In a nutshell: Having married a poor girl, the usurer tries to take out the anger on the unrequited orphan for the grievances suffered in life, hoping that she will resignedly live in constant prayer for his noble soul. However, the girl enters into an irreconcilable moral duel with her husband ...

First, a short introduction from the author is offered. In it, he explains that the story is called "fantastic" solely because it is the "stream of thoughts" of the narrator, which seemed to be overheard and recorded by a stenographer. Here the author makes it clear that we are talking about a husband whose wife committed suicide.

The story tells the story of the life of a woman who turns out to be married to a moneylender. Interestingly, the narrator does not give his or her name. The story shows Dostoevsky's idea of ​​the executioner and the victim, expressed here in the form of a despot husband and wife, his victim. The author also wanted to show the realities of that time. From lack of money, the girl decides to marry a man whom she not only did not love, but also despised him and his occupation. The meek tries to rebel against such a life and against her husband, whom she even intended to kill in order to end human torment: not only her own, but also those people who were dependent on him, who pledged their last property for a penny at a high percentage. These torments were manifested not in quarrels and not in physical mockery, but mainly in the constant silence that began to reign between husband and wife some time after the wedding.

The narrator often contradicts himself. For example, it remains incomprehensible: he married the "meek" out of pity, or in order to torture her, taking revenge on the whole world for his fate, as he tortured his clients. In addition, the narrator's thoughts are chaotic and inconsistent. He seems to be trying to put them in order, which he succeeds only at the end of the story, where the unfortunate one gets to the heart of the matter, the truth is revealed to him.

The story of the narrator himself is also interesting: he was a retired staff captain of a brilliant regiment (he resigned voluntarily). There, as elsewhere, he was not loved, and the reason for his resignation was an accident. After that, he led a poor vagabond life until his relative died, leaving him three thousand rubles. After that, the narrator became a usurer, while dreaming of accumulating a sufficient amount and starting a new life.

At the end, the narrator is in a fit of kindness and beneficence: he is at the feet of his wife (with whom he has not spoken all winter), swears his love, promises happiness. But as she understood earlier, it was necessary to be “honest” with him: if you love, then completely and faithfully, or not love at all. But either she could not make a choice in one direction or another, or she did not want to deceive the narrator with “half-love”. Therefore, the story ends very sadly - the suicide of the main character.

Dostoevsky's short story "The Gentle One" is the story of the life of an unfortunate girl. The author unravels the tangle of her fate, along the way gives a psychological analysis of her actions, which eventually led to a tragic end - the suicide of the heroine.

This story begins with the fact that one day a very thin, pleasant young girl comes to the moneylender who wants to pawn her things. The moneylender immediately feels a kindred spirit in the face of this young girl. It seems to him that fate itself brought them together, and that she is exactly the one whom he has been waiting for all his life. But despite the fact that the girl is already meek and pure, he decides to suppress her even more. Show her your power and might. And he begins to educate Meek. In the face of this weak woman, he takes revenge on the whole society, which did not obey him. On the subconscious, he chooses a victim for himself, who married him and was waiting for a completely different role in his life.

The meek one is not satisfied with this state of affairs, she constantly rebels - either closes in on herself and is silent for days on end, or runs away from home. And one day, while the moneylender is sleeping, she brings a revolver to his face and holds it at his temple for a long time. But as soon as the revolver is removed, it becomes clear - now the power is forever in the hands of her cruel husband. She loves him and hates him at the same time, and it just breaks her psychologically.

Tortured in a painful fever, barely getting back on her feet, a new shock awaits her. The husband realizes how much he loves her, and this, after so much torment and suffering, is also a kind of blow for Meek. Finally entangled in her feelings and tormented by a sudden flash of love from her husband, she becomes thoughtful and very quiet. And after quite a bit of time it is thrown out of the window and dies. And forever the second story remains with his question why his young wife preferred death to life with him.

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FROM THE AUTHOR

I apologize to my readers that this time instead of the "Diary" in its usual form I give only a story. But I was really busy with this story for most of the month. In any case, I ask for the indulgence of the readers.

Now about the story itself. I titled it "fantastic", while I myself consider it in the highest degree real. But there really is something fantastic here, and it is precisely in the very form of the story, which I find it necessary to explain in advance.

The fact is that this is not a story and not a note. Imagine a husband who has a wife lying on the table, a suicide who jumped out of the window a few hours earlier. He is confused and has not yet had time to collect his thoughts. He walks around his rooms and tries to comprehend what happened, "to collect his thoughts to a point." Moreover, this is an inveterate hypochondriac, one of those that talk to themselves. So he talks to himself, tells the story, clarifies himself it. Despite the apparent consistency of speech, he contradicts himself several times, both in logic and in feelings. He justifies himself, and accuses her, and indulges in extraneous explanations: here is the rudeness of thought and heart, here is a deep feeling. Little by little he really clarifies his own business and collects "thoughts to the point." A series of memories evoked by him irresistibly leads him at last to truth; Truth irresistibly elevates his mind and heart. Towards the end even the tone of the story changes in comparison with its disorderly beginning. The truth is revealed to the unfortunate quite clearly and definitively, at least for himself.

Here is the topic. Of course, the process of storytelling continues for several hours, with fits and starts, and in a confused form: now he speaks to himself, then he addresses, as it were, to an invisible listener, to some kind of judge. Yes, this is always the case in reality. If a stenographer could overhear him and write everything down after him, then it would come out a little rougher, more unfinished than what I have presented, but, as far as it seems to me, the psychological order, perhaps, would remain the same. This assumption about the stenographer who wrote everything down (after which I would have done what was written down) is what I call fantastic in this story. But in part, this has already been allowed more than once in art: Victor Hugo, for example, in his masterpiece "The Last Day of a Man Sentenced to Death", used almost the same technique and, although he did not bring out the stenographer, he made an even greater improbability, suggesting that the man sentenced to death can (and has time) to keep notes not only on his last day, but even at the last hour and literally at the last minute. But if he had not allowed this fantasy, the work itself would not have existed - the most real and most truthful work of all he wrote.

CHAPTER FIRST

I
WHO WAS ME AND WHO WAS SHE

... While she is here, everything is still fine: I come up and look every minute; but they will take it away tomorrow and - how can I be left alone? She is now on the table in the hall, two cards have been made, and the coffin will be tomorrow, white, white gros de Naple, but, by the way, that’s not about it ... I keep walking and want to clarify this for myself. It's been six hours since I want to clarify and I can't get everything to the point of thoughts. The fact is that I keep walking, walking, walking ... This is how it was. I'll just tell you in order. (Order!) Gentlemen, I am far from being a writer, and you can see it, and let me tell you, as I myself understand. That's my whole horror, that I understand everything!

This is if you want to know, that is, if you take it from the very beginning, then she simply came to me then to pawn things in order to pay for the publication in Golos that, they say, so, the governess, she agrees to leave, and give lessons at home, and so on and so forth. It was at the very beginning, and I, of course, did not distinguish her from others: she comes like everyone else, and so on. And then he began to distinguish. She was so thin, blond, of medium height; she was always baggy with me, as if she was embarrassed (I think she was the same with all strangers, but I, of course, didn’t make any difference to her, that is, if you take it not as a pawnbroker, but as a person). Just received the money, immediately turned around and left. And everything is silent. Others argue, ask, bargain in such a way that they give more; this one is not, what will they give ... It seems to me that I keep getting confused ... Yes; I was first of all struck by her things: silver gilded earrings, a crappy medallion - things worth two kopecks. She herself knew that the price for them was a dime, but I could see by her face that they were a treasure to her - and indeed, that was all she had left from her father and mother, after I found out. Once I allowed myself to chuckle at her stuff. That is, you see, I never allow myself this, I have a gentlemanly tone with the public: few words, polite and strict. "Strictly, strictly and strictly." But she suddenly allowed herself to bring the remains (that is, literally) of the old hare kutsaveyka - and I could not resist and suddenly said something to her, sort of like a witticism. Fathers, how it flared up! Her eyes are blue, large, thoughtful, but - how lit up! But she did not drop a word, took her "leftovers" and left. That's when I noticed her for the first time. especially and thought something of this kind about her, that is, something in a special way. Yes; I also remember another impression, that is, if you like, the most important impression, a synthesis of everything: namely, that she is terribly young, so young that she is exactly fourteen years old. And meanwhile she was then already three months to sixteen. And by the way, I didn’t mean to say that, the synthesis was not at all in that. Came again the next day. I later found out that Dobronravov and Moser had it with this kutsaveyka, but they, apart from gold, did not accept anything and did not begin to speak. I once accepted a cameo from her (so, crappy) - and, having comprehended, then I was surprised: I also do not accept anything except gold and silver, but I allowed her a cameo. This was the second thought about her then, I remember that.

This time, that is, from Moser, she brought an amber cigar stem - a little thing, amateurish, but again worthless with us, because we are only gold. Since she came after yesterday rebellion then I met her strictly. My strictness is dryness. However, giving her two rubles, I could not resist and said, as if with some irritation: "I'm only for you, but Moser will not accept such a thing from you." I emphasized the word "for you" especially, and it was in some sense. Evil was. She flared up again when she heard this "for you," but she was silent, did not throw away the money, accepted it - what a poverty! And how it flared up! I realized that I screwed up. And when she had already left, he suddenly asked himself: is this triumph over her really worth two rubles? He-he-he! I remember that I asked this very question twice: "Is it worth it? Is it worth it?" And, laughing, he resolved it to himself in the affirmative. I was very happy then. But it was not a bad feeling: I was with intent, with intent; I wanted to test her, because some thoughts about her suddenly wandered through my mind. It was the third special my thought about her.

… Well, since then it all started. Of course, I immediately tried to find out all the circumstances from the side and waited for her arrival with special impatience. I had a premonition that she would come soon. When I arrived, I entered into an amiable conversation with extraordinary courtesy. I'm not badly brought up and have manners. Um. It was then that I guessed that she was kind and meek. The kind and meek do not resist for long and, although they are not very open at all, they do not know how to dodge the conversation: they answer sparingly, but they answer, and the further, the more, just do not get tired yourself if you need to. Of course, she didn't explain anything to me at the time. It was then about the "Voice" and I learned about everything. She then published with the last of her strength, at first, of course, arrogantly: “They say, governess, I agree to leave, and send the conditions in packages,” and then: “I agree to everything, and teach, and be a companion, and look after the household, and to look after the sick, and I know how to sew, etc., etc., everything is known! Of course, all this was added to the publication in various ways, and in the end, when it came to despair, even "without salary, from bread." No, I didn't find a place! I decided then to test her for the last time: all of a sudden I take today's "Voice" and show her an advertisement: "A young lady, an orphan, is looking for a job as a governess for young children, mainly with an elderly widower. She can make household chores easier."

