Easy breathing story read online. Easy breath

Ivan Bunin

Easy breath

In the cemetery, over a fresh earthen embankment, there is a new cross made of oak, strong, heavy, smooth.

April, the days are gray; the monuments of the cemetery, spacious, county, are still far away visible through the bare trees, and the cold wind tinkles and tinkles the china wreath at the foot of the cross.

A fairly large, convex porcelain medallion is embedded in the cross itself, and in the medallion is a photographic portrait of a schoolgirl with joyful, amazingly lively eyes.

This is Olya Meshcherskaya.

As a girl, she did not stand out in the crowd of brown gymnasium dresses: what could be said about her, except that she is one of the pretty, rich and happy girls, that she is capable, but playful and very careless about the instructions that the class lady gives her ? Then it began to flourish, to develop by leaps and bounds. At fourteen, with a thin waist and slender legs, her breasts and all those forms were already well outlined, the charm of which the human word had never yet expressed; at fifteen she was already a beauty. How carefully some of her friends combed their hair, how clean they were, how they watched their restrained movements! And she was not afraid of anything - neither ink stains on her fingers, nor a flushed face, nor disheveled hair, nor a knee that became naked when she fell on the run. Without any of her worries and efforts, and somehow imperceptibly, everything that distinguished her in the last two years from the whole gymnasium came to her - grace, elegance, dexterity, a clear sparkle in her eyes ... No one danced at balls like Olya Meshcherskaya , no one ran on skates like she did, no one was looked after at balls as much as she was, and for some reason no one was loved as much by the lower classes as she was. She imperceptibly became a girl, and her gymnasium fame imperceptibly strengthened, and there were already rumors that she was windy, could not live without admirers, that the schoolboy Shenshin was madly in love with her, that she seemed to love him too, but was so changeable in her treatment of him. that he attempted suicide.

During her last winter, Olya Meshcherskaya went completely crazy with fun, as they said in the gymnasium. The winter was snowy, sunny, frosty, the sun set early behind the high spruce forest of the snowy gymnasium garden, invariably fine, radiant, promising frost and sun tomorrow, a walk on Cathedral Street, a skating rink in the city garden, pink evening, music and this in all directions the crowd sliding on the skating rink, in which Olya Meshcherskaya seemed the most carefree, the happiest. And then one day, at a big break, when she was running like a whirlwind around the assembly hall from the first-graders chasing after her and squealing blissfully, she was unexpectedly called to the headmistress. She stopped in a hurry, took only one deep breath, straightened her hair with a quick and already familiar female movement, pulled the corners of her apron to her shoulders and, beaming her eyes, ran upstairs. The headmistress, youthful but gray-haired, calmly sat with knitting in her hands at the desk, under the royal portrait.

Hello, mademoiselle Meshcherskaya,” she said in French, without looking up from her knitting. “Unfortunately, this is not the first time I have been forced to call you here to speak with you about your behavior.

I’m listening, madam,” Meshcherskaya answered, going up to the table, looking at her clearly and vividly, but without any expression on her face, and sat down as lightly and gracefully as she alone could.

It will be bad for you to listen to me, I, unfortunately, was convinced of this, ”said the boss, and, pulling the thread and wrapping a ball on the lacquered floor, which Meshcherskaya looked at with curiosity, she raised her eyes. "I won't repeat myself, I won't speak at length," she said.

Meshcherskaya really liked this unusually clean and large office, which on frosty days breathed so well with the warmth of a brilliant Dutch and the freshness of lilies of the valley on the desk. She looked at the young king, painted to his full height in the midst of some brilliant hall, at the even parting in the milky, neatly frilled hair of the boss, and was expectantly silent.

You are no longer a girl, - the boss said meaningfully, secretly starting to get annoyed.

Yes, madame, - Meshcherskaya answered simply, almost cheerfully.

But not a woman either, - the boss said even more significantly, and her dull face turned slightly red. - First of all, - what kind of hairstyle is this? It's a woman's hair!

It’s not my fault, madame, that I have good hair, ”Meshcherskaya answered, and slightly touched her beautifully trimmed head with both hands.

