The Queen of Spades: read. Online reading of the book The Queen of Spades I The Queen of Spades in full

The Queen of Spades means secret ill will.

The newest fortune-telling book

I

And on rainy days

They were going

Bent - God forgive them! -

From fifty

And won

And wrote off

So, on rainy days,

They were engaged

Once we played cards at the horse guard Narumov. The long winter night passed unnoticed; sat down to supper at five o'clock in the morning. Those who won ate with great appetite; others, absent-mindedly, sat in front of their empty instruments. But the champagne appeared, the conversation became more lively, and everyone took part in it.

- What have you done, Surin? The owner asked.

- Lost, as usual. I must admit that I am unhappy: I play with Mirandole, I never get excited, nothing will confuse me, but I keep losing!

- And you have never been tempted? never bet on rue? .. Your firmness is amazing to me.

- And what is Hermann! - said one of the guests, pointing to the young engineer, - he never took cards in his hands, when he was born, he never bent a single password, but until five o'clock he sits with us and looks at our game!

- The game interests me greatly, - said Hermann, - but I am not able to sacrifice the necessary in the hope of acquiring the superfluous.

- Hermann is German: he is calculating, that's all! - remarked Tomsky. - And if someone is incomprehensible to me, it is my grandmother, Countess Anna Fedotovna.

- How? what? The guests shouted.

- I cannot comprehend, - continued Tomsky, - how my grandmother does not understand!

- Why is it surprising, - said Narumov, - that the eighty-year old woman does not understand?

- So you don't know anything about her?

- No! really nothing!

- Oh, so listen:

You must know that my grandmother, sixty years ago, went to Paris and was in great fashion there. The people ran after her to see la Vénus moscovite; Richelieu trailed after her, and grandmother assures that he almost shot himself from her cruelty.

At that time, the ladies were playing Pharaoh. Once at court, she lost a lot to the Duke of Orleans. Arriving home, grandmother, peeling off the flies from her face and untie the tansy, announced her loss to grandfather and ordered him to pay.

The late grandfather, as far as I remember, was the family of the grandmother's butler. He was afraid of her like fire; however, hearing about such a terrible loss, he lost his temper, brought the bills, proved to her that in six months they had spent half a million, that they had neither a Moscow region nor a Saratov village near Paris, and completely refused to pay. Grandmother gave him a slap in the face and went to bed alone, as a sign of her disfavor.

The next day she ordered her husband to be called, hoping that the domestic punishment had worked on him, but she found him unshakable. For the first time in her life, she went with him to reasoning and explanation; I thought to convince him, condescendingly proving that debt is a debt, and that there is a difference between a prince and a coachman. - Where! grandfather rebelled. No, and only! Grandma didn't know what to do.

A very remarkable person was briefly acquainted with her. You have heard of the Comte Saint-Germain, about whom so many wonderful things are told. You know that he posed as the Eternal Jew, the inventor of the life elixir and the philosopher's stone, and so on. They laughed at him as at a charlatan, and Casanova in her Notes says that he was a spy; however, Saint-Germain, in spite of his mystery, had a very respectable appearance and was a very amiable person in society. Grandmother still loves him without memory and is angry if they speak of him with disrespect. Grandma knew that Saint-Germain could have a lot of money. She decided to resort to him. I wrote him a note and asked him to come to her immediately.

The old eccentric appeared at once and found him in terrible grief. She described to him in the blackest colors her husband's barbarism and said at last that she was placing all her hope in his friendship and kindness.

Saint-Germain considered.

“I can serve you with this sum,” he said, “but I know that you will not be calm until you pay me off, and I would not want to introduce you to new troubles. There is another remedy: you can win back. " "But, my dear count," replied the grandmother, "I tell you that we have no money at all." “No money is needed here,” said Saint-Germain, “please listen to me.” Then he revealed to her a secret, for which each of us would give dearly ...

Young players redoubled their attention. Tomsky lit his pipe, inhaled and continued.

That same evening, my grandmother appeared at Versailles, au jeu de la Reine. Duke of Orleans metal; the grandmother slightly apologized for not bringing her debt, weaved a little story as an excuse and began to poke at him against him. She chose three cards, put them one after another: all three won her sonic, and the grandmother won back completely.

- The case! - said one of the guests.

- Fairy tale! - said Hermann.

- Maybe powder cards? - picked up the third.

“I don’t think so,” Tomsky answered importantly.

- How! - said Narumov, - you have a grandmother who guesses three cards in a row, and you still haven't adopted her cabalism from her?

- Yes, hell with two! - answered Tomsky - she had four sons, including my father: all four are desperate gamblers, and she did not reveal her secret to any of them; though it would not be bad for them and even for me. But this is what my uncle, Count Ivan Ilyich, told me, and of which he assured me with honor. The late Chaplitsky, the one who died in poverty, squandering millions, once in his youth lost - I remember Zorich - about three hundred thousand. He was desperate. The grandmother, who was always strict with the pranks of young people, somehow took pity on Chaplitsky. She gave him three cards, so that he put them one after the other, and took from him his word of honor to never play again. Chaplitsky came to his winner: they sat down to play. Chaplitsky bet fifty thousand on the first card and won Sonic; turned down passwords, passwords-ne, - won back and remained a winner ...

But it's time to sleep: it's already a quarter to six.

In fact, it was already dawn: the young people finished their glasses and departed.

The Queen of Spades means secret ill will.

The newest fortune-telling book.

I

And on rainy days
They were going
Often;
Bent - God forgive them! -
From fifty
One hundred,
And won
And wrote off
Chalk.
So, on rainy days,
They were engaged
Business.

Once we played cards at the horse guard Narumov. The long winter night passed unnoticed; sat down to supper at five o'clock in the morning. Those who won, ate with great appetite, others, absent-mindedly, sat in front of their empty cutlery. But the champagne appeared, the conversation became more lively, and everyone took part in it.

What have you done Surin? the owner asked.

