I. S. Turgenev

Andrey Kolosov

I. S. Turgenev. Complete works and letters in thirty volumes Works in twelve volumes M., "Science", 1980 Works. Volume four. Stories and stories. Articles and reviews. 1844-1854 Several young people were sitting in front of the fireplace in a small, well-tidied room. The winter evening had just begun; the samovar was boiling on the table, the conversation played out and passed from one object to another. They began to talk about extraordinary people and how they differ from ordinary people. Each expressed his opinion as best he could; voices rose and rustled, One small, pale man who listened for a long time, drinking tea and smoking a cigar, ranting his comrades, suddenly got up and turned to all of us (I was also among those arguing) with the following words: - Gentlemen! all your thoughtful words are good in their own way, but useless. Everyone, as usual, finds out the opinion of his opponent and everyone remains with his conviction. But this is not the first time we meet, it is not the first time we argue, and therefore, probably, we have already managed to speak out and learn the opinions of others. So what are you fussing with? Having said these words, the little man casually brushed ashes from a cigar into the fireplace, screwed up his eyes and smiled calmly. We all fell silent. - So what do you think we should do? - said one of us, - to play cards, or what? to go to bed? go home? “It's nice to play cards and good to sleep,” objected the little man, “but it's too early to go home now. But you did not understand me. Listen: I suggest each of you, for that matter,; describe to us some extraordinary person, tell us your meeting with some wonderful person. Trust me, the worst story is much more efficient than the most excellent reasoning. We thought about it. “It's a strange thing,” said one of us, a big joker, “except myself, I don’t know a single extraordinary person, and you all seem to know my life. However, if you order ... - No, - exclaimed another, - it is not necessary! Why, - he added, addressing the little man, - you start. You have confused us all, and books are in your hands. Just look, if we don’t like your story, we will bless you. - Perhaps, - he answered. He stood by the fireplace; we sat down around him and were quiet. The little man looked at all of us, looked at the ceiling and began as follows: - Ten years ago, my dear sirs, I was a student in Moscow. My father, a virtuous landowner of the steppe, put me in the arms of a retired German professor, who for a hundred rubles a month undertook to water me, feed me, and observe my morality. This German was gifted with a very important and sedate bearing; At first I was rather afraid of him. But one fine evening, returning home, I saw with inexpressible emotion my mentor, sitting with three or four companions at a round table, on which there was a contented number of empty bottles and unfinished glasses. Seeing me, my venerable mentor got up and, waving his arms and stuttering, introduced me to the honest company, which immediately offered me a glass of punch. This pleasant sight had a refreshing effect on my soul; my future appeared to me in the most attractive images. And indeed: from that memorable day I enjoyed unlimited freedom and just did not beat my mentor. He had a wife who always smelled of smoke and cucumber pickle; she was still quite young, but no longer had a single front tooth. It is known that all German women very soon lose this necessary adornment of the human body. I mention her only because she fell in love with me passionately and almost fed me to death. - To the point, to the point, - we shouted. - Do you want to tell us your adventures? - No, gentlemen! - objected calmly the little man, - I am an ordinary mortal. So, I lived with my German, as they say, singing along. I did not go to university very diligently, and at home I did absolutely nothing. In a very short time, I got along with all my comrades and was on friendly terms with everyone. Among my new friends was one fairly decent and kind fellow, the son of a retired governor. His name was Bobov. This Bobov got into the habit of visiting me and, it seems, fell in love with me. And I ... you know, not that I loved, not that I did not love him, because somehow ... I must tell you that in the whole of Moscow I did not have a single relative, except for my old uncle, who I have sometimes he asked for money. I did not go anywhere and was especially afraid of women; I also avoided meeting the parents of my university comrades, since one of these parents tore off his son in front of me for a whisk - because his button on his uniform was ripped off, and that day I had no more six buttons. Compared to many of my comrades, I was reputed to be a rich man; My father from time to time sent me small bundles of blue faded banknotes, and therefore I not only enjoyed independence, but I constantly had flatterers and servants ... what I say - I have! even my scanty dog \u200b\u200bArmishka, who, in spite of its cop breed, was so afraid of a shot that the sight of a gun plunged her into indescribable melancholy. However, I, like any young man, was not deprived of that dull, inner fermentation, which usually, resolved by a dozen more or less rough poems, ends very peacefully and happily. I wanted something, aspired to something and dreamed of something; I confess that even then I did not know very well what exactly I dreamed of. Now I understand what I was missing: I felt my loneliness, cravedmessages with so-called living people; word: life (pronounce: zhizn)sounded in my soul, and I listened to this sound with vague longing ... Valeryan Nikitich, please give me pachytos. Having lit a pachytos, the little man continued: - One fine morning Bobov, out of breath, ran to me: "You know, brother, great news? Kolosov has arrived." - "Kolosov? What kind of bird is Mr. Kolosov?" "Don't you know him? Andryusha Kolosov? Let's go, brother, to him as soon as possible. He returned last night with condition ".--"Who is he?" - "Extraordinary, brother, man, have mercy!" - "An extraordinary person," I said, "go alone, I will stay at home. We know your extraordinary people! Some half-drunk whisper with an eternally enthusiastic smile! .." - "Oh, no! Kolosov not such". I was about to point out to Bobov that Mr Kolosov should have come to me himself; but, I don't know why, he obeyed Bobov and went. Bobov took me to one of the dirtiest, crooked and narrowest alleys in Moscow ... The house in which Kolosov lived was built on the old model, cunning and inconvenient. We entered the courtyard; a fat woman hung clothes on strings "stretched from the house to the fence ... the children shouted at the wooden stairs ..." To business! to business! "we cried." I see, gentlemen, you do not like pleasant things and adhere to the only Perhaps! Through a dark and narrow passage we reached Kolosov's room, went in. You probably have a rough idea of \u200b\u200bwhat a poor student's room is. Right in front of the door, Kolosov sat on a dresser smoking a pipe. He extended his hand to Bobov and bowed to me politely, I glanced at Kolosov and immediately felt an irresistible attraction to him. Gentlemen! Bobov was not mistaken: Kolosov was a truly extraordinary person. Let me describe him to you in a little more detail ... He was quite tall, slender, agile and very His face ... I find, gentlemen, that it is very difficult to describe someone's face. It is easy to go over all the individual features one by one; but how to convey to another what constitutes a distinctive principle belonging, essence precisely of thisfaces? - What Byron calls: "the music of the face" (English). ), - said one over-stretched and pale gentleman. - So, sir ... And therefore I will limit myself to one remark: that special "something" that I just mentioned, consisted of Kolosov in a carefree cheerful and bold expression on his face, and even in an extremely captivating smile. He did not remember his parents, he was brought up on copper pennies in the house of some distant relative, who was excluded from the service for bribes. Until the age of fifteen he lived in the village; then he came to Moscow to an old, deaf priest, stayed with her for two years, entered the university and began to live by lessons. He taught history, geography and Russian grammar, although he had a faint idea of \u200b\u200bthese sciences; but,; firstly, in Russia we have got "guides" that are extremely beneficial for mentors; and secondly, the requirements of the venerable merchants who entrusted Kolosov with the education of their offspring were too limited. Kolosov was neither a witty nor a humorist; but you gentlemen cannot imagine how willingly we all submitted to this man. We somehow involuntarily admired him; his words, his looks, his movements breathed such youthful charm that all his comrades were head over heels in love with him. The professors considered him not stupid, but "without great ability" and lazy. Kolosov's presence lent a special harmony to our evening gatherings: our gaiety in his presence never turned into an ugly rowdy; whether we all became sad - this half-childish sadness with him was resolved by a quiet, sometimes quite practical conversation and never turned into a blues. You are smiling, gentlemen - I understand your smile; Indeed, many of us later turned out to be decent rascals! But youth ... youth ... Oh talk not to me of a name great in story! The days of our youth are the days of our glory ... * * Oh, don't tell me about the glorious name! The days of our youth are the days of our glory ... - said the same pale gentleman ... - Fu you, damn it, what a memory you have! and all from Byron! - said the narrator. - In a word, gentlemen, Kolosov was the soul of our society. I became so attached to him as I have not attached to any woman since. And yet I am not ashamed even now to remember this strange love - precisely love, because, I remember, I then experienced all the torments of this passion, for example, jealousy. Kolosov loved all of us equally, but especially favored one silent, fair-haired and meek fellow named Gavrilov. He almost never parted with this Gavrilov, often whispered with him and disappeared with him from Moscow, God knows where, for two, three days. .. Kolosov didn’t like questions, and I was at a loss to guess. It was not mere curiosity that worried me; I wanted to become a comrade, a squire to Kolosov; I was jealous of Gavrilov; I envied him; I could not explain to myself the reason for Kolosov's strange absences. Meanwhile, there was neither that mystery in him, which young men, endowed with vanity, pallor, black hair and "expressive" gaze, flaunt, nor that fake indifference under which tremendous forces supposedly hide; no: he was all, as they say, wide open; but when passion seized him, impetuous, impetuous activity suddenly manifested itself in his whole being; only he did not waste his strength in vain and never, in any case, did not stand on stilts. By the way, gentlemen ... tell the truth: did you ever sit and smoke a pipe with such a sadly majestic look, as if you had just decided on a great feat, and you are just thinking about what color to sew your trousers? .. But the fact is that I was the first to notice in the cheerful and affectionate Kolosov these involuntary, passionate impulses ... It is not for nothing that they say that love is penetrating. I decided - by all means - to rub myself into his power of attorney. There was nothing for me to drag after Kolosov; I was in such a childish reverence for him that he could not doubt my devotion ... but, to my indescribable chagrin, I had to finally make sure that Kolosov avoided closer intimacy with me, that he seemed to be weighed down by my unwelcome affection ... Once, with obvious displeasure, he asked me for a loan - and the next day, with mocking gratitude, he returned it to me again. During the whole winter, my relationship with Kolosov did not change a hair; I often compared myself with Gavrilov - and could not understand why he was better than me ... But suddenly everything changed. In mid-April, Gavrilov fell ill and died in the arms of Kolosov, who did not leave his room for a moment and did not go anywhere for a whole week after his death. We all regretted poor Gavrilov; this pale, silent man seemed to have a presentiment of his demise. I, too, sincerely regretted him, but my heart sank in me, waiting for something ... One unforgettable evening ... I lay alone on the couch and looked at the ceiling senselessly ... someone quickly opened the door of my room and stopped on the doorstep; I raised my head: Kolosov was standing in front of me. He entered slowly and sat down beside me. “I came to you,” he began in a rather dull voice, “because you love me more than anyone else. .. I lost my best friend, - his voice trembled slightly, - and I feel lonely ... You all did not know Gavrilov ... you did not know ... "He got up, walked around the room and quickly approached me ... "Do you want to replace him for me?" He said and gave me his hand. I jumped up and rushed to his chest. My sincere joy touched him ... I did not know what to say, I was suffocating ... Kolosov looked at me and chuckled softly. Tea was served. At tea he started talking about Gavrilov; I learned that this timid and meek boy saved Kolosov's life - and I had to admit to myself that if I were Gavrilov, I could not help but blab out - not to boast of his happiness. Eight o'clock struck. Kolosov got up, walked over to the window, drummed on the windows, quickly turned to me, wanted to say something ... and silently sat down on a chair. I took his hand. "Kolosov! really, really, I deserve your power of attorney! "He looked me straight in the eyes." Well, if so, - he said at last, - take your hat, let's go. "-" Where? " asked. "I immediately fell silent." Do you know how to play cards? "-" I can. "We went out, took a cab to ... oh gate. We got off at the gate. Kolosov went forward very soon; I followed him, We They walked along the high road. After a mile, Kolosov turned aside. Meanwhile, night fell. To the right, lights flashed in the fog, the countless churches of the huge city towered; to the left, near the forest, two white horses grazed in a meadow; before us stretched fields, covered with grayish vapors. I walked silently after Kolosov. He suddenly stopped, stretched out his hand forward and said: “This is where we are going.” I saw a small dark house; two windows glowed faintly in the fog. “In this house,” Kolosov continued, - lives a certain Sidorenko, a retired lieutenant, with his sister, an old maid - and a daughter. I will marry you for my relative - you will sit down to play cards with him. "I silently nodded my head. I wanted to prove to Kolosov that I knew how to be silent no worse than Gavrilov ... But, I confess, curiosity tormented me a lot. Approaching the porch of the house , I saw in the lighted window a slender image of a girl ... She seemed to be waiting for us and immediately disappeared. We entered the dark and cramped hallway. A crooked, hunchbacked old woman came out to meet us and looked at me in bewilderment. "Is Ivan Semyonitch at home? "- asked Kolosov." At home, sir. "At home!" - a thick male voice sounded from behind the door. We went into the hall, if you can call it a long, rather dirty room; an old small piano meekly huddled in a corner near stoves; several chairs stuck out along the walls, once yellow. In the middle of the room stood a man of about fifty, tall, stoop-shouldered, in an oily dressing gown. I looked at him more closely: a sullen face, stubble hair, a low forehead, gray eyes, a huge mustache, thick lips ... "Good goose!" - I thought. "We haven't seen you for a long time, Andrei Nikolaitch," he said, holding out his ugly red hand to him, "for a long time! And where is Sevastyan Sevastyanovich?" “Gavrilov is dead,” Kolosov said sadly. "Died? Here are those on! And who is this?" - "My relative - I have the honor to introduce: Nikolai Alex ..." - "Good, good," Ivan Semyonitch interrupted him, "glad, very glad. And does he play cards?" - "It plays, of course!" - "Well, great; we'll sit down now. Hey! Matryona Semyonovna, where are you? The card table - hurry up! .. Yes, tea!" With these words, Mr. Sidorenko went to another room. Kolosov looked at me. "Listen," he said, "God knows how ashamed of me! .." I clamped his mouth shut. "Why are you 5 father, what is your name - please come here," Ivan Semyonitch exclaimed. I went into the living room. The living room was even smaller than the dining room. There were some ugly portraits on the walls; a green table stood in front of the sofa, from which a washcloth protruded in several places; Ivan Semyonitch was sitting on the sofa and was already shuffling the cards; beside him, at the very tip of the chair, sat a lean woman in a white cap and black dress, yellow, wrinkled, with dim eyes and thin cat's lips. "Here," said Ivan Semyonitch, "I recommend it; the former one has died; Andrey Nikolaevich brought the other one; let's see how he plays!" The old woman bowed awkwardly and coughed. I looked around; Kolosov was no longer in the room. “You’re coughing enough, Matryona Semyonovna, the sheep are coughing,” Sidorenko grumbled. I sat down; the game started. Mr. Sidorenko was terribly excited and furious at the slightest mistake of mine; showered his sister with reproaches; but she apparently had time to get used to the courtesies of her brother and only blinked her eyes. However, when he announced to Matryona Semyonovna that she was the "Antichrist," the poor old woman flared up. "You, Ivan Semyonitch," she said with her heart, "they killed your wife Anfisa Karpovna, but don't kill me!" - "What?" - "No, don't die." - "What?" - "No! Do not die!" Thus, they exchanged quite a long time. My position was, as you will see, not only unenviable, but even simply stupid; I did not understand why Kolosov took it into his head to bring me ... I have never been a good player; but then I myself felt that I was playing very badly. "No! - the retired lieutenant repeated incessantly, - you are far from Sevastyanych! No! you are absentmindedly playing! "Of course, I sent him to hell internally. This torture lasted two hours; they beat me to the fluff. Before the end of the last rubber, I heard a slight noise behind my chair - I looked around and saw Kolosov; next to him stood a girl of years seventeen and looked at me with a barely perceptible smile. "Fill my pipe, Varya," Ivan Semyonitch grumbled. The girl immediately fluttered into another room. She was not very pretty, rather pale, rather thin; but I was and after that I never saw such eyes or such hair. We somehow finished playing the rubber; I paid. Sidorenko lit his pipe and cried out: "Well, now it's time to have supper!" Kolosov introduced me to Varya, that is, Varvara Ivanovna, the daughter of Ivan Semyonitch. Varya was embarrassed, and I was embarrassed. ”But Kolosov, as usual, in a few moments put everything and everyone in order: he made Varya sit down at the piano, asked her to play a dance song and set off to grab the Cossack’s starts with Ivan Semyonitch. he walked with his feet such incomprehensible things that Matryona Semyonovna herself burst out laughing, coughed and went upstairs to her room. The hunchbacked old woman laid the table; we sat down to supper. At supper Kolosov talked about various nonsense; the lieutenant laughed deafeningly; I glanced sullenly at Varya. She did not take her eyes off Kolosov ... and I could have guessed by the very expression of her face that she both loved him and was loved by him. Her lips were slightly parted, her head bent a little forward, a light color played all over her face; From time to time she sighed deeply, suddenly lowered her eyes and laughed softly ... I was happy for Kolosov ... And meanwhile, damn it, I was jealous ... After dinner, Kolosov and I immediately took up our slippers, which, however, prevented the lieutenant, yawning, to tell us: "You, gentlemen, are too late; it's time for you and the honor to know." Varya escorted Kolosov to the hall. “When will you come, Andrei Nikolayevich?” She whispered to him. “One of these days, certainly.” “Bring him, too,” she added with a very sly smile. “Most humble servant!” - I thought ... On my way back I learned the following: Six months