Поиск по творчеству и критике
Cлово "VANYA"

Часть текста: to my friends at Vassilyevsky Island. But great as the tempt- ation was, I succeeded in mastering myself and fell upon my work again with a sort of fury. At all costs I had to finish it. My publisher had demanded it and would not pay me without. I was expected there, but, on the other hand, by the evening I should be free, absolutely free as the wind, and that evening would make up to me for the last two days and nights, during which I had written three and a half signatures. And now at last the work was finished. I threw down my pen and got up, with a pain in my chest and my back and a heaviness in my head. I knew that at that moment my nerves were strained to the utmost pitch, and I seemed to hear the last words my old doctor had said to me. "No, no health could stand such a strain, because it's im- possible." So far, however, it had been possible! My head was going round, I could scarcely stand upright, but my heart was filled with joy, infinite joy. My novel was finished and, although I owed my publisher a great deal, he would certainly give me something when he found the prize in his hands - if only fifty roubles, and it was ages since I had had so much as that. Freedom and money! I snatched up my hat in delight, and with my manuscript under my arm I ran at full speed to find our precious Alexandr Petrovitch at home. I found him, but he was on the point of going out. He, too, had just completed a very profitable stroke of business, though not a literary one, and as he was at last escorting to the door a swarthy-faced Jew with whom he had been sitting for the last two hours in his study, he shook hands with me affably, and in his soft pleasant bass inquired after my health. He was a very kind-hearted man, and, joking apart, I was...

2. Dostoevsky. The Insulted and Injured (English. Униженные и оскорбленные). Part I. Chapter XV

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Часть текста: she answered, surprised. "Why?" "Why, you wrote. . . you wrote yesterday for me to come, and fixed the hour that I might not come before or after; and that's not what you usually do." "Oh, yes! I was expecting him yesterday." "Why, hasn't be been here yet?" "No. I thought if he didn't come I must talk things over with you," she added, after a pause "And this evening, did you expect him?" "No, this evening he's there." "What do you think, Natasha, won't he come back at all?" "Of course he'll come," she answered, looking at me with peculiar earnestness. She did not like the abruptness of my question. We lapsed into silence, walking up and down the room. "I've been expecting you all this time, Vanya", she began again with a smile. "And do you know what I was doing? I've been walking up and down, reciting poetry. Do you remember the bells, the winter road, 'My samovar boils on the table of oak'. . . ? We read it together: "The snowstorm is spent; there's a glimmer of light From the millions of dim watching eyes of the night. "And then: "There's the ring of a passionate voice in my ears In the song of the bell taking part; Oh, when will my loved one return from afar To rest on my suppliant heart? My life is no life! Rosy beams of the dawn Are at play on the pane's icy screen; My samovar boils on my table of oak, With the bright crackling fire the dark corner awoke, And my bed with chintz curtains is seen. "How fine that is. How tormenting those verses are, Vanya. And what a vivid, fantastic picture! It's just a canvas with a mere pattern chalked on it. You can embroider what you like! Two sensations: the earliest, and the latest. That samovar, that chintz curtain - how homelike it all is. It's like some little cottage in our little town at home; I feel as though I could see that cottage: a new one...

3. Dostoevsky. The Insulted and Injured (English. Униженные и оскорбленные). Part I. Chapter VIII

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Часть текста: seen it all as it were in a mist, long before that day perhaps, yet now her words fell upon me like a thunderbolt. We walked miserably along the embankment. I could not speak. I was reflecting, trying to think, and utterly at a loss. My heart was in a whirl. It seemed so hideous, so impossible! "You blame me, Vanya?" she said at last. "No... but... but I can't believe it; it cannot be!" I answered, not knowing what I was saying. "Yes, Vanya, it really is so! I have gone away from them and I don't know what will become of them or what will become of me!" "You're going to him, Natasha? Yes?" "Yes," she answered. "But that's impossible!" I cried frantically. "Don't you understand that it's impossible, Natasha, my poor girl! Why, it's madness. Why you'll kill them, and ruin yourself! Do you understand that, Natasha?" "I know; but what am I to do? I can't help it," she said and her voice was as full of anguish as though she were facing the scaffold. "Come back, come back, before it's too late," I besought her; and the more warmly, the more emphatically I implored her, the more I realized the uselessness of my entreaties, and...

