Download garnet bracelet for ibooks. "Garnet bracelet". An incredible love story Alexander Kuprin. About the book "Garnet Bracelet" Alexander Kuprin

A. I. Kuprin

Garnet bracelet

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

Largo Appassionato

In the middle of August, before the birth of the young month, the disgusting weather that is so characteristic of the northern coast of the Black Sea suddenly set in. Then, for whole days, a thick fog lay heavily over the land and sea, and then a huge siren in the lighthouse roared day and night, like a mad bull. From morning until morning, it rained without ceasing, fine as mist, the rain, turning clay roads and paths into solid thick mud, in which the carts and carriages were stuck for a long time. It was blowing from the north-west, from the side of the steppe, a fierce hurricane; from it the tops of the trees swayed, bending down and straightening, like waves in a storm, the iron roofs of summer cottages thundered at night, it seemed as if someone was running over them in shod boots, window frames were trembling, doors slammed, and a wild howl in the chimneys. Several fishing boats got lost in the sea, and two did not return at all: only a week later they threw up the corpses of fishermen in different parts of the coast.

The inhabitants of the suburban seaside resort - mostly Greeks and Jews, life-loving and suspicious, like all southerners - hastily moved to the city. On the softened highway, dray droves stretched endlessly, overloaded with all sorts of household things: mattresses, sofas, chests, chairs, washstands, samovars. It was a pity, and sad, and disgusting to look through the muddy muslin of rain at this pitiful belongings, which seemed so worn out, dirty and beggarly; on the maids and cooks, sitting on top of the cart on a wet tarp with some kind of irons, cans and baskets in their hands, on the sweating, exhausted horses, which now and then stopped, trembling knees, smoking and often carrying their sides, on husky cursing trembles, wrapped in mats against the rain. It was even sadder to see the abandoned dachas with their sudden spaciousness, emptiness and bareness, with disfigured flower beds, broken glass, abandoned dogs and all kinds of country litter from cigarette butts, pieces of paper, shards, boxes and pharmaceutical bottles.

But by the beginning of September, the weather suddenly changed dramatically and quite unexpectedly. Quiet, cloudless days immediately set in, so clear, sunny and warm, which were not even in July. On the dry, compressed fields, on their prickly yellow bristles, the autumn spiderweb shone with a mica sheen. The quieted trees silently and obediently dropped their yellow leaves.

Princess Vera Nikolaevna Sheina, the wife of the leader of the nobility, could not leave the dachas, because the renovation had not yet been completed in their town house. And now she was very happy about the lovely days that had come, the silence, solitude, clean air, the chirping on the telegraph wires of the swallows that were about to fly away, and the gentle salty breeze that weakly pulled from the sea.

Besides, today was her name day - September 17th. According to sweet, distant childhood memories, 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 earrings of pear-shaped pearls on her night table, and this gift amused her even more.

She was alone in the whole house. Her single brother Nikolai, the assistant 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 his closest acquaintances. It turned out well that the name day coincided with the dacha time. In the city one would have to spend money on a large ceremonial dinner, perhaps even on a ball, but here, at the dacha, one could get by with the smallest expenses. Prince Shein, despite his prominent position in society, and perhaps thanks to him, barely made ends meet. The huge family estate was almost completely upset by his ancestors, and he had to live above the means: to do receptions, do charity, dress well, keep horses, etc. Princess Vera, whose former passionate love for her husband had long since turned into a strong, faithful feeling, true friendship, tried with all her might to help the prince keep from complete ruin. She largely, unnoticed by him, denied herself and, as far as possible, saved in the household.

Now she walked around the garden and carefully cut flowers to the dining table with scissors. The flowerbeds were empty and a mess. Multicolored terry carnations were blooming, and also 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 crushed, rare, as if degenerated. But dahlias, peonies and asters bloomed magnificently with their cold, arrogant beauty, spreading an autumn, grassy, ​​sad smell in the sensitive air. The rest of the flowers, after their luxurious love and excessive abundant summer motherhood, quietly showered on the ground countless seeds of future life.

The familiar sounds of a three-ton automobile horn were heard close by on the highway. This was the sister of Princess Vera, Anna Nikolaevna Friesse, who in the morning promised to come over the phone to help her sister receive guests and do the housework.

Subtle ear did not deceive Vera. She went to meet him. A few minutes later, an elegant car-carriage stopped abruptly at the dacha gates, and the driver, deftly jumping off the seat, opened the door.