Lost as usual. I must admit that I am unhappy: I play with Mirandole, I never get excited, nothing will confuse me, but I still lose!

And you have never been tempted? never bet on rue? .. Your firmness is amazing to me.

And what is Hermann! - said one of the guests, pointing to the young engineer, - he never took

cards in hand, never bent a single passwords, and until five o'clock sits with us and looks at our game!

The game interests me greatly, - said Hermann, - but I am not able to sacrifice the necessary in the hope of acquiring the superfluous.

Hermann is German: he is calculating, that's all! - remarked Tomsky. - And if someone is incomprehensible to me, it is my grandmother Countess Anna Fedotovna.

How? what? the guests shouted.

I cannot comprehend, - continued Tomsky, - how my grandmother does not understand!

What's so surprising, ”said Narumov,“ that an eighty-year-old woman doesn't understand?

So you don't know anything about her?

No! really nothing!

Oh, so listen:

It is necessary to know that my grandmother, sixty years ago, went to Paris and was in great fashion there. The people ran after her to see la Vénus moscovite; 1) Richelieu was dragging after her, and the grandmother assures that he almost shot himself from her cruelty.

1) Moscow Venus (French).

rose and that there is a difference between a prince and a coachman. - Where! grandfather rebelled. No, and only! Grandma didn't know what to do.

A very remarkable person was briefly acquainted with her. You have heard of the Comte Saint-Germain, about whom so many wonderful things are told. You know that he posed as an eternal Jew, the inventor of the life elixir and the philosopher's stone, and so on. They laughed at him as at a charlatan, and Casanova in her Notes says that he was a spy; however, Saint-Germain, in spite of his mystery, had a very respectable appearance and was a very amiable person in society. Grandmother still loves him without memory and is angry if they speak of him with disrespect. Grandma knew that Saint-Germain could have a lot of money. She decided to resort to him. I wrote him a note and asked him to come to her immediately.

Saint-Germain considered.

Young players redoubled their attention. Tomsky lit his pipe, inhaled and continued.

That same evening my grandmother appeared at Versailles, au jeu de la Reine 1). Duke of Orleans metal; the grandmother slightly apologized for not bringing her debt, weaved a little story as an excuse and began to poke at him against him. She chose three cards, bet

1) the queen's card game (French).

them one after another: all three won her sonic, and the grandmother won back completely.

Happening! - said one of the guests.

Fairy tale! - said Hermann.

Maybe powder cards? - picked up the third.

I don't think so, - answered Tomsky importantly.

How! - said Narumov, - you have a grandmother who guesses three cards in a row, and you still haven't adopted her cabalism from her?

Yes, damn it! - answered Tomsky, - she had four sons, including my father: all four are desperate gamblers, and she did not reveal her secret to any of them; though it would not be bad for them and even for me. But this is what my uncle, Count Ivan Ilyich, told me, and of which he assured me with honor. The late Chaplitsky, the one who died in poverty, squandering millions, once in his youth lost - I remember Zorich - about three hundred thousand. He was desperate. Grandmother, who has always been strict with the pranks of young people, somehow took pity on Chaplitsky. She gave him three cards, so that he put them one after the other, and took from him his word of honor to never play again. Chaplitsky came to his winner: they sat down to play. Chaplitsky put fifty thousand on the first card and won Sonic; bent passwords, passwords-ne, - won back and remained a winner ...

But it's time to sleep: it's already a quarter to six.

Indeed, it was already dawning: the young people finished their glasses and left.

II

II paraît que monsieur est décidément pour les suivantes.
Que voulez-vous, madame? Elles sont plus fraîches 1).

Secular conversation.

The old Countess *** was sitting in her dressing room in front of the mirror. Three girls surrounded her. One held a can of blush, the other a box of hairpins, and the third a tall cap with fiery ribbons. The Countess had not the slightest claim to a beauty long faded, but she kept all the habits of her youth, strictly followed the fashions of the seventies, and dressed as long, as diligently as she had sixty years ago. A young lady, her pupil, was sitting at the window at the embroidery frame.

Hello, grand'maman 2), said the young officer as he entered. - Bon jour, mademoiselle Lise 3). Grand'maman, I'm asking you.

What is it, Paul? 4)

Let me introduce you to one of my friends and bring him to you on Friday for the ball.

1) You seem to strongly prefer maids.

What to do? They're fresher (French).

2) grandmother (French).

3) Hello Lisa (French).

4) Paul (French).

Bring it to me directly to the ball, and then you will introduce it to me. Did you visit *** yesterday?

How! it was a lot of fun; danced until five o'clock. How good Yeletskaya was!

And, my dear! What's good about it? Was her grandmother, Princess Darya Petrovna like that? .. By the way: I’m tea, she has grown very old, Princess Darya Petrovna?

How old are you? - answered Tomsky absentmindedly, - she died seven years ago.

The young lady raised her head and made a sign to the young man. He remembered that the death of her peers was concealed from the old countess, and bit his lip. But the Countess heard the message, new to her, with great indifference.

Died! - she said, - and I did not know! Together we were granted maids of honor, and when we introduced ourselves, the empress ...

And the Countess told her grandson her anecdote for the hundredth time.

Well, Paul, ”she said afterwards,“ now help me up. Lizanka, where is my snuffbox?

And the countess with her girls went behind the screens to finish her toilet. Tomsky stayed with the young lady.

Who do you want to represent? - Lizaveta Ivanovna asked quietly.

Narumova. Do you know him?

No! Is he a military man or a civil servant?

Military.

Engineer?

No! cavalryman. Why did you think he was an engineer?

The young lady laughed and did not answer a word.

Paul! - shouted the countess from behind the screens, - send me some new novel, but please, not from the current ones.

How is it, grand'maman?

That is, such a novel, where the hero does not crush either the father or the mother, and where there are no drowned bodies. I am terribly afraid of the drowned!

There are no such novels today. Do you want Russians?

Are there any Russian novels? .. Come, father, please come!