You see, this one was published this morning, and by the evening it probably found a place. Here's how to publish!

F. M. Dostoevsky
MEEK
Fantastic story CHAPTER ONE
FROM THE AUTHOR
I apologize to my readers that this time instead of the "Diary" in its usual form I give only a story. But I've been really busy with this story for most of the month. In any case, I ask for the indulgence of the readers. Now about the story itself. I titled it "fantastic" when I myself consider it eminently real. But there really is something fantastic here, and it is precisely in the very form of the story, which I find it necessary to explain in advance. The fact is that this is not a story and not a note. Imagine a husband who has a wife lying on the table, a suicide who jumped out of the window a few hours earlier. He is confused and has not yet had time to collect his thoughts. He walks around his rooms and tries to comprehend what happened, "to collect his thoughts to a point." Moreover, this is an inveterate hypochondriac, one of those that talk to themselves. So he talks to himself, tells the story, clarifies it to himself. Despite the apparent consistency of speech, he contradicts himself several times, both in logic and in feelings. He justifies himself, and accuses her, and indulges in extraneous explanations: here is the rudeness of thought and heart, here is a deep feeling. Little by little, he really understands the matter for himself and collects "thoughts to a point." A series of memories evoked by him irresistibly leads him at last to the truth; Truth irresistibly elevates his mind and heart. Towards the end even the tone of the story changes in comparison with its disorderly beginning. The truth is revealed to the unfortunate quite clearly and definitively, at least for himself. Here is the topic. Of course, the process of storytelling continues for several hours, with fits and starts, and in a confused form: now he speaks to himself, then he addresses, as it were, to an invisible listener, to some kind of judge. Yes, this is always the case in reality. If a stenographer could overhear him and write everything down after him, then it would come out a little rougher, more unfinished than what I have presented, but, as far as it seems to me, the psychological order, perhaps, would remain the same. This assumption about the stenographer who wrote everything down (after which I would have done what was written down) is what I call fantastic in this story. But in part, this has already been allowed more than once in art: Victor Hugo, for example, in his masterpiece "The Last Day of a Man Sentenced to Death" used almost the same technique and, although he did not bring out the stenographer, he made an even greater improbability, suggesting that the man sentenced to death can (and has time) to keep notes not only on his last day, but even at the last hour and literally at the last minute. But if he had not allowed this fantasy, the work itself would not have existed - the most real and most truthful work of all he wrote.

I. WHO WAS ME AND WHO WAS SHE

So long as she is here, everything is still fine: I go up and look every minute; but they will take it away tomorrow and - how can I be left alone? She is now on the table in the hall, two cards have been made, and the coffin will be tomorrow, white, white gros de Naple, but, by the way, that’s not about it ... I keep walking and want to figure it out for myself. It's been six hours since I want to clarify and I can't get everything to the point of thoughts. The fact is that I keep walking, walking, walking ... This is how it was. I'll just tell you in order. (Order!) Gentlemen, I am far from being a writer, and you can see it, and let me tell you, as I myself understand. That's my whole horror, that I understand everything! This is if you want to know, that is, if you take it from the very beginning, then she simply came to me then to pawn things in order to pay for the publication in Golos that, they say, so, the governess, she agrees to leave, and give lessons at home, and so on and so forth. It was at the very beginning, and I, of course, did not distinguish her from others: she comes like everyone else, and so on. And then he began to distinguish. She was so thin, blond, of medium height; she was always baggy with me, as if she was embarrassed (I think she was the same with all strangers, but I, of course, didn’t make any difference to her, that is, if you take it not as a pawnbroker, but as a person). Just received the money, immediately turned around and left. And everything is silent. Others argue, ask, bargain in such a way that they give more; this one is not, what will they give ... It seems to me that I keep getting confused ... Yes; I was first of all struck by her things: silver gilded earrings, a crappy medallion - things worth two kopecks. She herself knew that the price for them was a dime, but I could see by her face that they were a treasure to her - and indeed, that was all she had left from her father and mother, after I found out. Once I allowed myself to chuckle at her stuff. That is, you see, I never allow myself this, I have a gentlemanly tone with the public: few words, polite and strict. "Strictly, strictly and strictly." But she suddenly allowed herself to bring the remains (that is, literally) of the old hare kutsaveyka - and I could not resist and suddenly said something to her, sort of like a witticism. Fathers, how it flared up! Her eyes are blue, large, thoughtful, but - how lit up! But she did not drop a word, took her "leftovers" and left. It was then that I noticed her for the first time especially and thought something of this kind about her, that is, precisely something in a special kind. Yes; I also remember another impression, that is, if you like, the most important impression, a synthesis of everything: namely, that she is terribly young, so young that she is exactly fourteen years old. And meanwhile she was then already three months to sixteen. And by the way, I didn’t mean to say that, the synthesis was not at all in that. Came again the next day. I later found out that Dobronravov and Moser had it with this kutsaveyka, but they, apart from gold, did not accept anything and did not begin to speak. I once accepted a cameo from her (so, crappy) - and, having comprehended, then I was surprised: I also do not accept anything except gold and silver, but I allowed her a cameo. This was the second thought about her then, I remember that. This time, that is, from Moser, she brought an amber cigar stem - a little thing, amateurish, but again worthless with us, because we are only gold. Since she came after yesterday's riot, I met her severely. My strictness is dryness. However, giving her two rubles, I could not resist and said, as if with some irritation: "I'm only for you, but Moser will not accept such a thing from you." I emphasized the word "for you" especially, and in a certain sense. Evil was. She flared up again when she heard this "for you," but she was silent, did not throw away the money, accepted it - what a poverty! And how it flared up! I realized that I screwed up. And when she had already left, he suddenly asked himself: is this triumph over her really worth two rubles? He-he-he! I remember that I asked this very question twice: "Is it worth it? Is it worth it?" And, laughing, he resolved it to himself in the affirmative. I was very happy then. But it was not a bad feeling: I was with intent, with intent; I wanted to test her, because some thoughts about her suddenly wandered through my mind. It was my third special thought about her. ... Well, since then it all started. Of course, I immediately tried to find out all the circumstances from the side and waited for her arrival with special impatience. I had a premonition that she would come soon. When I arrived, I entered into an amiable conversation with extraordinary courtesy. I'm not badly brought up and have manners. Um. It was then that I guessed that she was kind and meek. The kind and meek do not resist for long and, although they are not very open at all, they do not know how to dodge the conversation: they answer sparingly, but they answer, and the further, the more, just do not get tired yourself if you need to. Of course, she didn't explain anything to me at the time. It was then about the "Voice" and I learned about everything. She then published with the last of her strength, at first, of course, arrogantly: “They say, governess, I agree to leave, and send the conditions in packages,” and then: “I agree to everything, and teach, and be a companion, and look after the household, and I can walk for the sick, and I know how to sew, etc. etc., etc., everything is known! Of course, all this was added to the publication in various ways, and in the end, when it came to despair, even "without salary, from bread." No, I didn't find a place! I decided then to test her for the last time: all of a sudden I take today's "Voice" and show her an advertisement: "A young lady, an orphan, is looking for a job as a governess for young children, mainly with an elderly widower. She can make household chores easier." - You see, this one was published this morning, and by the evening it probably found a place. Here's how to publish! She flared up again, her eyes lit up again, turned around and immediately left. I really liked it. However, I was then already sure of everything and was not afraid: no one would accept mouthpieces. And her mouthpieces are already out. So it is, on the third day she comes, so pale, agitated, - I realized that something happened at home, and it really happened. Now I will explain what happened, but now I just want to recall how I suddenly gave her glamor then and grew in her eyes. This was my intention all of a sudden. The fact is that she brought this image (she decided to bring it) ... Oh, listen! listen! Now it has already begun, otherwise I kept getting confused ... The fact is that now I want to remember all this, every little thing, every line. I want to gather everything into a point of thought and - I can’t, but these dashes, dashes ... The image of the Virgin. The Virgin and Child, homemade, family, antique, gilded silver riza - worth - well, worth six rubles. I see that the image is dear to her, lays the whole image, without removing the robe. I say to her: it would be better to take off the robe, and take away the image; and then the image is still somehow that. - Are you forbidden? - No, not that it's forbidden, but maybe you yourself ... - Well, take it off. “You know what, I’m not going to take pictures, but I’ll put them in a kiot over there,” I said, thinking, “with other images, under a lamp (I always had a lamp burning when I opened the cash register), and simply take ten rubles. - I don't need ten, give me five, I will certainly buy it back. - Do you want ten? The image is standing,” I added, noticing that the eyes sparkled again. She was silent. I gave her five rubles. - Do not despise anyone, I myself was in this vice, and even worse, sir, and if now you see me doing such an occupation ... then after all that I endured ... - Are you taking revenge on society? Yes? she suddenly interrupted me with a rather caustic mockery, in which, however, there was much that was innocent (that is, in common, because at that time she definitely did not distinguish me from others, so she said it almost harmlessly). "Aha! - I thought, - that's what you are, the character is announced, a new direction." "You see," I remarked at once, half-jokingly, half-mysteriously. - "I - I am part of that part of the whole that wants to do evil, but does good ..." She quickly and with great curiosity, in which, however, there was a lot of childishness, looked at me: - Wait ... What is this for a thought? Where is it from? I heard somewhere ... - Do not rack your brains, in these expressions Mephistopheles is recommended to Faust. Have you read Faust? - Do not ... inattentively. - That is, they did not read at all. Must read. And yet, I see again on your lips a mocking wrinkle. Please don't assume that I have so little taste that, in order to paint over my role as a pawnbroker, I wanted to introduce myself to you as Mephistopheles. The pawnbroker will remain a pawnbroker. We know. - You're kind of strange ... I didn't mean to tell you something like that ... She wanted to say: I didn't expect you to be an educated person, but she didn't say, but I knew that she thought it; terribly I pleased her. “You see,” I remarked, “one can do good in every field. Of course, I'm not talking about myself, I, let's say, do nothing but bad, but ... - Of course, you can do good in any place, - she said, looking at me with a quick and penetrating look. “Precisely anywhere,” she added suddenly. Oh, I remember, I remember all those moments! And I also want to add that when this youth, this dear youth, wants to say something so intelligent and insightful, it will suddenly show too sincerely and naively with its face that "here, they say, I am now telling you intelligent and insightful," and not out of vanity, like our brother, but you see that she herself terribly appreciates all this, and believes, and respects, and thinks that you respect all this just as much as she does. O sincerity! This is how they win. And how lovely it was! Remember, I didn't forget anything! When she came out, I decided at once. On the same day I went on the last search and found out about her all the rest, already the current ins and outs; I already knew all the previous ins and outs from Lukerya, who then served with them and whom I had already bribed a few days ago. This ins and outs was so terrible that I don’t understand how else it was possible to laugh, as she did just now, and to be curious about the words of Mephistopheles, being myself under such horror. But youth! That is what I then thought about her with pride and joy, because here, after all, there is generosity: they say, even though on the verge of death, Goethe's great words shine. Youth is always at least a bit and at least in a crooked direction, but generous. That is, I'm talking about her, about her alone. And most importantly, I then looked at her as mine and did not doubt my power. You know, it's a voluptuous thought when you don't doubt something. But what about me? If I do this, then when will I get everything to a point? Hurry, hurry - it's not at all about that, oh my God!

