Or he was created for that Turgenev. ... Or it was created in order to stay even for a moment, In the neighborhood of your heart ... I. Turgenev Tears shed by readers always flow from love

Fedor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky

White Nights

... Or was it created in order

To be at least a moment

In the neighborhood of your heart? ...

Yves. Turgeniev

NIGHT ONE

It was a wonderful night, the kind of night that can only be when we are young, dear reader. The sky was such a starry sky, such a bright sky that, looking at it, one involuntarily had to ask oneself: can different angry and capricious people really live under such a sky? This is also a young question, dear reader, very young, but God send it to you more often to your soul! .. Speaking about capricious and various angry gentlemen, I could not help recalling my well-behaved behavior all that day. From the very morning I was tormented by some amazing melancholy. It suddenly seemed to me that everyone was leaving me, lonely, and that everyone was leaving me. It, of course, everyone has the right to ask: who are all these? because I have been living in St. Petersburg for eight years now, and I have not been able to make almost a single acquaintance. But why do I need dating? I already know the whole of Petersburg; that is why it seemed to me that everyone was leaving me when the whole of Petersburg rose and suddenly left for the dacha. I began to feel scared to be alone, and for three whole days I wandered around the city in deep anguish, decisively not understanding what was happening to me. Whether I go to Nevsky, go to the garden, or wander along the embankment - not a single person from those whom I used to meet in the same place, in famous hour, whole year... They, of course, do not know me, but I know them. I know them briefly; I have almost studied their faces - and admire them when they are cheerful, and depressed when they are fogged up. I almost made friends with one old man whom I meet every single day, at a certain hour, on the Fontanka. The physiognomy is so important, thoughtful; everything whispers under his breath and waves his left hand, and in his right he has a long gnarled cane with a gold knob. Even he noticed me and takes a spiritual part in me. If I happen not to be at the same place of the Fontanka at a certain hour, I am sure that a blues will attack him. This is why we sometimes almost bow to each other, especially when both are in good location spirit. The other day, when we did not see each other for two whole days and on the third day we met, we were already and grabbed our hats, but fortunately, we came to our senses in time, dropped our hands and with sympathy walked beside each other. I also know houses at home. When I walk, everyone seems to run ahead of me into the street, look at me through all the windows and almost say: “Hello; how is your health? and I, thank God, am healthy, and they will add a floor to me in the month of May. " Or: “How is your health? and me to fix it tomorrow. " Or: “I almost burned out and, moreover, I was frightened,” etc. Of these, I have favorites, I have short friends; one of them intends to be treated this summer by an architect. On purpose I will go every day, so as not to close up somehow, God forbid! .. But I will never forget the story with one very pretty light pink house. It was such a nice little stone house, it looked at me so affably, looked so proudly at its clumsy neighbors that my heart rejoiced when I happened to pass by. Suddenly, last week, I walk down the street and, as I looked at my friend, I hear a plaintive cry: "And they paint me yellow!" Villains! barbarians! they did not spare anything: no columns, no cornices, and my friend turned yellow like a canary. I almost spilled bile on this occasion, and I still could not see my poor man, disfigured, who was painted in the color of the celestial empire.

So, you understand, reader, how I know the whole of Petersburg.

I have already said that for three whole days I was tormented by anxiety, until I guessed the reason for it. And on the street I felt bad (that is not, this is not, where did such and such go?) - and at home I was not myself. For two evenings I was trying: what is missing in my corner? why was it so embarrassing to stay in it? - and with bewilderment I examined my green, smoky walls, the ceiling, hung with cobwebs, which great success Matryona raised her, revised all his furniture, examined every chair, wondering if this was the trouble? (because if I have at least one chair not standing the way it did yesterday, then I am not myself) I looked out the window, and it was all in vain ... it wasn’t any easier! I even thought of summoning Matryona and immediately gave her a fatherly reprimand for her cobwebs and, in general, for being sloppy; but she just looked at me in surprise and walked away without answering a word, so that the cobweb still hangs safely in place. Finally, only this morning I figured out what was the matter. NS! but they are running away from me to the dacha! Forgive me for the trivial word, but I was not up to the lofty style ... because after all, everything that was in St. Petersburg either moved, or moved to the dacha; because every respectable gentleman of solid appearance, who hired a cab, immediately turned in my eyes to the respectable father of the family, who, after ordinary duties, went light to the bowels of his family, to the dacha; because every passerby was now completely special kind, who almost said to everyone he met: "We, gentlemen, are here only in passing, but in two hours we will leave for the dacha." Whether the window opened, on which at first the thin fingers, white as sugar, drummed, and the head of a pretty girl who called a peddler with pots of flowers protruded, - I immediately, immediately it seemed that these flowers were bought only in this way, that is, not at all for in order to enjoy spring and flowers in a stuffy city apartment, and that very soon everyone will move to the country house and take the flowers with them. Moreover, I have already made such progress in my new, special kind of discoveries that I could already unmistakably, in one look, designate which dacha lives in. The inhabitants of the Kamenny and Aptekarsky Islands or the Peterhof road were distinguished by their studied elegance of techniques, dapper summer suits and the fine carriages in which they arrived in the city. Inhabitants of Pargolov and where far away, at first glance "inspired" with their prudence and solidity; the visitor to Krestovsky Island was distinguished by an imperturbably cheerful look. Did I manage to meet a long procession of draft cabs, lazily walking with carts in their hands near the wagons, loaded with whole mountains of all kinds of furniture, tables, chairs, Turkish and non-Turkish sofas and other household belongings, on which, in addition to all this, I often sat at the very top the cart, the puny cook, guarding the lordly goods like the apple of her eye; whether I looked at the boats heavily laden with household utensils, gliding along the Neva or Fontanka, up to the Black River or the islands - the carts and boats increased tenfold, lost in my eyes; everything seemed to get up and go, everything moved in whole caravans to the dacha; it seemed that the whole of Petersburg was threatening to turn into a desert, so that at last I felt ashamed, insulted and sad: I had absolutely nowhere to go and there was no need to go to the dacha. I was ready to leave with every wagon, to leave with every gentleman of respectable appearance who hired a cab; but no one, absolutely no one invited me; as if they had forgotten me, as if I was really a stranger to them!

