Федор Достоевский: Поиск по текстам произведений автора и критике. Cлово "ELENA". Классическая русская литература.

Примерный текст на первых найденных страницах

Входимость: 42. Размер: 84кб.

Часть текста: Lambert? As-tu vu Lambert? by Fyodor Dostoevsky I ON the thirteenth of January of this present year, 1865, at half- past twelve in the day, Elena Ivanovna, the wife of my cultured friend Ivan Matveitch, who is a colleague in the same depart- ment, and may be said to be a distant relation of mine, too, expressed the desire to see the crocodile now on view at a fixed charge in the Arcade. As Ivan Matveitch had already in his pocket his ticket for a tour abroad (not so much for the sake of his health as for the improvement of his mind), and was consequently free from his official duties and had nothing whatever to do that morning, he offered no objection to his wife's irresistible fancy, but was positively aflame with curiosity himself. "A capital idea!" he said, with the utmost satisfaction. "We'll have a look at the crocodile! On the eve of visiting Europe it is as well to acquaint ourselves on the spot with its indigenous inhabitants." And with these words, taking his wife's arm, he set off with her at once for the Arcade. I joined them, as I usually do, being an intimate friend of the family. I have never seen Ivan Matveitch in a more agreeable frame of mind than he was on that memorable morning-how true it is that we know not beforehand the fate that awaits us! On entering the Arcade he was at once full of admiration for the splendours of the building and, when we reached the shop in which the monster lately arrived in Petersburg was being exhibited, he volunteered to pay the quarter-rouble for me to the crocodile owner - a thing which had never happened before. Walking into a little room, we observed that besides the crocodile there were in it parrots of the...

Входимость: 23. Размер: 15кб.

Часть текста: и оскорбленные). Part II. Chapter IX CHAPTER IX I waked up late, at ten o'clock in the morning, feeling ill. I felt giddy and my head was aching; I glanced towards Elena's bed. The bed was empty. At the same moment from my little room on the right sounds reached me as though someone were sweeping with a broom. I went to look. Elena had a broom in her hand and holding up her smart dress which she had kept on ever since at evening, she was sweeping the floor. The wood for the stove was piled up in the corner. The table had been scrubbed, the kettle had been cleaned. In a word, Elena was doing the housework. "Listen, Elena," I cried. "Who wants you to sweep the floor? I don't wish it, you're ill. Have you come here to be a drudge for me?" "Who is going to sweep the floor here?" she answered, drawing herself up and looking straight at me. "I'm not ill now." "But I didn't take you to make you work, Elena. You seem to be afraid I shall scold you like Mme. Bubnov for living with me for nothing. And where did you get that horrid broom? I had no broom," I added, looking at her in wonder. "It's my broom. I brought it here myself, I used to sweep the floor here for grandfather too. And the broom's been lying here ever since under the stove." I went back to the other room musing. Perhaps I may ...

Входимость: 17. Размер: 19кб.

Часть текста: she fell into a sound sleep. A good sign, I thought, but when I waked in the morning I decided to run for the doctor' while the poor little thing was still asleep. I knew a doctor, a very good-natured old bachelor, who with his German house- keeper had lived in Vladimirsky Street from time immemorial. I set off to him. He promised to be with me at ten o'clock. It was eight when I reached him. I felt much inclined to call in at Masloboev's on the way, but I thought better of it. He was sure not to be awake yet after yesterday; besides, Elena might wake up and be frightened at finding herself alone in my room. In her feverish state she might well forget how and when she had come there. She waked up at the moment when I went into the room. I went up to her and cautiously asked her how she felt. She did not answer, but bent a long, long, intent look upon me with her expressive black eyes. I thought from the look in her eyes that she was fully conscious and understood what had happened. Her not answering me perhaps was just her invariable habit. Both on the previous day and on the day before that when she had come to see me she had not uttered a word in answer to some of my questions, but had only looked into my face with her slow, persistent stare, in which there was a strange pride as well as wonder and wild curiosity. Now I noticed a severity, even a sort of mistrustfulness in her eyes. I was putting my hand on her forehead to feel whether she were still feverish, but quietly, with- out a word, she put back my hand with her little one and turned away from me to the wall. I walked away that I might not worry her. I had a big copper kettle. I had long used it instead of a samovar, for...

Входимость: 10. Размер: 20кб.