II. MARRIAGE PROPOSAL
I'll explain the "insider things" that I learned about her in one word: her father and mother died long ago, three years before, and she remained with disorderly aunts. That is, it is not enough to call them disorderly. One aunt is a widow, with many families, six children, small and small, the other in girls, old, nasty. Both are bad. Her father was an official, but from the clerks, and just a personal nobleman - in a word: everything is in my favor. I appeared, as it were, from a higher world: nevertheless, a retired staff captain of a brilliant regiment, a nobleman of the family, independent, etc., and as for the loan office, the aunts could only look at it with respect. She was in slavery with her aunts for three years, but nevertheless she passed the exam somewhere - she managed to pass it, snatched it away, from under the daily ruthless work - and this meant something in her striving for the highest and noble on her part! Why did I want to get married? And by the way, I don’t give a damn about me, that’s later ... And is that the point! She taught her aunt's children, sewed linen, and in the end, not only linen, but, with her breasts, washed the floors. Simply, they even beat her, reproached her with a piece. They ended up intending to sell. Ugh! I omit the details. Then she told me everything in detail. All this was observed for a whole year by a neighboring fat shopkeeper, but not a simple shopkeeper, but with two grocers. He had already sugared two wives and was looking for a third, so he looked at her: "Quiet, they say, grew up in poverty, and I marry for orphans." Indeed, he had orphans. Wooed, began to conspire with aunts, besides - he was fifty years old; she is horrified. It was then that she often came to me for publications in the Voice. Finally, she began to ask her aunts to give them just a modicum of time to think. They gave her this drop, but only one, they didn’t give the other, they ate: “We ourselves don’t know what to eat without an extra mouth.” I already knew all this, and on that day after morning I decided. Then in the evening a merchant came, brought from the shop a pound of fifty-kopeck pieces of candy; she was sitting with him, and I called Lukerya out of the kitchen and told her to go and whisper to her that I was at the gate and I wanted to tell her something in the most urgent form. I was pleased with myself. In general, I was terribly satisfied all that day. Immediately at the gate, already amazed at the fact that I had summoned her, I explained to Lukerya that I would consider it happiness and an honor ... Secondly, so that she would not be surprised at my manner and that at the gate: "A man, they say, direct and studied the circumstances of the case. And I didn't lie that I was direct. Well, don't care. I spoke not only decently, that is, showing a person with education, but also in an original way, and this is the main thing. Well, is it a sin to admit it? I want to judge myself and judge. I have to speak pro and contra, and I do. Even afterwards I remembered it with pleasure, even though it was stupid: I openly announced then, without any embarrassment, that, firstly, I was not particularly talented, not particularly smart, perhaps not even particularly kind, a rather cheap egoist (I I remember this expression, I composed it on my way then and was satisfied) and that - very, very possibly - I contain a lot of unpleasant things in other respects as well. All this was said with a special kind of pride—you know how it is said. Of course, I had so much taste that, having nobly declared my shortcomings, I did not start to announce my merits: "But, they say, in return for that I have this, that, and that." I saw that she was still terribly afraid, but I did not soften anything, moreover, seeing that she was afraid, I purposely strengthened it: I said directly that she would be full, but as for outfits, theaters, balls - this will not happen, unless later, when I reach my goal. This stern tone definitely captivated me. I added, also as casually as possible, that if I took on such an occupation, that is, I keep this cash register, then I have only one goal, there is, they say, such one circumstance ... But I had the right to say so: I really had such purpose and such circumstance. Wait a minute, gentlemen, all my life I hated this loan office first, but after all, in fact, although it is ridiculous to speak to myself in mysterious phrases, but I really, really, really took revenge on society! So her witticism in the morning about my "taking revenge" was unfair. That is, you see, if I had told her directly in the words: "Yes, I am taking revenge on society," and she would have burst out laughing, as she did this morning, and it would come out really funny. Well, with an indirect hint, having launched a mysterious phrase, it turned out that it was possible to bribe the imagination. Besides, I was no longer afraid of anything: I knew that the fat shopkeeper was, in any case, disgusting to her, and that I, standing at the gate, was a liberator. I understood that, after all. Oh, meanness is especially well understood by a person! But meanness? How can you judge a person? Didn't I love her even then already? Wait a minute: of course, I didn’t say a word to her about the beneficence then; on the contrary, oh, on the contrary: "It is I who, they say, remain favored, and not you." So I even expressed it in words, could not resist, and it turned out, perhaps, stupidly, because I noticed a quick wrinkle in my face. But on the whole, it won decisively. Wait a minute, if I recall all this dirt, then I will also remember the last disgusting thing: I stood there, and my head was moving: you are tall, slender, well-mannered and - and finally, speaking without fanfare, you are not bad-looking. That's what was playing in my mind. Of course, she immediately at the gate said "yes" to me. But ... but I must add: she immediately at the gate thought for a long time before she said "yes." So thoughtful, so thoughtful that I already asked: "Well?" - and could not even resist, with a kind of chic he asked: "Well, then, sir?" - with words. - Wait, I think. And she had such a serious face, such - that even then I could read! And I was offended: "Do I really think she chooses between me and the merchant?" Oh, I didn't understand then! I didn't understand anything back then! I didn't understand until today! I remember that Lukerya ran after me when I was already leaving, stopped me on the road and said in a hurry: "God will pay you, sir, for taking our dear young lady, only you don't tell her that, she's proud." Well, proud! I, say, myself love the proud. The proud are especially good when ... well, when you no longer doubt your power over them, huh? Oh, low, awkward man! Oh, how pleased I was! You know, after all, when she stood at the gate then, thinking, to tell me "yes", and I was surprised, you know, that she could even have such a thought: "If misfortune is here and there, isn't it better just choose the worst, that is, a fat shopkeeper, let him kill him drunk to death as soon as possible! BUT? What do you think, could there be such an idea? And now I don’t understand, and now I don’t understand anything! I just said that she could have had this thought: which of the two misfortunes to choose the worst, that is, the merchant? And who was worse for her then - am I a merchant? Merchant or pawnbroker quoting Goethe? That's another question! What question? And you don’t understand this: the answer is on the table, and you say “question”! And don't care about me! It's not really about me ... And by the way, what for me now - is it about me or not about me? This is something I can't really decide. It would be better to go to sleep. My head hurts...

III. THE MOST NOBLE OF PEOPLE, BUT I DO NOT BELIEVE ITSELF
Didn't fall asleep. Yes, and where, some kind of pulse beats in the head. I want to learn all this, all this dirt. Oh dirt! Oh, what a mess I pulled her out of then! After all, she should have understood this, appreciated my act! I also liked different thoughts, for example, that I was forty-one, and she was just sixteen. It captivated me, this feeling of inequality, it is very sweet, very sweet. For example, I wanted to make a wedding a l "anglaise, that is, decidedly together, with perhaps two witnesses, of which one is Lukerya, and then immediately to the carriage, for example, to Moscow (where, by the way, it happened to me), to a hotel, for two weeks. She objected, she did not allow it, and I was forced to go to the aunts with respect, as to relatives, from whom I take her. I yielded, and the aunts were given what was due. I even gave these creatures a hundred rubles and also promised ", of course, without telling her about it, so as not to upset her with the baseness of the situation. The aunts immediately became silky. There was a dispute about the dowry: she had nothing, almost literally, but she did not want anything. However, I managed to prove to her that nothing at all was impossible, and I made the dowry, because who would have done what to her? at least. I even hurried, perhaps. The main thing is that from the very beginning, no matter how fast she love, met me when I came in the evenings, with delight, told with her babble (the charming babble of innocence!) All her childhood, infancy, about her parents' house, about father and mother. But I immediately doused all this ecstasy with cold water. That's where my idea was. I responded to the enthusiasm with silence, favorable, of course ... but still she quickly saw that we were a difference and that I was a mystery. And I, most importantly, beat the riddle! After all, in order to make a riddle, I, perhaps, did all this stupidity! First, strictness, - so under strictness he introduced it into the house. In a word, then, walking and being satisfied, I created a whole system. Oh, without any effort, it poured out by itself. Yes, and it was impossible otherwise, I had to create this system for an irresistible circumstance - why am I, in fact, slandering myself! The system was true. No, listen, if you judge a person, then judge, knowing the case ... Listen. How would I start it, because it is very difficult. When you start making excuses, that's hard. You see: youth despises, for example, money - I immediately leaned on the money; I'm up for money. And he leaned so hard that she began to fall silent more and more. She opened her big eyes, listened, looked and fell silent. You see: youth is generous, that is, good youth, generous and impulsive, but little tolerance, just about something wrong - and contempt. And I wanted wideness, I wanted to instill wideness right in the heart, instill in the heart look, didn't I? To take a vulgar example: how would I, for example, explain my loan office to such a character? Of course, I did not speak directly, otherwise it would have turned out that I apologized for the loan fund, and I, so to speak, acted with pride, spoke almost in silence. And I am a master of speaking in silence, I have spoken silently all my life and have lived whole tragedies with myself in silence. Oh, I was unhappy too! I was thrown out by everyone, thrown out and forgotten, and no one, no one knows this! And suddenly this sixteen-year-old picked up details about me from vile people and thought that she knew everything, and meanwhile the innermost remained only in this man’s chest! I was silent all the time, and especially, especially with her, I was silent, until yesterday—why was I silent? And what a proud person. I wanted her to find out for herself, without me, but not from the stories of scoundrels, but for herself to guess about this man and comprehend him! Taking her into my house, I wanted full respect. I wanted her to stand before me in supplication for my suffering - and I was worth it. Oh, I have always been proud, I have always wanted everything or nothing! That's precisely because I'm not a half-hearted in happiness, but I wanted everything - that's why I was forced to do so then: "Say, guess for yourself and evaluate!" Because, you see, if I myself began to explain and suggest to her, wag and ask for respect, then I would still be asking for alms ... But by the way ... but by the way, why am I talking about this! Stupid, stupid, stupid and stupid! I directly and ruthlessly (and I emphasize that ruthlessly) then explained to her, in a nutshell, that the generosity of youth is charming, but not worth a penny. Why not? Because she gets it cheap, it turned out not having lived, all this, so to speak, is "the first impressions of being", but let's see you at work! Cheap generosity is always easy, and even giving one's life is cheap, because here only the blood boils and there is an excess of strength, one passionately wants beauty! No, take a feat of generosity, difficult, quiet, inaudible, without brilliance, with slander, where there is a lot of sacrifice and not a drop of glory - where you, a shining person, are exposed to everyone as a scoundrel, while you are more honest than all people on earth - well, try this feat, no, sir, refuse! And I - I only did all my life that I wore this feat. At first she argued, wow, and then she began to become silent, even completely, only she opened her eyes terribly, listening, big, big eyes, attentive. And ... and besides, I suddenly saw a smile, incredulous, silent, not good. It was with this smile that I brought her into my house. The truth is that she had nowhere to go...