Oh, that's how, you're not to blame! - said the boss. - You are not to blame for your hair, you are not to blame for these expensive combs, you are not to blame for ruining your parents for shoes worth twenty rubles! But, I repeat to you, you completely lose sight of the fact that you are still only a schoolgirl...

And then Meshcherskaya, without losing her simplicity and calmness, suddenly politely interrupted her:

Excuse me, madam, you are mistaken: I am a woman. And to blame for this - you know who? Friend and neighbor of the pope, and your brother Alexei Mikhailovich Malyutin. It happened last summer in the village...

And a month after this conversation, a Cossack officer, ugly and plebeian in appearance, who had absolutely nothing to do with the circle to which Olya Meshcherskaya belonged, shot her on the station platform, among a large crowd of people who had just arrived with the train. And the incredible confession of Olya Meshcherskaya, which stunned the boss, was completely confirmed: the officer told the judicial investigator that Meshcherskaya had lured him, was close to him, swore to be his wife, and at the station, on the day of the murder, seeing him off to Novocherkassk, she suddenly told him that she and never thought to love him, that all this talk about marriage was just her mockery of him, and gave him to read that page of the diary that spoke about Malyutin.

Easy breath. “At the cemetery, over a fresh earthen embankment, there is a new cross made of oak, strong, heavy, smooth.” On cold, gray April days, the monuments of the spacious county cemetery are clearly visible through the bare trees. The porcelain wreath at the foot of the cross rings sadly and lonely. “A rather large, convex porcelain medallion is embedded in the very cross, and in the medallion there is a photographic portrait of a schoolgirl with joyful, amazingly lively eyes. This is Olya Meshcherskaya.

She did not stand out among her peers, although she was "one of the pretty, rich and happy girls." Then she suddenly began to blossom and surprisingly prettier: “At the age of fourteen, with a thin waist and slender legs, her breasts and all those forms were already well outlined, the charm of which the human word had never yet expressed; at fifteen she was already known as a beauty. Everything was to her liking, and it seemed that nothing could harm her beauty: neither ink stains on her fingers, nor a flushed face, nor disheveled hair. Olya Meshcherskaya was the best dancer at balls and skating, no one was looked after as much as she was, and no one was loved by the younger classes as much as she was. They said about her that she was windy and could not live without fans, that one of the schoolboys was madly in love with her, who, because of her changeable treatment of him, even attempted suicide.

“Olya Meshcherskaya went completely crazy with fun during her last winter, as they said in the gymnasium.” The winter was beautiful - snowy, frosty and sunny. Pink evenings were beautiful, when music sounded and a smart crowd merrily glided over the ice of the rink, "in which Olya Meshcherskaya seemed the most carefree, the happiest."

Once, when Olya Meshcherskaya was playing with first-graders at a big break, she was summoned to the head of the gymnasium. Stopping in a hurry, she took a deep breath, smoothed her hair, straightened her apron, and ran up the stairs with shining eyes. “The boss, youthful, but gray-haired, calmly sat with knitting in her hands at the desk, under the royal portrait,”

She began to reprimand Meshcherskaya: it is not befitting for her, a schoolgirl, to behave like that, to wear expensive combs, “shoes worth twenty rubles”, and, finally, what kind of hairstyle does she have? It's a woman's hair! “You are no longer a girl,” the boss said pointedly, “... but not a woman either ...” Without losing her simplicity and calmness, Meshcherskaya boldly objected: “Forgive me, madame, you are mistaken: I am a woman. And to blame for this - you know who? Dad's friend and neighbor, and your brother Alexei Mikhailovich Malyutin. It happened last summer in the village ... "

And a month after this conversation, the incredible confession that stunned the boss was unexpectedly and tragically confirmed. “... A Cossack officer, ugly and plebeian in appearance, who had absolutely nothing to do with the circle to which Olya Meshcherskaya belonged, shot her on the station platform, among a large crowd of people who had just arrived with a train.” He told the investigator that Meshcherskaya was close to him, swore to be his wife, and at the station, seeing him off to Novocherkassk, she suddenly told him that she had never thought to love him, that all the talk about marriage was just her mockery of him, and let me read that page of her diary, which spoke about Milyutin.