Excuse me, grand'maman: I'm in a hurry ... Excuse me, Lizaveta Ivanovna! Why did you think that Narumov was an engineer?

And Tomsky left the lavatory.

Lizaveta Ivanovna was left alone: \u200b\u200bshe left her work and began to look out the window. Soon, on one side of the street, a young officer appeared from behind a coal house. A blush covered her cheeks: she went back to work and bent her head over the canvas itself. At this moment the Countess entered, fully dressed.

Order, Lizanka, - she said, - to lay the carriage, and let's go for a walk.

Lizanka got up from behind the embroidery frame and began to put away her work.

What are you, my mother! deaf or something! cried the Countess. - Tell us to start the carriage as soon as possible.

Now! - answered the young lady quietly and ran into the hall.

A servant entered and handed the Countess books from Prince Pavel Alexandrovich.

Okay! Thanks, ”said the Countess. - Lizanka, Lizanka! where are you running?

Dress.

You'll be in time, mother. Sit here. Open the first volume; read aloud ...

The young lady took the book and read a few lines.

Louder! said the Countess. - What's the matter with you, my mother? I was asleep with a voice, or what? .. Wait: move me a bench, closer ... well!

Lizaveta Ivanovna read two more pages. The Countess yawned.

Drop this book, ”she said,“ what nonsense! Send this to Prince Pavel and tell him to thank him ... But what about the carriage?

The carriage is ready, ”said Lizaveta Ivanovna, glancing into the street.

Why aren't you dressed? - said the countess, - you must always wait for you! This, mother, is unbearable.

Lisa ran to her room. Less than two minutes later, the Countess began to call with all her urine. Three girls ran through one door, and the valet into the other.

Why won't you hear it? the countess told them. - Tell Lizaveta Ivanovna that I am expecting her.

Lizaveta Ivanovna entered wearing a bonnet and a hat.

Finally, my mother! said the Countess. - What outfits! Why is that? .. who is to seduce? .. And what is the weather? - it seems like the wind.

No, sir, your Excellency! very quiet, sir! - answered the valet.

You always speak at random! Open the window. So it is: the wind! and very cold! Put the carriage aside! Lizanka, we won't go: there was nothing to dress up.

"And this is my life!" thought Lizaveta Ivanovna.

Indeed, Lizaveta Ivanovna was an unhappy creature. The bitterness of someone else's bread, says Dante, and the steps of someone else's porch are heavy, but who knows the bitterness of dependence if not the poor pupil of a noble old woman? The Countess ***, of course, did not have an evil soul; but she was wayward, like a woman spoiled by the light, stingy and immersed in cold egoism, like all old people who fell in love in their time and were alien to the present. She took part in all the vanities of the great world, dragged herself to balls, where she sat in a corner, reddened and dressed in the old fashion, like an ugly and necessary decoration of a ballroom; visiting guests approached her with low bows, as if according to the established rite, and then no one did it anymore. She hosted the whole city, observing strict etiquette and not recognizing anyone by sight. Her numerous servants, having grown fat and gray in her hallway and in the girl's, did as they wanted, vying to rob the dying old woman. Lizaveta Ivanovna was a domestic martyr. She poured tea and was reprimanded for wasting sugar; she read novels aloud and was to blame for all the mistakes of the author; she accompanied the Countess on her walks and was in charge of the weather and the pavement. She was given a salary that was never paid; and meanwhile they demanded that she be dressed like everyone else, that is, how

very few. She played the most pitiful role in the world. Everyone knew her and no one noticed; at balls she danced only when she lacked vis-à-vis 1), and the ladies took her by the arm whenever they had to go to the dressing room to fix something in their outfit. She was proud, vividly felt her position and looked around her - impatiently awaiting a deliverer; but the young people, calculating in their windy vanity, did not deserve her attention, although Lizaveta Ivanovna was a hundred times prettier than the arrogant and cold brides around whom they curled up. How many times, leaving quietly a dull and luxuriant living room, she went away to cry in her poor room, where there were screens covered with wallpaper, a chest of drawers, a mirror and a painted bed, and where a tallow candle burned darkly in a brass chandal!

Once - it happened two days after the evening described at the beginning of this story, and a week before the scene at which we stopped - once Lizaveta Ivanovna, sitting under the window behind the embroidery frame, accidentally glanced into the street and saw a young engineer standing motionless and staring at her window. She lowered her head and went back to work; five minutes later she looked again - the young officer was standing in the same place. Not having the habit of flirting with passers-by officers, she stopped looking at the street and sewed for about two hours without raising her head. Dinner was served. She got up, began to remove her embroidery frame, and, looking by chance at the street, saw the officer again. This struck her as rather strange. After dinner she went to the window with a feeling of some uneasiness, but the officer was no longer there - and she forgot about him ...

Two days later, going out with the Countess to get into the carriage, she again saw him. He stood at the very entrance, covering his face with a beaver collar: his black eyes sparkled from under his hat. Lizaveta Ivanovna was frightened, not knowing what, and got into the carriage with an inexplicable trepidation.

1) pairs (French).

Returning home, she ran to the window - the officer stood in the same place, fixing his eyes on her: she walked away, tormented by curiosity and agitated by a feeling completely new to her.

Since that time, not a day has passed that the young man, at a certain hour, does not appear under the windows of their house. An unconditional relationship was established between him and her. Sitting in her place at work, she felt his approach, - raised her head, looked at him every day longer and longer. The young man seemed to be grateful to her for that: she saw with the sharp gaze of youth how a quick blush covered his pale cheeks whenever their gaze met. A week later she smiled at him ...

When Tomsky asked permission to introduce his friend to the Countess, the poor girl's heart began to beat. But when she learned that Narumov was not an engineer, but a horse guard, she regretted that she had expressed her secret to the windy Tomsky with an immodest question.