IV. ALL PLANS AND PLANS
Who was the first to start? Nobody. It just started with the first step. I said that I brought her into the house under strictness, but softened her from the first step. Even the bride, it was explained to her that she would be engaged in accepting mortgages and issuing money, and she didn’t say anything then (note this). Moreover, she set to work even with zeal. Well, of course, the apartment, the furniture - everything remained the same. The apartment consists of two rooms: one is a large hall, where the ticket office is fenced off, and the other, also large, is our room, a common one, here is a bedroom. My furniture is scanty; Even my aunts were better. My icon case with a lamp is in the hall where the cash desk is; I have my wardrobe in my room, and there are several books in it, and packing, I have the keys; Well, there is a bed, tables, chairs. He also told the bride that our maintenance, that is, food, for me, her and Lukerya, which I lured away, is determined on the day of the ruble and no more: “I, they say, need thirty thousand in three years, otherwise you won’t make money” . She did not interfere, but I myself raised the maintenance by thirty kopecks. Also the theater. I told my fiancée that there would be no theatre, and yet, once a month, I set the theater to be, and decently, in armchairs. We went together, were three times, watched "The Pursuit of Happyness" and "Songbirds", I think. (Oh, don't give a damn, don't give a damn!) They walked in silence and returned in silence. Why, why have we been silent from the very beginning? At first, after all, there were no quarrels, but also silence. She somehow, I remember, then surreptitiously looked at me; I, as I noticed this, increased the silence. True, it was I who forewarned silence, not her. On her part, once or twice, there were impulses, she rushed to hug me; but since the impulses were painful, hysterical, and I needed solid happiness, with respect from her, I received it coldly. Yes, and he was right: every time after the impulses there was a quarrel the next day. That is, there were no quarrels, again, but there was silence and - more and more impudent look on her part. "Rebellion and independence" - that's what it was, only she did not know how. Yes, that meek face got bolder and bolder. Believe me, I was becoming rotten to her, I had studied it. And there was no doubt that she went out of herself in impulses. Well, how, for example, coming out of such dirt and poverty, after washing the floors, suddenly start snorting at our poverty! You see, sir: there was not poverty, but there was economy, and in what is necessary - so is luxury, in linen, for example, in cleanliness. I always and before dreamed that purity in a husband seduces a wife. However, it is not about poverty, but about my alleged stinginess in saving: "He has goals, he says, he shows a strong character." From the theater she suddenly refused. And more and more mocking fold ... and I increase the silence, and I increase the silence. Don't make excuses? The main thing here is this loan office. Excuse me, sir: I knew that a woman, and even sixteen years old, cannot but submit to a man completely. There is no originality in women, this is an axiom, even now, even now it is an axiom for me! What is it that lies there in the hall: the truth is the truth, and here Mill himself can do nothing! And a loving woman, oh, a loving woman, will even deify the vices, even the villainy of a beloved being. He himself will not find such excuses for his evil deeds as she finds for him. It's generous, but not original. Women were ruined only by unoriginality. And so, I repeat, what are you pointing out to me on the table? Is it original what's on the table? Oh-oh! Listen: I was sure of her love then. After all, she rushed to me and then on the neck. She loved, or rather, she wanted to love. Yes, that's how it was: I wanted to love, I was looking for love. And the main thing, after all, is that there were no villains here, for which she would have to look for excuses. You say "mortgager" and everyone does. What about a bookmark? So, there are reasons, if the most generous of people became a pawnbroker. You see, gentlemen, there are ideas... that is, you see, if you pronounce another idea, pronounce it in words, it will come out terribly stupid. You will be ashamed of yourself. And why? No reason. Because we're all rubbish and can't stand the truth, or I don't know. I said now "the most generous of men." It's funny, but yet it was so. After all, this is the truth, that is, the most, most truthful truth! Yes, I had the right to want to provide for myself then and open this cash desk: “You rejected me, you people, that is, you drove me away with contemptuous silence. therefore, he had the right to protect himself from you with a wall, collect these thirty thousand rubles and end his life somewhere in the Crimea, on the southern coast, in the mountains and vineyards, in his estate, bought for these thirty thousand, and most importantly, away from all of you , but without anger at you, with an ideal in my soul, with a woman beloved in my heart, with a family, if God sends, and helping the surrounding villagers. Of course, it's good that I'm talking about myself now, but what could be more stupid if I then wrote it out loud to her? That's why the proud silence, that's why they sat in silence. Because what would she understand? Sixteen years old, the first youth, what could she understand from my excuses, from my sufferings? There is straightforwardness, ignorance of life, young cheap convictions, the chicken blindness of "beautiful hearts", and most importantly here - the loan office and - that's it (and was I a villain in the loan office, didn't she see how I acted and whether I took too much? )! Oh, how terrible is the truth on earth! This charm, this meek one, this sky - she was a tyrant, an intolerable tyrant of my soul and a tormentor! I'll slander myself if I don't say it! Do you think I didn't love her? Who can say that I didn't love her? You see: here is irony, here came the evil irony of fate and nature! We are cursed, people's lives are cursed in general! (Mine, in particular!) I understand now that I made a mistake here! Something went wrong here. Everything was clear, my plan was as clear as the sky: "Severe, proud and does not need anyone's moral consolations, suffers in silence." So it was, did not lie, did not lie! "Later she will see for herself that there was generosity, but only she did not manage to notice - and as soon as she guesses about it someday, she will appreciate it tenfold and fall into dust, clasping her hands in prayer." Here's the plan. But here I forgot or missed something. I couldn't do anything here. But enough, enough. And who now ask for forgiveness? It's over so. Be brave, man, and be proud! You are not to blame!.. Well, I will tell the truth, I will not be afraid to stand before the truth face to face: she is to blame, she is to blame!..