White Nights

Thank you for downloading the book in free electronic library http://dostoevskiyfyodor.ru/ Happy reading! Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky White nights ... Or was he created in order to stay at least a moment In the neighborhood of your heart? ... Yves. TURGENIEV THE FIRST NIGHT It was a wonderful night, the kind of night that can only be when we are young, dear reader. The sky was such a starry sky, such a bright sky that, looking at it, one involuntarily had to ask oneself: can different angry and capricious people really live under such a sky? This is also a young question, dear reader, very young, but God send it to you more often to your soul! .. Speaking about capricious and various angry gentlemen, I could not help recalling my well-behaved behavior all that day. From the very morning I was tormented by some amazing melancholy. It suddenly seemed to me that everyone was leaving me, lonely, and that everyone was leaving me. It, of course, everyone has the right to ask: who are all these? because I have been living in St. Petersburg for eight years now, and I have not been able to make almost a single acquaintance. But why do I need dating? I already know the whole of Petersburg; that is why it seemed to me that everyone was leaving me when the whole of Petersburg rose and suddenly left for the dacha. I began to feel scared to be alone, and for three whole days I wandered around the city in deep anguish, decisively not understanding what was happening to me. Whether I go to the Nevsky, whether I go to the garden, whether I wander along the embankment - not a single person from those whom I used to meet in the same place, at a certain hour, for a whole year. They, of course, do not know me, but I know them. I know them briefly; I have almost studied their faces - and admire them when they are cheerful, and depressed when they are fogged up. I almost made friends with one old man whom I meet every single day, at a certain hour, on the Fontanka. The physiognomy is so important, thoughtful; everything whispers under his breath and waves his left hand, and in his right he has a long gnarled cane with a gold knob. Even he noticed me and takes a spiritual part in me. If I happen not to be at the same place of the Fontanka at a certain hour, I am sure that a blues will attack him. This is why we sometimes almost bow to each other, especially when both are in good spirits. The other day, when we did not see each other for two whole days and on the third day we met, we were already and grabbed our hats, but fortunately, we came to our senses in time, dropped our hands and with sympathy walked beside each other. I also know houses at home. When I walk, everyone seems to run ahead of me into the street, look at me through all the windows and almost say: “Hello; how is your health? and I, thank God, am healthy, and they will add a floor to me in the month of May. " Or: “How is your health? and me to fix it tomorrow. " Or: “I almost burned out and, moreover, I was frightened,” etc. Of these, I have favorites, I have short friends; one of them intends to be treated this summer by an architect. On purpose I will go every day, so as not to close up somehow, God forbid! .. But I will never forget the story with one very pretty light pink house. It was such a nice little stone house, it looked at me so affably, looked so proudly at its clumsy neighbors that my heart rejoiced when I happened to pass by. Suddenly, last week, I walk down the street and, as I looked at my friend, I hear a plaintive cry: "And they paint me yellow!" Villains! barbarians! they did not spare anything: no columns, no cornices, and my friend turned yellow like a canary. I almost spilled bile on this occasion, and I still could not see my poor man, disfigured, who was painted in the color of the celestial empire. So, you understand, reader, how I know the whole of Petersburg. I have already said that for three whole days I was tormented by anxiety, until I guessed the reason for it. And on the street I felt bad (that is not, this is not, where did such and such go?) - and at home I was not myself. For two evenings I was trying: what is missing in my corner? why was it so embarrassing to stay in it? - and with bewilderment I examined my green, smoky walls, the ceiling, hung with cobwebs, which Matryona raised with great success, reviewed all my furniture, examined every chair, wondering if this was the trouble? (because if I have at least one chair not standing the way it did yesterday, then I am not myself) I looked out the window, and it was all in vain ... it wasn’t any easier! I even thought of summoning Matryona and immediately gave her a fatherly reprimand for her cobwebs and, in general, for being sloppy; but she just looked at me in surprise and walked away without answering a word, so that the cobweb still hangs safely in place. Finally, only this morning I figured out what was the matter. NS! but they are running away from me to the dacha! Forgive me for the trivial word, but I was not up to the lofty style ... because after all, everything that was in St. Petersburg either moved, or moved to the dacha; because every respectable gentleman of solid appearance, who hired a cab, immediately turned in my eyes to the respectable father of the family, who, after ordinary duties, went light to the bowels of his family, to the dacha; because every passer-by now had a very special look, which almost said to everyone we met: "We, gentlemen, are here only in this way, in passing, but in two hours we will leave for the dacha." Whether the window opened, on which at first the thin fingers, white as sugar, drummed, and the head of a pretty girl who called a peddler with pots of flowers protruded, - I immediately, immediately it seemed that these flowers were bought only in this way, that is, not at all for in order to enjoy spring and flowers in a stuffy city apartment, and that very soon everyone will move to the country house and take the flowers with them. Moreover, I have already made such progress in my new, special kind of discoveries that I could already unmistakably, in one look, designate which dacha lives in. The inhabitants of the Kamenny and Aptekarsky Islands or the Peterhof road were distinguished by their studied elegance of receptions, smart summer costumes and fine carriages in which they arrived in the city. Inhabitants of Pargolov and where far away, at first glance "inspired" with their prudence and solidity; the visitor to Krestovsky Island was distinguished by an imperturbably cheerful look. Did I manage to meet a long procession of draft cabs, lazily walking with carts in their hands near the wagons, loaded with whole mountains of all kinds of furniture, tables, chairs, Turkish and non-Turkish sofas and other household belongings, on which, in addition to all this, I often sat at the very top the cart, the puny cook, guarding the lordly goods like the apple of her eye; whether I looked at the boats heavily laden with household utensils, gliding along the Neva or Fontanka, up to the Black River or the islands - the carts and boats increased tenfold, lost in my eyes; everything seemed to get up and go, everything moved in whole caravans to the dacha; it seemed that the whole of Petersburg was threatening to turn into a desert, so that at last I felt ashamed, insulted and sad: I had absolutely nowhere to go and there was no need to go to the dacha. I was ready to leave with every wagon, to leave with every gentleman of respectable appearance who hired a cab; but no one, absolutely no one invited me; as if they had forgotten me, as if I was really a stranger to them! I walked a lot and for a long time, so that I had already completely managed, as was my habit, to forget where I was, when I suddenly found myself at the outpost. In an instant I felt cheerful, and I stepped over the barrier, walked between the sown fields and meadows, did not hear fatigue, but felt only with all my staff that some kind of burden was falling from my soul. All the passers-by looked at me so affably that they almost bowed resolutely; everyone was so happy about something, every one smoked cigars. And I was glad, as it had never happened to me. It was as if I suddenly found myself in Italy - nature struck me so strongly, a half-sick city dweller who almost suffocated in the city walls. There is something inexplicably touching in our St. Petersburg nature, when, with the onset of spring, she will suddenly show all her might, all the powers bestowed on her by the sky, pubescent, discharged, dazzled with flowers ... Somehow she involuntarily reminds me of that stunted girl and the sickness, which you sometimes look at with regret, sometimes with some kind of compassionate love, sometimes you just do not notice it, but which suddenly, for a moment, somehow accidentally becomes inexplicable, wonderfully beautiful, and you, amazed, intoxicated , you involuntarily ask yourself: what power made these sad, pensive eyes shine with such fire? what caused the blood on those pale, thin cheeks? what has poured passion on these delicate features? why is this chest so heaving? what so suddenly caused strength, life and beauty on the face of the poor girl, made him shine with such a smile, revive with such a sparkling, sparkling laugh? You look around you are looking for someone, you guess ... But a moment passes, and maybe the next day you will meet again the same pensive and absent-minded look, as before, the same pale face, the same humility and timidity in movements and even remorse, even traces of some kind of deadening melancholy and annoyance for a moment's passion ... you didn't have time to love her ... but still my night was better than the day! This is how it was. I came back to the city very late, and it was already ten o'clock when I began to approach the apartment. My road went along the embankment of the canal, on which at this hour you will not meet a living soul. True, I live in the farthest part of the city. I walked and sang, because when I am happy, I certainly purr something to myself, like everyone happy man, who has neither friends nor good acquaintances and who, in a joyful moment, has no one to share his joy with. Suddenly the most unexpected adventure happened to me. On the sidelines, leaning against the railing of the canal, stood a woman; leaning her elbows on the grate, she seemed to be looking very closely at muddy water channel. She was dressed in a cute yellow hat and a flirty black mantilla. "This is a girl, and certainly a brunette," I thought