The sisters kissed happily. From early childhood they were attached to each other by a warm and caring friendship. Outwardly, they were strangely not alike. The eldest, Vera, went to her mother, a beautiful Englishwoman, with her tall, flexible figure, her gentle but cold and proud face, her beautiful, albeit rather large, arms and that charming slope of the shoulders that can be seen on old miniatures. The youngest, Anna, on the contrary, inherited the Mongol blood of her father, a Tatar prince, whose grandfather was baptized only at the beginning of the 19th century and whose ancient family dates back to Tamerlane himself, 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 mockery. Her face was of a strongly Mongolian type with quite noticeable cheekbones, with narrow eyes, which, moreover, she narrowed her eyes due to myopia, with a haughty expression in her small, sensual mouth, especially in the slightly pushed forward full lower lip - this face, however, captivated some that elusive and incomprehensible charm, which consisted, perhaps, in a smile, maybe in the deep femininity of all features, maybe in a piquant, perky-flirtatious facial expressions. Her graceful ugliness excited and attracted the attention of men much more often and more strongly than the aristocratic beauty of her sister.

She was married to a very rich and very stupid man who did absolutely nothing, but was listed at some charitable institution and had the title of chamber junker. She hated her husband, but she gave birth to two children - a boy and a girl; more she decided not to have children and did not have. As for Vera, she eagerly 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 passionately adored the pretty anemic children of her younger sister, always decent and obedient, with pale, mealy faces and curled linen doll hair.

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

Vera, on the other hand, was strictly simple, coldly and a little haughty with everyone, independent and regally calm.

My God, how good it is with you here! How good! - Anna said, walking with quick and small steps next to her sister along the path. - If possible, let's sit for a while on a bench above the cliff. I haven't seen the sea for so long. And what a wonderful air: you breathe - and your heart rejoices. In 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 affectionately:

You are a dreamer.

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

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 troubled readers for many years, and many consider it the author's best work. 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 selfless love of a simple, insignificant person for the beautiful princess Vera Sheina. Once for her birthday, the princess receives a garnet bracelet from an anonymous admirer who has been writing beautiful letters to her for many years: a rare green garnet is inserted into a beautiful decoration.

The princess is at a loss: after all, being a married lady, she cannot accept such a gift from an unfamiliar 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 - an official Georgy Zheltkov. He explains that once upon a time he met Princess Vera Nikolaevna at a circus performance, and fell in love with her with the purest, most radiant love.

Not expecting that someday his feelings will 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 pomegranate 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.

A story with a simple and uncomplicated plot, which in a sense refers us to the days of worship of the "Beautiful Lady", does not have a single superfluous character, not a single superfluous word. A 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

Throughout the story runs like a red thread: love is the highest feeling, and not everyone is given to comprehend this feeling. Vera Nikolaevna grieves about what could have been, although she never knew her admirer, and acutely feels the emptiness in her soul. "Garnet Bracelet" by Alexander Kuprin is a complete, strong piece that readers have loved for over a hundred years.

prose_rus_classic Alexander Ivanovich Kuprin Garnet bracelet

The story "Pomegranate Bracelet" is a touching love story based on a real case. According to the fair remark of K. Paustovsky, "'The pomegranate bracelet" is one of the most fragrant, painful 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 the middle of August, before the birth of the young month, the disgusting weather that is so characteristic of the northern coast of the Black Sea suddenly set in. Then, for whole days, a thick fog lay heavily over the land and sea, and then a huge siren in the lighthouse roared day and night, like a mad bull. From morning until morning, it rained without ceasing, fine as mist, the rain, turning clay roads and paths into solid thick mud, in which the carts and carriages were stuck for a long time. It was blowing from the north-west, from the side of the steppe, a fierce hurricane; from it the tops of the trees swayed, bending down and straightening, like waves in a storm, the iron roofs of summer cottages thundered at night, it seemed as if someone was running over them in shod boots, window frames were trembling, doors slammed, and a wild howl in the chimneys. Several fishing boats got lost in the sea, and two did not return at all: only a week later they threw up the corpses of fishermen in different parts of the coast.