On a page labeled July 10 last year, Meshcherskaya described what had happened in detail. That day her parents and brother left for the city, and she was left alone in their village house. It was a wonderful day. Olya Meshcherskaya walked for a long time in the garden, in the field, was in the forest. She was as good as ever in her life. She fell asleep in her father's study, and at four o'clock the maid woke her up and said that Alexei Mikhailovich had arrived. The girl was very happy to see him. Despite his fifty-six years, he was "still very handsome and always well dressed." He smelled pleasantly of English cologne, and his eyes were very young, black. Before tea they walked in the garden, he held her by the arm and said that they were like Faust and Marguerite. What happened afterwards between her and this elderly man, a friend of her father, was impossible to explain: “I don’t understand how this could happen, I went crazy, I never thought that I was like that! ... I feel such disgust for him I can't bear this!.."

Having given the diary to the officer, Olya Meshcherskaya walked along the platform, waiting for him to finish reading. Here she died...

Every Sunday, after mass, a little woman in mourning goes to the cemetery, which looks like "a large low garden, surrounded by a white fence, above the gate of which is written" Assumption of the Mother of God ". Smallly crossing herself on the go, the woman walks along the cemetery alley to the bench opposite the oak cross over the grave of Meshcherskaya. Here she sits in the spring wind for an hour or two, until she becomes completely cold. Listening to the singing of birds and the sound of the wind in a porcelain wreath, a little woman sometimes thinks that she would not regret half her life, if only this “dead wreath” were not in front of her eyes. It is hard for her to believe that under the oak cross lies “the one whose eyes shine so immortally from this convex porcelain medallion on the cross, and how to combine with this pure look that terrible thing that is now connected with the name of Olya Meshcherskaya?”

This woman is the cool lady Olya Meshcherskaya, "a middle-aged girl who has long been living in some kind of fiction that replaces her real life." Previously, she believed in the brilliant future of her brother, "an unremarkable ensign." After his death near Mukden, the sister began to convince herself "that she is an ideological worker." The death of Olya Meshcherskaya gave her food for new dreams and fantasies. She recalls a conversation that Meshcherskaya accidentally overheard with her beloved friend, plump, tall Subbotina. Walking around the gymnasium garden during the big break, Olya Meshcherskaya excitedly recounted to her the description of perfect female beauty, read in one of the old books. Much seemed so true to her that she even learned by heart. Among the obligatory qualities of the beauty were mentioned: “black, resin-boiling eyes - black as night, eyelashes, gently playing blush, thin waist, longer than an ordinary arm ... a small leg, moderately large breasts, correctly rounded calf, shell-colored knees, sloping shoulders ... but most importantly… easy breathing!” “But I have it,” Olya Meshcherskaya said to her friend, “you listen to me sigh, is it true?”

“Now that light breath has been scattered again in the world, in this cloudy sky, in this cold spring wind.”

The question of the meaning of life is eternal, in the literature of the early twentieth century, the discussion of this topic also continued. Now the meaning was seen not in achieving some clear goal, but in something else. For example, according to the theory of "living life", the meaning of human existence is in itself, regardless of what this life is. This idea was shared by V. Veresaev, A. Kuprin, I. Shmelev, B. Zaitsev. I. Bunin also reflected “Living Life” in his writings, his “Easy Breath” is a vivid example.

However, the reason for creating the story was not life at all: Bunin conceived the short story while walking around the cemetery. Seeing a cross with a portrait of a young woman, the writer was struck by how her cheerfulness contrasts with the surrounding sad environment. What was life like? Why did she, so alive and joyful, leave this world so early? Nobody could answer these questions. But Bunin's imagination drew the life of this girl, who became the heroine of the short story "Light Breath".

The plot is outwardly unpretentious: the cheerful and developed beyond her years Olya Meshcherskaya arouses a burning interest in the opposite sex with her female attractiveness, her behavior irritates the head of the gymnasium, who decides to conduct an instructive conversation for the pupil about how important modesty is. But this conversation ended unexpectedly: the girl said that she was no longer a girl, she became a woman after meeting the brother of the boss and friend of Father Malyutin. It soon turned out that this was not the only love story: Olya met with a Cossack officer. The latter planned a quick wedding. However, at the station, before her lover left for Novocherkassk, Meshcherskaya said that their relationship was insignificant for her and she would not marry. Then she offered to read the diary entry about her fall. The military man shot the windy girl, and it is with the description of her grave that the short story begins. A cool lady often goes to the cemetery, the fate of the student has become a meaning for her.