Hermann was the son of a Russified German who left him a small capital. Firmly convinced of the need to strengthen his independence, Hermann did not even touch on interest, he lived on a single salary, did not allow himself the slightest whim. However, he was secretive and ambitious, and his comrades rarely had occasion to laugh at his excessive frugality. He had strong passions and a fiery imagination, but firmness saved him from the usual delusions of youth. So, for example, being a player in his soul, he never took cards in his hands, for he calculated that his state did not allow him (as he said) sacrifice the necessary in the hope of acquiring the surplus, - and meanwhile he spent whole nights at the card tables and followed with feverish trepidation the different turns of the game.

The anecdote about three cards strongly influenced his imagination and did not leave his head all night. “What if,” he thought the next evening, wandering around Petersburg, “what if the old countess reveals her secret to me! - or assign these three correct cards to me! Why not try your luck? ..

Introduce herself to her, to be in her favor - perhaps to become her lover - but it all takes time - and she is eighty-seven years old - she may die in a week, - in two days! .. And the joke itself? .. Can you believe him? .. No! calculation, moderation and hard work: here are my three faithful cards, this is what will triple, size my capital and give me peace and independence! "

Reasoning in this way, he found himself in one of the main streets of St. Petersburg, in front of the house of ancient architecture. The street was crowded with carriages, carriages, one after another, rolled towards the illuminated entrance. From the carriages, the slender leg of a young beauty, the rattling over-the-knee boots, then the striped stocking and the diplomatic shoe were constantly stretched out. Fur coats and cloaks flashed past the stately doorman. Hermann stopped.

Whose is this house? - he asked the corner alarm.

Countess ***, - answered the guard.

Hermann trembled. The amazing anecdote again presented itself to his imagination. He began to walk around the house, thinking about his mistress and her wonderful ability. He returned late to his humble corner; for a long time he could not fall asleep, and when sleep took possession of him, he dreamed of cards, a green table, piles of banknotes and piles of ducats. He put card after card, bent the corners decisively, won incessantly, and raked in gold to himself, and put banknotes in his pocket. Waking up late, he sighed about the loss of his fantastic wealth, went to wander around the city again and again found himself in front of the Countess's house ***. An unknown force seemed to attract him to him. He stopped and looked at the windows. In one he saw a black-haired head bent, probably over a book or over work. The head was lifted. Hermann saw a fresh face and black eyes. This minute decided his fate.

III

Vous m'écrivez, mon ange, des lettres de quatre pages plus vite que je ne puis les lire 1).

Correspondence.

Only Lisaveta Ivanovna had time to take off her bonnet and hat when the countess sent for her and ordered the carriage to be brought in again. They went to sit down. Just as two footmen lifted the old woman and pushed her through the door, Lizaveta Ivanovna saw her engineer at the very wheel; he grabbed her hand; she could not recover from fright, the young man disappeared: the letter remained in her hand. She hid it behind a glove and heard or saw nothing the whole journey. The Countess was in the habit of constantly asking questions in the carriage: who met us? - what is the name of this bridge? - what is written on the sign? This time Lisaveta Ivanovna answered at random and inappropriately, and angered the Countess.

What happened to you, my mother! Have you found tetanus or something? Either you don’t hear me, or don’t you understand? .. Thank God, I don’t lurk and I’m not out of my mind yet!

1) You write to me, my angel, letters of four pages, faster than I can read them (French).

Lizaveta Ivanovna did not listen to her. Returning home, she ran to her room, took out a letter from her glove: it was not sealed. Lizaveta Ivanovna read it. The letter contained a declaration of love: it was tender, respectful and word for word taken from a German novel. But Lisaveta Ivanovna could not speak German and was very pleased with it.

However, the letter she received worried her extremely. For the first time she entered into secret, close relations with a young man. His audacity terrified her. She reproached herself for her careless behavior and did not know what to do: should she stop sitting at the window and inattentively cool down in a young officer the hunt for further pursuits? - whether to send him a letter? - whether to answer coldly and decisively? She had no one to consult with, she had neither a friend nor a mentor. Lizaveta Ivanovna decided to answer.

She sat down at the writing table, took out a pen and paper, and thought. She began her letter several times, and tore it up: the expressions seemed to her too condescending, then too cruel. Finally she managed to write a few lines with which she was pleased. “I am sure,” she wrote, “that you have good intentions and that you did not want to offend me with a rash act; but our acquaintance should not begin in this way. I am returning your letter to you and I hope that I will no longer have reasons to complain about undeserved disrespect. "

The next day, seeing Hermann walking, Lisaveta Ivanovna got up from behind the embroidery frame, went out into the hall, opened the window and threw the letter out into the street, hoping for the young officer's agility. Hermann ran up, picked him up and entered the pastry shop. Breaking the seal, he found his letter and Lizaveta Ivanovna's answer. He had expected that and returned home, very busy with his intrigue.

Three days after that, a young, quick-eyed mumzel brought a note to Lizaveta Ivanovna from a fashion store. Lizaveta Ivanovna opened it with

anxiety, anticipating monetary requirements, and suddenly recognized Hermann's hand.

You, darling, are mistaken, - she said, - this note is not for me.

No, definitely to you! - answered the brave girl, not hiding a sly smile. - Please read it!

Lizaveta Ivanovna skimmed through the note. Hermann demanded a date.

Can not be! - said Lizaveta Ivanovna, frightened both by the haste of demands and by the method he used. - This is written, it is true, not to me! - And tore the letter into small pieces.

If the letter is not for you, why did you tore it up? - said mamzel, - I would return it to the one who sent it.

Please, darling! - said Lizaveta Ivanovna, flushing at her remark, - do not carry notes ahead of me. And tell the person who sent you that he should be ashamed ...