The main theme is love. The main genres are a sentimental story, a journey, in the lyrics, an idyll, a pastoral. The ideological basis is a protest against the depravity of an aristocratic society. The main property is the desire to present human personality in the movements of the soul, thoughts, feelings, aspirations.

The very name "sentimentalism" (from the English sentimental - sensitive, French sentiment - feeling) indicates that feeling is becoming the central aesthetic category of this trend. In this respect, sentimentalists opposed feeling to the mind of the classicists. The main idea is a peaceful, idyllic human life in the bosom of nature. The village (the focus of natural life, moral purity) the city (a symbol of evil, unnatural life, vanity). The author sympathizes with the heroes, his task is to make them empathize, cause compassion, tears of affection.

Departure from the straightforwardness of classicism in the depiction of characters and their assessment; - the emphasized subjectivity of the approach to the world; - the cult of feelings; - the cult of nature; - the cult of innate moral purity, integrity; - affirms the rich spiritual world representatives of the lower classes.

England: Lawrence Stern - author of " Sentimental travel"And the novel" Three hundred Shandy ", Richardson is the author of" Clarissa Garlow". France: Jean-Jacques Rousseau - author of the novel in letters “Julia, or New Eloise". Russia: M. N. Muraviev, N. M. Karamzin, V. V. Kapnist, young V. A. Zhukovsky.