Topics

The main themes of the novel are the value of life, beauty and simplicity. The author himself interpreted his story as a story about the highest degree of simplicity in a woman: "naivety and lightness in everything, both in audacity and in death." Olya lived without limiting herself to rules and principles, including moral ones. It was in this simple-heartedness, reaching the level of depravity, that the charm of the heroine lay. She lived as she lived, true to the theory of "living life": why restrain yourself if life is so beautiful? So she sincerely rejoiced at her attractiveness, not caring about neatness and decorum. She also had fun courting young people, not taking their feelings seriously (the schoolboy Shenshin was on the verge of suicide because of his love for her).

Bunin also touched upon the theme of the meaninglessness and dullness of being in the form of a teacher Olya. This “old girl” is contrasted with her student: the only pleasure for her is a suitable illusory idea: “At first, her brother, a poor and unremarkable ensign, was such an invention - she connected her whole soul with him, with his future, which for some reason she looked brilliant. When he was killed near Mukden, she convinced herself that she was an ideological worker. The death of Olya Meshcherskaya captivated her with a new dream. Now Olya Meshcherskaya is the subject of her relentless thoughts and feelings.

Issues

• The issue of balance between passions and propriety is rather controversially revealed in the short story. The writer clearly sympathizes with Olya, who chooses the first, sings in her "easy breathing" as a synonym for charm and naturalness. In contrast, the heroine is punished for her frivolity, and severely punished - by death. From this follows the problem of freedom: society with its conventions is not ready to give the individual permissiveness even in the intimate sphere. Many people think that this is good, but they are often forced to carefully hide and suppress the hidden desires of their own souls. But to achieve harmony, a compromise is needed between the society and the individual, and not the unconditional primacy of the interests of one of them.
• You can also highlight the social aspect in the problematic of the novel: the bleak and dull atmosphere of a provincial town, where anything can happen if no one finds out. There really is nothing else to do in such a place, except to discuss and condemn those who want to break out of the gray routine of being, if only through passion. Social inequality manifests itself between Olya and her last lover (“ugly and plebeian-looking, who had absolutely nothing to do with the circle to which Olya Meshcherskaya belonged”). Obviously, the same class prejudices served as the reason for the refusal.
• The author does not dwell on relations in Olya's family, but judging by the feelings of the heroine and the events in her life, they are far from ideal: “I was so happy that I was alone! In the morning I walked in the garden, in the field, was in the forest, it seemed to me that I was alone in the whole world, and I thought as well as never before in my life. I dined alone, then played for an hour, to the music I had the feeling that I would live without end and be as happy as anyone. Obviously, no one was involved in raising the girl, and her problem lies in abandonment: no one taught her, at least by his own example, how to balance between feelings and reason.

Characteristics of heroes

1. The main and most revealed character of the novel is Olya Meshcherskaya. The author pays great attention to her appearance: the girl is very beautiful, graceful, graceful. But little is said about the inner world, the emphasis is only on windiness and frankness. Having read in a book that the basis of female charm is light breathing, she began to actively develop it both externally and internally. She not only sighs shallowly, but also thinks, fluttering through life like a moth. Moths, circling around the fire, invariably scorch their wings, so the heroine died in her prime.
2. The Cossack officer is a fatal and mysterious hero, nothing is known about him, except for a sharp difference from Olya. How they met, the motives for the murder, the course of their relationship - all this can only be guessed at. Most likely, the officer is a passionate and enthusiastic nature, he fell in love (or believed that he loved), but he was clearly not satisfied with Olya's frivolity. The hero wanted the girl to belong only to him, so he was even ready to take her life.
3. The classy lady unexpectedly appears in the finale, as an element of contrast. She never lived for pleasure, she sets goals for herself, living in a fictional world. She and Olya are two extremes of the problem of balance between duty and desire.

Composition and genre

The genre of “Easy Breathing” is a short story (short plot story), many problems and topics are reflected in a small volume, a picture of the life of different groups of society is drawn.