4. Dostoevsky. The Insulted and Injured (English. Униженные и оскорбленные). Part III. Chapter VI

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Часть текста: 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- drink!" added Masloboev. "And is this only on my account? "And Alexandra Semyonovna's. It...

5. Dostoevsky. The Insulted and Injured (English. Униженные и оскорбленные). Part IV. Chapter VI

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Часть текста: but only on condition that Alyosha escorted her while she remained in the carriage. Katya beckoned to me, and without getting out of the carriage asked me to call Alyosha down. I found Natasha in tears. Alyosha and she were both crying. Hearing that Katya was already there, she got up from the chair, wiped her eyes, and in great excitement stood up, facing the door. She was dressed that morning all in white. Her dark brown hair was smoothly parted and gathered back in a thick knot. I particularly liked that way of doing her hair. Seeing that I was remaining with her, Natasha asked me, too, to go and meet the visitor. "I could not get to Natasha's before," said Katya as she mounted the stairs. "I've been so spied on that it's awful. I've been persuading Mme. Albert for a whole fortnight, and at last she consented. And you have never once been to see me, Ivan Petrovitch! I couldn't write to you either, and I don't feel inclined to. One can't explain anything in a letter. And how I wanted to see you.... Good heavens, how my heart is beating." "The stairs are steep," I answered. "Yes. . . the stairs. . . . tell me, what do you think, won't Natasha be angry with me?" "No, why?" "Well. . . why should...

6. Dostoevsky. The Insulted and Injured (English. Униженные и оскорбленные). Part I. Chapter VI

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Часть текста: things- precisely such as were always happening about him. And if only the hero had been a great or interesting man, or something historical like Roslavlev, or Yury Miloslavsky; instead of that he was described as a little, down-trodden, rather foolish clerk, with buttons missing from his uniform; and all this written in such simple language, exactly as we talk ourselves... Strange! Anna Andreyevna looked inquiringly at Nikolay Sergeyitch, and seemed positively pouting a little as though she were resentful. "Is it really worth while to print and read such nonsense, and they pay money for it, too," was written on her face. Natasha was all attention, she listened greedily, never taking her eyes off me, watching my lips as I pronounced each word, moving her own pretty lips after me. And yet before I had read half of it, tears were falling from the eyes of all three of them. Anna Andreyevna was genuinely crying, feeling for the troubles of my hero with all her heart, and longing with great naivety to help him in some way out of his troubles, as I gathered from her exclamations. The old man had already abandoned all hopes of anything elevated. "From the first step it's clear that you'll never be at the top of the tree; there it is, it's simply a little story; but it wrings your heart," he said, "and what's happening all round one grows easier to understand, and to remember, and one learns that the most down-trodden, humblest man is a man, too, and a brother." Natasha listened, cried, and squeezed my hand...

7. Dostoevsky. The Insulted and Injured (English. Униженные и оскорбленные). Part I. Chapter XI

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Часть текста: was hastening somewhere with his head down, apparently lost in thought. To my intense amazement I recognized my old friend Ichmenyev. It was an evening of unexpected meetings for me. I knew that the old man had been taken seriously unwell three days before; and here I was meeting him in such wet weather in the street. Moreover it had never been his habit to go out in the evening, and since Natasha had gone away, that is, for the last six months, he had become a regular stay-at-home. He seemed to be excep- tionally delighted to see me, like a man who has at last found a friend with whom he can talk over his ideas. He seized my hand, pressed it warmly, and without asking where I was going, drew me along with him. He was upset about something, jerky and hurried in his manner. "Where had he been going?" I wondered. It would have been tactless to question him. He had become terribly suspicious, and sometimes detected some offensive hint, some insult, in the simplest inquiry or remark. I looked at him stealthily. His face showed signs of illness he had grown much thinner of late. His chin showed a week's growth of beard. His hair, which had turned quite grey, hung down in disorder...