ago Kolosov met Mr. Sidorenko in a rather strange way. One rainy evening Kolosov was returning home from hunting - and was already approaching ... At the outpost, when suddenly, not far from the road, he heard groans, interrupted by curses. He had a gun with him; without hesitation, he went straight to the scream and found a man with a sprained leg on the ground. This man was Mr. Sidorenko. With great difficulty he escorted him home, entrusted him to the care of his frightened sister and daughter, ran to fetch the doctor ... Meanwhile morning had come; Kolosov could hardly stand on his feet from fatigue. With Matryona Semyonovna's permission, he threw himself on the sofa in the drawing room and slept until eight. When he awoke, he immediately wanted to go home; but they restrained him and gave him tea. At night he managed to catch a glimpse of Varvara Ivanovna's pale face once or twice; he did not pay much attention to her, but in the morning he decidedly liked her. Matryona Semyonovna chatty praised and thanked Kolosov; Varya sat in silence, pouring tea, occasionally glancing at him, and with timid, bashful obligingness served him now a cup, now cream, now a sugar bowl. At this time, the lieutenant woke up, in a loud voice demanded a receiver and, after a short silence, shouted: "Sister! And sister!" Matryona Semyonovna went to his bedroom. "What, this ... what is his name, the devil knows! Has he gone, or what?" "No, I'm still here," answered Kolosov, going up to the door. "Are you better off now?" "Better," answered the lieutenant, "come in here, father." Kolosov entered. Sidorenko looked at him and said reluctantly: "Well, thank you; come and see me someday - what is your name, the devil only knows?" - "Kolosov", - Andrey objected. "Well, well, well, come in; now you have nothing to sour here; tea, they are waiting for you at home." Kolosov went out, said goodbye to Matryona Semyonovna, bowed to Varvara Ivanovna and returned home. From that day on, he began to visit Ivan Semyonitch, first occasionally, then more and more often. Summer has come; he used to take a gun, put on a game bag and go as if on a hunt; will go to the retired lieutenant - and he will stay up until evening. Varvara Ivanovna's father served for twenty-five years in the army, made a little money and bought himself several acres of land two versts from Moscow. He could hardly read and write; but, in spite of his outward clumsiness and rudeness, he was clever and cunning, and sometimes even roguish, like many Little Russians. He was a terrible egoist, stubborn as an ox, and generally very unfriendly, especially with strangers; I even happened to notice in him something akin to contempt for the whole human race. He did not deny himself anything, like a spoiled child, did not want to know anyone and lived "for his own pleasure." We once got to talking with him about weddings in general. "A wedding ... a wedding," he said. "Well, what devil am I going to marry my girl to? Well, for what? So that her hubby would fuck her up like I did my deceased?" And who will I stay with? "This is what the retired lieutenant Ivan Semyonitch was like. Kolosov went to him - of course, not at his expense, but at the expense of his daughter. One fine evening Andrey was sitting with her in the garden and chatting about Ivan Semyonitch went up to them, looked sullenly at Varya and called Andrey aside. "Listen, brother," he said to him, "I see you have fun chatting with my only begotten, but me, the old man, is bored ; Bring someone with you, otherwise I have no one to throw at cards with; do you hear? I will not let you in alone. "The next day Kolosov appeared with Gavrilov, and poor Sevast'yan Sevastyanich played cards in the evenings with a retired lieutenant during the whole autumn and winter; this worthy husband treated him, as they say, without ranks, that is Now you, gentlemen, probably understand why Kolosov, after the death of Gavrilov, brought me with him to Ivan Semyonitch. Having told me all these details, Kolosov added: "I love Varya, she is a lovely girl; She liked you. ”I seem to have forgotten to inform you, my dear sirs, that until that time I was afraid of women and avoided them, although I used to dream about dating, love, mutual love, etc. d. Varvara Ivanovna was the first girl with whom necessity forced me to talk - precisely a necessity. Varya was a very ordinary girl, and yet there are very few such girls in Holy Russia. You ask me: why? Because I have never did not notice anything strained, unnatural, cutesy in her: because she was a simple, frank, somewhat sad creature; because she could not be called a “young lady.” I liked her quiet smile; I loved her innocently sonorous voice, her light and cheerful laughter, her attentive, although not at all "deep" eyes. This child did not promise anything. but you involuntarily admired him, as you admire the sudden soft cry of an oriole in the evening, in a high and dark birch grove. I must confess that in a different time, I would rather indifferently pass by such a creature: now I have no time for lonely evening walks, not for the orioles, but then ... Gentlemen, I think you, like all decent people, have been in love at least once during your life and on your own experience learned how love arises and develops in the human heart; and therefore I will not dwell too much on what was happening in me then. Kolosov and I went to see Ivan Semyonitch quite often; and although the damned cards more than once led me to complete despair, but in the very closeness of my beloved woman (I fell in love with Varya) there is some strange, sweet, painful consolation. I did not try to suppress this emerging feeling; moreover, when I, finally, I decided to call this feeling by name, it was already too strong ... I silently cherished and jealously and timidly concealed my love. I myself liked this languid ferment of silent passion. My suffering did not deprive me of sleep or food; but all day long I felt in my chest that special physical feeling that is a sign of the presence of love. I am not in a position to depict to you the struggle of the most diverse sensations that took place in me when, for example, Kolosov returned from the garden with Varya and her whole face breathed with enthusiastic devotion, weariness from an excess of bliss ... She had lived his life before, before that was imbued with him, that she imperceptibly adopted his habits, looked the same way, laughed the same way as he did ... I imagine what moments she spent with Andrey, what bliss she owes him ... But he ... \u003d Kolosov did not lose his freedom ; in her absence he, I think, did not even think of her; he was the same carefree, cheerful and happy person that we always knew him. So, as I already told you, Kolosov and I went to see Ivan Semyonitch quite often. Sometimes (when he was not in good spirits) the retired lieutenant would not put me on cards; in this case he silently huddled in a corner, frowned and looked at everyone like a wolf. The first time I was delighted at his indulgence; but then, it happened, I myself would begin to beg him to sit down at the "whistik": the role of a third person is so unbearable! I embarrassed both Kolosov and Varya so unpleasantly, although they themselves assured each other that there was nothing to stand on ceremony with me! .. Meanwhile, time went on and on ... They were happy ... I am not willing to describe the happiness of others. But then I began to notice that Varya's childhood enthusiasm was gradually replaced by a more feminine, more anxious feeling. I began to guess that the new horn was buzzing in the old way, that is, that Kolosov ... is gradually ... getting colder. I confess that this discovery made me happy; I confess that I did not feel the slightest indignation against Andrey. The intervals between our visits became more and more ... Varya began to meet us with tear-stained eyes. Reproaches were heard ... I used to ask Kolosov with feigned indifference: "Well, shall we go to Ivan Semyonitch today? .." He would look at me coldly and calmly say: "No, we will not go." Sometimes it seemed to me that he smiled slyly, talking to me about Varya ... In general, I did not replace Gavrilov for him ... Gavrilov was a thousand times kinder and stupider than me. Now let me small digression ... When speaking to you about my university comrades, I did not mention a certain Mr. Shchitov. This Shchitov is thirty-fifth year old; he had been a student for ten years already, and now I vividly see in front of me his rather long pale face, small brown eyes, a long, aquiline, at the end crooked nose, thin, mocking lips, a solemn crest, a chin smugly buried in a wide faded tie raven-colored, shirt-front with bronze buttons, blue dress shirt unbuttoned, colorful vest; I can hear his unpleasantly rattling laughter ... He dragged himself everywhere, differed in all possible "dance classes" ... I remember that I could not listen to his cynical stories without a special shudder ... Kolosov once compared him with the unrefined room of a Russian tavern ... a terrible comparison! And yet in this man there was an abyss of intelligence, common sense, observation, sharpness ... He sometimes amazed us with some so efficient, so true and sharp word that we all involuntarily fell silent and looked at him with amazement. Why, a Russian person doesn’t really care whether he said something stupid or a clever thing. Especially those proud, dreamy and mediocre boys were afraid of Shchitov, who spend whole days agonizingly incubating a dozen disgusting rhymes, chanting them to their "friends" and neglecting any positive knowledge. One of them he simply survived from Moscow, constantly repeating his two rhyme: Man - This unkempt skeleton ... "Skeleton" rhymed with "man". Meanwhile, Shchitov himself also did nothing and did not study anything ... But this is all in the order of things, this one Shchitov, God knows where, began to mock my romantic affection for Kolosov. The first time, with noble indignation, I drove him to hell; the second time, with cold contempt, I announced to him that he was not in a position to judge our friendship - but I didn’t drive him away; and when he said goodbye to me, he noticed that without Kolosov's permission I did not even dare to praise him, I felt annoyed; Shchitov's last words sank into my soul. For more than two weeks I did not see Varya ... Pride, love, vague anticipation - a multitude of different feelings stirred in me ... I waved my hand and with a terrible sinking heart went alone to Ivan Semyonitch. I don't know how I got to the familiar house; I remember that several times I sat down to rest on the road - not from fatigue, from excitement. I entered the hall and did not have time to utter one word, when the door from the hall opened and Varya ran out to meet me. "Finally," she said in a trembling voice, "where is Andrei Nikolaevich?" - "Kolosov did not come ..." - I muttered with an effort. "Did not come?" she repeated. "Yes ... he told you to tell you that ... he was detained ..." I absolutely did not know myself what I was saying, and did not dare to raise my eyes. Varya stood motionless and silent before me. I looked at her: she turned her head to the side; two large tears rolled slowly down her cheeks. There was so much sudden, bitter sorrow in her expression; the struggle of bashfulness, grief, confidence in me so kindly, so touchingly expressed itself in the involuntary movement of her poor head that my heart turned over in me. I leaned forward a little ... she quickly shuddered and ran away. Ivan Semyonitch met me in the hall. "What is it, father, are you alone?" he asked me, curiously squinting his left eye. "One, sir," I answered in confusion. Sidorenko suddenly burst out laughing and went into another room. I have never been in such a stupid position - God knows what disgusting! But there was nothing to do. I began to walk up and down the hall. "Why," I thought, "did this fat boar laugh?" Matryona Semyonovna with a stocking in her hands went out into the hall and sat down at the window. I started talking to her. Meanwhile, tea was served. Varya came down from above, pale and sad. The retired lieutenant made jokes about Kolosov. "I," he said, "know what kind of goose he is; now, I think, tea, you can't lure him here with a roll!" Varya hastily got up and left. Ivan Semyonitch looked after her and whistled roguishly. I looked at him in bewilderment. "Really," I thought, "he knows everything?" And the lieutenant, as if guessing my thoughts, shook his head in the affirmative. Immediately after tea I got up and bowed. “We’ll see you, father,” the lieutenant remarked to me. I didn't answer a word ... I was just beginning to be afraid of this man. On the porch, a cold, trembling hand grabbed my hand; I looked around: Varya. “I need to talk to you,” she whispered. “Come early tomorrow, right into the garden. Daddy sleeps after dinner; no one will bother us.” I shook her hand in silence - and we parted. The next day, at three in the afternoon, I was already in Ivan Semyonitch's garden. In the morning I did not see Kolosov, although he did come to me. It was an autumnal day, gray, but quiet and warm. Thin yellow blades of grass swayed sadly over the pale grass; nimble tits were jumping over the dark brown, bare boughs of the hazel; belated larks ran hastily along the paths; here and there a hare was cautiously making its way through the greens; the flock wandered lazily through the stubble, I found Varya in the garden, under an apple tree, on a bench; she was wearing a dark, slightly crumpled dress; in her tired gaze, in her careless hairstyle, genuine sorrow was expressed. I sat down beside her. We were both silent. For a long time she twisted a branch in her hands, bent her head, said: "Andrei Nikolaevich ..." I immediately noticed from the movements of her lips that she was about to cry, and began to console her, warmly assure her of Andrei's affection ... She listened to me, shook her head sadly, uttered indistinct words and immediately fell silent, but did not cry. The first moments, which I was most afraid of, passed quite safely. She started talking a little about Andrei. "I know that he doesn't love me now," she repeated, "God bless him! I can't figure out how to live without him ... I don't sleep at night, I keep crying ... Well, I to do? .. What can I do? .. "Her eyes filled with tears. "He seemed so kind to me ... and now ..." Varya wiped away her tears, coughed and straightened up. "How long, it seems," she continued, "he read to me of Pushkin, sat with me on this bench ... "Vary's naive talkativeness touched me; I silently listened to her confessions? My soul was slowly imbued with bitter, agonizing bliss; I did not take my eyes from this pale face, from those long wet eyelashes, from half-open , slightly dried lips ... And meanwhile I felt ... Would you like to hear a little psychological analysis of my feelings then? Firstly, I was tormented by the thought that I was not loved, I was not making Varya suffer; secondly, I was pleased her power of attorney; I knew that she would be grateful that I gave her the opportunity to express my grief; thirdly, I internally promised myself to bring Kolosov closer to Varya again, and I was consoled by the consciousness of my generosity ... fourthly, I I hoped to touch Varya's heart with his self-sacrifice - and there ... you see, I don't spare myself; thank God, it's time! But now on the bell tower of ... the monastery's five o'clock struck; the evening was rapidly approaching. Varya hurriedly got up and stuck it hand a note and went home. her, he promised to bring Andrei to her and quietly, like a happy lover, jumped out of the gate into the field. On the note, the words were written in uneven handwriting: "To my dear sir, Andrei Nikolaevich." The next day, early in the morning, I went to Kolosov. I confess, although I assured myself that my intentions were not only noble, but even generally filled with generous self-sacrifice, I still felt a kind of awkwardness, even timidity. I came to Kolosov. With him sat a certain Puzyritsyn, a student who did not study, one of the authors of novels known as "Moscow" or "gray". Puzyritsyn was a very kind and timid man and was still going to enter the hussars, despite his thirty-three years. He was one of those people who certainly needed to say once a day a phrase like: "Everything beautiful dies in magnificent color, this is the lot of the beautiful in the world," so that the rest of the day, with double pleasure, smoke a pipe in a mug of "good comrades" ... But he was called an idealist. So this Puzyritsyn was sitting at Kolosov's and reading him some "excerpt." I began to listen: it was a matter of a young man who loved a virgin, kills her, etc. Finally, Puzyritsyn finished and left. His absurd composition, an enthusiastically loud voice, in general, his presence aroused mocking irritability in Kolosov. I felt that I had not come at the right time, but there was nothing to do; Without any preamble, I handed over to Andrey Varya's note. Kolosov looked at me in amazement, opened the note, scanned it with his eyes, paused and smiled calmly. "That's how!" He finally said. "So you were at Ivan Semyonitch's?" “Yesterday I was alone,” I answered abruptly and resolutely. "Ah! .." Kolosov remarked mockingly and lit his pipe. “Andrey,” I said to him, “don’t you feel sorry for her? .. If you saw her tears ...” And I set off eloquently to describe my visit yesterday. I was really moved. Kolosov was silent and smoked his pipe. “Did you sit with her under an apple tree in the garden?” He finally said. “I remember that in May I was sitting with her on this bench too ... The apple tree was in bloom, occasionally fresh white flowers fell on us, I kept both Vary's hands ... we were happy then ... Now the apple trees have bloomed, and the apples on it are sour. " I blazed with noble indignation, began to reproach Andrey for coldness, for cruelty; interpreted to him that he had no right to leave the girl so suddenly, in whom he aroused many new impressions; asked him to at least go to say goodbye to Varya. Kolosov listened to me to the end. “Suppose,” he said to me, when, agitated and tired, I threw myself into an armchair, “suppose that you, as my friend, are allowed to condemn me ... But listen to my excuse, though ...” Here he is he was silent for a little and smiled strangely. “Varya is a beautiful girl,” he continued, “and she is not to blame for anything in front of me ... On the contrary, I owe her a lot, very much. I stopped going to her for a very simple reason - I stopped loving her ... "-" But why? Why? " I interrupted him. "And God knows why. As long as I loved her, I belonged entirely to her; I did not think about the future and all, my whole life I shared with her ... Now this passion has extinguished in me ... Well? You will order me to pretend, To pretend to be in love, or what? Yes, from what? Out of pity for her? If she is a decent girl, then she herself will not want such alms, and if she is happy to amuse myself with my ... participation, so the devil in her? .. Kolosov's harsh expressions insulted me, perhaps more because it was about a woman whom I secretly loved ... I flushed. "Enough!" I told him, "complete! I know why you stopped going to Varya." - "Why?" - "Tanya forbade you." Having said these words, I imagined that I had hurt Andrey badly. This Tanyusha was a very "light" young lady, black-haired, dark-skinned, about twenty-five, cheeky and smart as a devil, Shchitov in a woman's dress. Kolosov quarreled and made peace with her five times a month. She loved him passionately, even though sometimes, during a spat, she swore and swore that she longed for his blood ... And Andrei could not do without her. Kolosov looked at me and said calmly: "Maybe." - "It can't be, - I shouted, - but probably!" Finally, Kolosov got tired of my reproaches ... He got up and put on his cap. "Where to?" - "To walk; I got a headache from you and Puzyritsyn." - "Are you angry with me?" "No," he answered, smiling his sweet smile, and held out his hand to me, "At least, what do you tell Varya to say?" - "What? .. - He pondered a little. - She told you, - he said, - that we read Pushkin with her ... Remind her of one Pushkin's verse." - "Which one, which one? " I asked impatiently. "And here's what:

What has been will not be again. "

With these words, he left the room. I followed him; on the stairs he stopped. "And is she very upset?" he asked me, pulling his hat over his eyes. "Very, very ..." - "Poor girl! Comfort her, Nikolai; you love her." - "Yes, I am attached to her, of course ..." - "You love her," he repeated Kolosov and looked me straight in the eye. I turned away in silence; we parted. When I got home, I was in a fever. "I have fulfilled my duty," I thought, "I won my own pride; I advised Andrey to reconcile with Varya !!. Now I am right: the honor has been offered, God has saved from losses." Meanwhile, Andrey's indifference insulted me. He was not jealous of me, he told me comfort her ... Isn't Varya really such an ordinary girl? .. isn't she even worth regret? .. "There will be people who will be able to appreciate what you neglect, Andrei Nikolaich! .. But what's the use? .. does not love ... Yes, she does not love me now, while she has not yet completely lost hope of Kolosov's return ... But then ... who knows? my devotion will touch her, I will give up all claims ... I will give her all of yourself, irrevocably ... Varya! will you really not love me ... never? .. never? .. "These are the speeches made by your humble servant in the capital city of Moscow, in the summer of one thousand eight hundred and thirty-three, in the house of his venerable mentor ... I cried ... I froze ... The weather was bad ... a fine rain with a persistent, thin creak streamed over the windows; wet, dark gray clouds hung motionless over the city. I had a haste lunch, did not answer the caring inquiries of a kind German woman, who herself whimpered at the sight of my red, swollen eyes (German women - as is well known - are always happy to cry); I treated my mentor very unmercifully ... and immediately after dinner I set off to Ivan Semyonitch's ... Bending over in three deaths on the shaking "caliber" droshky, I asked myself: what? Should I tell Varya everything as it is, or should I continue to dissemble and gradually wean her from Andrei? .. I got to Ivan Semyonitch and did not know what to decide on ... I found the whole family in the hall. Seeing me, "Varya turned terribly pale, but did not move from her place; Sidorenko spoke to me somehow especially mockingly ... I answered him as best I could, occasionally glancing at Varya ... and almost unconsciously gave his face a sadly pensive expression. again made up "whistik." Varya sat down by the window and did not move. "Tea, are you bored now?" Ivan Semyonitch asked her twenty times. Finally, I managed to seize a convenient moment. "You are alone again," Varya whispered to me “Alone,” I answered gloomily, “and probably for a long time.” She quickly lowered her head. “Did you give him my letter?” She said in a barely audible voice. “Gave it.” “Well ?. . "She was gasping for breath. I looked at her ... Evil joy suddenly flashed in me." He told you to tell you, "I said with a consistency," what happened will not be again ... "Varya grabbed hold of her left hand for heart, stretched out her right one forward, swayed all over and quickly left the room, I wanted to catch up with her ... Ivan Semyonitch stopped me. I remained with him for another two hours, but Varya did not appear. On the way back, I felt ashamed ... ashamed before Varya, before Andrey, before myself; although, they say, it is better to cut off the suffering member at once than torment the patient for a long time, but who gave me the right to so mercilessly strike the heart of a poor girl? .. I could not sleep for a long time ... but I finally fell asleep. In general, I must repeat that "love" has never deprived me of sleep. I began to visit Ivan Semyonitch quite often; we still saw Kolosov, but neither I nor he mentioned Varya. My relationship with her was rather strange. She became attached to me with an attachment that excludes any possibility of love; she could not help noticing my ardent sympathy and willingly talked to me ... what would you think? - about Kolosov, about Kolosov alone! This man so possessed her that she did not seem to belong to herself. I tried in vain to arouse her pride ... she was either silent, or spoke, and how! chatted about Kolosov. I did not even suspect then that grief of this kind, talkative grief, is, in essence, much truer than all silent suffering. I confess that I experienced many bitter moments at that time. I felt that I was not in a position to replace Kolosov; I felt that Varya's past was so full, so beautiful ... and the present was so poor ... I got to the point where I involuntarily shuddered at the words: "Do you remember ...", with which almost every speech she began. She lost a little weight in the first days of our acquaintance ... but then she recovered again and even became more cheerful; then it could be compared to a wounded bird, not quite recovered yet. Meanwhile, my situation was becoming unbearable; the lowest passions gradually took possession of my soul; I happened to slander Kolosov in the presence of Varya. I decided to end this unnatural relationship. But how? To part with Varya - I could not ... Declare my love to her - I did not dare; I felt that I could not yet hope for reciprocity. Marry her ... This thought frightened me; I was only eighteen years old; I was scared so early to "enslave" my whole future; I remembered my father, I heard the ridicule of my comrades, Kolosov. But, they say, every thought is like a test: if you crumple it well, you can make everything out of it. I began to think about marriage all day long ... I imagined how grateful Varya's heart would fill when I, Kolosov's comrade and attorney, offered my hand to her, knowing that she was hopelessly in love with another. Experienced people, I remember, used to tell me that marriage for love is a complete absurdity; I began to fantasize: I imagined our quiet life together, somewhere in a warm corner southern Russia ; mentally I followed the gradual transition of Varya's heart from gratitude to friendship, from friendship to love ... I promised myself to immediately leave Moscow, the university, forget everything and everyone. I began to avoid dating Kolosov. Finally, one clear winter morning (on the eve of Varya somehow especially fascinated me) I dressed better, slowly and solemnly left the room, hired an excellent cab and drove off to Ivan Semyonitch's. Varya sat alone in the hall and read Karamzin. Seeing me, she quietly put the book on her lap and looked me in the face with anxious curiosity: I never went to see them in the morning ... I sat down with her; my heart was beating painfully. "Why are you reading this?" I finally asked. "Karamzina" - "Well? You are interested in the Russian ..." She suddenly interrupted me. "Listen, are you from Andrey?" This name, this quivering, questioning voice, half-joyful, half-awkward expression on her face, all these undoubted signs of tenacious love - arrows stuck into my soul. I decided to either part with Varya, or to receive from her the right to forever drive the hated name of Andrey from her lips. I don't remember what I said to her then; at first I must have expressed myself rather vaguely, because for a long time she did not understand me; finally, I could not bear it and almost shouted: "I love you, I want to marry you." - "Do you love me?" - Varya said with amazement. It seemed to me that she wanted to get up, leave, refuse me. "For God's sake," I whispered breathlessly, "don't answer me, don't tell me yes or no: think about it; tomorrow I'll be back for a decisive answer ... I've loved you for a long time. I don't demand love from you, I want be your protector, your friend, don't answer me now, don't answer ... Until tomorrow. " With these words, I rushed out of the room. Ivan Semyonitch met me in the hall, and not only was not surprised at my visit, but even offered me an apple with a pleasant smile. Such an unexpected courtesy struck me so much that I was simply dumbfounded. "Take the bull's-eye, good bull's-eye, right!" - repeated Ivan Semyonitch. I finally took the apple mechanically and drove home with it. You can easily imagine how I spent this whole day and the next morning. I slept pretty bad that night. "My God! My God!" I thought, "if she refuses me! .. I will perish ... I will perish! ..." I repeated sadly. "Yes, she will certainly refuse me ... And to why am I in such a hurry !!. " Wanting to amuse myself with something, I began to write a letter to my father - desperate, decisive. Speaking about myself, I used the words "your son". Bobov came to see me. I began to cry on his chest, to which poor Bobov was probably quite surprised ... I later learned that he came to me to borrow money (the owner threatened to kick him out of the house); he was forced - in student language - to retire back and forth ... Finally, the great moment came. Leaving the room, I stopped at the door. "With what feelings, - I thought, - I will step over this threshold today! .." My excitement at the sight of Ivan Semyonitch's house was so strong that I got down, took out a handful of snow and greedily pressed my face to him, "Oh my God ! - I thought, - if I find Varya alone, - I'm lost! " My legs were giving way; I barely got on the porch. My wishes have come true. I found Varya in the living room with Matryona Semyonovna. I bowed awkwardly and sat down with the old woman. Varya's face was somewhat paler than usual ... it seemed to me that she was trying to avoid my gaze ... But what happened to me when Matryona Semyonovna suddenly got up and went into another room! .. I began to look out the window - I was all inside trembled like an aspen leaf. Varya was silent ... Finally, I overcame my shyness, went up to her, bent my head ... "What will you tell me?" I said in a sinking voice. Varya turned away - tears flashed on her eyelashes. "I see," I went on, "I have nothing to hope for ..." Varya glanced around bashfully and silently gave me her hand. "Varya!" - I said involuntarily, and stopped, as if frightened by my own hopes. “Talk to papa,” she said at last. "Do you allow me to talk to Ivan Semyonitch? .." - "Yes, sir." I showered her hands with kisses. "Fullness, sir, fullness," Varya whispered, and suddenly burst into tears. I sat down next to her, persuaded her, wiped away her tears ... Fortunately, Ivan Semyonitch was not at home, and Matryona Semyonovna went into her little room. I swore to Varya in love, in loyalty ... "Yes," she said, holding back her last sobs and incessantly wiping away her tears, "I know you are a good man; you are an honest man; you are not like Kolosov ..." - "That name again! .." - I thought. But with what delight I kissed those warm, damp hands! with what quiet joy I gazed into that sweet face! .. I told her about the future, walked around the room, sat in front of her on the floor, covered my eyes with my hand and shuddered ... Ivan Semyonitch's heavy gait interrupted our conversation. Varya hurriedly got up and went to her room - without shaking hands, however, without looking at me. Mr. Sidorenko was even nicer than yesterday: he laughed, rubbed his stomach, joked about Matryona Semyonovna, etc. e. I was about to ask him for "blessing" immediately, but I thought about it and put it off until tomorrow. I was tired of his hard jokes; besides, I felt tired ... I said goodbye to him and left. I am one of the people who like to reflect on their own feelings, although I myself hate such people. And therefore, after the first burst of heartfelt joy, I immediately began to indulge in various considerations. Having driven about half a mile from the house of the retired lieutenant, I threw my hat into the air in an excess of delight and shouted: "Hurray!" But as I trudged along the long and crooked streets of Moscow, my thoughts gradually took a different turn. Various rather filthy doubts drifted into my soul. I recalled my conversation with Ivan Semyonitch about weddings in general ... and involuntarily said in an undertone: "See, how he pretended to be, an old rogue! .." True, I kept repeating: "But then Varya is mine! Mine! .." But, in -first, this is "but" - oh, this but!..and secondly, the words: "My brew!" aroused in me not a deep, crushing joy, but some kind of dozen, proud delight ... If Varya flatly refused me, I would have blazed with violent passion; but, having received her consent, I was like a person who said to a guest: “Make yourself at home,” and the guest really begins to make arrangements in his room as at home. "If she loved Kolosov," I thought, "how did she agree so soon? It can be seen that she is glad to marry someone ... Well, so much the better for me ..." with vague and strange feelings, I stepped over the threshold of my house. Perhaps, gentlemen, you find my story implausible? I do not know if it looks like the truth, but I know that everything that I have told you is perfect and true. However, all this day I indulged in feverish gaiety, telling myself that I simply did not deserve such happiness; but the next morning ... An amazing thing - a dream! He not only renews the body, he in some way renews the soul, leads it to primitive simplicity and naturalness. During the day you managed tuneyourself, imbued with lies, false thoughts ... Sleep with its cold wave washes away all these scanty squabbles, and, upon waking up, you, at least for a few moments, are able to understand and love the truth. I woke up and, thinking about yesterday, felt a kind of awkwardness ... I seemed to feel ashamed of all my tricks. I thought with involuntary anxiety about today's visit, about an explanation with Ivan Semyonitch ... This anxiety was painful and melancholy; it resembled the anxiety of a hare that hears the barking of hounds and must finally leave the native forest in the field ... and in the field there are toothy greyhounds waiting for him ... "Why was I in a hurry!" - I repeated the same way as yesterday, but in a completely different sense. I remember - this terrible difference between yesterday and today amazed me myself; for the first time it occurred to me then that secrets are hidden in human life - strange secrets.., With childish bewilderment I looked into this new, not fantastic, real world. Under the word "reality" many understand the word "vulgarity". Perhaps it is sometimes so; but I must confess that the first appearance realityin front of me shook me deeply, frightened, struck me ... What loud speeches about not dancedlove, in the words of Gogol! .. Returning to my story. During the same morning, I again assured myself that I was the most blessed of mortals. I drove out of town to see Ivan Semyonitch. He received me very joyfully; I wanted to go to my neighbor, but I stopped him myself. I was afraid to be left alone with Varya. This evening was fun, but not gratifying. Varya was neither one nor the other, neither amiable nor sad ... neither pretty nor ugly. I looked at her, as the philosophers say, with an objective eye, that is, as a well-fed person looks at food. I found her hands are a little red. However, the blood sometimes flared up in me, and I, looking at it, indulged in other dreams and designs. How long ago did I make the so-called proposal, and now I felt that we were living a married life ... that our souls were already one beautiful wholebelong to each other and, therefore, each try to find a special path for herself ... "Well, did you talk to papa?" - Varya said to me when we were alone with her. I did not like this question terribly ... I thought to myself: "It hurts, please, Varvara Ivanovna." "Not yet, sir," I answered rather dryly, "but I'll talk." In general, I treated her somewhat casually. Despite my promise, I said nothing positive to Ivan Semyonitch. Leaving, I significantly shook his hand and announced to him that I needed to talk to him ... that's all ... "Goodbye!" - I said to Varya. "Goodbye," she said. I won't torment you for long, gentlemen; I'm afraid to drain your patience ... This date was not. I never returned to Ivan Semyonitch. True, the first days of my voluntary separation from Varya did not pass without tears, reproaches and worries; I myself was frightened by the rapid decay of my love; Twenty times I intended to go to her, I vividly imagined her amazement, grief, insult, but I did not return to Ivan Semyonitch. I asked her forgiveness in absentia, knelt down in front of her in absentia, assured her of my deep remorse - and once, meeting a girl on the street who looked a little like her, I started running without looking back and rested only in the pastry shop, after the fifth puff pastry. The word "tomorrow" was coined for people who are indecisive and for children; I, as a child, calmed myself with this magic word. “Tomorrow I will certainly go to her,” I said to myself, and I ate and slept well today. I began to think much more about Kolosov than about Vara ... everywhere and incessantly I saw his open, bold, carefree face before me. I started going to him again. He accepted me as before. But how deeply I felt his superiority over me! How ridiculous all my undertakings seemed to me: my sad reverie during Kolosov's connection with Varya, my generous determination to bring them closer again, my expectations, my enthusiasm, my repentance! .. I played a bad, loud and lengthy comedy, but he is so simple, I had such a good time ... You will say to me: "What's so surprising? Your Kolosov fell in love with a girl, then fell out of love and left her ... Yes, it happened to everyone ..." I agree; but which of us knew how to part with our past in time? Who, tell me, who is not afraid of reproaches, I do not say reproaches of a woman ... reproaches of the first fool? Who among us has resisted the desire to flaunt magnanimity, or selfishly to play with another, devoted heart? Finally, who among us is able to resist petty pride - small good feelings:regret and remorse? .. Oh, gentlemen! a man who breaks up with a woman, once beloved, in that bitter and great moment when he involuntarily realizes that his heart is not all, is not completely penetrated by her, this man, believe me, understands the holiness of love better and deeper than those faint-hearted people who, out of boredom, out of weakness, continue to play on the half-broken strings of their sluggish and sensitive hearts! At the beginning of my story, I told you that we all called Andrei Kolosov an extraordinary man. And if a clear, simple outlook on life, if the absence of any phrase in a young man can be called an extraordinary thing, Kolosov earned the name given to him. In famous summers, to be natural means to be extraordinary ... But it's time to end. Thank you for your attention ... Yes! I forgot to tell you that three months after my last visit I met the old rogue, Ivan Semyonitch. I, of course, tried to slip past him imperceptibly and soon, but all the same I could not help but hear the next words uttered with annoyance: "After all, there are people like that!" - And what happened to Varya? someone asked. “I don’t know,” the narrator answered. We all got up and parted.