At the end of the 18th century, due to the largest historical events – Peasant uprising under the leadership of Pugachev and the French bourgeois revolution, in the depths of Russian enlightenment, new philosophy, in which the mind is the main engine of progress, but at the same time the human soul was forgotten. Karamzin and his supporters argued that the way to the happiness of people and the common good is in the education of feelings. Love and tenderness, as if overflowing from person to person, turn into kindness and mercy. "Tears shed by readers," wrote Karamzin, "always flow from love for good and feed it."

On this basis, the literature of sentimentalism is born, for which the main thing is internal the world of man with its simple and simple joys. At the same time, a close connection is established between sensitivity and morality. Conflicts between ordinary people, "Sensitive" heroes and the prevailing morality in society are quite sharp. They can end in death or misfortune of the hero.

In the 1810s, signs of a crisis of sentimentalism are revealed. But the life of the genre was not over. As for the journey, which has absorbed the story, history, memoirs, political essay, everyday scene, then it acquired other literary forms: adventure romance, travel romance, travel sketch... The sentimental story contributed to the humanization of society, it aroused a genuine interest in a person. Love, belief in the salvation of one's own feelings, coldness and hostility of life, condemnation of society - all this can be encountered if you turn over the pages of the works of Russian literature, and not only the 19th century, but also the 20th century.

In prose, the story and the journey have become the typical forms of sentimentalism. Both genres are associated with the name of Karamzin. The model of the genre of the story for the Russian reader is “ Poor Lisa", And travel - his" Letters of a Russian traveler. " Sad story Liza is told through the lips of the author-hero. Remembering Liza's family, about the patriarchal way of life, Karamzin introduces the famous formula "And peasant women know how to love!", Which illuminates the problem in a new way social inequality... Rudeness and bad manners of souls are not always the lot of the poor. Karamzin describes in full and detail the change in Liza's moods from the first signs of an outbreak of love to deep despair and hopeless suffering that led to suicide. Lisa has not read any novels, and she did not have to experience this feeling before, even in imagination

Therefore, it opened more and more joyfully in the girl's heart upon her meeting with Erast. Liza falls in love, but along with love comes fear, she is afraid that thunder will kill her like a criminal, for "the fulfillment of all desires is the most dangerous temptation of love." Karamzin's merit consisted in the fact that there is no villain in his story, but an ordinary "fellow" belonging to a secular circle. Karamzin was the first to see this type young nobleman, to some extent the predecessor of Eugene Onegin. Erast was a fairly wealthy nobleman, with a fair mind and kind heart, kind by nature, but weak and windy. A naturally kind heart makes Erast akin to Lisa, but unlike her, he received a bookish, artificial upbringing, his dreams are lifeless, and his character is spoiled and unsteady. Without removing the guilt from Erast, the writer sympathizes with him. Social and wealth inequality separates and destroys good people and become an obstacle to their happiness. Therefore, the story ends with a pacifying chord.

Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin The sense of beauty is developed in him to the highest degree, like no one else. The brighter the inspiration, the more there should be hard work for its execution. We read Pushkin's poems so smooth, so simple, and it seems to us that this is how it poured into this form. And we do not see how much labor he used to make it come out so simply and smoothly ... L. Tolstoy

Almost forty years later, A.S. Pushkin wrote "Belkin's Tale". He reported with pleasure that Baratynsky, who had read them, "whinnies and beats." Pushkin rejoiced at Baratynsky's laughter: this meant that the poet understood Pushkin's plan. Belkin's Tales is sentimentalism “on the contrary,” it is a hidden parody, stylization that destroys the aesthetics of sentimentalism.

The main pretext of the story is obvious: it is Poor Liza from Karamzin. The connection between the texts is established not only at the level of the names of the main heroines, but also at the level of plots in relation to partial parallelism: in "Poor Liza" it is told about a peasant girl who fell in love with a nobleman and after his betrayal, who committed suicide, and in "The Young Peasant Woman "- about a noble girl who partially imitated the Karamzin conflict and, as a result, married a nobleman.

Pushkin needed a sentimental plot in order to assign a new hero to his poetics (precisely as a hero, and not minor character) - common man... Sentimentalism (represented by Richardson, Lessing, Karamzin, partly Russo) created a certain canon of a love story. According to this canon, into an idyllic life " ordinary people"existing in accordance with natural law human existence, the figure of the nobleman (s) lover (s) invades, who destroys this life, since his (her) nature is distorted by an unnatural upbringing and way of life.

So, in 1830, Pushkin created Russian realistic prose. In his " Stationmaster“he wins the figure of a“ common man ”from sentimentalism, turning him into a“ small ”man, but from this no less“ complex ”than other“ magnitudes. ”Ten years later, this type will become the basis of Gogol's“ Overcoat, ”and then many In the meantime, Pushkin is completing his cycle (completing not chronologically, but compositionally, which for understanding author's position much more important) " A young peasant woman", in which he consistently demythologizes the figure of" a peasant woman who also knows how to love. "

First of all, main character The story, like other county ladies who are dear to the author's heart, was brought up on novels: “Brought up in the open air, in the shade of their gardens, they will learn the knowledge of light and life from books” (As you can see, Karamzin's propaganda work was a success). At the same time, Pushkin, as befits an "epistemmentalist," does not forget to oppose them to more educated urban women: "In the capitals, women may receive a better education; but the skill of light soon smoothes character and makes souls as monotonous as headdresses."