The composition of the story deserves special attention. The narrative is sequential, but it is fragmentary. First, we see Olya's grave, then her fate is told, then we return to the present again - a visit to the cemetery by a classy lady. Speaking about the life of the heroine, the author chooses a special focus in the narrative: he describes in detail the conversation with the head of the gymnasium, the seduction of Olya, but her murder, acquaintance with the officer is described in a few words. Bunin concentrates on feelings, sensations, colors, his story is as if written in watercolor, it is filled with airiness and softness, therefore the impartial is described captivatingly.

The meaning of the name

“Light breathing” is the very first component of female charm, according to the creators of the books that Olya’s father has. Ease, turning into frivolity, the girl wanted to learn. And she reached the goal, although she paid the price, but "this light breath again dissipated in the world, in this cloudy sky, in this cold spring wind."

Also, lightness is associated with the style of the novel: the author diligently avoids sharp corners, although he speaks of monumental things: true and far-fetched love, honor and dishonor, illusory and real life. But this work, according to the writer E. Koltonskaya, leaves the impression of "bright gratitude to the Creator for the fact that there is such beauty in the world."

One can treat Bunin in different ways, but his style is full of imagery, beauty of presentation and courage - this is a fact. He talks about everything, even the forbidden, but knows how not to go beyond the brink of vulgarity. That is why this talented writer is still loved today.

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Bunin Ivan Alekseevich

Easy breath

Ivan Bunin

Easy breath

In the cemetery, over a fresh earthen mound, there is a new cross made of oak, strong, heavy, smooth.

April, the days are gray; the monuments of the cemetery, spacious, county, are still far away visible through the bare trees, and the cold wind tinkles and tinkles the china wreath at the foot of the cross.

A fairly large, convex porcelain medallion is embedded in the cross itself, and in the medallion is a photographic portrait of a schoolgirl with joyful, amazingly lively eyes.

This is Olya Meshcherskaya.

As a girl, she did not stand out in the crowd of brown gymnasium dresses: what could be said about her, except that she is one of the pretty, rich and happy girls, that she is capable, but playful and very careless about the instructions that the class lady gives her ? Then it began to flourish, to develop by leaps and bounds. At fourteen, with a thin waist and slender legs, her breasts and all those forms were already well outlined, the charm of which the human word had never yet expressed; at fifteen she was already a beauty. How carefully some of her friends combed their hair, how clean they were, how they watched their restrained movements! And she was not afraid of anything - not ink stains on her fingers, not a flushed face, not disheveled hair, not a knee that became naked when she fell on the run. Without any of her worries and efforts, and somehow imperceptibly, everything that had distinguished her so much in the last two years from the whole gymnasium came to her - grace, elegance, dexterity, a clear sparkle in her eyes ... No one danced like that at balls, like Olya Meshcherskaya, no one skated like she did, no one was looked after at balls as much as she was, and for some reason no one was loved as much by the younger classes as she was. She imperceptibly became a girl, and her gymnasium fame imperceptibly strengthened, and there were already rumors that she was windy, could not live without admirers, that the schoolboy Shenshin was madly in love with her, that she seemed to love him too, but was so changeable in her treatment of him. that he attempted suicide.

During her last winter, Olya Meshcherskaya went completely crazy with fun, as they said in the gymnasium. The winter was snowy, sunny, frosty, the sun set early behind the high spruce forest of the snowy gymnasium garden, invariably fine, radiant, promising frost and sun tomorrow, a walk on Cathedral Street, a skating rink in the city garden, pink evening, music and this in all directions the crowd sliding on the skating rink, in which Olya Meshcherskaya seemed the most carefree, the happiest. And then one day, at a big break, when she was running like a whirlwind around the assembly hall from the first-graders chasing after her and squealing blissfully, she was unexpectedly called to the headmistress. She stopped in a hurry, took only one deep breath, straightened her hair with a quick and already familiar female movement, pulled the corners of her apron to her shoulders, and, shining in her eyes, ran upstairs. The headmistress, youthful but gray-haired, calmly sat with knitting in her hands at the desk, under the royal portrait.

Hello, mademoiselle Meshcherskaya,” she said in French, without lifting her eyes from her knitting. “Unfortunately, this is not the first time I have been forced to call you here to talk to you about your behavior.