NOTES

CONDITIONAL ABBREVIATIONS 1

1 Abbreviations introduced for the first time in this volume are taken into account.

Grigoriev- Grigoriev Ap. Compositions. SPb .: Publishing N. Strakhov, 1876. T. I. Dobrolyubov- Dobrolyubov N.A. collection op. / Under the general editorship of P. I. Lebedev-Polyansky. T. I - VI. M .; L .: Goslitizdat, 1934-1941 (1945). Druzhinin- Druzhinin A. V. Sobr. op. SPb., 1865.T. VII. Ivanov- Prof. Ivanov Iv. Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev. A life. Personality. Creation. Nizhyn, 1914. Istomin- Istomin K. K. "The old manner" by Turgenev (1834-1855) SPb., 1913. Clement, Chronicle- Clement M. K. Chronicle of the life and work of I. S. Turgenev Under. ed. N.K. Piksanova. M .; L .: Academie, 1934. Nazarova- Nazarova L.N. To the question of the assessment of the literary-critical activity of I.S.Turgenev by his contemporaries (1851-1853) - Questions of the study of Russian literature of the XI-XX centuries. M .; L .: Publishing house of the Academy of Sciences of the USSR, 1958, p. 162-167. Pisarev- Pisarev D.I. Works: In 4 volumes.M .: Goslitizdat, 1955-1956. Rus arch- "Russian Archive" (magazine). Rus conversation- "Russian conversation" (magazine). Rus Obozr- "Russian Review" (magazine). With GBL- "I. S. Turgenev", collection / Ed. N.L.Brodsky. M., 1940 (State Library of the USSR named after V.I. Lenin). Sat PD 1923- "Collection of the Pushkin House for 1923". Pgr., 1922. T. Soch. 1860--1801 - Works by I.S.Turgenev. Corrected and supplemented. Moscow: Ed. N. A. Osnovsky. 1861.Vol. II, III. T. Soch, 1865- Works by I.S.Turgenev (1844-1864). Karlsruhe: Ed. br. Salaevs. 1865. Part II, III. T, Op. 1868-1871- Works of I.S.Turgenev (1844-1868). Moscow: Ed. br. Salaev. 1868. Part 2, 3. T, Soch, 1874- Works by I.S.Turgenev (1844-1868). Moscow: Ed. br. Salaev. 1874. Part 2. 3. Fet- Fet A.A.My memoirs (1848-1889). M .. 1890. Parts I and II. 1858. Scènes,I- Scènes de la vie russe, par M. J. Tourguéneff. Nouvelles russes, traduites avec l "autorisation de l" auteur par M. X. Marmier. Paris. 1858. 1858. Scènrs,II- Scènes de la vie russe, par M. J. Tourguéneff. Deuxième série, traduite avec la collaboration de l "auteur par Louis Viardot. Paris, 1858.