But Hermann did not quit. Lizaveta Ivanovna received letters from him every day, now in one way or another. They were no longer translated from German. Hermann wrote them, inspired by passion, and spoke in a language peculiar to him: they expressed both the inflexibility of his desires and the disorder of unbridled imagination. Lizaveta Ivanovna no longer thought to send them away: she reveled in them; began to answer them - and her notes grew longer and softer from hour to hour. Finally she threw the following letter out the window:

“Today is the ball at the *** envoy. The Countess will be there. We will stay until two o'clock. Here's a chance for you to see me alone. As soon as the Countess leaves, her people will probably disperse, the doorman will remain in the hallway, but he usually goes to his little room. Come at half past eleven. Go straight up the stairs. If you find someone in the hall, you will ask if the Countess is at home. They will tell you no - and there is nothing to do. You will have to go back. But you probably won't meet anyone. The girls are sitting in their own room, all in the same room. From the front, go left, all go straight

to the Countess's bedroom. In the bedroom, behind the screens, you will see two small doors: on the right to the study, where the Countess never enters; to the left into the corridor, and there and then a narrow twisted staircase: it leads to my room. "

Hermann trembled like a tiger, waiting for the appointed time. At ten o'clock in the evening he was already standing in front of the countess's house. The weather was terrible: the wind howled, sleet fell in flakes; the lanterns glowed dimly; the streets were empty. From time to time Vanka stretched out on his skinny nag, looking out for the belated rider. Hermann stood in one sertuka, not feeling either wind or snow. Finally the carriage was brought to the Countess. Hermann saw how the footmen carried a hunched old woman wrapped in a sable fur coat under their arms, and how her pupil flashed after her, in a cold cloak, with her head decorated with fresh flowers. The doors slammed shut. The carriage rolled heavily on the loose snow. The doorman locked the doors. The windows were dark. Hermann began to walk around the empty house: he went to the lamp, glanced at his watch - it was twenty minutes past eleven. He remained under the lantern, fixing his eyes on the hour hand and biding his time for the remaining minutes. At exactly half-past eleven, Hermann stepped onto the Countess's porch and entered the brightly lit passage. There was no porter. Hermann ran up the stairs, opened the doors to the anteroom, and saw a servant sleeping under a lamp in old, stained chairs. With a light and firm step, Hermann walked past him. The hall and drawing room were dark. The lamp illumined them dimly from the hall. Hermann entered the bedroom. In front of the kivot filled with ancient images, a golden lamp glimmered. The faded damask armchairs and sofas with down pillows, with the gilding that had come down, stood in sad symmetry near the walls covered with Chinese wallpaper. On the wall were two portraits painted in Paris by Mme Lebrun 1). One of them depicted a man of about forty, ruddy and plump, in a light green uniform and with a star; another - a young beauty with an eagle

1) Ms Lebrun (French).

nose, with slicked-back temples and with a rose in powdery hair. In all corners were porcelain shepherdesses, dining hours of the glorious Leroy 1), boxes, roulettes, fans and various ladies' toys, invented at the end of the last century together with the Hot Air Balloon and Mesmer magnetism. Hermann went behind the screens. Behind them was a small iron bed; on the right was the door leading to the study; on the left, the other into the corridor. Hermann opened it, saw a narrow, twisted staircase that led to the poor pupil's room ... But he turned back and entered the dark office.

Time passed slowly. Everything was quiet. It struck twelve in the living room; in all the rooms the clocks, one after the other, rang twelve — everything was silent again. Hermann was leaning against the cold stove. He was calm; his heart was beating smoothly, like that of a man who has decided on something dangerous, but necessary. The clock struck the first and second o'clock in the morning, and he heard the distant clatter of a carriage. An involuntary excitement took possession of him. The carriage drove up and stopped. He heard the knock of the footboard being lowered. The house was bustling. People ran, voices were heard, and the house lit up. Three old maids ran into the bedroom, and the Countess, barely alive, entered and sank into Voltaire's armchairs. Hermann looked through the crack: Lizaveta Ivanovna walked past him. Hermann heard her hurried steps up the steps of her staircase. Something like a remorse echoed in his heart and fell silent again. He turned to stone.

The Countess began to undress in front of the mirror. Chipped off her cap decorated with roses; removed the powdered wig from her gray and close-cropped head. Pins rained down beside her. A yellow dress, embroidered with silver, fell at her swollen legs. Hermann witnessed the hideous mysteries of her dressing room; at last the Countess remained in her sleeping jacket and nightcap: in this attire, more characteristic of her old age, she seemed less terrible and ugly.

Like all old people in general, the Countess suffered from insomnia. Undressing, she sat by the window in

1) Leroy (French).

voltaire's chairs and sent the maids away. The candles were taken out, the room was again lit up by one lamp. The Countess sat all yellow, moving her droopy lips, swaying right and left. Her dim eyes showed a complete absence of thought; looking at her, one would think that the rocking of the terrible old woman did not come from her will, but from the action of hidden galvanism.

Suddenly this dead face changed inexplicably. Lips ceased to move, eyes brightened: an unfamiliar man stood in front of the Countess.

Do not be alarmed, for God's sake, do not be alarmed! - he said in an intelligible and quiet voice. “I have no intention of harming you; I have come to beg you for one favor.

The old woman looked at him in silence and did not seem to hear him. Hermann imagined that she was deaf, and, bending over her ear, repeated the same to her. The old woman was silent as before.

You can, - continued Hermann, - make up the happiness of my life, and it will cost you nothing: I know that you can guess three cards in a row ...

Hermann stopped. The Countess seemed to understand what was required of her; she seemed to be searching for words for her answer.

It was a joke, ”she said at last,“ I swear to you! it was a joke!

There is nothing to joke about, ”Hermann objected angrily. - Remember Chaplitsky, whom you helped to recoup.

The Countess was evidently embarrassed. Her features depicted a strong movement of the soul, but she soon fell into her former insensibility.

Can you, - continued Hermann, - assign me these three correct cards?

The Countess was silent; Hermann continued:

For whom do you keep your secret? For grandchildren? They are rich already; they do not know the price of money either. Your three cards won't help Motu. Whoever does not know how to preserve his father's inheritance will nevertheless die in poverty, despite any demonic efforts. I'm not a freak; I know the value of money. Your three cards won't go to waste for me. Well!..

He stopped and waited with trepidation for her answer. The Countess was silent; Hermann knelt down.