The development of intrigue is also repelled from the sentimental standard: Liza-Akulina is showing enviable caution, and Alexey, having given his word, keeps it to the end. At the same time, Alexei, as befits a sentimental hero, is struck by "thoughts and feelings that are extraordinary in a simple girl", while Liza leads, in addition to sincere feeling, a proud desire "to finally see the Tugilov landowner at the feet of the Priluchinsky blacksmith's daughter."

Particularly curious is the episode with the correspondence (as you can imagine sentimental tale no correspondence! After all, the novel in letters, along with Travels, is an invention and a favorite genre of sentimentalism). Akulina again demonstrates a completely extraordinary understanding for a peasant girl, learning to read and write in three lessons, which allows lovers to communicate with the help of letters. Pushkin says with remarkable seriousness that "Akulina, apparently, was getting used to a better form of speech, and her mind was noticeably developing and forming" (Karamzin, of course, would be glad of such a wonderful example of the success of his pedagogical program).

KARAMZINPUSHKIN Even before the sunny ascent, Liza got up, went down to the bank of the Moskva River, sat down on the grass and, pretending to be, looked at the white fogs that waved in the air and, rising up, left shiny drops on the green cover of nature. Silence reigned everywhere. But soon the rising light of day awakened all creation; groves, bushes revived, birds fluttered and sang, flowers raised their heads to drink life-giving rays of light. But Liza was still sitting upset. The dawn was shining in the east, and the golden rows of clouds seemed to await the sun, as courtiers await a sovereign; the clear sky, morning freshness, dew, the breeze and the singing of birds filled Liza's heart with infant gaiety; being afraid of some familiar meeting, she did not seem to walk, but flew. Approaching the grove, which stood at the turn of her father's possession, Liza went more quietly.

KARAMZIN PUSHKIN Karamzin's landscape is static, clearly drawn in detail. So in the portraits of classicist artists even the background is clearly drawn; in the portraits of artists romantic direction the details of the landscape create a mood, as in the paintings of L.V. Borovikovsky. The narrator is in one place and from there he observes the hasty changes in the picture of the morning. Vocabulary high style: "Solar ascent", "silence reigned", the rising luminary "- creates a sublime mood B Pushkin's painting it is not silence that reigns, but the sun. Movement is felt in every word combination. The subjects are devoid of ponderous definitions that constrain the impulse. Everything is subordinate to the movements of Liza, who "did not walk, but flew." Nature, as it were, follows the dynamics of the narrative, only the most essential we see, as in the paintings of Kiprensky O.A.

"POOR LIZA" "LAMMER-PEASANT" "Lovely, amiable Liza", "gentle Liza", "timid Liza" "She was seventeen years old. Black eyes enlivened her dark and very pleasant face. She was the only and therefore spoiled child. Her playfulness and minute-to-day pranks admired her father and drove her Madame Miss Jackson, a forty-year-old prim maiden, who whitewashed and furrowed her eyebrows, read Pamela twice a year, received two thousand rubles for that, and was dying of boredom in this barbarous Russia. "

Note that the heroes of the story constantly oscillate between the socio-cultural stereotypes instilled in them by the literature and genuine feeling; moreover, sometimes the very adherence to the automatism of the stereotype whips up a feeling (a collision, unthinkable for sentimentalism): "He spoke in the language of true passion and at that moment he was definitely in love." However, the heroes' orientation towards book samples is not a reason for censure: "romantic" thoughts are just their natural habitat. At the same time, a happy ending does not come because the heroes follow the "dictates of the heart" or "act as they should", but because the story could hardly have developed otherwise: "the time has come - they got married." So Pushkin says goodbye to the Russian sentimentalism of the Karamzinist sense, erecting him a kind of monument in which familiar features are combined into a rather unexpected construction.

The main character story Alexey Berestov became above prejudices or, more precisely, was ready to become, was ready to step over the conventions that his noble statute imposed on him and which did not put up with his inner peace, his morality and consciousness. The denial of these prejudices, their exposure, a kind look at life and man - this, it seems to me, is the main idea of ​​the story The Young Peasant Woman.

ERAST ALEXEY BERESTOV Erast was a fairly wealthy nobleman, with a fair mind and a kind heart, kind by nature, but weak and windy. He led an absent-minded life, thought only of his own pleasure, looked for it in worldly amusements, but often did not find it: he was bored and complained about his fate. Alexey was, in fact, well done. It would really be a pity if his slender stature was never pulled down by a military uniform, and if, instead of showing off on a horse, he spent his youth hunched over office papers. Watching how he rode on the hunt was always the first, without disassembling the road, the neighbors said in agreement that he would never make a worthy clerk. The young ladies glanced at him, while others peeped in; but Alexey did little to them, and they believed that the cause of his insensitivity was a love affair Sentimentalism is the most sensual and emotional direction in literature, I believe that the main goal of sentimentalism is to show the beauty and purity of love, to elevate it. To be a sentimental person means to be kind, sympathetic, to respond with your soul to everything that surrounds you. A sensitive person was called a person who could admire the beauty of nature, works of art; love between a man and a woman was perceived by him as virtuous. Sentimental works are very deep and romantic, I believe that they are available to any reader, because the feeling of love is familiar to everyone from childhood. Another goal of sentimentalism is to erase the framework of social inequality, the master is in love with the peasant woman, and the young lady is in love with the peasant. Sentimental works are relevant in our time, because sometimes we get lost in everyday life and forget about feelings, and this is the most important thing in life.