ANDREY KOLOSOV

TEXT SOURCES

Otech Zap,1844, No 11, dep. I, p. 109-134. T, 1856, h.1, p. 1-48. T, Soch, 1860-1861,vol. 2, p. 1-28. T, Soch, 1865, p.2, p. 1-34. T, Soch, 1868-1871, p.2, p. 1-34. T, Soch, 1874.part 2.s, 1-33. T, Soch, 1880,vol. 6, p. 5-38. The story's autograph has not survived. First published: Otech Zap,1844, No 11, dep. I, p. 109-134, signed: T.L. (censored, October 30, 1844). Printed by text T, Soch, 1880taking into account the list of typos attached to the 1st volume of the same edition, with the elimination of obvious misprints that Turgenev did not notice, as well as with the following corrections from other text sources: P. 11, line 17:"Professors" instead of "Professors" (according to all other sources). The form "Professor" is also used in "Hamlet of the Shchigrovsky district", in all editions of "Notes of a Hunter" up to the first stereotypical (30 1880) inclusive. Replacing this form with "Professors" in "Andrei Kolosov", as in "Hamlet of the Shchigrovsky district" (T, Soch, 1880),should be considered a correction of the archaist proofreader. P. 14, line 9:"to meet" instead of "to meet" (according to all other sources). P. 14, line 24:"Died? Here are those on!" instead of "Died! Here they are!" (by Otech Zapand T, 1856).The source of the error was a typo in T, Soch, 1860--1861: "Died" here they are! " P. 14, line 37:"in front of the sofa" instead of "in front of the sofa" (according to all other sources). P. 19, line 21:"to Ivan Semyonich" instead of "to Ivan Semyonovich" (according to all other sources). P. 22, lines 32-33:"fell silent" instead of "fell silent" (according to all other sources). P. 23, line 37--38: "doubled" instead of "assimilated" (according to all sources up to T, Soch, 1874). P. 24, line 9:"Ah! .." instead of "Ah? .." (according to all sources before T, Soch, 1874). P. 24, line 26:"threw himself into a chair" instead of "threw himself into a chair" (according to all other sources). P. 26-27, lines 43-1:"in front of Andrei, in front of himself" instead of "in front of Andrew, in front of himself" (according to all other sources). P. 27, line 40--41: "comrades, Kolosov" instead of "comrades Kolosov" (according to all other sources). P. 31, line 41:"assured" instead of "assured" (according to Otech Zap, T, 1856, T, Soch, 1860-1861, T, Soch, 1865). P. 33, lines 34-35:"Yes! I forgot" instead of "Yes, I forgot" (according to all sources before T, Soch, 1874). The story was written in 1844 - this is how Turgenev himself dated it in all editions, starting with T, 1856.No more accurate information about the time and circumstances of the creation of "Andrei Kolosov" has been preserved in Turgenev's correspondence and in other sources. On November 16, 1845, F. M. Dostoevsky, who had just met Turgenev, wrote to his brother Mikhail: "Read his story in Otechestvennye zapiski" Andrei Kolosov "- It is he himself, although he did not think to exhibit himself here" ( Dostoevsky F.M. Letters.M .; L., 1928.Vol. 1, p. 84). If Dostoevsky was referring to the hero of Kolosov's story, then he was mistaken in his assumption: this image was not autobiographical. However, in the plot of the story, in the personality of the narrator and in some episodic characters, the features of the life of Turgenev himself and his friends from the circle of Stankevich were poisoned. M.O. Gershenzon saw in the image of Kolosov a reflection of Stankevich's personality and the story of his love for L.A. Bakunina ("Images of the Past", M., 1916, p. 162), however, subsequent researchers introduced significant restrictions to Gershenzon's conclusion (Brodsky N L. "Premukhinsky novel" in the life and work of Turgenev .-- Ceptraarchive, Documents,from. 118-119; see also the commentary by Yu. G. Oxman to the "Note about N. V. Stankevich" - T, Works,v. XII, p. 567). In the named article by N.L. Brodsky, as well as in L.V. Krestova's article "Tatiana Bakunina and Turgenev" (T and his time,from. 31-50), extensive material is presented, convincingly proving that Turgenev brought a lot of his own, personal, associated with what he experienced in 1842-1843 in the personality of the narrator and in the story of his love for Vara. hobby of T. A. Bakunina. A number of everyday details from the storyteller's life are also autobiographical in the story: his admission to Moscow University, stay in the house of a German professor, mention of the dog Armishka (compare with the entries in the autobiographical summary "Memorial" - present ed., Works, vol. 11 ). The main idea of \u200b\u200bthe story - a condemnation of the beautiful-hearted dreaminess, strained, false feelings, enthusiastic-romantic phraseology and the statement of simplicity, naturalness, reasonable tact of reality - grew not only from Turgenev's personal memories of his own romantic hobbies of recent years. Many of his friends and peers passed through the same hobbies in the thirties, including, for example, Belinsky, who back in October 1838 in a letter to M.A. Bakunin, analyzing in detail his relationship with him and the reasons that led to serious complications between them, blamed himself in many ways: "Here my own vulgarity also intervened, rude, wild and purely animal immediacy, phrase-mongering, stilts, whistle-blowing, in a word, stretched ideality, due to internal emptiness and the desire to replace it with a tinsel appearance," normality, naturalness and simplicity "(Belinsky,t. 11. p. 333). At the same time, the idea of \u200b\u200bthe story was generated by the social and literary environment of 1842-1844, when a passionate struggle against romanticism and idealism flared up in advanced journalism, in which Belinsky's articles played the main role, which opened the world of reality to Turgenev and attracted his attention to new problems of literature. Belinsky sarcastically ridiculed "people who are not born", "who have a feeling, but similar to nervous irritability, have a mind similar to daydreaming<...> Their words are as loud and selective as they are vague, but deeds never happen "(" Russian Literature in 1842 "- Belinsky,vol. 6, p. 524). In a survey for 1843 Belinsky attacked the "stuffed higher views " N. Polevoy's stories are "stories that are innocent in any tact of reality and the ability, although approximately to understand reality, but very, very guilty of dreaminess and tense, cloying abstract idealism, which despises earth and matter, feeds on air and high-flown phrases and everything strives "there" (danin!) ... "(ibid., vol. 8, pp. 51-52). With the story "Andrei Kolosov" Turgenev not only settled scores with his own youthful romanticism and enthusiastic dreaminess; he was also included in the general struggle against the dilapidated, but still tenacious romantic traditions. Naturally, Turgenev’s new, albeit in many ways still immature, story evoked Belinsky’s approval: “Andrei Kolosov, Mr. T.L., is an extremely remarkable story in terms of beautiful thought: the author discovered in it a lot of intelligence and talent, and by that he showed that he did not want to do even half of what he could do, which is why a pretty story came out where a beautiful story should have come out "(ibid., p. 483). In his article "A Look at Russian Literature of 1847" Belinsky repeated this assessment, but at the same time more decisively noted the artistic imperfection of the story, which became especially noticeable against the background of the successes of realistic literature in 1845-1847: "He also tried himself in the story: he wrote Andrei Kolosov, in which there are many excellent sketches of characters and Russian life, but as a story, on the whole this work is so strange, not finished, awkwardly, that very few noticed that it was good. Turgenev was looking for his own path and still did not find it, because it is not always and not for everyone easily and quickly succeeds "(ibid., Vol. 10, p. 345). It is easy to understand that Belinsky saw the "understatement" of the story primarily in the image of its hero Kolosov, who was shown very sparingly and, moreover, only from the outside, without revealing his inner appearance, without sufficient psychological motivation for his behavior. Kolosov's character did not acquire full artistic persuasiveness and depth, which is why it turned out to be possible for some readers to perceive him as a shallow and vulgar egoist. Noting that the work of the young writer is "strange" and "awkward", Belinsky could have had in mind both the mistakes in the development of the plot, and the lack of stylistic unity, when in places the not completely overcome elements of the romantic style with his addiction to loud phrases broke through the realistic fabric of the work , to hyperbole, to increased emotionality of speech manner. During the preparation of the first collection of his works - "Tales and Stories", 1856 - Turgenev, perhaps recalling Belinsky's opinion, subjected the text to a significant revision, relying at the same time on all his already rather rich creative experience of a realist artist ( see the section "Options" in the edition: T, PSS and P, Works,vol. V, p. 436-443). The changes he made to the text of the 1856 edition can be summarized in several groups. 1. Eliminated lengths, burdening and slowing down the story. Thus, a long tirade in the characterization of the new university friends of the narrator was excluded, the story of Kolosov's conquering influence on his comrades was shortened. 2. Filmed words and phrases generated by a romantic manner, contrary to the most important for Turgenev requirement of artistic simplicity. 3. In the early forties, Turgenev, like other young writers from the circle of Belinsky, following the calls of his teacher, assimilated the traditions of Gogol and at the same time often abused elements of Gogol's style. In 1856, Turgenev eliminated the excesses in the use of "low" details in everyday descriptions (instead of "on a wooden, terribly soiled staircase" he remains: "on a wooden staircase") and especially carefully removes those places in which the author's irony sounded with excessive obsession. In this regard, we can cite the story of K. I. Leontyev about the advice that in the spring of 1851 gave him, then a novice writer, Turgenev: "Do not spoil only your talent with some kind of humorous courtesy with the reader<...> Don't be sharp, drop it; you can develop a calm, light or sad outlook, but you leave this kind of false humor "(Leontiev KN Collected works of St. Petersburg, vol. 9, p. 81). 4. A special group of corrections was associated with In the journal text, the narrator recommended him as a “genius,” “a genius person,” “a genius person.” In the text of the 1856 edition, the epithet “genius” was everywhere replaced by: “extraordinary.” M.O. Gabel in Andrei Kolosov rightly points out in his article "The First Story of I. S. Turgenev" Andrei Kolosov "that in the thirties the" genius nature "usually meant a romantic hero towering above the crowd. , in particular, it "tightly fuses with the image of N. Stankevich": "Understanding of reality, simplicity, spontaneity and sincerity, the absence of" ideality ", romantic stilt - the main, according to Belinsky, features of the" genius "personality of Stankev ich ... "The author of the article comes to the conclusion that" Andrey Kolosov is "brilliant" in the sense that Belinsky understands this word<...> Perhaps this new meaning of the words "genius personality" was revealed to Turgenev in conversations with Belinsky "(Uch. Zap. Kharkov, State Library Institute. Kharkov. 1961. Issue 5, pp. 140-143). In a small circle, the word "genius" in its original meaning did not pass into the general literary language and in the mid-fifties it turned out to be forgotten, as a result of which its use in the story could cause bewilderment among readers or create a misconception about its hero. In the fall of 1874, YP Polonsky, who was working at that time on his autobiographical novel-chronicle "Cheap City", decided to include an episode in it that mentions "Andrei Kolosov." When he wrote about this to Turgenev , he answered him on October 14 (26), 1874: “I am very flattered that you want to mention one of my first works; but here's what I have to tell you. "Andrei Kolosov" appeared in Otechestvennye Zapiski in 1844 - and, of course, passed completely without a trace. The young man who at the time would have paid attention to this story would have been a phenomenon of its own kind. Young people do not read such things: they cannot (and, in all fairness, do not deserve this) attract their attention. - But by the way - as you know. "In 1879, Polonsky's novel was published in the" Bulletin of Europe "With a dedication to Turgenev. One of the chapters tells that the hero of the novel, Vladimir Elatomsky, comes across an old book" Notes of the Fatherland ":" After reading "Andrei Kolosov", Elatomsky, under the influence of the story, went numb for half an hour. What am I! - he thought. - Have I got rid of the phrase? Can we resist petty pride, “petty good feelings”? .. Where is this simple, natural, healthy attitude to life! And is everything natural in us so rare that Turgenev calls natural people "extraordinary people"? " in the forties and sixties, Turgenev's early story was read with obvious sympathy among Russian democratically-minded youth - interest in this story did not wane much later. --15 years old, he read Turgenev a lot and with enthusiasm. He told me that then he really liked Turgenev's story "Andrei Kolosov", where the question of sincerity in love was raised. During these years I also really liked "Andrey Kolosov". Of course, the issue is not so easily resolved, as it is described there, and it is not only sincerity that matters, and care for a person and attention to him is needed, but we, adolescents, who had to observe in the surrounding philistine life still very common then marriages of convenience, very great insincerity, - I liked "Andrei Kolosov" "(Krupskaya N. K. Childhood and early youth of Ilyich. - Collection of articles by N. K. Krupskaya" On education and training ". M., 1946, pp. 268-269 . Originally published in Bolshevik, 1938, No. 12.). Some additional touches to this episode from the biography of V.I.