8. Dostoevsky. The Insulted and Injured (English. Униженные и оскорбленные). Part II. Chapter V

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Часть текста: "Generals look very different from me even if they are literary ones, and besides, let me tell you, I certainly do remember having met you twice in the street. But you obviously. avoided me. And why should I go up to a man if I see he's trying to avoid me? And do you know what I believe? If you weren't drunk you wouldn't have called to me even now. That's true, isn't it? Well, how are you? I'm very, very glad to have met you, my boy." "Really? And I'm not compromising you by my. . . 'unconventional' appearance? But there's no need to ask that. It's not a great matter; I always remember what a jolly chap you were, old Vanya. Do you remember you took a thrashing for me? You held your tongue and didn't give me away, and, instead of being grateful, I jeered at you for a week afterwards. You're a blessed innocent! Glad to see you, my dear soul!" (We kissed each other.) "How many years I've been pining in solitude - 'From morn till night, from dark till light but I've not forgotten old times. They're not easy to forget. But what have you been doing, what have you been doing?" "I? Why, I'm pining in solitude, too." He gave me a long look, full of the deep feeling of a man slightly inebriated; though he was a very good-natured fellow at any time. "No, Vanya, your case is not like mine," he brought out at last in a tragic tone. "I've read it, Vanya, you know, I've read it, I've read it! ... But I say, let us have a good talk! Are you in a hurry?" "I am in a hurry, and I must confess I'm very much upset about something. I'll tell you...

9. Dostoevsky. The Insulted and Injured (English. Униженные и оскорбленные). Part II. Chapter X

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Часть текста: 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 him with no less wonder, though she was obstinately silent. "To be sure," I thought, "he must think her queer." "Well, my boy, I've been waiting for you for a good hour, and I must confess I had never expected to find things. . . like this," he went on, looking round the room, with a scarcely perceptible sign towards Elena. His face expressed his astonishment. But looking at him more closely I noticed in him signs of agitation and distress. His face was paler than usual. "Sit down, sit down," he said with a preoccupied and anxious air. "I've come round to you in a hurry. I've something to say to you. But what's the matter? You don't look yourself." "I'm not well. I've been giddy all day." "Well, mind, you mustn't neglect that. Have you caught cold, or what?" "No, it's simply a nervous attack. I sometimes have them. But aren't you unwell?" "No, no! It's nothing; it's excitement. I've something to say. Sit down." I moved a chair over and sat down at the table, facing him. The old man bent forward to me, and said in a half whisper: "Mind, don't look at her, but seem as though we were...

10. Dostoevsky. The Insulted and Injured (English. Униженные и оскорбленные). Part III. Chapter V

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Часть текста: eight o'clock in the evening. But he persuaded her to do so through the door, assuring her that if he did not leave a note for me that evening it would be very bad for me next day. When she let him in he wrote the note at once, went up to her, and sat down beside her on the sofa. "I got up, and didn't want to talk to him," said Nellie. "I was very much afraid of him; he began to talk of Mme. Bubnov, telling me how angry she was, that now she wouldn't dare to take me, and began praising you; said that he was a great friend of yours and had known you as a little boy. Then I began to talk to him. He brought out some sweets, and asked me to take some. I didn't want to; then he began to assure me he was a good- natured man, and that he could sing and dance. He jumped up and began dancing. It made me laugh. Then he said he'd stay a little longer - 'I'll wait for Vanya, maybe he'll come in'; and he did his best to persuade me not to be afraid of him, but to sit down beside him. I sat down, but I didn't want to say any- thing to him. Then he told me he used to know mother and grandfather and then I began to talk, And he stayed a long time..." "What did you talk about?" "About mother... Mme. Bubnov... grandfather. He stayed two hours." Nellie seemed unwilling to say what they had talked about. I did not question her, hoping to hear it all from Masloboev. But it struck me that Masloboev had purposely come when I was out, in order to find Nellie alone. "What did he do that for?" I wondered. She showed me three sweetmeats he had given her. They were fruit-drops done up in green and red paper, very nasty...

Поиск по творчеству и критикеCлово "VANYA"

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Cлово "VANYA"