White Nights

Sentimental romance

From the memories of a dreamer

... Or was it created in order

To be at least a moment

In the neighborhood of your heart? ..

Yves. Turgenev

First night

It was a wonderful night, the kind of night that can only be when we are young, dear reader. The sky was such a starry sky, such a bright sky that, looking at it, one involuntarily had to ask oneself: can different angry and capricious people really live under such a sky? This is also a young question, dear reader, very young, but God send it to you more often to your soul! .. Speaking about capricious and various angry gentlemen, I could not help recalling my well-behaved behavior all that day. From the very morning I was tormented by some amazing melancholy. It suddenly seemed to me that everyone was leaving me, lonely, and that everyone was leaving me. It, of course, everyone has the right to ask: who are all these? because for eight years now I have been living in St. Petersburg and have not been able to make almost a single acquaintance. But why do I need dating? I already know the whole of Petersburg; that is why it seemed to me that everyone was leaving me when the whole of Petersburg rose and suddenly left for the dacha. I began to feel scared to be alone, and for three whole days I wandered around the city in deep anguish, decisively not understanding what was happening to me. Whether I go to the Nevsky, whether I go to the garden, whether I wander along the embankment - not a single person from those whom I am used to meeting in the same place at a certain hour, for a whole year. They, of course, do not know me, but I know them. I know them briefly; I have almost studied their faces - and admire them when they are cheerful, and depressed when they are fogged up. I almost made friends with one old man whom I meet every single day, at a certain hour, on the Fontanka. The physiognomy is so important, thoughtful; everything whispers under his breath and waves his left hand, and in his right he has a long gnarled cane with a gold knob. Even he noticed me and takes a spiritual part in me. If I happen not to be at the same place of the Fontanka at a certain hour, I am sure that a blues will attack him. This is why we sometimes almost bow to each other, especially when both are in good spirits. The other day, when we did not see each other for two whole days and on the third day we met, we were already and grabbed our hats, but fortunately, we came to our senses in time, dropped our hands and with sympathy walked beside each other. I also know houses at home. When I walk, everyone seems to run ahead of me into the street, look at me through all the windows and almost say: “Hello; how is your health? and I, thank God, am healthy, and they will add a floor to me in the month of May. " Or: “How is your health? and me to fix it tomorrow. " Or: “I almost burned out and, moreover, I was frightened,” etc. Of these, I have favorites, I have short friends; one of them intends to be treated this summer by an architect. On purpose I will go every day, so as not to heal somehow, God forbid! .. But I will never forget the story with one very pretty light pink house. It was such a nice little stone house, it looked at me so affably, looked so proudly at its clumsy neighbors that my heart rejoiced when I happened to pass by. Suddenly, last week I walk down the street, and when I looked at my friend, I hear a plaintive cry: "And they paint me yellow!" Villains! barbarians! they did not spare anything: no columns, no cornices, and my friend turned yellow like a canary. I almost spilled bile on this occasion, and I still could not see my poor man, disfigured, who was painted in the color of the celestial empire.

So, you understand, reader, how I know the whole of Petersburg.

I have already said that for three whole days I was tormented by anxiety, until I guessed the reason for it. And on the street I felt bad (that is not, this is not, where did such and such go?) - and at home I was not myself. For two evenings I was trying: what is missing in my corner? why was it so embarrassing to stay in it? - and with bewilderment I examined my green, smoky walls, the ceiling hung with cobwebs, which Matryona raised with great success, reviewed all my furniture, examined every chair, wondering if this was the trouble? (because if at least one chair is not standing the way it was yesterday, then I am not myself) I looked at the window, and it was all in vain ... it was not at all easier! I even thought of summoning Matryona and immediately gave her a fatherly reprimand for her cobwebs and, in general, for being sloppy; but she just looked at me in surprise and walked away without answering a word, so that the cobweb still hangs safely in place. Finally, only this morning I figured out what was the matter. NS! but they are running away from me to the dacha! Forgive me for the trivial word, but I was not up to the lofty style ... because after all, everything that was in St. Petersburg, either moved, or moved to the dacha; because every respectable gentleman of solid appearance, who hired a cab, immediately turned into a respectable father of the family in front of my eyes, who, after routine duties, went light to the depths of his family, to the country house; because every passer-by now had a very special look, which almost said to everyone we met: "We, gentlemen, are here only in this way, in passing, but in two hours we will leave for the dacha." Whether the window opened, on which at first the thin fingers, white as sugar, drummed, and the head of a pretty girl who called a peddler with pots of flowers protruded, - I immediately, immediately it seemed that these flowers were bought only in this way, that is, not at all for in order to enjoy spring and flowers in a stuffy city apartment, and that very soon everyone will move to the country house and take the flowers with them. Moreover, I have already made such progress in my new, special kind of discoveries that I could already unmistakably, in one look, designate which dacha lives in. The inhabitants of the Kamenny and Aptekarsky Islands or the Peterhof road were distinguished by their studied elegance of receptions, smart summer costumes and fine carriages in which they arrived in the city. Inhabitants of Pargolov and where far away, at first glance "inspired" with their prudence and solidity; the visitor to Krestovsky Island was distinguished by an imperturbably cheerful look. Did I manage to meet a long procession of draft cabs, lazily walking with reins in their hands near the wagons, loaded with whole mountains of all kinds of furniture, tables, chairs, Turkish and non-Turkish sofas and other household belongings, on which, in addition to all this, I often sat at the very top the cart, the puny cook, guarding the lordly goods like the apple of her eye; whether I looked at the boats heavily laden with household utensils, gliding along the Neva or Fontanka, up to the Black River or the islands - the carts and boats increased tenfold, lost in my eyes; everything seemed to get up and go, everything moved in whole caravans to the dacha; it seemed that all of Petersburg was threatening to turn into a desert, so that at last I felt ashamed, insulted and sad; I have absolutely nowhere to go, and there was no point in going to the dacha. I was ready to leave with every wagon, to leave with every gentleman of respectable appearance who hired a cab; but no one, absolutely no one invited me; as if they had forgotten me, as if I was really a stranger to them!