If ever, - he said, - your heart knew the feeling of love, if you remember its delight, if you smiled at least once at the cry of a newborn son, if something human was ever beating in your chest, then I implore you with the feelings of a wife , mistresses, mothers, - to all that is sacred in life - do not deny me my request! - tell me your secret! - what do you want in it? .. Perhaps it is associated with a terrible sin, with the destruction of eternal bliss, with a devilish pact ... Think: you are old; you will not live long - I am ready to take your sin upon my soul. Tell me only your secret. Think that the happiness of a person is in your hands; that not only me, but my children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren will bless your memory and will honor it as a shrine ...

The old woman did not answer a word.

Hermann stood up.

Old witch! - he said, gritting his teeth, - so I'll make you answer ...

With that, he took a pistol out of his pocket. At the sight of the pistol, the Countess had a strong feeling for the second time. She nodded her head and raised her hand, as if shielding herself from the shot ... Then she rolled backwards ... and remained motionless.

Stop being childish, ”Hermann said, taking her hand. - I ask for the last time: would you like to assign me your three cards? - Yes or no?

The Countess did not answer. Hermann saw that she was dead.

IV

Homme sans mœurs et sans religion! 1)

Correspondence.

Lizaveta Ivanovna was sitting in her room, still in her ballroom dress, immersed in deep reflections. Arriving home, she hastened to send the sleepy girl, who reluctantly offered her a favor, said that she would undress herself, and with trepidation went into her room, hoping to find Hermann there and wishing not to find him. At first glance, she made sure of his absence and thanked fate for the obstacle that prevented their meeting. She sat down without undressing and began to recall all the circumstances that had lured her so far in such a short time. Not three weeks had passed since the first time she saw a young man through the window — and she was already in correspondence with him — and he managed to demand a night meeting from her! She knew his name only because some of his letters were signed by him; never spoke to him, never heard his voice, never heard of him ... until this very evening. Strange affair! That very evening, at the ball, Tomsky, sulking at the young princess

1) May 7, 18 **. A person who has no moral rules and nothing sacred! (French)

Polina ***, who, contrary to custom, was not flirting with him, wanted revenge by showing indifference: he called Lizaveta Ivanovna and danced with her an endless mazurka. All the time he joked about her predilection for engineering officers, assured that he knew much more than she could have guessed, and some of his jokes were so well directed that Lisaveta Ivanovna thought several times that her secret was known to him.

Who do you know all this from? she asked laughing.

From a friend of a person you know, - answered Tomsky, - a very remarkable person!

Who is this wonderful person?

His name is Hermann.

Lizaveta Ivanovna did not answer, but her arms and legs were cold ...

This Hermann, - continued Tomsky, - has a truly romantic face: he has the profile of Napoleon, and the soul of Mephistopheles. I think he is responsible for at least three atrocities. How pale you are! ..

My head hurts ... What did Hermann tell you - or what do you mean him? ..

Hermann is very dissatisfied with his friend: he says that in his place he would have acted completely differently ... I even believe that Hermann himself has views on you, but at least he listens to the exclamations of his friend in love with great care.

Where did he see me?

In church, maybe - for a walk! .. God knows! maybe in your room, during your sleep: it will become ...

Three ladies approached them with questions - oubli ou regret? 1) - they interrupted the conversation, which was becoming excruciatingly curious for Lizaveta Ivanovna.

The lady chosen by Tomsky was the princess herself ***. She managed to explain to him, running around an extra circle and once again turning in front of her chair. Tomsky, returning to his place, no longer thought about

1) oblivion or regret (French).

Hermann, nor about Lizaveta Ivanovna. She absolutely wanted to resume the interrupted conversation; but the mazurka ended, and soon after the old countess left.

Tomsky's words were nothing more than mazuric chatter, but they sank deep into the soul of the young dreamer. The portrait sketched by Tomsky resembled the image she had compiled, and, thanks to the latest novels, this already vulgar face frightened and captivated her imagination. She was sitting with her bare arms folded in a cross, her head, still adorned with flowers, bent over her open chest ... Suddenly the door opened and Hermann entered. She fluttered ...

Where have you been? she asked in a frightened whisper.

In the old countess's bedroom, - answered Hermann, - I'm from her now. The Countess is dead.

My God! .. what are you saying? ..

And it seems, - continued Hermann, - I am the cause of her death.

Lizaveta Ivanovna looked at him, and Tomsky's words resounded in her soul: this man has at least three evil deeds in his soul! Hermann sat down in the window beside her and told everything.

Lisaveta Ivanovna listened to him with horror. So these passionate letters, these fiery demands, this audacious, stubborn pursuit, it was all not love! Money - that's what his soul craved! It was not she who could satisfy his desires and make him happy! The poor pupil was nothing more than the blind assistant of the robber, the murderer of her old benefactor! .. She wept bitterly in her late, painful repentance. Hermann looked at her in silence: his heart was also tormented, but neither the tears of the poor girl, nor the amazing charm of her sorrow troubled his stern soul. He felt no remorse at the thought of the dead old woman. One thing terrified him: the irreversible loss of the secret, from which he expected enrichment.

You are a monster! - said Lizaveta Ivanovna at last.

I didn’t want her dead, - Hermann answered, - my pistol is not loaded.

They fell silent.

Morning was coming. Lizaveta Ivanovna put out the dying candle: a pale light illuminated her room. She wiped her tear-stained eyes and raised them to Hermann: he was sitting at the window, arms folded and frowning menacingly. In this position, he remarkably resembled a portrait of Napoleon. This resemblance struck even Lizaveta Ivanovna.

How do you get out of the house? - said Lizaveta Ivanovna at last. “I thought to lead you up a secret staircase, but I must go past the bedroom, and I'm afraid.

Tell me how to find this secret staircase; I'll go out.

Lisaveta Ivanovna got up, took out the key from the chest of drawers, handed it to Hermann and gave him detailed instructions. Hermann shook her cold, unrequited hand, kissed her bowed head and left.

