That day, Father Evgeniy held the funeral service for twelve-year-old Lyuba. She looked about eight years old, no more. The face of a small and fragile girl was almost invisible among the sea of daisies - she loved them very much during her lifetime. And next to her in the coffin lay an old and battered teddy bear... Father Evgeniy had to perform funeral services for his children more than once. It was always very difficult. And he found it difficult to find words, trying to console his parents.
But now he was in more pain than ever. Unbearable. Father Eugene held the funeral service for his most beloved parishioner. Fighting the lump rising in his throat, he sang with difficulty: “Rest with the saints.” And he held on only because he knew: Lyubochka’s soul is now truly There. With saints, with angels, with God.
***
This family appeared in the parish four years ago. Ilya, Marina and their three children: little twins Pasha and Petya and eight-year-old Lyuba. Everyone immediately paid attention to the older girl. Not even because she was noticeably limping, and her face was spoiled by a harelip. She didn't behave like other children. Lyuba was not at all interested in the noisy children who were organizing some games in the courtyard.
She did not try to get to know them and even somehow avoided them. But she constantly fussed with her brothers and carefully watched that none of the children offended them. And if this happened, she would fearfully cover the kids with herself and quietly say: “Please, don’t.” She also often approached her parents, took one or the other by the hand, pressed her close and looked into their eyes. As if asking: “Do you love me?” And they stroked her head with a gentle smile. Later, Father Evgeniy learns that just recently Ilya and Marina took Lyubochka from orphanage. Petya and Pasha were nine months old at the time.
***
Lyuba's mother Nina was deprived of parental rights. She was once an alcoholic janitor. And then she was kicked out of work, and she simply became an alcoholic. In her dirty one-room apartment, smelling of tobacco and cheap vodka, there were always some men and there was a spicy fumes. And Nina didn’t even remember which of them got her pregnant once.
I wanted to have an abortion, but one of my drinking buddies said that they “pay a lot” for children and you can live well on benefits. Throughout her pregnancy, Nina led her usual lifestyle. And she didn’t even think that now she was not alone. “My mother did everything.” “And I’m as healthy as a horse,” she said proudly. The girl was born prematurely.
Tiny and blue. One of her legs was shorter than the other. The head, dangling from a neck like a thread, seemed huge compared to the skinny, sickly body. And her small, wrinkled face was disfigured by a harelip. “Ugh, how scary,” Nina said with disgust and turned away from her daughter. She was disgusted to take the baby in her arms, and she fed her only because she dreamed of being discharged as quickly as possible, getting “good money” and getting drunk.
***
Nina had an old, lonely, compassionate neighbor, Grandma Vera. Knowing that she was about to give birth, she used her tiny pension to buy a second-hand crib with a pillow and blanket, a beat-up stroller, and made diapers from her bed linen. The expectant mother had little interest in all this. My grandmother asked her parishioners for unwanted baby clothes and diapers. There she then baptizes her. “Call it Love,” said grandmother Vera to Ninke. “She and I will have a name day on the same day.” “What a Love she is, with such a face,” she grinned. But she agreed. Simply because she didn't care.
Realizing that “good money” for a child is pennies, the mother seemed to generally hate her daughter. “Why did I just give birth to you, you ugly thing,” she screamed from an angry hangover. “I’m ashamed to show it to people.” She hit her in the face when the baby cried and asked for food. She didn’t understand why? Where is her mommy, who she needs so much? Which one should come and save? And she cried even more. Until they give her a dirty bottle of cheap food.
Lyuba could lie in wet diapers for hours and no one paid attention to it - neither Ninka nor her eternal guests. And in the end, tired of her own screaming, she fell asleep. Over time, she learned not to cry at all. And I just looked at the ceiling and waited. Or rocked herself, shaking her head from side to side. Nobody needed her here. And only Grandma Vera, when she had the strength, went out with her for a walk in the yard. Or she would take her home and sing lullabies.
And when Lyubochka was one year old, she gave her a nice teddy bear. And he will become her faithful friend for a long time, to whom she can tell everything, bury her face in him, as children probably bury themselves in their mother’s chest, and fall asleep. But soon Grandma Vera died. And Lyuba and the bear were left alone. Apart from Ninka, of course.