V. THE MEEK REBEL
The quarrels began with the fact that she suddenly took it into her head to give out money in her own way, to value things above their value, and even once or twice deigned to enter into an argument with me on this topic. I didn't agree. But then this captain turned up. The old woman captain came with a medallion - a gift from her late husband, well, you know, a souvenir. I gave thirty rubles. She began to whine plaintively, asking them to keep the thing - of course, we will. Well, in a word, suddenly, five days later, he comes to exchange for a bracelet that was not worth even eight rubles; I, of course, refused. She must have guessed something in the eyes of her wife at the same time, but only she came without me, and she exchanged the locket for her. Having found out on the same day, I spoke meekly, but firmly and reasonably. She sat on the bed, looked at the ground, flicking her right toe on the rug (her gesture); a wicked smile stood on her lips. Then, without raising my voice at all, I calmly announced that the money was mine, that I had the right to look at life through my eyes, and that when I invited her to my house, I did not hide anything from her. She suddenly jumped up, suddenly trembled all over, and—what would you think—suddenly stamped her feet on me; it was a beast, it was a fit, it was a beast in a fit. I was numb with amazement: I had never expected such an outburst. But I didn’t get lost, I didn’t even make a move and again the same calm voice bluntly announced that from now on I am depriving her of participation in my studies. She laughed in my face and left the apartment. The fact is that she had no right to leave the apartment. Without me, nowhere, such was the agreement in the brides. Toward evening she returned; I don't say a word. The next morning, too, she left in the morning, the day after tomorrow again. I locked the cash register and went to my aunts. With them, I interrupted from the very wedding - neither them to myself, nor myself to them. Now it turns out they didn't have it. They listened to me with curiosity, and they laughed in my eyes: "So you, they say, you should." But I also expected their laughter. Immediately he bribed the younger aunt, a girl, for a hundred rubles and gave twenty-five in advance. Two days later she comes to me: "Here, he says, an officer, Efimovich, a lieutenant, your former comrade in the regiment, is involved." I was very surprised. This Efimovich inflicted the most evil on me in the regiment, and about a month ago, once and twice, being shameless, went into the cashier under the guise of mortgages and, I remember, then began to laugh with his wife. I then approached him and told him not to dare to come to me, remembering our relationship; but I didn’t even have a thought about something like that in my head, but I just thought that I was impudent. Now, all of a sudden, the aunt reports that she has already made an appointment with him and that one former acquaintance of the aunts, Yulia Samsonovna, a widow, and even a colonel, is in charge of the whole business - "to her, they say, your wife goes now." I will shorten this picture. All in all, this business cost me up to three hundred rubles, but in two days it was arranged so that I would stand in the next room, behind the closed doors, and hear the first rendez-vous alone between my wife and Yefimovich. In anticipation, the day before, I had a scene with her, brief, but too significant for me, a scene. She came back before evening, sat down on the bed, looked at me mockingly, and beat her foot on the rug. Suddenly, looking at her, the idea then flew into my head that all this last month, or, better, the last two weeks before this, she was completely out of character, one might even say - in the opposite character: a violent, attacking creature appeared I can't say shameless, but disorderly and self-seeking confusion. Begging for confusion. Meekness, however, got in the way. When such a woman goes on a rampage, at least she has jumped over the measure, but everything is clear that she only breaks herself, pushes herself, and that it is impossible for her to cope with her chastity and shame in the very first place. That's why these sort of things sometimes pop up too out of measure, so you don't believe your own observing mind. A soul accustomed to debauchery, on the contrary, will always soften, make it uglier, but in the form of order and decency, which has a claim to superiority over you. - Is it true that you were expelled from the regiment because you were afraid to go to a duel? she suddenly asked, plucking from the oak, and her eyes sparkled. - Truth; I was asked by the officers to retire from the regiment, although, by the way, I myself had already resigned before that. - Kicked out like a coward? - Yes, they awarded him as a coward. But I refused to duel, not as a coward, but because I did not want to submit to their tyrannical verdict and challenge them to a duel when I myself did not find offense. Know, - I could not resist here, - that to rebel by action against such a tyranny and accept all the consequences meant to show much more courage than in any duel you want. I could not restrain myself, I, as it were, set off with this phrase to justify myself; and that was all she wanted, this new humiliation of mine. She laughed wickedly. - Is it true that for three years afterwards you walked the streets in St. Petersburg like a tramp, and asked for a dime, and spent the night under billiards? - I spent the night at the Haymarket in the house of Vyazemsky. Yes true; in my life there was later, after the regiment, a lot of shame and fall, but not a moral fall, because I myself was the first to hate my actions even then. It was only a fall in my will and mind and was caused only by the desperation of my position. But it has passed... - Oh, now you are a person - a financier! That is, this is a hint at the cash desk of loans. But I already managed to restrain myself. I saw that she longed for explanations that would be humiliating for me and did not give them. By the way, the pawnbroker called, and I went out to see him in the hall. Then, an hour later, when she suddenly got dressed to go out, she stopped in front of me and said: “However, you didn’t tell me anything about this before the wedding?” I didn't answer and she left. So, the next day I stood in this room outside the doors and listened to how my fate was decided, and in my pocket was a revolver. She was dressed up, sitting at the table, and Efimovich was breaking down in front of her. And well: it turned out (to my credit I say this), it turned out exactly what I foresaw and assumed, although not realizing that I foresee and assume it. I don't know if I'm being clear. Here's what happened. I listened for a whole hour and for a whole hour I was present at the duel of a noble and exalted woman with a worldly depraved, stupid creature, with a reptile soul. And how, I thought, amazed, how does this naive, this meek, this taciturn woman know all this? The most witty author of high society comedy could not create this scene of ridicule, the most naive laughter and holy contempt of virtue for vice. And how much brilliance was in her words and little words; what poignancy in quick replies, what truth in her condemnation! And at the same time so much girlish almost innocence. She laughed in his eyes at his declarations of love, at his gestures, at his proposals. Arriving with a rude approach to business and not suggesting resistance, he suddenly sank like that. At first I might have thought that here she was simply coquetry - "the coquetry of a depraved, but witty creature, in order to expose herself more dearly." But no, the truth shone like the sun, and there was no doubt. Out of hatred only for me, feigned and impulsive, she, inexperienced, could decide to start this meeting, but when it came to the point, her eyes were immediately opened. The creature simply rushed about to offend me with anything, but, having decided on such dirt, it could not bear the mess. And could Efimovich seduce her, sinless and pure, having an ideal, or whoever you want from these high society creatures? On the contrary, he aroused only laughter. The whole truth rose from her soul, and indignation aroused sarcasm from her heart. I repeat, this jester at the end became completely mad and sat frowning, barely answering, so that I even began to be afraid that I would not risk insulting her out of low revenge. And I repeat again: to my credit, I listened to this scene almost without amazement. It was like I met a friend. It was like I was walking to meet it. I walked, believing nothing, no accusation, although I took the revolver in my pocket - that's the truth! And how could I imagine her otherwise? Why did I love her, why did I appreciate her, why did I marry her? Oh, of course, I was too convinced of how much she hated me then, but I was also convinced of how pure she was. I stopped the scene suddenly by opening the doors. Efimovich jumped up, I took her by the hand and invited her to come out with me. Efimovich found himself and suddenly burst out laughing loudly and loudly: - Oh, I don’t mind sacred marital rights, take me away, take me away! And you know, - he called after me, - even though a decent person cannot fight with you, but, out of respect for your lady, I am at your service ... If, however, you yourself risk ... - Listen! I stopped her for a second on the threshold. Then all the way home, not a word. I led her by the hand and she didn't resist. On the contrary, she was terribly stricken, but only as far as home. Arriving home, she sat down on a chair and rested her eyes on me. She was extremely pale; although her lips immediately curled into mockery, she looked already with a solemn and severe challenge and, it seems, she was seriously convinced in the first minutes that I would kill her with a revolver. But I silently took the revolver out of my pocket and laid it on the table. She looked at me and at the revolver. (Note: this revolver was already familiar to her. I had it wound up and loaded from the very opening of the cash register. When opening the cash register, I decided not to keep either huge dogs or a strong lackey, as, for example, Moser keeps. My cook opens the doors for visitors. But it is impossible for those engaged in our trade to deprive themselves, just in case, of self-defence, and I started a loaded revolver.In the first days, as she entered my house, she was very interested in this revolver, asked questions, and I even explained to her the device and the system, besides , persuaded once to shoot at the target. Notice all this.) Ignoring her frightened look, I, half-dressed, lay down on the bed. I was very exhausted; it was already about eleven o'clock. She continued to sit in the same place, not moving, for about an hour, then she put out the candle and lay down, also dressed, against the wall, on the sofa. The first time she didn’t lie down with me - notice this too ...

VI. TERRIBLE MEMORY
Now this is a terrible memory ... I woke up in the morning, I think, at eight o'clock, and the room was already almost completely light. I woke up at once with full consciousness and suddenly opened my eyes. She stood at the table and held a revolver in her hands. She did not see that I woke up and looked. And suddenly I see that she began to approach me with a revolver in her hands. I quickly closed my eyes and pretended to be sound asleep. She reached the bed and stood over me. I heard everything; though there was a dead silence, but I heard this silence. There was one convulsive movement - and I suddenly, uncontrollably, opened my eyes against my will. She looked straight at me, into my eyes, and the revolver was already at my temple. Our eyes met. But we looked at each other for no more than a moment. I forcefully closed my eyes again and at the same moment decided with all the strength of my soul that I would no longer move or open my eyes, no matter what awaited me. In fact, it happens that even a deeply asleep person suddenly opens his eyes, even raises his head for a second and looks around the room, then, after a moment, unconscious, puts his head back on the pillow and falls asleep, remembering nothing. When, meeting her gaze and feeling the revolver at my temple, I suddenly closed my eyes again and did not move, as if I were deeply asleep, she could resolutely assume that I was really sleeping and that I had not seen anything, especially since it was completely unbelievable, having seen what I saw was to close my eyes again at such a moment. Yes, incredible. But all the same, she could guess the truth, and that flashed through my mind all of a sudden, all at the same moment. Oh, what a whirlwind of thoughts and sensations passed through my mind in less than an instant, and long live the electricity of human thought! In that case (I felt) if she guessed the truth and knows that I am awake, then I have already crushed her with my readiness to accept death, and now her hand may tremble. The former determination may be shattered by a new extraordinary impression. They say that those who stand on high seem to be dragging themselves down into the abyss. I think a lot of suicides and murders have been committed just because the revolver was already in hand. Here, too, there is an abyss, there is a forty-five-degree slope that you can't help but slip, and something makes you invincibly pull the trigger. But the consciousness that I had seen everything, that I knew everything, and that I was waiting for her death in silence, could keep her on the slope. The silence continued, and suddenly I felt at my temple, at my hair, a cold touch of iron. You ask: did I firmly hope that I would be saved? I will answer you as before God: I had no hope, except perhaps one chance in a hundred. Why did he accept death? And I ask: what was my life after the revolver raised on me by the creature I adore? In addition, I knew with all the strength of my being that between us at that very moment there was a struggle going on, a terrible duel for life and death, a duel of that very yesterday's coward, expelled for cowardice by his comrades. I knew it, and she knew it, if only she guessed the truth that I was awake. Maybe it didn’t happen, maybe I didn’t think about it then, but it still had to be, even without a thought, because I did nothing but think about it every hour of my life afterwards. But you will ask again the question: why didn’t you save her from villainy? Oh, I asked myself this question a thousand times later - every time, with a cold in my back, I remembered that second. But my soul was then in gloomy despair: I was perishing, I myself was perishing, so whom could I save? And how do you know if I would still want to save someone? How do I know what I might have felt then? Consciousness, however, seethed; the seconds passed, the silence was dead; she was still standing over me - and suddenly I shuddered with hope! I quickly opened my eyes. She was no longer in the room. I got out of bed: I won - and she was forever defeated! I went out to the samovar. The samovar was always served in our first room, and she always poured tea. I sat down at the table in silence and accepted a glass of tea from her. Five minutes later, I looked at her. She was terribly pale, even paler than yesterday, and looked at me. And suddenly - and suddenly, seeing that I was looking at her, she smiled palely with pale lips, with a timid question in her eyes. “So, he still doubts and asks himself: does he know or does not know, did he see or did not see?” I averted my eyes indifferently. After tea, he locked the cash register, went to the market and bought an iron bed and screens. Returning home, I ordered to put a bed in the hall, and enclose it with screens. It was a bed for her, but I didn't say a word to her. And without words I realized, through this bed, that I "saw everything and know everything" and that there were no more doubts. For the night I left the revolver as always on the table. At night, she silently lay down in this new bed of hers: the marriage was annulled, "defeated, but not forgiven." At night she became delirious, and in the morning she had a fever. She stayed for six weeks.