<...> At Ilyich's insistence, we translated some pages from the story "Kolosov" with particular care. He paid great attention to this thing while still in the gymnasium and highly appreciated it. In his opinion, Turgenev in a few lines managed to give the most correct formulation of how to understand what "is pompously called the" sanctity "of love. He told me many times that his view on this issue completely coincides with what Turgenev cited in “Kolosov.” This, he said, “is a real revolutionary, and not vulgar bourgeois view of the relationship between a man and a woman” (Valentinov N. Meetings with Lenin. New York, 1953, pp. 93-95). The appearance of Andrei Kolosov in the "Notes of the Fatherland" in 1844 was not noted by criticism, except for a deaf mention of this story in "Moskvityanin" in 1847, signed with the initials "P.P." (PI Pezhemsky?) Article "Russian literature in 1846". The author, critically examining the activities of Turgenev as a writer belonging to the natural school, reproaches him for imitativeness and, in this connection, remarks: “We remember that in one of his stories Mr. Turgenev tried to produce something like Georges Sand. so that all this was bad, even though it is clear from this that the author does not have or has not yet discovered inventiveness "(Moscow, 1847, No. 1. Criticism, p. 153). The publication of "Tales and Stories", which included everything written by Turgenev for thirteen years, increased the attention of readers and critics to his work in general and to the novel "Andrei Kolosov", which opened the publication, in particular. November 10, 1856 L. N. Tolstoy wrote in his diary: "I bought a book<...> read all of Turgenev's stories. Bad. "However, the day before, sending this edition to V.V. Arsenyeva, he appraised it differently:" I am also sending you Turgenev's Tale, read them, if not boring - again, in my opinion, almost everything is lovely<...>"And on November 19, he again returns to the same stories and writes to the same addressee:" ... especially among them I recommend "Andrey Kolosov", "Calm", "Two Friends" " (Tolstoy,vol. 47, p. 99, etc. 60, p. 104 and 120). Of the two large articles on "Tales and Stories" by Turgenev - Dudyshkin in Otechestvennye zapiski and Druzhinin in "Library for Reading" - the latter paid attention to "Kolosov". Detailed analysis This story, given by Druzhinin, follows from his general aesthetic views and a general assessment of Turgenev's talent (see above, on p. 549 of the present volume). In "Andrei Kolosov" the critic sees "one of the brightest works" of the writer. “Not a petty and not spoiled egoist,” he writes, “the author decided to portray him: he took his idea further and deeper. In Kolosov, he wanted to present us with a bold, clear, frank nature, looking at the affairs of life directly and sincerely. a student who so captivates everyone who approaches him, the poet saw a type of person who is alien to the phrase, who is often carried away, but honest in his hobbies, a person filled with fresh young strength and freely spending these forces. Such bold, straightforward, sweeping natures are often found in reality and in fact produce a magical influence on all the people around them.It is impossible not to admit the elegance of the design, the attractiveness of the type, which is now spoken of.But the problem of the story is that its design differs from the building,that the type that arose in the head of a gifted storyteller lost all its meaning in the story<...> It is clear that the story, based on the character of Kolosov (the Kolosov that the author was thinking about), was supposed to show our hero in conflict with many aspects of life, and yet the story is about a little, dark red tape and nothing more " (Druzhinin,from. 306-307). However, along with this, Druzhinin also expresses other thoughts that are closely related to his general concept of Turgenev's work. He approaches the final assessment of Kolosov from the point of view of the idea of \u200b\u200bduty expressed by Turgenev in Faust, and refuses to see in the hero of the story a positive phenomenon of Russian life. Turgenev responded to Druzhinin's statements about "Andrei Kolosov" in a letter to the critic dated March 3 (15), 1857 (see present volume, p. 550). In the following decades, Turgenev's story was not the subject of any detailed consideration in criticism. The remarks about her were brief and casual. "A wonderful person" who "was sincere and direct" "among the exhausted and lying crowd", called Kolosov M. V. Avdeev, who ranked him among the outstanding types of the fifties (Avdeev M. V. Our society in heroes and heroines of literature for fifty years.SPb., 1874. p. 58-59). SA Vengerov, but finding significant content in "Andrei Kolosov", at the same time noted that poetry in this story "beats with such a broad and pure key that the scarcity of action and the poverty of characters are smoothed out." In Kolosov itself, the critic refused to see the "Russian face" - "he just smelled like the heroes of George-Sand's novels that were in vogue in the forties" (S. A. Vengerov. Russian literature in its modern representatives. Critical and biographical sketches. And S. Turgenev.SPb., 1875. Part II, pp. 2-6). A detailed historical and literary analysis of Turgenev's first story was given in the article named above by M.O. Gabel (see p. 557). The author of this study defines the hero of the story as Turgenev's first sketch of a new social type of commoner, who reveals his superiority over a noble intellectual, a "superfluous person." Subsequently, the writer repeatedly turned to the development of this type - M.O. Gabel calls in this connection the images of Mitya ("Ovsyannikov's one-palace"), Abner Sorokoumov ("Death") and student Belyaev ("A month in the village"). The author of the article sees in the story "Turgenev's brilliant test in the field of realistic prose. In this work those artistic principles that will later become defining and characteristic of the realistic method of Turgenev, the great artist of the word, stand out clearly" (p. 159). Information about the lifetime translations of "Andrey Kolosov" to foreign languages could not be found. P. nine. ... a bundle of blue faded banknotes- paper money of five ruble denomination. Bank notes were introduced in Russia in 1769 and were in circulation until 1843, when, as a result of the reform of the Minister of Finance, Count E. F. Kankrnaa, they were replaced with bank notes. According to the official exchange rate that existed in the 1830s, one ruble in banknotes was equal to 27 kopecks. silver. Having lit a pachytos ...- Pajitos or, more often, pajitoska (from the Spanish pajitos - straws) - thin cigarette P. 9-10. He returned from condition last night.- The word condition (from the Latin conditio) in the meaning: condition, contract - was used in Russian as early as the 18th century. Highlighting this word in italics, Turgenev noted that its new meaning - home lessons, tutoring in private homes - that had developed in the seminary environment, and then passed into student use, also did not enter the general literary language and was felt as jargon. On the cases of the use of this word by the writer, see the note by T.A. Nikonova: T sat,no. 3, p. 175. Cf. in Gogol's "Viy" (1835): "Philosophers and theologians went on condition,that is, they undertook to teach or prepare the children of wealthy people and received new boots a year, and sometimes for a frock coat "(Gogol's italics). Page 10. I see, gentlemen, you do not like the pleasant and stick to the only useful.- In this ironic remark, the terms "pleasant" and "useful" are used in the sense that the school "theory of literature", which did not go beyond the archaic traditions of classicism, gave them almost until the middle of the 19th century. According to the poetics of classicism, the "pleasant" usually consisted of vivid descriptions of objects; "useful" was expressed in the narration of the thoughts and actions of people who, by their example, were supposed to teach readers (see, for example: N. Ostolopov Dictionary of ancient andnew poetry. SPb., 1821. Part 1, p. 109-110 and 472-473). What Byron calls"the music of the face" ...- In the poem "The Abydos Bride" Byron, describing the beauty of Zyuleika, says: "the Music breathing from her face" ("Bride of Abydos", Canto 1. 179). The poet considered it necessary to add a note to this line in which he indicated that this expression was "found strange" and defended its legitimacy. In doing so, he referred to the opinion of Mme de Stael, who in her book "About Germany" wrote about the possibility of bringing music and painting closer together: "... we compare painting with music and music with painting, because the feelings that we experience are show similarity where cold observation sees nothing but difference "(De l" Allemagne, par M-me la baronne de Staël-Holstein. Tome troisième. Paris-Londres, 1813, p. 142). p. 11. ... at we in Russia got "guides" extremely beneficial for mentors ...- Belinsky in his articles and reviews has repeatedly sarcastically ridiculed such manuals. So, in 1844, he wrote: "There is nothing more disastrous for the abilities of students of young people, like brief manuals that say nothing to reason or imagination, but must be assimilated only by memory." (Belinsky,vol. 8, p. 225; see also vol. 9, p. 273). On talk not to mego of our glory ...- The opening couplet from Byron's poem "Stanzas written on the road between Florence and Pisa" (1821). P. sixteen. About six months ago Kolosov~ met with mister Sidorenko.- The journal text of the story read: "About four months ago ..." Having made an amendment to the 1856 edition, Turgenev still did not completely eliminate the inaccuracy he had made: according to the chronology of events in the story, Kolosov's acquaintance with Sidorenko took place about a year before the described scene, which took place in the spring, shortly after "in the middle of April" Gavrilov died. Having become acquainted with the retired lieutenant in the spring, Kolosov began to visit his house "more and more often" in the summer; Gavrilov played cards with Sidorenko "throughout the whole autumn and winter" (see: present volume, pp. 12, 17 and 18). P. 20. ... I did not mention a certain Mr. Shchitov.- The prototype of Shchitov, deduced by Turgenev also in "Hamlet of the Shchigrovsky district" and in "Rudin" (Chapter VI), was a member of Stankevich's circle, a friend of Belinsky, poet I.P. Klyushnikov (see about him: T, PSS and P, Letters,vol. III, p. 479-480). ... those proud, dreamy and talentless boysgo neglect all positive knowledge.- This destructive characterization testifies to the great closeness of Turgenev's views on contemporary poetry to the opinions of Belinsky, who constantly persecuted mediocre "poems" who pass off their "wild nonsense" as poetry full of thoughts (see, for example: Belinsky,vol. 6, p. 335-340 and 565-568, vol. 7, p. 601-609). P. 23. ... one of the writers of novels known as "Moscow" or "gray".- The suppliers of the numerous works of gray, or, as Belinsky put it, “gray paper” philistine literature, in the 1830s-1840s, were mainly Moscow authors. In the article "Petersburg Literature" (1845) Belinsky wrote about them: "The Moscow hack depicts in his novels family life, where itand it,damned places and similar things, or describes the shaking of Tatar rule in Sokolniki, the exploits of Tanya the robber in Maryina Roshcha ... " (Belinsky,vol. 8, p. 562, cf. See also vol. 7, p. 637). ... "Everything beautiful perishes in magnificent color, such is the lot of the beautiful in the world" ...- An inaccurate quote from a poem by V. A. Zhukovsky "On the Death of Her Majesty the Queen of Württemberg" (1819). By the 1840s, the thought poetically expressed by Zhukovsky was vulgarized by his epigones and turned into a hackneyed cliche. It is possible that the idea of \u200b\u200bparodic use of Zhukovsky's couplet arose in Turgenev under the influence of Belinsky's review of the works of I. Myatlev, in which it was cited (Belinsky,vol. 8, p. 221. The review was published in the May book of Otechestvennye zapiski, 1844, six months before Andrei Kolosov). P. 25. " What has been will not be again. "- A quote from Pushkin's poem "Gypsies". P. 26. ... on shaking "caliber" droshky ...- Caliber droshky, go caliber - the name of a cabby carriage of a special, elongated shape that was used in old Moscow. As a characteristic detail of Moscow life, they are described in the essays of I. T. Kokorev "Moscow forties" (Moscow, 1959, p. 21) and in V. A. Gilyarovsky's book "Moscow and Muscovites" (Gilyarovsky V. A. Selected M., 1960.T. 3, p. 16). P. 31. ... about love that didn't dance, in the words of Gogol! ..- Gogol's word "did not dance" (from "The Enchanted Place") quickly entered live speech... It is found more than once in Belinsky's letters from the late thirties - early forties (see, for example: Belinsky,vol. 11, p. 366, 403, 465). In 1860, G. P. Danilevsky named one of his stories: "I didn't dance (From the notes about the last of the hetman's descendants)". P. 32. ... and rested only in a pastry shop, for the fifth puff pastry.- Wed Gogol's remarks in "Nevsky Prospect" about Lieutenant Pirogov, angry after the transferred execution: "But it all ended somehow strangely: on the way he went into a pastry shop, ate two puff pastries, read something from" Northern Bee "and left no longer in such an angry position. "