***
Lyuba grew up, Nina grew old. There were fewer gentlemen, even those who were always drunk. And more and more often she beat her daughter. Scary, cruel - for everything. Taking out his anger on her for his failed life. She beat her for the bottles and bottles scattered around the apartment. Because she wanted to eat. And she fed her and generally did something for her only because she was already receiving care. Nina was not afraid of losing her, no. It’s just that, as a single mother, she was paid pennies for Lyuba. She beat her because Lyuba came home in a dirty, torn dress. And when she tried to explain that a boy pushed her in the yard, she said angrily: “You did the right thing!” You can't even stand up for yourself!
Lyubochka really couldn’t stand up for herself. But the children did not like her and laughed at her. - Look, limping! - they shouted after her. - Scary man! - Daughter of a drunk! Having matured a little, she no longer paid attention to them. She would sit somewhere to the side, under a bush or on a bench with her teddy bear and tell him something. And when I was younger, I wanted to make friends, I came up and smiled welcomingly with my disfigured lips. They pointed their fingers at her and tripped her. Lyuba fell, out of habit covered her head with her hands, as she did when her mother beat her, and babbled through her tears: “Please, don’t!” Then she will also be afraid for her brothers and shield them from other children.
***
Surprisingly, in this hell Lyuba grew up very good, kind girl. As if living up to its name. She tried to please Ninka. I put things in order as best I could. She covered her with a blanket when she, drunk, fell asleep on the floor. And these were the happiest moments in her life. She combed her mother’s tangled, dirty hair and said: “You are beautiful,” something that no one had ever told her. Maybe Grandma Vera, but Lyuba didn’t remember this.
Not seeing affection from her mother, when she was lying “lifeless,” she lay down next to her, took her hand and hugged herself with it. And I imagined that my mother was doing this herself and whispering tenderly: “Daughter, honey, I love you!” This is what the neighbor on the fifth floor, Aunt Ira, always says to her little Natasha. Sometimes she fell asleep next to Ninka, clutching the bear to her. And then morning would come, and Lyuba would wake up from a rough push in the side and a hoarse: “Bring some water!”...
Sometimes, however, Ninka was softer with Lyuba. After the first two or three glasses. Then she called her, took her by the shoulders, looked at her with a dull look and said: “Why are you so scary to me!” And she could cry drunken tears. One day Lyuba saw one of the children give their mother a bouquet of wild flowers. And she blossomed, hugged her, and began kissing the top of her blond head. “If I give my mother flowers, she will probably be happy too,” the girl thought, “after all, no one has ever given them to her.”
Lyubochka picked a bouquet of daisies. She really liked them - bright, friendly, sunny. They look like Grandma Vera - chubby, affectionate and always wearing a white headscarf. This is how she occasionally vaguely appeared in her childhood memory. At home, Ninka, angry and hungover, slapped her in the face with these daisies. Lyuba's nose began to bleed. “You better go and hand over the bottles, there’s no money, and throw away this broom,” her mother shouted after her and pushed her out the door. One of the neighbors, seeing a girl with a bloody face, called the police.
And this time Lyuba was taken away. She was six years old. When they took her away, she behaved quietly and did not even cry. And under her jacket, so that no one could see, she clutched her teddy bear to her. Only then, realizing what had happened, Nina began to cry. Maybe because of the pennies they paid her. Or maybe, really, something human had finally stirred in her. After all, besides Lyubochka, no one ever loved her...
***
Lyuba found herself in orphanage- old and shabby. But compared to her apartment, it seemed almost like a palace to her. Her old dirty clothes were thrown away. Washed and combed. They gave me a clean one. Lyuba stroked the hem of her new dress with surprise and did not believe that it was for her. They wanted to take the bear away from her - maybe there was some kind of infection on it. But Lyuba cried so much that some woman asked: “Don’t, leave it, I’ll wash it.” And she stroked the girl’s head. At first she tried to cover herself with her hands, she was afraid that they would hit her, but the woman said kindly: “Don’t be afraid, no one will hurt you.” What's your name? This is how Lyuba met Marina.