CHAPTER TWO
I. THE DREAM OF PRIDE
Lukerya just announced that she would not live with me and, as soon as the mistress was buried, she would come down. I prayed on my knees for five minutes, but I wanted to pray for an hour, but I keep thinking, thinking, and all the sick thoughts, and the sick head - what is there to pray - one sin! It's also strange that I don't want to sleep: in a large, too great sorrow , after the first strongest explosions, you always want to sleep. Those sentenced to death are said to sleep extremely soundly on their last night. Yes, it’s necessary, it’s by nature, otherwise the forces would not have been able to endure ... I lay down on the sofa, but did not fall asleep ... ... For six weeks of illness, we then followed her day and night - I, Lukerya and the learned nurse from the hospital I hired. I did not spare money, and I even wanted to spend on it. I called the doctor Schroeder and paid him ten rubles per visit. When she regained consciousness, I began to appear less in front of my eyes. And yet, what am I describing. When she got up completely, she quietly and silently sat down in my room at a special table, which I also bought for her at that time ... Yes, it's true, we were completely silent; that is, we even started talking later, but everything was normal. Of course, I deliberately did not expand, but I very well noticed that she, too, seemed glad not to say an extra word. It seemed to me quite natural on her part: "She is too shocked and too defeated," I thought, "and, of course, she must be allowed to forget and get used to it." Thus we were silent, but every minute I prepared myself for the future. I thought that she did too, and it was terribly entertaining for me to guess: what exactly is she thinking about herself now? I will also say: oh, of course, no one knows how much I endured, groaning over her in her illness. But I groaned to myself and groaned in my chest even from Lukerya. I could not imagine, I could not even imagine that she would die without knowing everything. When she got out of danger and her health began to return, I remember this, I quickly and very calmed down. Not only that, I decided to postpone our future as long as possible, and leave everything as it is for now. Yes, then something strange and special happened to me, I don’t know how to call it otherwise: I triumphed, and the mere consciousness of this turned out to be completely enough for me. This is how the whole winter went. Oh, I was content like I've never been, and that's all winter. You see: in my life there was one terrible external circumstance that until then, that is, until the very catastrophe with my wife, every day and every hour crushed me, namely, the loss of reputation and that exit from the regiment. In a nutshell: there was a tyrannical injustice against me. True, my comrades did not like me for my difficult character and, perhaps, for my ridiculous character, although it often happens that what is sublime for you, sacred and revered by you at the same time for some reason makes the crowd of your comrades laugh. Oh, I was never liked even at school. I have always been disliked everywhere. Lukerya cannot love me either. The incident in the regiment, although it was the result of dislike for me, was undoubtedly of an accidental nature. I mean, there is nothing more offensive and unbearable than to perish from an accident that might not have happened, from an unfortunate accumulation of circumstances that could pass by like clouds. For an intelligent being, it's humiliating. The case was the following. During the intermission, at the theater, I went to the buffet. Hussar A-v, suddenly entering, loudly, in front of all the officers and the public who were here, spoke with two of his own hussars about the fact that in the corridor the captain of our regiment of Madmen just made a scandal "and, it seems, drunk." The conversation did not start, and there was a mistake, because Captain Bezumtsev was not drunk and the scandal was, in fact, not a scandal. The hussars started talking about something else, and that was the end of it, but the next day the anecdote got into our regiment, and immediately they started talking among us that there was only me from our regiment in the buffet, and when hussar A-v spoke impudently about Captain Bezumtsev, I didn’t come up to A-vu and did not stop him with a remark. But for what reason? If he had a grudge against Bezumtsev, then it was their own business, and why should I get involved? Meanwhile, the officers began to find that the matter was not personal, but also concerned the regiment, and since the only officers of our regiment were here, I proved by this to all the officers who were in the buffet and the public that there could be officers in our regiment, not so ticklish about their honor and the regiment. I could not agree with this definition. I was given to know that I could still correct everything, if even now, although late, I wanted to formally explain myself to A. I did not want this, and as I was irritated, I refused with pride. Then he immediately resigned - that's the whole story. I came out proud, but broken in spirit. I fell in will and mind. It just came up that my sister's husband in Moscow squandered our small fortune and my part in it, a tiny part, but I was left penniless on the street. I could have taken a private service, but I did not: after a brilliant uniform, I could not go anywhere for railway. So - shame so shame, shame so shame, fall so fall, and the worse, the better - that's what I chose. There are three years of dark memories and even Vyazemsky's house. A year and a half ago, a rich old woman, my godmother, died in Moscow, and unexpectedly, among others, left me three thousand in her will. I thought and then decided my fate. I ventured into the cash register without asking people for forgiveness: money, then a corner and - a new life away from the old memories - that's the plan. Nevertheless, the gloomy past and the ever-damaged reputation of my honor tormented me every hour, every minute. But then I got married. Coincidentally or not, I don't know. But when I brought her into the house, I thought that I was bringing in a friend, but I needed a friend too much. But I saw clearly that my friend had to be prepared, completed, and even defeated. And could I explain anything so immediately to this sixteen-year-old and prejudiced? For example, how could I, without the accidental help of a terrible accident with a revolver, assure her that I am not a coward and that I was unfairly accused in the regiment as a coward? But the disaster arrived by the way. Withstanding the revolver, I took revenge on all my gloomy past. And although no one knew about it, she did, and that was everything for me, because she herself was everything for me, all the hope of my future is in my dreams! She was the only person , which I prepared for myself, and there was no need for another, - and now she found out everything; she learned at least that she had unjustly rushed to join my enemies. This thought delighted me. In her eyes, I could no longer be a scoundrel, but perhaps only a strange person, but even this thought now, after everything that had happened, did not please me at all: strangeness is not a vice, on the contrary, sometimes it attracts a female character. In a word, I deliberately delayed the denouement: what happened was too much for my peace of mind for the time being, and contained too many pictures and material for my dreams. That's the nasty thing, that I'm a dreamer: I had enough material, but I thought about her that she would wait. So the whole winter passed, in some kind of expectation of something. I liked to steal a glance at her when she used to sit at her table. She took care of work, laundry, and in the evenings she sometimes read books that she took from my closet. The choice of books in the bookcase should also have been in my favour. She hardly went anywhere. Before dusk, after dinner, I took her out every day for a walk, and we did exercise, but not completely silently, as before. I just tried to pretend that we are not silent and speak in agreement, but, as I said already, we ourselves both did this so that we did not spread. I did it on purpose, but, I thought, she needed to "give time." Of course, it’s strange that it never occurred to me, almost until the end of winter, that I like to look at her on the sly, but I didn’t catch a single look from her all winter! I thought it was timidity in her. Moreover, she had an air of such timid meekness, such impotence after her illness. No, it's better to wait and - "and she will suddenly come to you herself ..." This thought delighted me irresistibly. I will add one thing: sometimes I seemed to deliberately inflame myself and really brought my spirit and mind to the point that I seemed to take offense at her. And so it went on for some time. But my hatred could never mature and take root in my soul. And I myself felt that it was just a game. And then, even though I broke off the marriage, having bought a bed and screens, I could never, never see her as a criminal. And not because he judged her crime lightly, but because it made sense to forgive her completely, from the very first day, even before he even bought a bed. In a word, this is strange on my part, for I am morally strict. On the contrary, in my eyes she was so defeated, she was so humiliated, so crushed, that sometimes I painfully pitied her, although I resolutely liked the idea of ​​her humiliation. I liked the idea of ​​this inequality of ours ... This winter I happened to make several good deeds. I forgave two debts, I gave one poor woman without any mortgage. And I didn’t tell my wife about it, and I didn’t do it at all so that she would know; but the woman herself came to give thanks, and almost on her knees. Thus recited; It seemed to me that she really learned about the woman with pleasure. But spring was approaching, it was already mid-April, the double frames were taken out, and the sun began to illuminate our silent rooms with bright beams. But a veil hung before me and blinded my mind. Fatal, terrible veil! How did it happen that all this suddenly fell from my eyes and I suddenly received the sight and understood everything! Was it an accident, did such an urgent day come, did a ray of sunshine kindle a thought and conjecture in my dull mind? No, it was not a thought or a hunch, but then suddenly one vein began to play, a vein that had been dead, trembled and came to life and illumined all my stupefied soul and my demonic pride. I then just jumped up suddenly from the spot. Yes, and it happened all of a sudden. It happened before evening, at five o'clock, after dinner...

II. THE VEIL SUDDENLY FALLED
Two words before. A month before, I noticed in her a strange thoughtfulness, not just silence, but already thoughtfulness. I suddenly noticed this too. She then sat at work, her head bent to her sewing, and did not see that I was looking at her. And suddenly I was immediately struck by the fact that she had become so thin, thin, her face was pale, her lips turned white - all this, as a whole, together with thoughtfulness, frapped me extremely and at once. I've heard a little dry cough before, especially at night. I immediately got up and went to ask Schroeder to me, without telling her anything. Schroeder arrived the next day. She was very surprised and looked first at Schroeder, then at me. "Yes, I'm healthy," she said, smiling vaguely. Schroeder did not examine her very much (these physicians are sometimes condescendingly careless), but only told me in another room that it was left after an illness and that in the spring it would not be bad to go somewhere to the sea or, if not, then simply move to the country. In a word, he did not say anything, except that there is weakness or something. When Schroeder came out, she suddenly said to me again, looking at me terribly seriously: - I am completely, completely healthy. But having said that, she immediately blushed, apparently from shame. Apparently it was a shame. Oh, now I understand: she was ashamed that I was still her husband, taking care of her, still like a real husband. But then I did not understand and attributed the paint to humility. (Veil!) And so, a month after that, at five o'clock, in April, on a bright sunny day, I was sitting at the cash register and was calculating. Suddenly I hear that she, in our room, at her desk, at work, quietly, quietly ... sang. This news made a tremendous impression on me, and to this day I do not understand it. Until then, I had almost never heard her singing, except in the very first days, when I brought her into the house and when they could still frolic, shooting at a target with a revolver. Then her voice was still rather strong, sonorous, although incorrect, but terribly pleasant and healthy. Now the song was so weak - oh, not exactly mournful (it was some kind of romance), but as if there was something cracked, broken in the voice, as if the voice could not cope, as if the song itself was sick. She sang in an undertone, and suddenly, rising, her voice broke off—such a poor little voice, it broke off so pathetically; she cleared her throat and again began to sing softly, a little bit... My worries will be laughed at, but no one will ever understand why I got agitated! No, I didn't feel sorry for her yet, but it was something completely different. At first, at least in the first minutes, there was suddenly bewilderment and terrible surprise, terrible and strange, painful and almost vindictive: “Sings, and in front of me! Has she forgotten about me, or what?" I was completely shocked, I remained in place, then suddenly got up, took my hat and went out, as if not thinking. At least I don’t know why and where. Lukerya began to give her coat. - She sings? I said involuntarily to Lukerya. She did not understand and looked at me, continuing not to understand; however, I was really incomprehensible. "Is this the first time she sings?" "No, sometimes she sings without you," replied Lukerya. I remember everything. I went down the stairs, went out into the street and went anywhere. I went to the corner and began to look somewhere. They were passing by, they pushed me, I didn’t feel it. I called a cab and hired him to the Police Bridge, I don’t know why. But then suddenly threw it away and gave him two kopecks: "That's for disturbing you," I said, laughing senselessly at him, but a kind of delight suddenly began in my heart. in my soul. It took my breath away. The veil fell, fell from my eyes! Kohl sang in my presence, so forgot about me - that's what was clear and scary. This heart felt. But delight shone in my soul and overcame fear. O irony of fate! After all, there was nothing else and could not have been in my soul all winter, except for this same delight, but where was I myself all winter? was I with my soul? I ran up the stairs in a hurry, I don't know if I entered timidly. I only remember that the whole floor seemed to be agitated and I seemed to be floating along the river. I entered the room, she was sitting in the same place, sewing, bowing her head, but no longer singing. She looked at me briefly and incuriously, but it was not a look, but just a gesture, ordinary and indifferent, when someone enters the room. I walked straight up and sat down on a chair beside me, like a madman. She quickly looked at me, as if frightened: I took her hand and do not remember what I said to her, that is, I wanted to say, because I could not even speak correctly. My voice broke and did not obey. Yes, I did not know what to say, but only suffocated. - Let's talk... you know... say something! - I suddenly muttered something stupid, - oh, was it crazy? She shuddered again and recoiled in great fright, looking at my face, but suddenly severe surprise expressed itself in her eyes. Yes, surprise, and strict. She looked at me with big eyes. This strictness, this stern surprise at once smashed me to death: "So you still have love? Love?" - as if asked suddenly in this surprise, although she was silent. But I read everything, everything. Everything in me shook, and I collapsed at her feet. Yes, I fell at her feet. She quickly jumped up, but with extreme force I held her by both hands. And I fully understood my despair, oh, I understood! But, believe me, the rapture boiled in my heart so uncontrollably that I thought I was going to die. I kissed her feet in rapture and happiness. Yes, in happiness, immeasurable and endless, and this is with the understanding of all my hopeless despair! I cried, I said something, but I could not speak. Fright and surprise were suddenly replaced in her by some preoccupied thought, an extraordinary question, and she looked at me strangely, even wildly, she wanted to understand something as soon as possible and smiled. She was terribly ashamed that I was kissing her legs, and she took them away, but I immediately kissed the place on the floor where her leg stood. She saw this and suddenly began to laugh out of shame (you know this when one laughs out of shame). Hysteria set in, I saw it, her hands trembled - I didn’t think about it and kept muttering to her that I love her, that I won’t get up, “let me kiss your dress ... so pray for you all my life ... “I don’t know, I don’t remember,” and suddenly she sobbed and trembled; a terrible fit of hysteria ensued. I scared her. I carried her to bed. When the attack passed, then, sitting up on the bed, she grabbed my hands with a terribly stricken look and asked me to calm down: "Come on, don't torture yourself, calm down!" and started crying again. All that evening I did not leave her side. I kept telling her that I was taking her to Boulogne to swim in the sea, now, now, in two weeks, that she had such a cracked voice, I heard just now that I would close the cash register, sell it to Dobronravov, that everything new would begin, and most importantly, in Boulogne, to Boulogne! She listened and was afraid. More and more afraid. But the main thing for me was not that, but that I wanted more and more irresistibly to lie at her feet again, and kiss again, kiss the ground on which her feet stand, and pray to her and - "I'm nothing more, nothing more." I won’t ask you,” I repeated every minute, “don’t answer me anything, don’t notice me at all, and just let me look at you from the corner, turn me into your thing, into a dog ...” She was crying. “But I thought you would leave me like this,” she suddenly burst out involuntarily, so involuntarily that perhaps she did not notice at all how she said, but meanwhile - oh, that was her most important, most fatal word and the most understandable thing for me that evening, and as if I was slashed by him with a knife in the heart! It explained everything to me, everything, but while she was near, before my eyes, I hoped irresistibly and was terribly happy. Oh, I exhausted her terribly that evening, and I understood it, but I constantly thought that I would redo everything right away. Finally, by nightfall, she was completely exhausted, I persuaded her to fall asleep, and she immediately fell asleep, soundly. I was waiting for delirium, there was delirium, but the easiest. I got up at night almost every minute, quietly in shoes came to look at her. I wrung my hands over her, looking at this sick creature on this poor bed, an iron bed, which I bought for her then for three rubles. I knelt down, but did not dare to kiss her sleeping feet (without her will!). I began to pray to God, but jumped up again. Lukerya looked at me and kept coming out of the kitchen. I went out to her and told her to go to bed and that tomorrow would begin "completely different." And I blindly, madly, terribly believed in it. Oh, delight, delight filled me! I was only waiting tomorrow. Most importantly, I did not believe in any trouble, despite the symptoms. The whole meaning has not yet returned, despite the fallen veil, and for a long, long time it did not return - oh, until today, until today !! And how, how could he then return: after all, she was still alive then, after all, she was right there in front of me, and I was in front of her. "She will wake up tomorrow, and I will tell her all this, and she will see everything." Here is my then reasoning, simple and clear, and therefore delight! The main thing here is this trip to Boulogne. For some reason, I kept thinking that Boulogne was everything, that in Boulogne something was final. "To Boulogne, to Boulogne!.." I waited madly for the morning.

