amazing discovery. Do you know what sea water smells like during the surf? Imagine - mignonette.

Vera smiled softly.

You are a dreamer.

No no. I also remember the time everyone laughed at me when I said that there is some kind of pink tint in the moonlight. And the other day the artist Boritsky - that's the one who paints my portrait - agreed that I was right and that artists have known about this for a long time.

prose_rus_classic Aleksandr Ivanovich Kuprin Garnet bracelet

The story "Garnet Bracelet" is a touching love story based on a real case. According to the fair remark of K. Paustovsky, “The Garnet Bracelet is one of the most fragrant, languid and saddest stories about love.”

Illustrations by P. Pinkisevich, V. Yakubich, V. Konopkin and others.

1911 en Alexei Borissov SciTE, FB Editor v2.0, FB Editor v2.2, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6 27 December 2009 http://lib.ru/LITRA/KUPRIN/garnet.txt OCR & spellcheck by HarryFan, 7 February 2001; spellcheck by Alexei Borissov, 2005-10-06 albor__aleksandr_kuprin__granatovyi_braslet 1.2

v. 1.1 - notes, abstract, cover - DDD.

v. 1.2 - illustrations, cover - flanker2004.

Collected Works in 6 volumes. Volume 4 "Fiction" Moscow 1958

Alexander Ivanovich Kuprin

Garnet bracelet

L. van Beethoven. 2 Son. (op. 2, no. 2).

Largo Appassionato

In mid-August, before the birth of the new moon, the bad weather suddenly set in, which is so characteristic of the northern coast of the Black Sea. Sometimes for whole days a thick fog lay heavily over the land and the sea, and then the huge siren in the lighthouse roared day and night like a mad bull. Then from morning till morning it rained incessantly, fine as water dust, turning clay roads and paths into solid thick mud, in which carts and carriages got stuck for a long time. Then a fierce hurricane blew from the north-west, from the side of the steppe; from him the tops of the trees swayed, bending down and straightening up, like waves in a storm, the iron roofs of the dachas rattled at night, it seemed as if someone was running on them in shod boots, the window frames trembled, the doors slammed, and the chimneys howled wildly. Several fishing boats got lost in the sea, and two did not return at all: only a week later the corpses of fishermen were thrown out in different places on the coast.

The inhabitants of the suburban seaside resort - mostly Greeks and Jews, cheerful and suspicious, like all southerners - hastily moved to the city. Cargo drogs stretched endlessly along the softened highway, overloaded with all sorts of household items: mattresses, sofas, chests, chairs, washstands, samovars. It was pitiful, and sad, and disgusting to look through the muddy muslin of rain at this miserable belongings, which seemed so worn out, dirty and beggarly; on the maids and cooks sitting on the top of the wagon on a wet tarpaulin with some kind of irons, tins and baskets in their hands, on sweaty, exhausted horses, which now and then stopped, trembling at the knees, smoking and often carrying sides, on hoarsely cursing quails, wrapped up from the rain in mats. It was even sadder to see the abandoned dachas with their sudden spaciousness, emptiness and bareness, with mutilated flower beds, broken glass, abandoned dogs and all kinds of dacha rubbish from cigarette butts, pieces of paper, shards, boxes and apothecary's vials.

But by the beginning of September, the weather suddenly changed abruptly and quite unexpectedly. Quiet, cloudless days immediately set in, so clear, sunny and warm that there were none even in July. On the dry, compressed fields, on their prickly yellow bristles, autumn cobwebs shone with a mica sheen. The calmed trees silently and obediently dropped their yellow leaves.

Princess Vera Nikolaevna Sheina, the wife of the marshal of the nobility, could not leave the dachas, because the repairs in their city house had not yet been completed. And now she was very glad of the lovely days that had come, the silence, the solitude, the clean air, the chirping of the swallows on the telegraph wires that flocked to fly away, and the gentle salty breeze that weakly blew from the sea.

In addition, today was her name day - September 17th. According to sweet, distant memories of childhood, she always loved this day and always expected something happy and wonderful from him. Her husband, leaving in the morning on urgent business in the city, put a case with beautiful pear-shaped pearl earrings on her night table, and this gift amused her even more.

She was alone in the whole house. Her unmarried brother Nikolai, a fellow prosecutor, who usually lived with them, also went to the city, to the court. For dinner, the husband promised to bring a few and only the closest acquaintances. It turned out well that the name day coincided with summer time. In the city, one would have to spend money on a big ceremonial dinner, perhaps even on a ball, but here, in the country, one could manage with the smallest expenses. Prince Shein, despite his prominent position in society, and perhaps thanks to him, could barely make ends meet. The huge family estate was almost completely upset by his ancestors, and he had to live above his means: to make receptions, do charity, dress well, keep horses, etc. Princess Vera, whose former passionate love for her husband had long since passed into a strong, faithful feeling, true friendship, tried with all her might to help the prince refrain from complete ruin. She in many ways, imperceptibly for him, denied herself and, as far as possible, economized in the household.