Marina worked here as a teacher. She was very different from the rest of the orphanage staff with some touching sentimentality. She looked at all these children, could barely hold back her tears and wanted to hug everyone. No, the others were not evil. They were too good people, but over time they got used to children's grief. And they just did their job. But Marina couldn’t get used to it.
***
It sounds strange, but Lyuba liked it in the orphanage. She was hardly beaten; there were the same unfortunate children who were unlucky in life. Sometimes they, of course, fought among themselves, sometimes she got it too. And as before, she covered her head with her hands and asked: “Please, don’t!” Compared to home, she was well fed. They worked with her and played with her. She had a clean bed and toys. But most of all she loved her teddy bear. And she often sat alone with him in the corner.
Did she miss her mother? Maybe yes, maybe not. She asked about her at first, and then stopped. Lyuba became very attached to Marina. She often recalled how she stroked her head for the first time. Marina always stroked her when meeting her, talked to her, but that first time was the most amazing. And Marina felt sorry for Lyubochka. Over time, she noticed that she was thinking more and more often about this frightened, lame girl with a harelip.
***
Once over dinner, Marina told her husband Ilya about Lyubochka. - Maybe we can pick it up? – she asked unexpectedly for herself. – Marinochka, I understand, it’s a pity. But you can’t take everyone. And then Marina became pregnant. Twins. It became increasingly difficult for her to work, she spent a lot of time on sick leave, and she and Lyuba saw each other less and less. On the last evening before maternity leave she went to the girl to say goodbye. - That's it, Lyubochka, I'm leaving. Grow up big, be a good girl...” she fell silent, not knowing what else to say. “I...I love you...” “Please don’t leave,” Lyuba whispered after her. - Mom... And when Marina’s steps died down, she turned to the wall and buried her wet face in her teddy bear. Then she often lay there and cried.
***
And Marina gave birth to boys - right before Peter and Paul. And they were named after the apostles. The happiness of the parents knew no bounds. And Marina thought less and less about Lyubochka. But one day, while walking with a stroller, they found themselves at an orphanage. - Mother! – Suddenly a familiar voice rang out. Marina turned around. Lyuba was looking at her from behind the fence. And tears flowed down her cheeks.
Ilya put his hand on Marina’s shoulder. They decided everything. This is how Lyuba started a family. Of course, at first it was not easy, especially for Ilya. After all, a stranger is in the house. Ours are still quite small. And the constant bustle... They just moved to new apartment. But Lyuba was a rare child, amazing. She truly was LOVE.
She did not believe in her happiness and seemed ready to do anything to prove to her new parents that she was worthy of it. She quickly learned how to handle her brothers and fussed with them for days on end. And they smiled joyfully at her and reached out into her arms. The kids did not see either her cleft lip or short leg. They saw a beautiful older sister who loves them very much.
Lyuba helped Marina clean the apartment and asked to teach her how to cook. And one day she proudly placed in front of her dad (she loved this new word “dad” so much) her first meal prepared for him - chicken soup. Oversalted, really. But Ilya heroically ate it and praised it very much. They walked a lot and somehow came across a clearing with daisies. “I love daisies so much,” said Marina. - Lyubochka, pick me a bouquet. The girl picked an armful of flowers, and Marina hugged her and kissed the top of her head. Just like she once dreamed that Nina would do.
***
They all began to go together to the nearest church, to Father Eugene. There Lyuba confessed and received communion for the first time. What she told the priest about herself is unknown. But then he said to Ilya and Marina: “You have an amazing girl.” Take care of her In the evenings, Marina read books to her. Often about God, about saints. Lyuba really enjoyed hearing about Christ. And one day she asked: “Can I pray for Mama Nina too?” - Of course you can. Putting her to bed, Marina hugged her. Lyuba fell asleep with a smile and through her sleep heard the affectionate: “Daughter! I love you!"