He went down the winding staircase and entered the Countess's bedroom again. The dead old woman sat petrified; her face expressed deep calmness. Hermann stopped in front of her, looked at her for a long time, as if wishing to be convinced of the terrible truth; finally entered the study, felt the door behind the wallpaper, and began to descend the dark staircase, agitated by strange feelings. Along this very staircase, he thought, perhaps sixty years ago, into this very bedroom, at the same hour, in an embroidered caftan, combed à l'oiseau royal 1), clutching his triangular hat to his heart, a young, lucky man, long ago already decayed in the grave, and the heart of his aged mistress stopped beating today ...

Under the stairs, Hermann found a door, which he unlocked with the same key, and found himself in a through corridor that led him out into the street.

1) "royal bird" (French).

V

Three days after the fateful night, at nine o'clock in the morning, Hermann went to the *** monastery, where the body of the deceased countess was to be buried. Feeling no remorse, he could not, however, completely drown out the voice of conscience, which told him: you are the murderer of the old woman! With little true faith, he had many prejudices. He believed that the dead countess could have a harmful influence on his life, and he decided to attend her funeral to ask her forgiveness.

The church was full. Hermann could force his way through the crowd of people. The coffin stood on a rich hearse under a velvet canopy. The deceased lay in it with her hands folded across her chest, in a lace cap and in a white satin dress. Her household stood around: servants in black caftans with heraldic ribbons on their shoulders and with candles in their hands; relatives in deep mourning - children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Nobody cried; tears would be - une affectation 1). Countess so

1) pretense (French).

was old, that her death could not strike anyone and that her relatives had long looked at her as outdated. The young bishop pronounced the eulogy. In simple and touching terms, he presented the peaceful dormition of the righteous woman, who for many years had been a quiet, touching preparation for a Christian end. "The angel of death found her," said the orator, "awake in good thoughts and waiting for the midnight bridegroom." The service was performed with sad decency. The relatives were the first to go to say goodbye to the body. Then numerous guests moved, who had come to bow to the one who had been a participant in their vain amusements for so long. After them, and all the household. Finally, an old gentleman lady approached, the same age as the deceased. Two young girls were leading her by the arms. She could not bow down to the ground, - and one shed a few tears, kissing her mistress's cold hand. After her, Hermann decided to approach the coffin. He bowed to the ground and lay for several minutes on the cold floor covered with fir trees. Finally he got up, pale as the deceased herself, ascended the steps of the hearse and bent down ... At that moment it seemed to him that the dead woman looked at him mockingly, screwing up one eye. Hermann, hastily leaning back, stumbled and fell flat on his back on the ground. He was raised. At the same time, Lizaveta Ivanovna was carried in a swoon to the porch. This episode outraged for several minutes the solemnity of the gloomy rite. A dull murmur arose between the visitors, and the thin chamberlain, a close relative of the deceased, whispered in the ear of an Englishman standing next to him that the young officer was her bastard son, to which the Englishman answered coldly: Oh?

All day Hermann was extremely upset. While dining in a secluded inn, he, contrary to his habit, drank a lot, hoping to stifle his inner excitement. But the wine fueled his imagination even more. Returning home, he threw himself, without undressing, on the bed and fell fast asleep.

He woke up at night: the moon lit up his room. He glanced at his watch: it was a quarter to three.

His sleep is gone; he sat down on the bed and thought about the funeral of the old countess.

At this time, someone from the street looked at him through the window - and immediately walked away. Hermann paid no attention to this. A minute later he heard that the door in the front room was being unlocked. Hermann thought that his orderly, drunk as usual, was returning from a night walk. But he heard an unfamiliar gait: someone was walking, quietly shuffling his shoes. The door opened and a woman in a white dress entered. Hermann mistook her for his old nurse and wondered what could bring her at such a time. But the white woman slipped and suddenly found herself in front of him - and Hermann recognized the Countess!

I came to you against my will, ”she said in a firm voice,“ but I have been ordered to fulfill your request. Three, seven and ace will win you in a row, but so that you do not bet more than one card a day and that you do not play afterwards for the rest of your life. I forgive you my death, so that you marry my pupil Lizaveta Ivanovna ...

With this word, she quietly turned, walked to the door and disappeared, shuffling her shoes. Hermann heard the door slam in the entryway and saw that someone was again looking out the window at him.

Hermann could not recover for a long time. He went into another room. His orderly slept on the floor; Hermann woke him up by force. The orderly was drunk as usual: no sense could be obtained from him. The door to the vestibule was locked. Hermann returned to his room, lit a candle and wrote down his vision.

VI

Two immovable ideas cannot exist together in moral nature, just as two bodies cannot occupy the same place in the physical world. Three, seven, ace - soon overshadowed the image of the dead old woman in Hermann's imagination. Three, seven, ace - did not leave his head and moved on his lips. Seeing a young girl, he said: "How slender she is! .. A real triplet of hearts." They asked him: “what time is it”, he answered: “five minutes to seven”. Every plump man reminded him of an ace. Three, seven, ace - they chased him in a dream, assuming all possible forms: the three bloomed in front of him in the form of a magnificent grandiflora, the seven seemed like a Gothic gate, an ace was a huge spider. All his thoughts merged into one - to use the secret that cost him dearly. He began to think about retirement and travel. He wanted in the open gambling houses of Paris to force the treasure from the enchanted fortune. Chance saved him the trouble.

In Moscow, a society of wealthy gamblers was formed, under the chairmanship of the glorious Chekalinsky, who spent his entire century playing cards and once made millions, winning promissory notes and losing clean money. Long-term experience earned him the power of attorney of his comrades, and an open house, a glorious cook, gentleness and gaiety gained the respect of the public. He came to Petersburg. Young people flooded to him, forgetting balls for cards and preferring the temptations of the pharaoh to the seductions of red tape. Narumov brought Hermann to him.