The inhabitants of the suburban seaside resort - mostly Greeks and Jews, life-loving and suspicious, like all southerners - hastily moved to the city. On the softened highway, dray droves stretched endlessly, overloaded with all sorts of household things: mattresses, sofas, chests, chairs, washstands, samovars. It was a pity, and sad, and disgusting to look through the muddy muslin of rain at this pitiful belongings, which seemed so worn out, dirty and beggarly; on the maids and cooks, sitting on top of the cart on a wet tarp with some kind of irons, cans and baskets in their hands, on the sweating, exhausted horses, which now and then stopped, trembling knees, smoking and often carrying their sides, on husky cursing trembles, wrapped in mats against the rain. It was even sadder to see the abandoned dachas with their sudden spaciousness, emptiness and bareness, with disfigured flower beds, broken glass, abandoned dogs and all kinds of country litter from cigarette butts, pieces of paper, shards, boxes and pharmaceutical bottles.

But by the beginning of September, the weather suddenly changed dramatically and quite unexpectedly. Quiet, cloudless days immediately set in, so clear, sunny and warm, which were not even in July. On the dry, compressed fields, on their prickly yellow bristles, the autumn spiderweb shone with a mica sheen. The quieted trees silently and obediently dropped their yellow leaves.

Princess Vera Nikolaevna Sheina, the wife of the leader of the nobility, could not leave the dachas, because the renovation had not yet been completed in their town house. And now she was very happy about the lovely days that had come, the silence, solitude, clean air, the chirping on the telegraph wires of the swallows that were about to fly away, and the gentle salty breeze that weakly pulled from the sea.

Besides, today was her name day - September 17th. According to sweet, distant childhood memories, 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 earrings of pear-shaped pearls on her night table, and this gift amused her even more.

She was alone in the whole house. Her single brother Nikolai, the assistant 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 his closest acquaintances. It turned out well that the name day coincided with the dacha time. In the city one would have to spend money on a large ceremonial dinner, perhaps even on a ball, but here, at the dacha, one could get by with the smallest expenses. Prince Shein, despite his prominent position in society, and perhaps thanks to him, barely made ends meet. The huge family estate was almost completely upset by his ancestors, and he had to live above the means: to do receptions, do charity, dress well, keep horses, etc. Princess Vera, whose former passionate love for her husband had long since turned into a strong, faithful feeling, true friendship, tried with all her might to help the prince keep from complete ruin. She largely, unnoticed by him, denied herself and, as far as possible, saved in the household.

Now she walked around the garden and carefully cut flowers to the dining table with scissors. The flowerbeds were empty and a mess. Multicolored terry carnations were blooming, and also 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 crushed, rare, as if degenerated. But dahlias, peonies and asters bloomed magnificently with their cold, arrogant beauty, spreading an autumn, grassy, ​​sad smell in the sensitive air. The rest of the flowers, after their luxurious love and excessive abundant summer motherhood, quietly showered on the ground countless seeds of future life.

The familiar sounds of a three-ton automobile horn were heard close by on the highway. This was the sister of Princess Vera, Anna Nikolaevna Friesse, who in the morning promised to come over the phone to help her sister receive guests and do the housework.

Subtle ear did not deceive Vera. She went to meet him. A few minutes later, an elegant car-carriage stopped abruptly at the dacha gates, and the driver, deftly jumping off the seat, opened the door.

The sisters kissed happily. From early childhood they were attached to each other by a warm and caring friendship. Outwardly, they were strangely not alike. The eldest, Vera, went to her mother, a beautiful Englishwoman, with her tall, flexible figure, her gentle but cold and proud face, her beautiful, albeit rather large, arms and that charming slope of the shoulders that can be seen on old miniatures. The youngest, Anna, on the contrary, inherited the Mongol blood of her father, a Tatar prince, whose grandfather was baptized only at the beginning of the 19th century and whose ancient family dates back to Tamerlane himself, 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 mockery. Her face was of a strongly Mongolian type with quite noticeable cheekbones, with narrow eyes, which, moreover, she narrowed her eyes due to myopia, with a haughty expression in her small, sensual mouth, especially in the slightly pushed forward full lower lip - this face, however, captivated some that elusive and incomprehensible charm, which consisted, perhaps, in a smile, maybe in the deep femininity of all features, maybe in a piquant, perky-flirtatious facial expressions. Her graceful ugliness excited and attracted the attention of men much more often and more strongly than the aristocratic beauty of her sister.

She was married to a very rich and very stupid man who did absolutely nothing, but was listed at some charitable institution and had the title of chamber junker. She hated her husband, but she gave birth to two children - a boy and a girl; more she decided not to have children and did not have. As for Vera, she eagerly 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 passionately adored the pretty anemic children of her younger sister, always decent and obedient, with pale, mealy faces and curled linen doll hair.