***
Three years passed like this. Lyuba went to school. At first, someone laughed at her, but then everyone got used to it and stopped paying attention. She did not seek to communicate with other children. Although she was always friendly and never offended anyone. She liked it better at home, where everyone loved her. Where no one ever scolded her, hit her and called her a beauty. She basked in this love, which she had seen so little of in her life. And she loved herself - purely, devotedly, gratefully. She also loved the temple and Father Eugene. She helped in the yard, looked after the flowers, and talked about something with the priest. And she stood in front of the icons for a long time - whispering something... And then Lyuba fell ill.
Probably, the past life took its toll, and the little organism was strained. She burned out from leukemia in just six months. My parents sold their car and apartment and moved in with their parents, but the doctors couldn’t do anything. Lyuba died in the hospital. Shortly before this, Father Evgeniy gave her Holy Communion. She held the hands of Ilya and Marina, who were miraculously allowed to see her, and smiled faintly.
With this smile she fell asleep forever. Her pure childish soul quietly left her, only at the end having rested and learned what warmth is... And her teddy bear lay next to her... When, a few days after the funeral, Marina finds the strength to sort out Lyubochka’s things, under her pillow she will see a note:
“Please pray for mom Nina. And thank you for the love!”
Grushnitsky – minor character novel by M.Yu. Lermontov "Hero of Our Time". The article provides information about the character from the work, quotation description.
Full name
Not mentioned.
I turn around: Grushnitsky! We hugged.
Most likely, due to a slightly contemptuous attitude towards him:
he does not know people and their weak strings, because his whole life he has been focused on himself. His goal is to become the hero of a novel.
“You’re stupid,” I wanted to answer him, but I resisted and just shrugged.
Age
About 20 years.
he looks like he might be twenty-five years old, although he is hardly twenty-one.
Relation to Pechorin
Negative:
I understood him, and he doesn’t love me for this, although outwardly we are on the most friendly terms.
The end is hostile. Grushnitsky was killed by Pechorin in a duel.
I shot... When the smoke cleared, Grushnitsky was not on the site. Only the dust still curled in a light column on the edge of the cliff.
Grushnitsky's appearance
He has only been in the service for a year, and wears, out of a special kind of dandyism, a thick soldier’s overcoat. He has a soldier's cross of St. George. He is well built, dark and black-haired; he looks like he might be twenty-five years old, although he is hardly twenty-one. He throws his head back when he speaks, and constantly twirls his mustache with his left hand, because he leans on a crutch with his right.
Social status
At first a cadet
Grushnitsky - cadet.
I bet she doesn't know you're a cadet
Subsequently becomes an officer.
Grushnitsky came and threw himself on my neck: he was promoted to officer
Half an hour before the ball, Grushnitsky appeared to me in the full radiance of an army infantry uniform.
Grushnitsky comes from a not very rich family in the outback. Has a good education and upbringing
on the eve of leaving his father's village
answered me loudly in French
you know, it’s somehow awkward to ask to come into the house, although it’s common here
“You talk about a pretty woman like an English horse,” Grushnitsky said indignantly.
I’m afraid that the princess and I will have to start a mazurka - I don’t know almost a single figure...
Further fate
Killed in a duel.
Going down the path, I noticed the bloody corpse of Grushnitsky between the crevices of the rocks.
Personality of Grushnitsky
Grushnitsky is vain, dreams of becoming the hero of a novel
he does not know people and their weak strings, because his whole life he has been focused on himself.
he is one of those people... Making an effect is their pleasure
His arrival in the Caucasus is also a consequence of his romantic fanaticism
His goal is to become the hero of a novel. He tried so often to convince others that he was a being not created for the world, doomed to some kind of secret suffering, that he himself was almost convinced of it. That's why he wears his thick soldier's overcoat so proudly
wears, with a special kind of dandyism, a thick soldier's overcoat
I could never argue with him. He doesn't respond to your objections, he doesn't listen to you. As soon as you stop, he begins a long tirade, apparently having some connection with what you said, but which in fact is only a continuation of his own speech
Grushnitsky speaks pretentiously and importantly
under this thick gray overcoat beat a passionate and noble heart (about myself)
Grushnitsky likes to play himself as the greatest victim:
However, in those moments when he casts off his tragic mantle, Grushnitsky is quite nice
Grushnitsky managed to take a dramatic pose with the help of a crutch and answered me loudly
My soldier's overcoat is like a seal of rejection. The participation she excites is as heavy as alms
Yes, a soldier’s overcoat makes you a hero and a sufferer in the eyes of every sensitive young lady
Grushnitsky has absolutely no understanding of relationships and other people
You are a fool! - he said to Grushnitsky quite loudly..."