Now she was walking in the garden and carefully cutting flowers for the dinner table with scissors. The flower beds were empty and looked disordered. Multi-colored terry carnations were blooming, as well as levka - half in flowers, and half in thin green pods that smelled of cabbage, rose bushes still gave - for the third time this summer - buds and roses, but already shredded, rare, as if degenerate. On the other hand, dahlias, peonies and asters bloomed magnificently with their cold, arrogant beauty, spreading an autumnal, grassy, ​​sad smell in the sensitive air. The rest of the flowers, after their luxurious love and excessive abundant summer motherhood, quietly showered countless seeds of a future life on the ground.

Close by on the highway came the familiar sound of a three-ton car horn. It was the sister of Princess Vera, Anna Nikolaevna Friesse, who had promised in the morning to come by phone to help her sister receive guests and take care of the house.

Subtle hearing did not deceive Vera. She walked towards. A few minutes later a graceful carriage came to an abrupt halt at the dacha gate, and the driver, deftly jumping down from the seat, flung open the door.

The sisters kissed happily. From early childhood, they were attached to each other by a warm and caring friendship. In appearance, they were strangely not similar to each other. The eldest, Vera, took after her mother, a beautiful Englishwoman, with her tall, flexible figure, gentle, but cold and proud face, beautiful, although rather large hands, and that charming sloping of her shoulders, which can be seen in old miniatures. The youngest - Anna, - on the contrary, inherited the Mongolian blood of her father, a Tatar prince, whose grandfather was baptized only at the beginning of the 19th century and whose ancient family went back to Tamerlane, or Lang-Temir, as her father proudly called her, in Tatar, this great bloodsucker. She was half a head shorter than her sister, somewhat broad in the shoulders, lively and frivolous, a mocker. Her face was of a strongly Mongolian type, with rather noticeable cheekbones, with narrow eyes, which, moreover, she squinted due to myopia, with an arrogant expression in her small, sensual mouth, especially in her full lower lip slightly protruding forward - this face, however, captivated some then an elusive and incomprehensible charm, which consisted, perhaps, in a smile, perhaps in the deep femininity of all features, perhaps in a piquant, provocatively coquettish facial expression. Her graceful ugliness excited and attracted the attention of men much more often and stronger than her sister's aristocratic beauty.

She was married to a very rich and very stupid man who did absolutely nothing, but was registered with some charitable institution and had the title of chamber junker. She could not stand her husband, but she gave birth to two children from him - a boy and a girl; She decided not to have any more children, and never did. As for Vera, she greedily wanted children and even, it seemed to her, the more the better, but for some reason they were not born to her, and she painfully and ardently adored the pretty anemic children of her younger sister, always decent and obedient, with pale mealy faces and curled flaxen doll hair.

Alexander Kuprin, "Garnet Bracelet". One of the most famous stories of this outstanding Russian author, which he based on real events, and filled this sad story with a kind of poetry and sad beauty.

A small sad story about unrequited love has been disturbing readers for many years, and many consider it the best work of the author. Alexander Kuprin, along with Anton Chekhov, was famous for the beauty of descriptions of the impulses of the human soul: sometimes tragic, but invariably high.

Download "Garnet Bracelet" in fb2, epub, pdf, txt, doc and rtf - the story of Alexander Kuprin can be found on KnigoPoisk

"Garnet Bracelet" is a story about the high and disinterested love of a simple, insignificant person for the beautiful Princess Vera Sheina. Once, for her birthday, the princess receives from an anonymous admirer, who has been writing beautiful letters to her for many years, a garnet bracelet: a rare green garnet is inserted in a beautiful decoration.

The princess is at a loss: after all, being a married lady, she cannot accept such a gift from an unknown man. She turns to her husband for help, who, together with the princess's brother, finds a mysterious sender. It turned out to be an inconspicuous, simple person - official Georgy Zheltkov. He explains that once upon a time he met Princess Verya Nikolaevna at a circus performance, and fell in love with her with the purest, brightest love.

Not expecting that someday his feelings would be mutual, Zheltkov only occasionally, on big holidays, decides to send a letter of congratulation to his beloved woman. The prince spoke with Zheltkov, and the unfortunate official realized that with his behavior, especially with a garnet bracelet, he could accidentally compromise a woman from society. But his love was so deep that he could not come to terms with the fact that eternal separation from his beloved was coming.

The story with a simple and uncomplicated plot, in a sense referring us to the time of the worship of the "Beautiful Lady", does not have a single superfluous character, not a single superfluous word. The description of the relationship between the characters before, during and after the incident with the garnet bracelet is given for a fuller and deeper understanding of the whole story.