I’m listening, madam,” Meshcherskaya answered, going up to the table, looking at her clearly and vividly, but without any expression on her face, and sat down as lightly and gracefully as she alone could.

You will listen to me badly, I, unfortunately, was convinced of this, - said the headmistress, and, pulling the thread and twisting a ball on the lacquered floor, at which Meshcherskaya looked with curiosity, she raised her eyes. - I will not repeat myself, I will not speak wide, she said.

Meshcherskaya really liked this unusually clean and large office, which on frosty days breathed so well with the warmth of a brilliant Dutch and the freshness of lilies of the valley on the desk. She looked at the young king, painted to his full height in the midst of some brilliant hall, at the even parting in the milky, neatly frilled hair of the boss, and was expectantly silent.

You are no longer a girl,” the headmistress said meaningfully, secretly beginning to get annoyed.

Yes, madame, Meshcherskaya answered simply, almost cheerfully.

But not a woman either,” the headmistress said even more significantly, and her dull face turned slightly red. “First of all, what kind of hairstyle is this? It's a woman's hairstyle!

It’s not my fault, madame, that I have good hair,” Meshcherskaya answered, and slightly touched her beautifully trimmed head with both hands.

Oh, that's how, you're not to blame! - said the headmistress. - You are not to blame for the hair, not to blame for these expensive combs, not to blame for ruining your parents for shoes worth twenty rubles! But, I repeat to you, you completely lose sight of the fact that you are still only a schoolgirl...

And then Meshcherskaya, without losing her simplicity and calmness, suddenly politely interrupted her:

Excuse me, madam, you are mistaken: I am a woman. And to blame for this - you know who? Friend and neighbor of the pope, and your brother Alexei Mikhailovich Malyutin. It happened last summer in the village...

And a month after this conversation, a Cossack officer, ugly and plebeian in appearance, who had absolutely nothing in common with the circle to which Olya Meshcherskaya belonged, shot her on the station platform, among a large crowd of people who had just arrived with the train. And the incredible confession of Olya Meshcherskaya, which stunned the boss, was completely confirmed: the officer told the judicial investigator that Meshcherskaya had lured him, was close to him, swore to be his wife, and at the station, on the day of the murder, seeing him off to Novocherkassk, she suddenly told him that she and never thought to love him, that all this talk about marriage was just her mockery of him, and gave him to read that page of the diary that spoke about Malyutin.

I ran through these lines and right there, on the platform where she was walking, waiting for me to finish reading, I shot at her, - said the officer. - This diary, here it is, look what was written in it on the tenth of July last year. The following was written in the diary: “It is now the second hour of the night. I fell asleep soundly, but immediately woke up ... Today I became a woman! Dad, mom and Tolya, everyone left for the city, I was left alone. I was so happy that I was alone In the morning I walked in the garden, in the field, was in the forest, it seemed to me that I was alone in the whole world, and I thought as well as ever in my life. I had a feeling that I would live without end and be as happy as anyone. Then I fell asleep in my father's office, and at four o'clock Katya woke me up, said that Alexei Mikhailovich had arrived. I was very happy with him, it was so pleasant for me to receive he came in a pair of his vyatki, very beautiful, and they stood at the porch all the time, he stayed because it was raining, and he wanted it to dry out by evening. and behaved like a cavalier with me, joking a lot that he had long been in love with me. fine weather, the sun shone through the whole wet garden, although it became quite cold, and he led me by the arm and said that he was Faust with Marguerite. He is fifty-six years old, but he is still very handsome and always well dressed - I only did not like that he arrived in a lionfish - he smells of English cologne, and his eyes are very young, black, and his beard is elegantly divided into two long parts and completely silver. We were sitting at tea on the glass veranda, I felt as if I was unwell and lay down on the couch, and he smoked, then moved to me, began again to say some courtesies, then to examine and kiss my hand. I covered my face with a silk handkerchief, and he kissed me several times on the lips through the handkerchief ... I don’t understand how this could happen, I went crazy, I never thought that I was like that! Now there is only one way out for me ... I feel such disgust for him that I can not survive this! .. "

Ivan Bunin

Easy breath

In the cemetery, over a fresh earthen mound, there is a new cross made of oak, strong, heavy, smooth.