“You’re a fool, brother,” he said, “a vulgar fool!”
Grushnitsky, tugging at my hand, threw one of those dimly tender glances at her that have so little effect on women.
I know you are experienced in these things, you know women better than me... Women! women! who will understand them?.. (Grushnitsky about himself)
Grushnitsky hung a saber and a couple of pistols on top of his soldier’s overcoat: he was quite funny in this heroic attire
Grushnitsky is no stranger to nobility:
I will never agree! - said Grushnitsky (about an unfair duel)
only Grushnitsky seems to be more noble than his comrades. How do you think?
He blushed; he was ashamed to kill an unarmed man
But at the same time, weakness of character, pride and cowardice. For this reason, he could not help but shoot at Pechorin under pressure from his second
but pride and weakness of character had to triumph
his pride is especially offended
Grushnitsky smiled smugly
Self-satisfaction and at the same time some uncertainty were depicted on his face; his festive appearance, his proud gait would make me laugh if it were in accordance with my intentions
Oh self-love! you are the lever with which Archimedes wanted to lift the globe! (Pechorin about Grushnitsky)
Grushnitsky is reputed to be an excellent brave man; I saw him in action: he waves his saber, shouts and rushes forward, closing his eyes. This is not Russian courage!..
Coward! - answered the captain (about Grushnitsky)
About the injury
Grushnitsky went for treatment due to a leg wound.
to whom. PUT IN VIEW to whom. Make a note. - You don't conduct drills, gentlemen officers! - Langovoy spoke in a creaky voice. - I put it in front of the battalion commanders(A. Fadeev. The last of Udege).I met him in the active detachment. He was wounded by a bullet in the leg and went to the waters a week before me
At that moment Grushnitsky dropped his glass on the sand and tried to bend down to pick it up: his bad leg was preventing him. Poor thing! how he managed to lean on a crutch, and all in vain. His expressive face really depicted suffering
made such a terrible grimace when he stepped on his shot leg
his leg suddenly recovered: he barely limps
Phrasebook Russian literary language. - M.: Astrel, AST. A. I. Fedorov. 2008.
See what “Put on view” is in other dictionaries:
put on display- make a warning, warn, make a remark Dictionary of Russian synonyms ... Dictionary of synonyms
Put/put in sight- to whom what. Official Do someone l. verbal reprimand, make a remark. BMS 1998, 82; BTS, 129…
VIEW Dictionary Ushakova
VIEW- VIEW1, species, male. 1. units only Appearance, appearance. The house looks neat. The area looked bleak. || External outlines, shapes. Ball-shaped appearance. || trans. External resemblance. Give the reproach the appearance of a joke. || Appearance as an expression... ... Ushakov's Explanatory Dictionary
view- 1. VIEW, a (y), sentence. about the form, in the form, in mind, in sight; m. 1. only units. Appearance of someone; appearance, appearance (usually as a manifestation of health, character, mood, etc.). Sick, healthy, blooming look who has l. Requirements … Encyclopedic Dictionary
view- VIEW, a (y), about the form, in the form, in mind, in sight, husband. 1. (prev. about the form, in the form). Appearance, visible appearance; state. External c. person. Healthy in. With the air of an expert. On the or he looks young. In corrected form. 2. (prev. about the form, in the form).... ... Ozhegov's Explanatory Dictionary
VIEW- Pale appearance and quiet gait. Volg. 1. About the patient, weak person. 2. About a person punished and brought into submission. Glukhov 1988, 4. In view. Sib. Not far, in close proximity to someone. FSS, 27. Take the view. Zabayk. Choose convenient place… … Big dictionary Russian sayings
view- I mean the transfer. in mind, in anticipation, in the future (not to be confused with the preposition in mind!). I don't have anything in mind. In what form (to be, to find, etc.) what n., in what n. condition. Books in in good shape. Show up drunk. I saw him... Phraseological Dictionary of the Russian Language
put- 1. PUT, I love you, you see; delivered; flax, a, o; St. (unsw. put). 1. who what. Give to whom, what l. standing vertical or some kind a certain position; position, strengthen in this position. P. log standing up. P. log on the butt. P.... ... Encyclopedic Dictionary
STAY ON THE POINT. PUT ON THE POINT. Outdated Simple 1. whom. Force someone to act or behave appropriately; rein in A shaggy-haired lawyer, a sweet and understanding guy who promised to put everyone on point. This one is from everyone... ... Phraseological Dictionary of the Russian Literary Language
I stopped, out of breath, on the edge of the mountain and, leaning against the corner of the house, began to examine the surroundings, when suddenly I heard a familiar voice behind me:
- Pechorin! how long have you been here?