For the first time, like many, I must have read this work a long time ago, back in school. It didn’t bother me in any way, didn’t impress me, didn’t remember. I must not have understood, even at a young age I was, I did not feel it.
I decided to reread it, but even now this story presents for me some kind of crumpledness, understatement, and absurdity. The heroes are described superficially, and the main character Vera remained completely incomprehensible to 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 vividly.
The main theme of the story is love. Love is sincere, true, which "is repeated only once in a thousand years." However, only General Anosov speaks about this feeling - a man who, in his own words, never loved and is not sure whether that same true love still exists in the world - mainly from the side of 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, fragmentary, blurry thoughts.
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 several times tried to introduce the idea that there is no, he is in the mind-mind, he is not crazy, this is love, the most real! Someone convinced me - no. 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 flattered by her flexible body, beautiful proud noble face, perhaps, by her high position in society. After all, he did not choose a poor little creeper for his sighing. No, he needs a bird of a higher flight, it is much more pleasant to dream of such a thing. For life, for full acuteness of sensations, people need bright 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 without feelings it is impossible to live. And when there is no love, some people need to invent it, so mania, illusion, fixation on one object arise. And for me his love was not real, it was pure madness 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, the only real confirmation of love is the suicide of the admirer. How else to explain the fact that she spat on him for so many years, he annoyed her with his spies, 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 is it because she could not reciprocate? But there is no real love out of compulsion or pity. Most likely, she was ashamed that she had interrupted this illusion of love, eradicated in him the last hope for mutual feeling, she became the cause of the death of a man, this spineless romantic. However, was it worth continuing this whole farce further? Or did she regret that she had missed the one« true love? KnifeA woman wants not only to be loved, but to love herself. And not to be the object of the passion of a mysterious crazy pursuer-admirer.

Garnet bracelet ... An incredible love story Alexander Kuprin

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Name: Garnet Bracelet

About the book "Garnet Bracelet" Alexander Kuprin

Recently, in my opinion, unjust criticism has attacked Alexander Kuprin. Many ingenious reviewers found his "Garnet Bracelet" too romantic and even corny. On the other hand, Romeo and Juliet still delights everyone. What is the reason for this discrimination against Russian writers? I would venture to disagree with the opinion about the inferiority of Kuprin's story. 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 XXI century is an 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 "Pomegranate Bracelet" delighted readers at the beginning of the last century, now the phenomenon he described - manic platonic love - is considered something artificial, almost perverse.

Zheltkov, aka G.S.Zh., is simply 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 had descended upon him, giving him such beautiful, beautifully complex feelings. Zheltkov got a sense of life - beautiful, wonderful, dear and distant at the same time.

Of course, it's hard to keep silent about love. Hence the letters, confessions ... So I think, what would have happened if fate had brought Zheltkov and Vera together? Would they be a happy family? For some reason, it seems to me that everyday life would tame the ardor, lowering a lover from heavenly heights to earth.

Kuprin also touches upon 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-fate, may well close our eyes with a veil. Just for a moment. And this will be enough for the cherished chance to slip away, forever hiding from the horizon of our fate.

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. This is the drama, 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, for a person draws happiness from one of his noble, high feelings ...

On our site about books, you can download the site for free or read the online 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 real pleasure from reading. You can buy the full version from our partner. Also, here you will find the latest news from the literary world, find out the biography of your favorite authors. For novice writers, there is a separate section with useful tips and advice, interesting articles, thanks to which you yourself can try your hand at literary skill.

Quotes from the book "Garnet Bracelet" Alexander Kuprin

Here he is in an insane asylum. But he was tonsured a monk. But every day he steadily sends Vera passionate letters. And where his tears fall on the paper, there ink smears out.
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 so, in the middle of the conversation, our gazes met, a spark, like an electric one, ran between us, and I felt that I fell in love right away - ardently and irrevocably.

Don't go to your death until they call you.

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 decisive bass was suddenly heard throughout the theater: “But he took it clean, damn it! Like a nut to crack. "

Who knows, maybe your life's path was crossed by real, selfless, true love.

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

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 sadness, quiet, beautiful sadness is wrapped around my last memories. But I will not hurt you. I am leaving alone ... silently ... so it was pleasing to God and fate.

Free download of the book "Garnet Bracelet" Alexander Kuprin

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