The material environment surrounding the literary hero is not exhausted by the nearest furnishings. At different moments of life, he is included in a wider area - a city street, forest, field, road, sea, air ocean, space (in former times, space - only in myth or fantastic literature).

Let us consider how art objects are organized when describing this area - description, in literature for a long time, by analogy with painting, called a landscape.

Let us compare Chekhov's landscape with the landscape of the previous literary tradition. Let us take Turgenev's landscape descriptions as the most noticeable phenomenon of this kind in her; consider additionally the landscape of Goncharov.

“The next day, at three in the afternoon, I was already in Ivan Semyonitch's garden.<…> It was an autumnal day, gray, but quiet and warm. Thin yellow blades of grass swayed sadly over the pale grass; nimble tits were jumping over the dark brown, bare boughs of the hazel; belated larks ran hastily along the paths; here and there a hare was cautiously making its way through the greens; the herd wandered lazily through the stubble.

The landscape, despite its brevity, is detailed (this example is simple; one could cite cases of an even more detailed description). Selected significant details from flora and fauna; Both cultural and wild nature are “covered”; even ornithological information is given ("late lark"). It is quite obvious that all this is given regardless of the observer. The narrator could not gaze at such a spatially extensive and varied-scale picture (blades of grass and tits, a hare in greenery, a herd on stubble, hazel twigs). This is precisely the generalized landscape typical of autumn; the selected items reflect the most important aspects and qualities of the depicted. (This applies even more to the openly "typical" landscapes of the Hunter's Notes and to the "foreign" landscapes of Turgenev's stories and novels.)

The landscape of Goncharov is mainly subordinated to the same principles as the landscape of Turgenev. Here are descriptions of the morning and evening from the novel Oblomov (Part I, Chapter IX).

“Great morning; the air is cool; the sun is not high yet. From the house, from the trees, and from the dovecote, and from the gallery - from everything, long shadows ran far away. Cool corners have formed in the garden and in the yard, beckoning to thoughtfulness and sleep. Only in the distance is a field with rye as if on fire, and the river is so shiny and sparkling in the sun that it hurts your eyes.<…>

And the sun was already sinking behind the forest; it threw several slightly warm rays, which cut like a fiery strip through the entire forest, brightly pouring gold on the tops of the pines. Then the rays were extinguished one by one; the last ray remained for a long time; he, like a thin needle, plunged into the thicket of branches; but that one went out too.

Objects lost their shape, everything merged into gray, then into a dark mass. The song of the birds gradually diminished; soon they completely fell silent, except for one stubborn one, who, as if in defiance of everyone, in the midst of the general silence, one chirped monotonously at intervals, but less and less often, and she finally whistled weakly, unsonically, for the last time, started, slightly moving the leaves around her ... and fell asleep.

Everything was silent. Some of the grasshoppers crackled harder. White fumes rose from the ground and spread over the meadow and the river. The river also became quiet; a little later, and suddenly someone splashed in her for the last time, and she became motionless.<…>

The first star flashed brightly in the sky like a living eye, and lights flashed in the windows of the house.

The minutes of the general, solemn silence of nature have come ... "

Attention is drawn to the main thing, the most significant phenomena are reflected: the sun and its reflexes on the river, on the tops of trees; fog over the river and meadow; gradual onset of darkness - objects merge; the birds fall silent, the river calms down - "general solemn silence" sets in. Both individual details and the very change in the landscape are subordinated to a single and definite task.

Chekhov's landscape is constructed differently.

"It was already dark; it smelled strongly of evening dampness and the moon was about to rise. In the clear, starry sky, there were only two clouds and just above us: one large, the other smaller; they, alone, like a mother and child, ran after each other in the direction where the evening dawn was dying out.

<…> through the lattice of the fence, the river was visible, the flood meadows on the other side and the bright, crimson fire from the fire, near which black people and horses were moving<…>

Fog was rising on the river and here and there in the meadow. Tall, narrow wisps of fog, thick and white as milk, wandered over the river, blocking star reflections and clinging to willows. Every minute they changed their appearance, and it seemed that some were embracing, others were bowing, others were raising their hands with wide priests' sleeves to the sky, as if they were praying ... ”(“ Fear ”).

In the picture of a summer evening, not only are the features that can be called defining for it (clear, starry sky, fog on the river, evening dawn). Almost a larger place is occupied by objects that seem to be not obligatory - either at all, or in such precise details: two clouds, which are reported to be small, the other large, and which run after each other, like "mother and child" ( indicated exactly where); campfire fire in the meadows; bizarre shapes of wisps of fog that look like hugging, then praying, etc.

In Turgenev, the accidental, belonging to the given moment, is a manifestation of the essential. A hare in greenery, late larks are important signs of the season, a phenologist's observation.

In Chekhov, temporary, unexpected details of the landscape are of a completely different quality. It - actually random.The fact that the wisps of fog looked like "hands with wide priests' sleeves" is an accidental phenomenon in the full sense that arose that evening - and never again. This is an observation that defies any taxonomy.

A generalized landscape can be painted without a well-defined descriptive position. This is exactly the landscape of Turgenev and Goncharov. In our example from "Oblomov", the indicator of inconsistency of focus is such a detail: "and she, finally, whistled weakly, unsonically, for the last time, roused herself, slightly moving the leaves around her." A real observer cannot see it from afar, and even in the forest, merging "into a dark mass." The picture depicted is given from a certain vague point of view.

Another thing is Chekhov's landscape. In the existing Chekhovian artistic system, the natural world cannot be depicted without a real observer, whose position in space is precisely determined. In the second period of Chekhov's work, this is a character (see Chapter II), in the third, a character and a narrator (see Chapter III).

Before the observer of the picture of nature, the details are not always the main ones; it all depends on the location of the observation post, the mood of the observer, etc.

The hero of the story "Verochka", a city dweller who sees a lunar summer evening "for almost the first time in his life," notices in him, first of all, the unusual, the fantastic:

“The gaps between the bushes and tree trunks were full of fog, thin, gentle, soaked through with moonlight and, which remained in Ognev’s memory for a long time, patches of fog, similar to ghosts, quietly, but noticeably to the eye, followed each other across the alleys. The moon stood high above the garden, and below it, somewhere to the east, rushed transparent foggy spots. The whole world, it seemed, consisted only of black silhouettes and wandering white shadows, and Ognev, who watched the fog on a moonlit August evening for almost the first time in his life, thought that he was not seeing nature, but the scenery, where inept pyrotechnics, wanting to illuminate the garden with a sparkler, sat down under the bushes and, together with the light, let white smoke into the air. "

In the first chapter of "Murder" it is said about the forest only that it is barely lit by the moon and makes a "harsh, lingering noise" - only this is noticed by the hero, full of terrible forebodings. Even the degree of reality of the pictures given in his perception is not clear: “Matvey looked around, but there was no longer a sleigh or a man, as if he was imagining all this ...»

The hero of "House with a Mezzanine" about the Volchaninovs' house will say that it is "white and with a terrace"

The landscape gives the feeling of a light sketch, made immediately, at the first instant impression. In Dochkhov's literature, this could serve as nothing more than a full-scale sketch, which must be rewritten and generalized in the studio.

Chekhov's nature is given in temporary, constantly new states, which she herself creates every second: a cloud that will soon leave, moonlight reflected in an icon lamp or a shard of bottles, a bright yellow strip of light crawling along the ground, glare of the sun on crosses and domes, an incomprehensible sound swept across the steppe. Chekhov's landscape captures the quivering, changing face of the world.

The subject construction of the landscape obeys general principles the use of things in the artistic system of Chekhov.

With Andrei Kolosov, Turgenev not only settled scores with his own youthful romanticism and ecstatic daydreaming; he was also included in the general struggle against the dilapidated, but still tenacious romantic traditions. Naturally, Turgenev’s new, although in many ways still immature, story evoked Belinsky’s approval: ““ Andrei Kolosov, ”Mr. T. L. is an extremely remarkable story in terms of beautiful thought: the author discovered in it a lot of intelligence and talent, and at the same time and showed that he did not want to do even half of what he could do, that's why a pretty story came out where a beautiful story should have come out. "

Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev

Andrey Kolosov

In a small, well-tidied room, in front of the fireplace, several young people were sitting. The winter evening had just begun; the samovar boiled on the table, the conversation played out and passed from one object to another. They began to talk about extraordinary people and how they differ from ordinary people. Each expressed his opinion as best he could; the voices rose and began to rustle. One small, pale man, who had been listening for a long time, drinking tea and smoking a cigar, to the rantings of his comrades, suddenly got up and turned to all of us (I was also among those arguing) with the following words:

- Gentlemen! all your thoughtful speeches are good in their own way, but useless. Everyone, as usual, finds out the opinion of his opponent and everyone remains with his conviction. But this is not the first time we meet, it is not the first time we argue, and therefore, probably, we have already managed to speak out and learn the opinions of others. So what are you fussing with?

Having said these words, the little man casually brushed ashes from a cigar into the fireplace, screwed up his eyes and smiled calmly. We all fell silent.

- So what do you think we should do? - said one of us, - to play cards, or what? to go to bed? go home?

“It's nice to play cards and good to sleep,” objected the little man, “but it's too early to go home now. But you did not understand me. Listen: I invite each of you, for that matter, to describe to us some extraordinary person, to tell us your meeting with some wonderful person. Trust me, the worst story is much more efficient than the most excellent reasoning.

The next day, at three in the afternoon, I was already in Ivan Semyonitch's garden. In the morning I did not see Kolosov, although he did come to me. It was an autumnal day, gray, but quiet and warm. Thin yellow blades of grass swayed sadly over the pale grass; nimble tits were jumping over the dark brown, bare boughs of the hazel; belated larks ran hastily along the paths; here and there a hare was cautiously making its way through the greens; the herd wandered lazily through the stubble. I found Varya in the garden, under an apple tree, on a bench; she was wearing a dark, slightly crumpled dress; in her tired gaze, in her careless hairstyle, genuine sorrow was expressed.