I turn around: Grushnitsky! We hugged. I met him in the active detachment. He was wounded by a bullet in the leg and went to the waters a week before me. Grushnitsky - cadet. He has only been in the service for a year, and wears, out of a special kind of dandyism, a thick soldier’s overcoat. He has a soldier's cross of St. George. He is well built, dark and black-haired; he looks like he might be twenty-five years old, although he is hardly twenty-one. He throws his head back when he speaks, and constantly twirls his mustache with his left hand, because he leans on a crutch with his right. He speaks quickly and pretentiously: he is one of those people who have ready-made pompous phrases for all occasions, who are not touched by simply beautiful things and who are solemnly draped in extraordinary feelings, sublime passions and exceptional suffering. To produce an effect is their delight; Romantic provincial women like them crazy. In old age they become either peaceful landowners or drunkards - sometimes both. There are often many good qualities in their souls, but not a penny of poetry. Grushnitsky had a passion for declaiming: he bombarded you with words as soon as the conversation left the circle of ordinary concepts; I could never argue with him. He doesn't respond to your objections, he doesn't listen to you. As soon as you stop, he begins a long tirade, apparently having some connection with what you said, but which in fact is only a continuation of his own speech.
He is quite sharp: his epigrams are often funny, but they are never pointed or evil: he will not kill anyone with one word; he does not know people and their weak strings, because his whole life he has been focused on himself. His goal is to become the hero of a novel. He tried so often to convince others that he was a being not created for the world, doomed to some kind of secret suffering, that he himself was almost convinced of it. That is why he wears his thick soldier’s overcoat so proudly. I understood him, and he doesn’t love me for this, although outwardly we are on the most friendly terms. Grushnitsky is reputed to be an excellent brave man; I saw him in action; he waves his saber, shouts and rushes forward, closing his eyes. This is something not Russian courage!..
I don’t like him either: I feel that someday we will collide with him on a narrow road, and one of us will be in trouble.
His arrival in the Caucasus is also a consequence of his romantic fanaticism: I am sure that on the eve of leaving his father’s village he said with a gloomy look to some pretty neighbor that he was not going just to serve, but that he was looking for death, because... here , he probably covered his eyes with his hand and continued like this: “No, you (or you) shouldn’t know this! Your pure soul will tremble! And why? What am I to you! Will you understand me? - and so on.
He himself told me that the reason that prompted him to join the K. regiment would remain an eternal secret between him and heaven.
However, in those moments when he casts off his tragic mantle, Grushnitsky is quite sweet and funny. I’m curious to see him with women: that’s where I think he’s trying!
We met as old friends. I began to ask him about the way of life on the waters and about remarkable persons.
“We lead a rather prosaic life,” he said, sighing. morning drinkers water - lethargic, like all sick people, and wine drinkers in the evening - unbearable, like everyone else who is healthy. There are women's societies; Their only small consolation is that they play whist, dress badly and speak terrible French. This year only Princess Ligovskaya and her daughter are from Moscow; but I'm unfamiliar with them. My soldier's overcoat is like a seal of rejection. The participation it excites is as heavy as alms.