III. TOO UNDERSTAND
But that was only a few days ago, five days, only five days, last Tuesday! No, no, if only a little more time, if only a drop would wait and - and I would dispel the darkness! Hasn't she calmed down? The very next day she listened to me with a smile, in spite of her embarrassment... The main thing was that all this time, all five days, she was embarrassed or ashamed. I was also afraid, very afraid. I do not argue, I will not contradict like a madman: there was fear, but how could she not be afraid? After all, we had become alien to each other so long ago, so weaned one from the other, and suddenly all this ... But I did not look at her fear, the new shone! .. True, the undoubted truth, that I made a mistake. And even there were, perhaps, many mistakes. And as soon as I woke up the next day, in the morning (it was Wednesday) I immediately made a mistake: I suddenly made her my friend. I was in a hurry, too much, too much, but confession was needed, necessary - much more than confession! I did not even hide what I had hidden from myself all my life. I said bluntly that all winter I did nothing but make sure I was in her love. I explained to her that the cash desk was only a fall of my will and mind, a personal idea of ​​self-flagellation and self-praise. I explained to her that at that time I was really scared in the buffet, because of my character, from my suspiciousness: I was struck by the situation, the buffet was struck; I was struck by how I would suddenly come out, and wouldn’t it be stupid? He was not afraid of a duel, but of what would come out stupid ... And then he didn’t want to confess, and he tortured everyone, and he tortured her for that, and then he married her in order to torture her for that. In general, I spoke for the most part as if in a fever. She herself took my hands and asked me to stop: "You are exaggerating ... you are torturing yourself," and tears began again, again almost seizures! She kept asking me not to say anything and not to remember. I did not look at the requests or looked a little: spring, Boulogne! The sun is there, our new sun is there, that's all I said! I locked the cash desk, handed over the affairs to Dobronravov. I suggested that she suddenly distribute everything to the poor, except for the basic three thousand received from the godmother, for which we would go to Boulogne, and then we would return and begin a new working life. So they put it, because she did not say anything ... she only smiled. And, it seems, she smiled more out of delicacy, so as not to upset me. After all, I saw that I was a burden to her, don't think that I was so stupid and such an egoist that I didn't see it. I saw everything, everything before last line , saw and knew better than anyone; all my despair was in plain sight! I told her everything about me and about her. And about Lukerya. I said that I cried ... Oh, I did change the conversation, I also tried not to remind you of certain things. And even after all, she brightened up, once or twice, because I remember, I remember! Why do you say that I looked and saw nothing? And if only this had not happened, then everything would have been resurrected. After all, she told me as early as the third day, when the conversation turned to reading and what she had read that winter - after all, she told me and laughed when she remembered this scene of Gilles Blas with the Archbishop of Grenada. And with what childish laughter, sweet, just like before in brides (a moment! a moment!); how glad I was! I was terribly struck, however, about the archbishop: after all, she found, therefore, so much peace of mind and happiness to laugh at a masterpiece when she sat in the winter. So, she had already begun to calm down completely, she had already begun to believe that I would leave her like that. "I thought you would leave me like this," - that's what she said then on Tuesday! Oh, a ten-year-old girl's thought! And she believed, she believed that in fact everything would remain like this: she was at her table, and I was at mine, and so we both, until we were sixty years old. And suddenly - I'm coming up here, husband, and the husband needs love! O misunderstanding, O my blindness! It was also a mistake that I looked at her with delight; I had to hold myself together, otherwise the enthusiasm frightened me. But after all, I held fast, I no longer kissed her feet. I never once showed that ... well, that I was a husband - oh, and it was not in my mind, I was only praying! But after all, it was impossible to be completely silent, after all, it was impossible not to speak at all! I suddenly told her that I enjoyed her conversation and that I considered her to be incomparably, incomparably more educated and developed than me. She blushed very much and said in embarrassment that I was exaggerating. Then, foolishly, without restraining myself, I told how delighted I was when, standing outside the door then, I listened to her duel, the duel of innocence with that creature, and how I enjoyed her intelligence, the brilliance of wit and with such childish innocence. She seemed to shudder all over, she was about to murmur again that I was exaggerating, but suddenly her whole face darkened, she covered herself with her hands and sobbed ... fit, just like on Tuesday. It was last night, and the next morning... The next morning?! Madman, but this morning was today, just now, just now! Listen and understand: after all, when we met just now at the samovar (this was after yesterday's seizure), she even struck me herself with her calmness, that's what happened! And I trembled all night with fear for yesterday. But suddenly she came up to me, stood in front of me herself, and, folding her hands (just now, just now!), began to tell me that she was a criminal, that she knew it, that her crime had tormented her all winter, and now tormented her ... that she appreciates my generosity too much ... "I will be your faithful wife, I will respect you ..." Then I jumped up and hugged her like a madman! I kissed her, kissed her face, on the lips, like a husband, for the first time after a long separation. And why did I leave just now, just for two hours... our foreign passports... Oh my God! If only we could return five minutes, five minutes earlier!.. And here this crowd at our gates, these glances at me... oh my God! Lukerya says (oh, now I won’t let Lukerya go for anything, she knows everything, she has been there all winter, she will tell me everything), she says that when I left the house, and in just twenty minutes - sometime before my arrival, - she suddenly went to the mistress in our room to ask something, I don’t remember, and saw that her image (the same image of the Virgin) was taken out from her, standing in front of her on the table, and the mistress seemed to be just now prayed before him. "What are you, mistress?" - "Nothing, Lukerya, go ... Wait, Lukerya," she went up to her and kissed her. "Are you happy, I say, mistress?" - "Yes, Lukerya" - "For a long time, mistress, the master should have come to you to ask for forgiveness ... Thank God that you have reconciled" - "All right, he says, Lukerya, go away, Lukerya," - and she smiled that way, but strangely so. It is so strange that Lukerya suddenly came back ten minutes later to look at her: “She is standing by the wall, at the very window, she put her hand to the wall, and pressed her head to her hand, she stands that way and thinks. how I stand and look at her from that room. I see her smiling, standing, thinking and smiling. I looked at her, turned quietly, went out, and I think to myself, only suddenly I hear, they opened the window. I I immediately went to say, “It’s fresh, madam, you wouldn’t catch a cold,” and suddenly I see she stood on the window and was already standing all up, to her full height, in the open window, with her back to me, holding the icon in her hands. but I fell, shouting: "Mistress, mistress!" She heard, she moved to turn to me, but she did not turn, but took a step, pressed the image to her chest and - and rushed out of the window! I only remember that when I entered the gate, it was still warm. Most importantly, they are all looking at me. At first they shouted, but then they suddenly fell silent and everyone parted in front of me and ... and she lies with the image. I remember how, in the darkness, I approached silently and looked for a long time, and everyone surrounded me and said something to me. Lukerya was here, but I didn't see her. She says she spoke to me. I only remember that tradesman: he kept shouting to me that "it came out of his mouth with a handful of blood, with a handful, with a handful!", and pointed out to me the blood right there on the stone. I seem to have touched the blood with my finger, soiled my finger, I look at the finger (I remember this), and he told me everything: "A handful, a handful!" - Yes, what is "with a handful"? - I yelled, they say, with all my might, raised my hands and rushed at him ... Oh, wildly, wildly! Misunderstanding! Incredible! Impossibility!