Часть текста: porter who came in with some eatables, she had carried me to the sofa. I woke up several times, and always saw Elena's compas- sionate and anxious little face leaning over me. But I remember all that as in a dream, as through a mist, and the sweet face of the poor child came to me in glimpses, through my stupor, like a vision, like a picture. She brought me something to drink, arranged my bedclothes, or sat looking at me with a distressed and frightened face, and smoothing my hair with her fingers. Once I remember her gentle kiss on my face. Another time, suddenly waking up in the night, by the light of the smouldering candle that had been set on a little table by my bedside I saw Elena lying with her face on my pillow with her warm cheek resting on her hand, and her pale lips half parted in an uneasy sleep. But it was only early next morning that I fully regained consciousness. The candle had completely burnt out. The vivid rosy beams of early sunrise were already playing on the wall. Elena was sitting at the table, asleep, with her tired little head pillowed on her left arm, and I remember I gazed a long time at her childish face, full, even in sleep, of an unchildlike sadness and a sort of strange, sickly beauty. It was pale, ...

Входимость: 5. Размер: 13кб.

Часть текста: dingy-green broken panes, through which I caught a glimpse of pink cotton curtains. I crossed the road, went up to the house, and read on an iron plate over the gate, "Mme. Bubnov." But I had hardly deciphered the inscription when suddenly I heard a piercing female scream, followed by shouts of abuse in Mme. Bubnov's yard. I peeped through the gate. On the wooden steps of the house stood a stout woman, dressed like a working woman with a kerchief on her head, and a green shawl. Her face was of a revolting purplish colour. Her little, puffy, bloodshot eves were gleaming with spite. It was evident that she was not sober, though it was so early in the day. She was shrieking at poor Elena, who stood petrified. before her with the cup in her hand. A dishevelled female, painted and rouged, peeped from the stairs behind the purple-faced woman. A little later a door opened on the area steps leading to the basement, and a poorly dressed, middle-aged woman of modest and decent appearance came out on the steps, probably attracted by the shouting. The other inhabitants of the basement, a decrepit-looking old man and a girl, looked out from the half- opened door. A big, hulking peasant, probably the porter, stood still in the middle of the yard with the broom in his hand, looking lazily at the scene. "Ah, you damned slut, you bloodsucker, you louse!" squealed the woman, letting out at one breath all her store of abuse, for the most part without commas or stops, but with a sort of gasp. So this is how you repay, me for my care of you, you ragged wench. She was just sent for some cucumbers ...

Входимость: 5. Размер: 15кб.

Часть текста: Street. He had three rather grubby but not badly furnished rooms. There was even the appearance of some prosperity, at the same time an extreme slovenliness. The door was opened by a very pretty girl of nineteen, plainly but charmingly dressed, clean, and with very good-natured, merry eyes. I guessed at once that this was the Alexandra Semyonovna to whom he had made passing allusion that morning, holding out an introduction to her as an allurement to me. She asked who I was, and hearing my name said that Masloboev was expecting me, but that he was asleep now in his room, to which she took me. Masloboev was asleep on a very good soft sofa with his dirty great-coat over him, and a shabby leather pillow under his head. He was sleeping very lightly. As soon as we went in he called me by my name. "Ah, that was you? I was expecting you. I was just dreaming you'd come in and wake me. So it's time. Come along." "Where are we going? "To see a lady." "What lady? Why?" "Mme. Bubnov, to pay her out. Isn't she a beauty?" he drawled, turning to Alexandra Semyonovna, and he positively kissed his finger-tips at the thought of Mme. Bubnov. "Get along, you're making it up!" said Alexandra Semyon- ovna, feeling it incumbent on her to make a show of anger. "Don't you know her? Let me introduce you, old man. Here, Alexandra Semyonovna, let me present to you a literary general; it's only once a year he's on view for nothing, at other times you have to pay." "Here he is up to his nonsense again! Don't you listen to him; he's always laughing at me. How can this gentleman be a general!" "That's just what I tell you, he's a special sort. But don't you imagine, your...

Входимость: 4. Размер: 19кб.

Часть текста: father himself asked Natasha to do you the honour of becoming your wife, and you were delighted at his doing so, as I saw myself, you must admit that your behaviour is somewhat strange. Do you know what you are doing to Natasha? In any case this note will remind you that your behaviour towards your future wife is unworthy and frivolous in the extreme. I am very well aware that I have no right to lecture you, but I don't care about that in the least. "P. S. -She knows nothing about this letter, and in fact it was not she who told me about you." I sealed up the letter and left it on his table. In answer to my question the servant said that Alexey Petrovitch was hardly ever at home, and that he would not be back now till the small hours of the morning. I could hardly get home. I was overcome with giddiness, and my legs were weak and trembling. My door was open. Nikolay Sergeyitch Ichmenyev was sitting waiting for me. He was sitting at the table watching Elena in silent wonder, and she, too, was watching ...