At that moment two ladies walked past us to the well: one was elderly, the other was young and slender. I couldn’t see their faces behind their hats, but they were dressed according to the strict rules of the best taste: nothing superfluous! The second wore a closed gris de perles dress, a light silk scarf curled around her flexible neck. The couleur puce [] boots pulled her lean leg so nicely at the ankle that even someone not initiated into the mysteries of beauty would certainly gasp, albeit in surprise. Her light but noble gait had something virginal in it, eluding definition, but clear to the eye. When she passed us, she smelled that inexplicable aroma that sometimes comes from a note from a sweet woman.
“Here is Princess Ligovskaya,” said Grushnitsky, “and with her is her daughter Mary, as she calls her in the English manner.” They've only been here for three days.
“However, do you already know her name?”
“Yes, I heard by chance,” he answered, blushing, “I admit, I don’t want to get to know them.” This proud nobility looks at us army men as wild. And what do they care if there is a mind under a numbered cap and a heart under a thick overcoat?
- Poor overcoat! - I said, grinning, - who is this gentleman who comes up to them and so helpfully hands them a glass?
- ABOUT! - this is the Moscow dandy Raevich! He is a player: this can be seen immediately by the huge golden chain that snakes along his blue vest. And what a thick cane – it looks like Robinson Crusoe’s! And the beard, by the way, and the hairstyle a la moujik [].
“You are embittered against the entire human race.”
- And there is a reason...
- ABOUT! right?
At this time, the ladies moved away from the well and caught up with us. Grushnitsky managed to assume a dramatic pose with the help of a crutch and answered me loudly in French:
– Mon cher, je hais les hommes pour ne pas les mepriser car autrement la vie serait une farce trop degoutante [].
The pretty princess turned around and gave the speaker a long, curious look. The expression of this gaze was very vague, but not mocking, for which I inwardly congratulated him from the bottom of my heart.
“This Princess Mary is very pretty,” I told him. - She has such velvet eyes - just velvet: I advise you to assign this expression when talking about her eyes; the lower and upper eyelashes are so long that the rays of the sun are not reflected in her pupils. I love those eyes without shine: they are so soft, they seem to caress you... However, it seems that there is only good in her face... And what, are her teeth white? This is very important! It’s a pity that she didn’t smile at your pompous phrase.
“You talk about a pretty woman like an English horse,” Grushnitsky said indignantly.
“Mon cher,” I answered him, trying to imitate his tone, “je meprise les femmes pour ne pas les aimer car autrement la vie serait un melodrame trop ridicule [].
I turned and walked away from him. For half an hour I walked along the grape alleys, along the limestone rocks and bushes hanging between them. It was getting hot, and I hurried home. Passing by a sour-sulfur spring, I stopped at a covered gallery to breathe under its shade; this gave me the opportunity to witness a rather curious scene. Characters This is the situation they were in. The princess and the Moscow dandy were sitting on a bench in the covered gallery, and both were apparently engaged in a serious conversation. The princess, having probably finished her last glass, walked thoughtfully by the well. Grushnitsky stood right next to the well; there was no one else on the site.
I came closer and hid behind the corner of the gallery. At that moment Grushnitsky dropped his glass on the sand and tried to bend down to pick it up: his bad leg was preventing him. Beggar! how he managed to lean on a crutch, and all in vain. His expressive face actually depicted suffering.
Princess Mary saw all this better than me.
Lighter than a bird, she jumped up to him, bent down, picked up the glass and handed it to him with a body movement filled with inexpressible charm; then she blushed terribly, looked back at the gallery and, making sure that her mother had not seen anything, seemed to immediately calm down. When Grushnitsky opened his mouth to thank her, she was already far away. A minute later she left the gallery with her mother and the dandy, but, passing by Grushnitsky, she assumed such a decorous and important appearance - she didn’t even turn around, didn’t even notice his passionate gaze, with which he followed her for a long time, until, having descended from the mountain, she disappeared behind the sticky boulevards... But then her hat flashed across the street; she ran into the gates of one of the best houses in Pyatigorsk, the princess followed her and bowed to Raevich at the gate.