IV. ONLY FIVE MINUTES LATE
Is not it so? Is it plausible? Can you say it's possible? Why did this woman die? Oh, believe me, I understand; but why she died is still a question. She was frightened of my love, she asked herself seriously: to accept or not to accept, and could not bear the question, and rather died. I know, I know, there is nothing to rack my brains: I made too many promises, I was afraid that it was impossible to keep, - clearly. There are several absolutely terrible circumstances here. Because what did she die for? still the question is worth it. The question knocks, knocks in my brain. I would have left her only that way if she wanted it to remain that way. She didn't believe him, that's what! No, no, I'm lying, not at all. Simply because it was necessary to be honest with me: to love so completely, and not as you would love a merchant. And since she was too chaste, too pure, to agree to such love as a merchant needs, she did not want to deceive me. She did not want to deceive with half-love under the guise of love or quarter-love. Very honest, that's what! I wanted to instill a wide heart then, remember? Strange thought. Terribly curious: did she respect me? I don't know if she despised me or not? I don't think she despised. Strangely awful: why has it never occurred to me, all winter long, that she despises me? I was in the highest degree convinced otherwise, until the very moment when she looked at me then with severe surprise. With strict precisely. It was then that I immediately realized that she despises me. Understood irrevocably, forever! Ah, let her, let her despise her, even all her life, but - let her live, live! Just now she was still walking and talking. I don't understand how she jumped out of the window! And how could I guess even in five minutes? I called Lukerya. I won't let Lukerya go now, no way! Oh, we could still talk. We just got terribly out of the habit of each other in the winter, but couldn’t we get used to it again? Why, why couldn't we get together and start a new life again? I am generous, she is too - that's the point of connection! A few more words, two days, no more, and she would understand everything. The main thing, it's a shame that all this is a case - a simple, barbaric, inert case. Here's an insult! Five minutes total, only five minutes late! If I had come in five minutes, the moment would have passed by like a cloud, and it would never have occurred to her afterwards. And she would have ended up understanding everything. And now again empty rooms, again I'm alone. There is a pendulum knocking, he doesn’t care, he doesn’t feel sorry for anything. There is no one - that's the trouble! I walk, I keep walking. I know, I know, don't tell me: is it funny to you that I complain about the case and for five minutes? But here is the obvious. Judge one thing: she didn’t even leave a note that, they say, “don’t blame anyone for my death,” as everyone leaves. Surely she could not judge that even Lukerya could be disturbed: "One, they say, was with her, so you pushed her." At least they would have dragged her out without guilt, if only four people in the yard had not seen from the windows from the outbuilding and from the yard how she stood with the image in her hands and rushed herself. But after all, this is also a case that people stood and saw. No, it's all a moment, just an unaccountable moment. Suddenness and fantasy! What is it that she prayed before the image? This does not mean before death. The whole moment lasted, maybe only some ten minutes, the whole decision - just when she stood against the wall, leaning her head against her hand, and smiled. A thought flew into my head, swirled and - and could not resist it. There's a clear misunderstanding here, if you will. You could still live with me. What if there is anemia? Just from anemia, from depletion of vital energy? She was tired in the winter, that's what ... Late !!! How thin she is in the coffin, how pointed her nose! Eyelashes lie with arrows. And after all, as she fell, she didn’t crush anything, didn’t break anything! Only this "handful of blood" alone. Dessert spoon. Internal concussion. A strange thought: if it were possible not to bury? Because if they take it away, then ... oh no, it is almost impossible to take it away! Oh, I know that they must carry her away, I'm not crazy and I'm not delusional at all, on the contrary, my mind has never shone like that before - but how is it that there is no one in the house again, again two rooms, and again I'm alone with mortgages. Bullshit, bullshit, that's bullshit! I tormented her - that's what! What do your laws mean to me now? Why do I need your customs, your morals, your life, your state, your faith? Let your judge judge me, let them bring me to court, to your public court, and I will say that I do not recognize anything. The judge will shout: "Shut up, officer!" And I will cry out to him: "Where do you have such strength now that I would obey? Why did gloomy inertia break what is dearest of all? Why do I need your laws now? I am separating myself." Oh, I don't care! Blind, blind! Dead, can't hear! You do not know what kind of paradise I would protect you. Paradise was in my soul, I would have planted it around you! Well, you wouldn't love me, - and let it be, well, what then? Everything would be so, everything would remain so. She would only tell me as a friend - that would be happy and laughing joyfully, looking into each other's eyes. That's how we would live. And if I fell in love with another, - well, so be it, so be it! You would have walked with him and laughed, and I would have looked from the other side of the street ... Oh, let it be, only let her open her eyes at least once! For one moment, just for one! she would have looked at me, as she did just now, when she stood before me and swore an oath that she would be a faithful wife! Oh, in one glance I would understand everything! Inertness! Oh nature! People on earth alone - that's the trouble! "Is there a man alive in the field?" - shouts the Russian hero. I also shout, not a hero, and no one responds. They say the sun is the life of the universe. The sun will rise and - look at him, isn't he a dead man? Everything is dead and the dead are everywhere. Only people, and silence around them - that's the earth! "People, love each other" - who said that? whose testament is this? The pendulum knocks insensibly, disgustingly. Two o'clock at night. Her shoes are by the bed, as if waiting for her ... No, seriously, when they take her away tomorrow, what will I be?

Among the vast legacy of the greatest Russian writer Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky, not only novels, but also novels and short stories deserve close attention. In my work, I want to turn to Dostoevsky's short story "The Mole". This is the result of creativity of the late period. The story was included by Fyodor Mikhailovich in the cycle of artistic and journalistic works "A Writer's Diary". This cycle is an example of a special genre of literature. acts in it as a chronicler, carefully following all the social and political phenomena taking place in contemporary reality, and analyzing them. The cycle is interspersed with journalistic articles and works of art.

In the October 1876 issue of The Writer's Diary, Dostoevsky cites the example of the suicide of a young woman who threw herself out of a window with an icon in her hand. "Humble, meek suicide", something completely new and incomprehensible for the author, who thought a lot about the problem of suicide. He tries to comprehend what he has met in life, draws conclusions. However, as a result of artistic work on the plot, something completely different comes out, almost canceling out previous ideas about this. From the similarity, only the name remains - "Meek". How the writer's thought went, one might say, remains "behind the scenes."

The story "The Meek One" tells about people who cannot be considered either righteous or hardened villains. The protagonist, on whose behalf the narration is being conducted, brought his beloved wife to suicide. The form of "Meek" is dictated by the circumstances of the plot. This is the work of thought taking place here and now, in front of the public, since the character has a habit of talking to himself, and anyone who wants can hide behind the wall with the author and eavesdrop. An important plastic detail: the character's speech is at first confused and jerky. Nervous tension grew and, finally, led the consciousness of a person to the fact that he began to reason aloud. Talking to himself, he seems to calm down, until he comes as a result of his thoughts to cold despair.

Dostoevsky, with the ingenious psychologism inherent only to him, shows how people themselves destroy and destroy their own good aspirations. After all, both the moneylender officer and his young wife wanted to create a truly happy family. However, pride killed them. Dostoevsky leads us to the idea that both of them are criminals, both of them feel like criminals.

The meek decides to commit suicide, confusedly repenting before this husband of her crime against him. Indeed, she tried to cheat on him, tried to kill him - she sinned with a thought. It is characteristic that these are crimes in a purely religious sense, since a sin can be committed by "thought, word, deed and dereliction of duty." The meek one recognizes herself as a sinner and, with an icon in her hands, goes to suicide. Like most of the characters in the works of F. M. Dostoevsky, Krotkay has his own prototype. The author of the story wrote about her in one of his journalistic articles.

The prototype of Krotkoy, the seamstress Borisova, committed suicide by throwing herself out of the window with the icon in her hands. She was pushed for quite understandable reasons - “because she could not find a job for herself,” as they wrote about this incident in the newspaper. Dostoevsky was struck by some of its features. “This image in the hands is a strange and unheard-of feature in suicide! - the writer notes in the article. “It’s kind of a meek, humble suicide. Here even, apparently, there was no grumbling or reproach: simply - it became impossible to live ... "- but" you can not live "for purely material reasons. Why is it "impossible to live" Meek, the heroine of the story, who does not experience such difficulties?

The hero, an officer-usurer, is distinguished by the fact that in the past, before the death of his wife, he stubbornly did not want to feel wrong. He did things that the society he despised would define as "mean" and forced himself not to feel guilty about them. But already after the terrible event, having managed, it seems, to "gather his thoughts to a point", he concludes that he himself is a dead man among the dead, and everything is dead around. "Only people, and silence around them - that's the earth!" Somewhere on the periphery of consciousness, he understands that in some sense he is guilty of the death of his wife, he had previously managed to feel his guilt before her, and partly before the world, and wanted to make amends - to prove his own courage, to distribute his money to the poor etc. But after the materialized fact of his sin, the usurer felt that his inner criminality had killed him. He failed to receive forgiveness of sins and morally died.

Meek in a moment of strange thoughtfulness, dreams, when she suddenly, unexpectedly for everyone, took the icon and jumped out the window, she could condemn herself to death for internal, moral death.

The tragedy of the heroes of the story is that they could not be cleansed of filth. The suicide of one deprived both of them of this opportunity. Despite the fact that before them, it would seem, joyful prospects opened up, as he pictured them in his mind main character: "... I'll take her to Boulogne to swim in the sea, now, now ..." - Boulogne, the sun - reaching paradise was not possible for sinners. The feeling of the story is hopeless.

In "The Meek" guilt, the sinfulness of a person becomes total, everyone can be accused of internal crime, which becomes the cause of the tragedy of the family. The situation escalated to the limit and hence the complete destruction of life.

“Other things, no matter how simple they may seem, you can’t stop thinking about for a long time, somehow it seems, and it’s even as if you are to blame for them. This is a meek, self-destroying soul, involuntarily tormented by the thought, ”F. M. Dostoevsky wrote in the article“ Two Suicides ”about the incident with the seamstress Borisova.

However, despite the hopelessness of the situation described in the story, Dostoevsky leads readers to the idea that inside every person there is a capacity for sincere love and devotion, cleansed of selfishness and pride.