Входимость: 4. Размер: 30кб.

Часть текста: with a snow-white cloth, there were savouries of different sorts - caviar, cheese, a pie, sausage, smoked ham, fish and a row of fine glass decanters containing spirits of many sorts, and of the most attractive colours - green, ruby, brown and gold. Finally on a little table on one side - also covered with a white cloth - there were two bottles of champagne. On a table before the sofa there were three bottles containing Sauterne, Lafitte, and Cognac, very expensive brands from Eliseyev's. Alexandra Semyonovna was sitting at the tea-table, and though her dress and general get-up was simple, they had evidently been the subject of thought and attention, and the result was indeed very successful. She knew what suited her, and evidently took pride in it. She got up to meet me with some ceremony. Her fresh little face beamed with pleasure and satisfaction. Maslo- boev was wearing gorgeous Chinese slippers, a sumptuous dressing- gown, and dainty clean linen. Fashionable studs and buttons were conspicuous on his shirt everywhere where they could possibly be attached. His hair had been pomaded, and combed with a fashionable side parting. I was so much taken aback that I stopped short in the middle of the room and gazed open-mouthed, first at Masloboev and then at Alexandra Semyonovna, who was in a state of blissful satisfaction. "What's the meaning of this, Masloboev? Have you got a party this evening?" I cried with some uneasiness. "No, only you!" he answered solemnly. "But why is this?" I asked (pointing to the savouries). "Why, you've food enough for a regiment!" "And drink enough! You've forgotten the chief thing-...

Входимость: 3. Размер: 12кб.

Часть текста: her. I had hardly had time to get a good look at her the day before, and by daylight she surprised me more than ever. And, indeed, it would have been difficult to have found a stranger or more original creature - in appear- ance, anyway. With her flashing black eyes, which looked somehow foreign, her thick, dishevelled, black hair, and her mute, fixed, enigmatic gaze, the little creature might well have attracted the notice of anyone who passed her in the street. The expression in her eyes was particularly striking. There was the light of intelligence in them, and at the same time an inquisitorial mistrust, even suspicion. Her dirty old frock looked even more hopelessly tattered by daylight. She seemed to me to be suffering from some wasting, chronic disease that was gradually and relentlessly destroying her. Her pale, thin face had an unnatural sallow, bilious tinge. But in spite of all the ugliness of poverty and illness, she was positively pretty. Her eyebrows were strongly marked, delicate and beautiful. Her broad, rather low brow was particularly beautiful, and her lips were exquisitely formed with a peculiar proud bold line, but they were pale and colourless. "Ah, you again!" I cried. "Well, I thought you'd come! Come in!" She came in, stepping through the doorway slowly just as before, and looking about her mistrustfully. She looked care- fully round the room where her grandfather had lived, as though noting how far it had been changed by another inmate. "Well, the grandchild is just such another as the grandfather," I thought. "Is she mad, perhaps?" She still remained mute; I waited. "For the books!" she whispered at last, dropping her eves. "Oh yes, your books; here they are, take them! I've been keeping them on purpose for you." She looked at...

Входимость: 2. Размер: 22кб.

Часть текста: his forehead with vinegar, and continually peeping into his face with a questioning and commiserating expression, which seemed to worry and even annoy the old man. He was obstinately silent, and she dared not be the first to speak. Our sudden arrival surprised them both. Anna Andreyevna, for some reason, took fright at once on seeing me with Nellie, and for the first minute looked at us as though she suddenly felt guilty. "You see, I've brought you my Nellie," I said, going in. She has made up her mind, and now she has come to you of her own accord. Receive her and love her. . . ." The old man looked at me suspiciously, and from his eyes alone one could divine that he knew all, that is that Natasha was now alone, deserted, abandoned, and by now perhaps insulted. He was very anxious to learn the meaning of our arrival, and he looked inquiringly at both of us. Nellie was trembling, and tightly squeezing my hand in hers she kept her eyes on the ground and only from time to time stole frightened glances about her like a little wild creature in a snare. But Anna Andreyevna soon recovered herself and grasped the situa- tion. She positively pounced on Nellie, kissed her, petted her, even cried over her, and tenderly made her sit beside her, keeping the child's hand in hers. Nellie looked at her askance with curiosity and a sort of wonder. But after fondling Nellie and making her sit beside her, the old lady did not know what to do next and began looking at me with naive expectation. The old man frowned, almost suspecting why I had brought Nellie. Seeing that I was noticing his fretful expression and frowning brows, he put his hand...

Поиск по творчеству и критикеCлово "ELENA"

Поиск по творчеству и критике
Cлово "ELENA"