I sat down beside her. We were both silent. For a long time she twirled a branch in her hands, bent her head, said: "Andrey Nikolaevich ..." I immediately noticed from the movements of her lips that she was about to cry, and began to console her, warmly assure her of Andrey's affection ... She listened to me, She shook her head sadly, uttered indistinct words and immediately fell silent, but did not cry. The first moments, which I was most afraid of, passed quite safely. She started talking a little about Andrei. “I know that he no longer loves me,” she repeated, “God bless him! I can't think of how I can live without him ... I don't sleep at night, I keep crying ... What can I do? .. What can I do? .. ”Her eyes filled with tears. "He seemed so kind to me ... and now ..." Varya wiped away her tears, coughed and straightened up. “How long, it seems,” she continued, “he read to me

Pushkin, he sat with me on this bench ... ”Varya's naive talkativeness touched me; I silently listened to her confessions: my soul was slowly imbued with bitter, painful bliss; I did not take my eyes off this pale face, from those long wet eyelashes, from half-open, slightly dried lips ... And meanwhile I felt ... Would you like to hear a little psychological analysis of my feelings then? Firstly, I was tormented by the thought that I was not loved, I was not making Varya suffer; secondly, I was pleased with her power of attorney; I knew that she would be grateful that I gave her the opportunity to express her grief; thirdly, I vowed inwardly to bring Kolosov closer to Varya again, and I was comforted by the consciousness of my generosity ... fourthly, I hoped to touch Varya's heart with my selflessness - and there ... You see, I do not spare myself; thank god it's time! But here on the bell tower of the ... th monastery five o'clock struck; the evening was fast approaching. Varya hastily got up, thrust a note into my hand and went home. I overtook her, promised her to bring Andrey and quietly, like a happy lover, jumped out of the gate into the field. On the note, the words were written in uneven handwriting: "To my dear sir, Andrei Nikolaevich."

The next day, early in the morning, I went to Kolosov. I confess, although I assured myself that my intentions were not only noble, but even generally filled with generous self-sacrifice, I still felt a kind of awkwardness, even timidity. I came to Kolosov. With him sat a certain Puzyritsyn, a student who did not study, one of the authors of novels known as "Moscow" or "gray". (11) Puzyritsyn was a very kind and timid man and was still going to enter the hussars, despite his thirty-three years. He was one of those people who certainly needed to say once a day a phrase like: "Everything beautiful dies in magnificent color, this is the lot of the beautiful in the world" good comrades. " But he was called an idealist. So this Puzyritsyn was sitting at Kolosov's and reading him some "excerpt." I began to listen: it was a matter of a young man who loved a virgin, kills her, etc. Finally, Puzyritsyn finished and left. His absurd composition, an enthusiastically loud voice, in general, his presence aroused mocking irritability in Kolosov. I felt that I had not come at the right time, but there was nothing to do; Without any preamble, I handed over to Andrey Varya's note.

Kolosov looked at me in amazement, opened the note, scanned it with his eyes, paused and smiled calmly. “That's how! He said finally. - So you were at Ivan Semyonitch's? “Yesterday I was alone,” I answered abruptly and resolutely. "Ah! .." Kolosov remarked mockingly and lit his pipe. “Andrey,” I said to him, “don’t you feel sorry for her? .. If you saw her tears ...” And I set off eloquently to describe my visit yesterday. I was really moved. Kolosov was silent and smoked his pipe. “Did you sit with her under an apple tree in the garden? He said finally. - I remember that in May I was sitting with her on this bench ... The apple tree was in bloom, occasionally fresh white flowers fell on us, I held both hands of Varya ... we were happy then ... Now the apple tree has faded, and the apples on it are sour. I blazed with noble indignation, began to reproach Andrey for coldness, for cruelty; interpreted to him that he had no right to leave the girl so suddenly, in whom he aroused many new impressions; asked him to at least go to say goodbye to Varya. Kolosov listened to me to the end. “Suppose,” he said to me when, agitated and tired, I threw myself into an armchair, “let’s assume that you, as my friend, are allowed to condemn me… But listen to my excuse, though…” Then he paused a little and smiled strangely. “Varya is a beautiful girl,” he continued, “and she is not to blame for anything in front of me ... On the contrary, I owe her a lot, a lot. I stopped going to her for a very simple reason - I fell out of love with her ... "-" But why? from what?" I interrupted him. “God knows why. As long as I loved her, I belonged entirely to her; I did not think about the future and everything, my whole life I shared with her ... Now this passion in me has extinguished ... Well? Will you order me to pretend, pretend to be in love, or what? Yes from what? out of pity for her? If she is a decent girl, then she herself will not want such alms, and if she is glad to amuse herself with my ... participation, is the devil in her? .. "Kolosov's carelessly harsh expressions insulted me, perhaps more because it was about a woman that I secretly loved ... I flushed. “Enough! - I told him, - full! I know why you stopped going to Vara. " - "Why?" - "Tanya forbade you." Having said these words, I imagined that I had hurt Andrey badly. This Tanyusha was a very "light" young lady, dark-haired, dark-skinned, twenty-five years old, cheeky and smart as a devil, Shchitov in a woman's dress. Kolosov quarreled and made peace with her five times a month. She loved him passionately, even though sometimes, during a spat, she swore and swore that she longed for his blood ... And Andrei could not do without her. Kolosov looked at me and calmly said: "Maybe." - "It can't be, - I shouted, - but probably!" Finally, Kolosov got tired of my reproaches ... He got up and put on his cap. "Where to?" - "Walk; I got a headache from you and Puzyritsyn. " - "Are you mad at me?" “No,” he replied, smiling his sweet smile, and held out his hand to me. "At least what do you tell Vara to say?" - “What? .. - He thought a little. “She told you,” he said, “that we read Pushkin with her ... Remind her of one of Pushkin’s verses.” - "What, what?" I asked impatiently. “And here's what:

With these words he left the room. I followed him; on the stairs he stopped. "Is she very upset?" He asked me, pulling his hat over his eyes. "Very, very ..." - "Poor woman! Console her, Nikolai; because you love her. " - "Yes, I am attached to her, of course ..." - "You love her," repeated Kolosov and looked me straight in the eyes. I turned away in silence; we parted.

Theme. “Homogeneous and heterogeneous definitions”.

1. Org. moment.
2. Homework check.

1. Reiteration

At home you had to repeat the spelling letters О-Е after sizzling. What determines the choice of the letter after the hissing one? (From the part of the word in which the spelling is located, as well as from the part of speech). Tell us about the spelling of the letters O-Yo after the hissing ones. (In the root, Ё is written, if you can pick up a word with the letter E, for example, yellow - turn yellow. In the suffix and the ending, the spelling depends on the stress: the stress is written O.). (E is written in participle suffixes, and also in verb endings).

Differentiated task cards.

1. Exercise 280.

1. Syntactic five minutes.

Write down the number, classwork, and sentence for parsing in your notebooks.

In an alarming, whistling whisper, century-old pines echoed among themselves, and dry frost with a soft rustle poured from the disturbed branches.

(Individual task - morphological analysis the word "soft")

1. Communication of the topic and purpose of the lesson.

Guys, the topic of our today's lesson is "Homogeneous and heterogeneous definitions." Lesson objectives: to get acquainted with homogeneous and heterogeneous definitions, to learn to distinguish them, to correctly form their punctuation in writing.

1. Repetition of the material studied.

1. Conversation.

What is called a definition? (Definition - a minor member of the sentence, which denotes the attribute of the subject and answers the questions WHAT? WHAT?)

What part of speech is the definition most often expressed? (Adjective).

Before getting acquainted with new material, let's remember the categories of adjectives by meaning? (Qualitative, relative, possessive.)

What are their differences?

Now let's check how well you are able to distinguish between adjectives of different categories.

2. Let's conduct a digital dictation.

1 - relative, 2 - possessive, 3 - qualitative.

Mother's shawl, comfy chair, tea towel, child's shirt, sandy shore, young agronomist, green leaves, father's gun, sweet tea, carrot puree.

Key: 2, 3, 1, 2, 1, 3, 3, 2, 3, 1.

Check it out.

1. Acquaintance with new material.

1.Working with the proposal written on the board.

Read the sentence on the chalkboard.

Low one-story houses were hidden under oak trees.

What are the definitions in this sentence, how they are expressed.

Please note that both definitions refer to the same word, answer the same question, but there is no comma between them, since the definitions for these characteristics are not always homogeneous.

1. Writing on the board.

Take a look at this table. The adjectives in each column characterize the subject on one side: color, size, taste, etc. The definitions expressed by such adjectives will be homogeneous.

If we take adjectives from different columns, then these will be heterogeneous definitions that characterize the subject from different sides and are most often expressed by a combination of a qualitative and a relative adjective.

Compare sentences: 1) The glade was full ofwhite, blue, red flowers. - Mother boughtbig red sweet watermelon. 2) On the counter laywoolen, silk, chintz scarves. - White woolen the jacket hung on the back of the chair.

So, heterogeneous definitions characterize the subject from different angles. However, such definitions can be homogeneous if they are united by a common concept, that is, they create a common, holistic, unified impression of the subject. For instance:Gray, rainy, gloomy the sky hung over us (all definitions are united by one common concept - autumn sky, nondescript).

1. Working with the textbook T (item 189).

Turn to paragraph 189 and write down, point by point, what other definitions are considered homogeneous. Make the record in the form of a table.

Homogeneous	Heterogeneous
1. They characterize an object (or objects) from one side: by color, shape, etc.	1. They characterize the subject from different sides (usually a combination of a qualitative and a relative adjective).
2. Create a general, holistic, unified impression of the subject (s)	2. Definitions where one is expressed by a pronoun or numeral and the other by an adjective.
3. Combination of a single adjective with a participle.
4. The second definition clarifies the first.

Check how you filled out the table.

Formulate a rule for using a comma in definitions. (A comma is placed between homogeneous definitions.)

1. Securing new material.

1. Working with the tutorial.

A) Exercise 286 (oral).

The theme of the text is the rescue of chicks, the main idea is that animals need to be protected and helped.

Draw a conclusion, what definitions are called homogeneous?

B) Exercise 287.

The main idea is that the amazing is near us.

From Exercise 287, write down heterogeneous definitions with definable words.

(A steep sandy escarpment, a small bluish-azure bird, a high sandy escarpment, a small silver fish, a sandy coastal escarpment).

What definitions are called heterogeneous?

1. Work with signal cards.

Red color - heterogeneous definitions, yellow - homogeneous.

1. Deep, dense antiquity surrounded my childhood in the suburb.
2. A gray passenger ship passed.
3. An annoying October rain was falling.
4. We bought an inflatable rubber boat for fishing.
5. A joyful, festive, radiant mood was bursting, and the uniform seemed to be getting cramped.
6. It was somehow kindly sad in this small garden, already touched in late autumn.
7. Alyosha handed him a small folding round mirror.

1. Explanatory dictation.

1. It was an autumn day, gray, but quiet and warm. 2) A huge red moon was slowly showing up from behind the rooftops of a nearby village. 3) From the direction of the village, a hurried stomp of lively sheep's feet was heard. 4) Pavka met the gray calm eyes of the stranger, who were carefully studying him.

Mutual verification.

1. Independent work.

Your task is to find spelling and punctuation mistakes made in the text.

For the whole summer we went to the village. Our old, wooden house stood on the steep bank of a small, shallow and narrow river Serebryanka. It quietly and calmly flowed now among the variegated lushki, now through dense pine and spruce forests until it fell into a flattering lake, overgrown with lovely water lilies. In the summer, an adult could easily pass it into the ground, but in the spring it began to stir violently violently and boldly overflowed, and flooded the surrounding meadows. (ten)

Check it out.

1. Home assignment: p. 189, exercise. 288, ind. Quest - 291, 294, rep. p. 42 (b after sibilants).
2. Summarizing.

What new have you learned about definitions in this lesson? (They are homogeneous and heterogeneous).

Why is it important to be able to identify uniform definitions or heterogeneous ones? (For the correct setting of punctuation marks).

How to determine if definitions are homogeneous or not?

Now let's solve the crossword puzzle:

1. A minor member of the sentence, which denotes the attribute of the subject and answers the questions WHAT? WHOSE? (Definition).

2. Definitions that characterize the subject on the one hand. (Homogeneous).

3. What are the names of the definitions expressed by adjectives, ordinal numbers, participles and most often before the word being defined? (Agreed upon).

4 and 6. Name the combination of which adjectives are usually expressed in heterogeneous definitions. (Qualitative and relative).

5. What sign is placed between homogeneous definitions? (Comma).

What word came out in the selected cells? (Benefit). Guys, I think today's lesson was useful for you, you did a good and fruitful job. Grades are received today ...

The material environment surrounding the literary hero is not exhausted by the nearest furnishings. At different moments of life, he is included in a wider area - a city street, forest, field, road, sea, air ocean, space (in former times, space - only in myth or fantastic literature).

Let us consider how art objects are organized when describing this area - description, in literature for a long time, by analogy with painting, called a landscape.

Let us compare Chekhov's landscape with the landscape of the previous literary tradition. Let us take Turgenev's landscape descriptions as the most noticeable phenomenon of this kind in her; consider additionally the landscape of Goncharov.

“The next day, at three in the afternoon, I was already in Ivan Semyonitch's garden. "..." The day was autumn, gray, but quiet and warm. Thin yellow blades of grass swayed sadly over the pale grass; nimble tits were jumping over the dark brown, bare boughs of the hazel; belated larks ran hastily along the paths; here and there a hare was cautiously making its way through the greens; the herd wandered lazily through the stubble.