April, the days are gray; the monuments of the cemetery, spacious, county, are still far away visible through the bare trees, and the cold wind tinkles and tinkles the china wreath at the foot of the cross.

A fairly large, convex porcelain medallion is embedded in the cross itself, and in the medallion is a photographic portrait of a schoolgirl with joyful, amazingly lively eyes.

This is Olya Meshcherskaya.

As a girl, she did not stand out in the crowd of brown gymnasium dresses: what could be said about her, except that she is one of the pretty, rich and happy girls, that she is capable, but playful and very careless about the instructions that the class lady gives her ? Then it began to flourish, to develop by leaps and bounds. At fourteen, with a thin waist and slender legs, her breasts and all those forms were already well outlined, the charm of which the human word had never yet expressed; at fifteen she was already a beauty. How carefully some of her friends combed their hair, how clean they were, how they watched their restrained movements! And she was not afraid of anything - not ink spots on her fingers, not a flushed face, not disheveled hair, not a knee that became naked when she fell on the run. Without any of her worries and efforts, and somehow imperceptibly, everything that distinguished her so much in the last two years from the whole gymnasium came to her - grace, elegance, dexterity, a clear sparkle in her eyes ... Nobody danced at balls like Olya Meshcherskaya , no one ran on skates like she did, no one was looked after at balls as much as she was, and for some reason no one was loved as much by the lower classes as she was. She imperceptibly became a girl, and her gymnasium fame imperceptibly strengthened, and there were already rumors that she was windy, could not live without admirers, that the schoolboy Shenshin was madly in love with her, that she seemed to love him too, but was so changeable in her treatment of him. that he attempted suicide...

During her last winter, Olya Meshcherskaya went completely crazy with fun, as they said in the gymnasium. The winter was snowy, sunny, frosty, the sun set early behind the high spruce forest of the snowy gymnasium garden, invariably fine, radiant, promising frost and sun tomorrow, a walk on Cathedral Street, a skating rink in the city garden, pink evening, music and this in all directions the crowd sliding on the skating rink, in which Olya Meshcherskaya seemed the most carefree, the happiest. And then one day, at a big break, when she was running like a whirlwind around the assembly hall from the first-graders chasing after her and squealing blissfully, she was unexpectedly called to the headmistress. She stopped in a hurry, took only one deep breath, straightened her hair with a quick and already familiar female movement, pulled the corners of her apron to her shoulders, and, shining in her eyes, ran upstairs. The headmistress, youthful but gray-haired, calmly sat with knitting in her hands at the desk, under the royal portrait.

“Hello, mademoiselle Meshcherskaya,” she said in French, without looking up from her knitting. “Unfortunately, this is not the first time I have been forced to call you here to speak with you about your behavior.

“I’m listening, madam,” Meshcherskaya replied, going up to the table, looking at her clearly and vividly, but without any expression on her face, and sat down as easily and gracefully as she alone could.

“It will be bad for you to listen to me, I, unfortunately, was convinced of this,” the headmistress said, and, pulling the thread and twisting a ball on the lacquered floor, at which Meshcherskaya looked with curiosity, she raised her eyes. “I won't repeat myself, I won't speak at length,” she said.

Meshcherskaya really liked this unusually clean and large office, which on frosty days breathed so well with the warmth of a brilliant Dutch and the freshness of lilies of the valley on the desk. She looked at the young king, painted to his full height in the midst of some brilliant hall, at the even parting in the milky, neatly frilled hair of the boss, and was expectantly silent.

“You are no longer a girl,” the headmistress said meaningfully, secretly starting to get annoyed.

“Yes, madam,” Meshcherskaya answered simply, almost cheerfully.

“But not a woman either,” the headmistress said even more significantly, and her matte face flushed slightly. First of all, what is this hairstyle? It's a woman's hairstyle!

“It’s not my fault, madame, that I have good hair,” Meshcherskaya answered, and slightly touched her beautifully trimmed head with both hands.

“Ah, that’s how it is, it’s not your fault! - said the headmistress. “You are not to blame for your hair, you are not to blame for these expensive combs, you are not to blame for ruining your parents for shoes worth twenty rubles!” But, I repeat to you, you completely lose sight of the fact that you are still only a schoolgirl...