I walked a lot and for a long time, so that I had already completely managed, as was my habit, to forget where I was, when I suddenly found myself at the outpost. In an instant I felt cheerful, and I stepped over the barrier, walked between the sown fields and meadows, did not hear fatigue, but felt only with all my staff that some kind of burden was falling from my soul. All the passers-by looked at me so affably that they almost bowed resolutely; everyone was so happy about something, every one smoked cigars. And I was glad, as it had never happened to me. It was as if I suddenly found myself in Italy - nature struck me so strongly, a half-sick city dweller who almost suffocated in the city walls.

There is something inexplicably touching in our St. Petersburg nature, when, with the onset of spring, she will suddenly show all her might, all the powers bestowed on her by heaven, downy, discharged, filled with flowers ... Somehow she involuntarily reminds me of that stunted and a sickness that you sometimes look at with regret, sometimes with a kind of compassionate love, sometimes you just don't notice it, but which suddenly, for a moment, somehow accidentally becomes inexplicable, wonderfully beautiful, and you, amazed, intoxicated, You involuntarily ask yourself: what power made these sad, pensive eyes shine with such fire? what caused the blood on those pale, thin cheeks? what has poured passion on these delicate features? why is this chest so heaving? what so suddenly caused strength, life and beauty on the face of the poor girl, made him shine with such a smile, revive with such a sparkling, sparkling laugh? You look around, you are looking for someone, you guess ... But a moment passes, and maybe the next day you will meet again the same pensive and absent-minded look, as before, the same pale face, the same resignation and timidity in movements and even repentance, even traces of some kind of deadening melancholy and annoyance for a moment's passion ... And it's a pity that instant beauty faded so quickly, so irrevocably that it flashed before you so deceptively and in vain - it's a pity that you can't even love her there was time ...

Fedor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky

White Nights

... Or was it created in order

To be at least a moment

In the neighborhood of your heart? ...

Yves. Turgeniev

NIGHT ONE

It was a wonderful night, the kind of night that can only be when we are young, dear reader. The sky was such a starry sky, such a bright sky that, looking at it, one involuntarily had to ask oneself: can different angry and capricious people really live under such a sky? This is also a young question, dear reader, very young, but God send it to you more often to your soul! .. Speaking about capricious and various angry gentlemen, I could not help recalling my well-behaved behavior all that day. From the very morning I was tormented by some amazing melancholy. It suddenly seemed to me that everyone was leaving me, lonely, and that everyone was leaving me. It, of course, everyone has the right to ask: who are all these? because I have been living in St. Petersburg for eight years now, and I have not been able to make almost a single acquaintance. But why do I need dating? I already know the whole of Petersburg; that is why it seemed to me that everyone was leaving me when the whole of Petersburg rose and suddenly left for the dacha. I began to feel scared to be alone, and for three whole days I wandered around the city in deep anguish, decisively not understanding what was happening to me. Whether I go to the Nevsky, whether I go to the garden, whether I wander along the embankment - not a single person from those whom I used to meet in the same place, at a certain hour, for a whole year. They, of course, do not know me, but I know them. I know them briefly; I have almost studied their faces - and admire them when they are cheerful, and depressed when they are fogged up. I almost made friends with one old man whom I meet every single day, at a certain hour, on the Fontanka. The physiognomy is so important, thoughtful; everything whispers under his breath and waves his left hand, and in his right he has a long gnarled cane with a gold knob. Even he noticed me and takes a spiritual part in me. If I happen not to be at the same place of the Fontanka at a certain hour, I am sure that a blues will attack him. This is why we sometimes almost bow to each other, especially when both are in good spirits. The other day, when we did not see each other for two whole days and on the third day we met, we were already and grabbed our hats, but fortunately, we came to our senses in time, dropped our hands and with sympathy walked beside each other. I also know houses at home. When I walk, everyone seems to run ahead of me into the street, look at me through all the windows and almost say: “Hello; how is your health? and I, thank God, am healthy, and they will add a floor to me in the month of May. " Or: “How is your health? and me to fix it tomorrow. " Or: “I almost burned out and, moreover, I was frightened,” etc. Of these, I have favorites, I have short friends; one of them intends to be treated this summer by an architect. On purpose I will go every day, so as not to close up somehow, God forbid! .. But I will never forget the story with one very pretty light pink house. It was such a nice little stone house, it looked at me so affably, looked so proudly at its clumsy neighbors that my heart rejoiced when I happened to pass by. Suddenly, last week, I walk down the street and, as I looked at my friend, I hear a plaintive cry: "And they paint me yellow!" Villains! barbarians! they did not spare anything: no columns, no cornices, and my friend turned yellow like a canary. I almost spilled bile on this occasion, and I still could not see my poor man, disfigured, who was painted in the color of the celestial empire.