You can buy or download the book "Garnet Bracelet" for ipad, iphone, kindle and android on the site without registration and SMS

A red thread runs through the whole story: love is the highest feeling, and not everyone can comprehend this feeling. Vera Nikolaevna grieves over what could have been, although she never knew her admirer, and acutely feels an emptiness in her soul. "Garnet Bracelet" by Alexander Kuprin is a complete, powerful thing that readers have loved for more than a hundred years.

Garnet bracelet . Incredible love story Alexander Kuprin

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About the book "Garnet Bracelet" Alexander Kuprin

In my opinion, unfair criticism has recently fallen on Alexander Kuprin. Many brilliant reviewers found his "Garnet Bracelet" too romantic and even sugary. On the other hand, "Romeo and Juliet" still delights everyone and everyone. What is the reason for such discrimination of Russian writers? I would venture to disagree with the opinion that Kuprin's story is second-rate. Why? I'll tell you below.

You can download the story "Garnet Bracelet" at the bottom of the page in epub, rtf, fb2, txt format.

So, the 21st century is the era of lack of romance and sublimity. The era of virtual emotions, digital kisses and feelings. Kuprin, with his sensitivity and ardor, simply does not fit into it, no matter where you look. If the "Garnet Bracelet" delighted readers at the beginning of the last century, now the phenomenon he described - manic platonic love - is considered something artificial, almost perverted.

Zheltkov, aka G.S.Zh., is just an outcast admirer of Princess Vera. Is it his fault that he is so hopelessly, painfully in love? But no! He confessed that Providence itself condescended to him, giving him such wonderful, beautifully complex feelings. Zheltkov had the meaning of life - beautiful, wonderful, dear and distant at the same time.

Of course, it is difficult to keep silent about love. Hence the letters, confessions ... So I think, what would happen if fate did bring Zheltkov to Vera? Would they be a happy family? For some reason, it seems to me that everyday life would tame ardor, lowering the lover from heavenly heights to earth.

Kuprin also affects the motive of fate: it often happens that we pass by our happiness. Now I mean not only love - successful acquaintances, incredible opportunities - circumstances, together with the arbitrariness of the old man-fatum, may well close our eyes with a veil. Just for a moment. And this will be enough for the cherished accident to slip away, forever hiding from the horizon of our destiny.

Human nature can appreciate the gift of fate only after it has been lost. Alas, absolutely all representatives of homo sapiens are arranged this way. There is drama in this, yes ... How can it be without dramas, tears, pathologies? I really liked the story of Alexander Kuprin. In fact, he once again confirmed the idea that love is mutual in itself, because a person draws happiness from one of his noble, high feelings ...

On our site about books, you can download for free or read online the book "Garnet Bracelet" by Alexander Kuprin in epub, fb2, txt, rtf, pdf formats for iPad, iPhone, Android and Kindle. The book will give you a lot of pleasant moments and a real pleasure to read. You can buy the full version from our partner. Also, here you will find the latest news from the literary world, learn the biography of your favorite authors. For novice writers, there is a separate section with useful tips and tricks, interesting articles, thanks to which you can try your hand at writing.

Quotes from the book "Garnet Bracelet" Alexander Kuprin

Here he is in the crazy house. But he took the veil as a monk. But every day he steadily sends passionate letters to Vera. And where his tears fall on the paper, there the ink blurs into blots.
Finally, he dies, but before his death, he bequeaths to give Vera two telegraph buttons and a bottle of perfume - filled with his tears ...

Your beautiful leg
The manifestation of unearthly passion!

And in the middle of a conversation, our eyes met, a spark ran between us, like an electric one, and I felt that I fell in love immediately - fieryly and irrevocably.

Do not go to your death until you are called.

At that moment, she realized that the love that every woman dreams of had passed her by.

Like many deaf people, he was a passionate lover of opera, and sometimes, during some languid duet, his resolute bass would suddenly be heard throughout the theater: “But he took it clean, damn it! Just cracked a nut."

Who knows, maybe real, selfless, true love crossed your life path.

I love her because there is nothing in the world like her, there is nothing better, there is no animal, no plant, no star, more beautiful than a person.

Now I will show you in gentle sounds a life that humbly and joyfully doomed itself to torment, suffering and death. I knew no complaint, no reproach, no pain of pride. I am before you - one prayer: "Hallowed be thy name."

I remember your every step, smile, look, the sound of your gait. Sweet melancholy, quiet, beautiful melancholy are wrapped around my last memories. But I won't hurt you. I'm leaving alone... in silence... so it was pleasing to God and fate.

Free download the book "Garnet Bracelet" Alexander Kuprin

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