And then Meshcherskaya, without losing her simplicity and calmness, suddenly politely interrupted her:

“Excuse me, madame, you are mistaken: I am a woman. And to blame for this - you know who? Friend and neighbor of the pope, and your brother Alexei Mikhailovich Malyutin. It happened last summer in the village...

And a month after this conversation, a Cossack officer, ugly and plebeian in appearance, who had absolutely nothing in common with the circle to which Olya Meshcherskaya belonged, shot her on the station platform, among a large crowd of people who had just arrived with the train. And the incredible confession of Olya Meshcherskaya, which stunned the boss, was completely confirmed: the officer told the judicial investigator that Meshcherskaya had lured him, was close to him, swore to be his wife, and at the station, on the day of the murder, seeing him off to Novocherkassk, she suddenly told him that she and never thought to love him, that all this talk about marriage was just her mockery of him, and gave him to read that page of the diary that spoke about Malyutin.

“I ran through these lines and right there, on the platform where she was walking, waiting for me to finish reading, I shot at her,” said the officer. - This diary is here, look what was written in it on the tenth of July last year.

The following was written in the diary:

“It is now the second hour of the night. I fell asleep soundly, but immediately woke up ... Today I have become a woman! Dad, mom and Tolya, they all left for the city, I was left alone. I was so happy to be alone! In the morning I walked in the garden, in the field, was in the forest, it seemed to me that I was alone in the whole world, and I thought as well as never before in my life. I dined alone, then played for an hour, to the music I had the feeling that I would live without end and be as happy as anyone. Then I fell asleep in my father's office, and at four o'clock Katya woke me up and said that Alexei Mikhailovich had arrived. I was very happy with him, it was so pleasant for me to receive him and occupy him. He arrived on a pair of his vyatki, very beautiful, and they stood at the porch all the time, he stayed because it was raining, and he wanted it to dry out by evening. He regretted that he did not find dad, was very animated and behaved like a gentleman with me, he joked a lot that he had been in love with me for a long time. When we were walking in the garden before tea, the weather was lovely again, the sun shone through the whole wet garden, although it became quite cold, and he led me by the arm and said that he was Faust with Marguerite. He is fifty-six years old, but he is still very handsome and always well dressed - the only thing I did not like was that he arrived in a lionfish - he smells of English cologne, and his eyes are very young, black, and his beard is elegantly divided into two long parts and completely silver. We were sitting at tea on the glass veranda, I felt as if I was unwell and lay down on the couch, and he smoked, then moved to me, began again to say some courtesies, then to examine and kiss my hand. I covered my face with a silk handkerchief, and he kissed me several times on the lips through the handkerchief ... I don’t understand how this could happen, I went crazy, I never thought that I was like that! Now there is only one way out for me ... I feel such disgust for him that I can’t survive this! .. ”

During these April days, the city became clean, dry, its stones turned white, and it is easy and pleasant to walk on them. Every Sunday after mass, a little woman in mourning, wearing black kid gloves, and carrying an ebony umbrella, walks down Cathedral Street, which leads out of the city. She crosses along the highway a dirty square, where there are many smoky forges and fresh field air blows; farther, between the monastery and the prison, the cloudy slope of the sky turns white and the spring field turns gray, and then, when you make your way among the puddles under the wall of the monastery and turn to the left, you will see, as it were, a large low garden, surrounded by a white fence, over the gates of which the Assumption of the Mother of God is written. The little woman makes a small cross and habitually walks along the main avenue. Having reached the bench opposite the oak cross, she sits in the wind and in the spring cold for an hour or two, until her feet in light boots and her hand in a narrow husky are completely cold. Listening to the spring birds singing sweetly even in the cold, listening to the sound of the wind in a porcelain wreath, she sometimes thinks that she would give half her life if only this dead wreath were not in front of her eyes. This wreath, this mound, this oak cross! Is it possible that under him is the one whose eyes shine so immortally from this convex porcelain medallion on the cross, and how to combine with this pure look that terrible thing that is now connected with the name of Olya Meshcherskaya? But in the depths of her soul, the little woman is happy, like all people devoted to some passionate dream.