So, you understand, reader, how I know the whole of Petersburg.

I have already said that for three whole days I was tormented by anxiety, until I guessed the reason for it. And on the street I felt bad (that is not, this is not, where did such and such go?) - and at home I was not myself. For two evenings I was trying: what is missing in my corner? why was it so embarrassing to stay in it? - and with bewilderment I examined my green, smoky walls, the ceiling, hung with cobwebs, which Matryona raised with great success, reviewed all my furniture, examined every chair, wondering if this was the trouble? (because if I have at least one chair not standing the way it did yesterday, then I am not myself) I looked out the window, and it was all in vain ... it wasn’t any easier! I even thought of summoning Matryona and immediately gave her a fatherly reprimand for her cobwebs and, in general, for being sloppy; but she just looked at me in surprise and walked away without answering a word, so that the cobweb still hangs safely in place. Finally, only this morning I figured out what was the matter. NS! but they are running away from me to the dacha! Forgive me for the trivial word, but I was not up to the lofty style ... because after all, everything that was in St. Petersburg either moved, or moved to the dacha; because every respectable gentleman of solid appearance, who hired a cab, immediately turned in my eyes to the respectable father of the family, who, after ordinary duties, went light to the bowels of his family, to the dacha; because every passer-by now had a very special look, which almost said to everyone we met: "We, gentlemen, are here only in this way, in passing, but in two hours we will leave for the dacha." Whether the window opened, on which at first the thin fingers, white as sugar, drummed, and the head of a pretty girl who called a peddler with pots of flowers protruded, - I immediately, immediately it seemed that these flowers were bought only in this way, that is, not at all for in order to enjoy spring and flowers in a stuffy city apartment, and that very soon everyone will move to the country house and take the flowers with them. Moreover, I have already made such progress in my new, special kind of discoveries that I could already unmistakably, in one look, designate which dacha lives in. The inhabitants of the Kamenny and Aptekarsky Islands or the Peterhof road were distinguished by their studied elegance of receptions, smart summer costumes and fine carriages in which they arrived in the city. Inhabitants of Pargolov and where far away, at first glance "inspired" with their prudence and solidity; the visitor to Krestovsky Island was distinguished by an imperturbably cheerful look. Did I manage to meet a long procession of draft cabs, lazily walking with carts in their hands near the wagons, loaded with whole mountains of all kinds of furniture, tables, chairs, Turkish and non-Turkish sofas and other household belongings, on which, in addition to all this, I often sat at the very top the cart, the puny cook, guarding the lordly goods like the apple of her eye; whether I looked at the boats heavily laden with household utensils, gliding along the Neva or Fontanka, up to the Black River or the islands - the carts and boats increased tenfold, lost in my eyes; everything seemed to get up and go, everything moved in whole caravans to the dacha; it seemed that the whole of Petersburg was threatening to turn into a desert, so that at last I felt ashamed, insulted and sad: I had absolutely nowhere to go and there was no need to go to the dacha. I was ready to leave with every wagon, to leave with every gentleman of respectable appearance who hired a cab; but no one, absolutely no one invited me; as if they had forgotten me, as if I was really a stranger to them!

I walked a lot and for a long time, so that I had already completely managed, as was my habit, to forget where I was, when I suddenly found myself at the outpost. In an instant I felt cheerful, and I stepped over the barrier, walked between the sown fields and meadows, did not hear fatigue, but felt only with all my staff that some kind of burden was falling from my soul. All the passers-by looked at me so affably that they almost bowed resolutely; everyone was so happy about something, every one smoked cigars. And I was glad, as it had never happened to me. It was as if I suddenly found myself in Italy - nature struck me so strongly, a half-sick city dweller who almost suffocated in the city walls.

There is something inexplicably touching in our St. Petersburg nature, when, with the onset of spring, she will suddenly show all her might, all the powers bestowed on her by the sky, pubescent, discharged, dazzled with flowers ... Somehow she involuntarily reminds me of that stunted girl and the sickness, which you sometimes look at with regret, sometimes with some kind of compassionate love, sometimes you just do not notice it, but which suddenly, for a moment, somehow accidentally becomes inexplicable, wonderfully beautiful, and you, amazed, intoxicated , you involuntarily ask yourself: what power made these sad, pensive eyes shine with such fire? what caused the blood on those pale, thin cheeks? what has poured passion on these delicate features? why is this chest so heaving? what so suddenly caused strength, life and beauty on the face of the poor girl, made him shine with such a smile, revive with such a sparkling, sparkling laugh? You look around you are looking for someone, you guess ... But a moment passes, and maybe the next day you will meet again the same pensive and absent-minded look, as before, the same pale face, the same humility and timidity in movements and even remorse, even traces of some kind of deadening melancholy and annoyance for a moment's passion ... you didn't have time to love her ...