They went through a series of magnificent rooms filled with courteous waiters. Several generals and privy councilors played whist; young people were lounging on damask sofas, eating ice cream and smoking pipes. In the living room, at a long table, around which about twenty players were crowded, the owner sat and broke the pot. He was a man of about sixty, of the most respectable appearance; the head was covered with silver gray; a full and fresh face portrayed good nature; eyes sparkled, animated by the usual smile. Narumov introduced Hermann to him. Chekalinsky shook his hand in a friendly manner, asked him not to stand on ceremony and continued to throw.

Talya lasted a long time. There were over thirty cards on the table.

Chekalinsky would stop after each throw to give the players time to make arrangements, wrote down the loss, politely listened to their demands, and even more politely turned back the extra corner, bending over with an absent-minded hand. Finally the talya was over. Chekalinsky shuffled the cards and prepared to throw another.

Let me put the card, - said Hermann, holding out his hand from behind the fat gentleman who immediately ponted. Chekalinsky smiled and bowed, silently, as a sign of submissive consent. Narumov, laughing, congratulated Hermann on the permission of the long-term fasting and wished him a happy start.

Goes! said Hermann, writing a kush in chalk over his card.

How much? - asked, squinting, the banker, - excuse me, I won't see it.

Forty-seven thousand, said Hermann.

At these words, all heads turned instantly, and all eyes were fixed on Hermann. "He's out of his mind!" - thought Narumov.

Let me tell you, ”Chekalinsky said with his unchanging smile,“ that your game is strong: no one has played here more than two hundred and seventy-five samples.

Well? - objected Hermann, - are you hitting my card or not?

Chekalinsky bowed with the air of the same humble consent.

I just wanted to report to you, ”he said,“ that, having been awarded the power of attorney of my comrades, I can’t throw anything other than clean money. For my part, of course, I am sure that your word is enough, but for the order of the game and the accounts, I ask you to put money on the card.

Hermann took a bank note out of his pocket and handed it to Chekalinsky, who, having glanced at it, put it on Hermann's card.

He began to throw. To the right lay a nine, to the left a three.

Won! - said Hermann, showing his map.

A whisper rose between the players. Chekalinsky frowned, but the smile immediately returned to his face.

Will you please get it? he asked Hermann.

Do me a favor.

Chekalinsky took out several bank notes from his pocket and settled down at once. Hermann accepted his money and left the table. Narumov could not recover. Hermann drank a glass of lemonade and went home.

On the evening of the next day, he again appeared at Chekalinsky's. The owner was metal. Hermann went to the table; the ponters immediately gave him a seat, and Chekalinsky bowed to him affectionately.

Hermann waited for a new talha, put a card, putting on it his forty-seven thousand and yesterday's win.

Chekalinsky began to throw. The jack fell to the right, the seven to the left.

Hermann opened the seven.

Everyone gasped. Chekalinsky was apparently embarrassed. He counted out ninety-four thousand and handed it to Hermann. Hermann received them with equanimity and withdrew at the same moment.

The next evening Hermann appeared again at the table. Everyone was expecting him. Generals and privy councilors left their whist to see the game so extraordinary. Young officers jumped off the sofas; all the waiters gathered in the living room. All surrounded Hermann. The other players did not bet their cards, eagerly awaiting what he would end up with. Hermann stood at the table, preparing to ponte alone against the pale, but still smiling Chekalinsky. Each one printed out a deck of cards. Chekalinsky shuffled. Hermann withdrew and put down his card, covering it with a pile of bank notes. It was like a duel. Deep silence reigned all around.

Chekalinsky began to throw, his hands were shaking. To the right lay the queen, to the left the ace.

The ace won! - said Hermann and opened his card.

Your lady has been killed, ”Chekalinsky said affectionately.

Hermann shuddered: in fact, instead of an ace he had a queen of spades. He could not believe his eyes, not understanding how he could turn around.

At that moment it seemed to him that the Queen of Spades narrowed her eyes and smiled. An extraordinary resemblance struck him ...

Old woman! he shouted in horror.

Chekalinsky pulled the lost tickets towards him. Hermann stood motionless. When he left the table, a noisy talk arose. - Nicely edited! - said the players. - Chekalinsky shuffled the cards again: the game went on as usual.

CONCLUSION

Hermann has gone mad. He sits in the Obukhov hospital in room 17, does not answer any questions and mutters unusually quickly: “Three, seven, ace! Three, seven, lady! .. "

Lizaveta Ivanovna married a very kind young man; he serves somewhere and has a decent fortune: he is the son of the former steward of the old countess. Lizaveta Ivanovna is raising a poor relative.

Tomsky was promoted to captain and marries Princess Polina.

Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin
The Queen of Spades
The Queen of Spades means secret ill will.
The newest fortune-telling book.

And on rainy days
They were going
Often;
Bent - God forgive them! -
From fifty
One hundred,
And won
And wrote off
Chalk.
So, on rainy days,
They were engaged
Business.

Once they played cards at the horse guard Narumov. The long winter night passed unnoticed; sat down to supper at five o'clock in the morning. Those who won ate with great appetite; others, absent-mindedly, sat in front of their instruments. But the champagne appeared, the conversation became more lively, and everyone took part in it.
- What have you done, Surin? The owner asked.
- Lost, as usual. - I must admit that I am unhappy: I play with Mirandole, I never get excited, nothing will confuse me, but I keep losing!
- And you have never been tempted? never put it on the root? .. Your firmness is amazing to me.
- And what is Hermann! - said one of the guests, pointing to the young engineer, - he never took cards in his hands, when he was born, he never bent a single password, but until five o'clock he sits with us and looks at our game!
- The game interests me greatly, - said Hermann, - but I am not able to sacrifice the necessary in the hope of acquiring the superfluous.
- Hermann is German: he is calculating, that's all! - remarked Tomsky. - And if someone is incomprehensible to me, it is my grandmother Countess Anna Fedotovna.
- How? what? The guests shouted.
- I cannot comprehend, - continued Tomsky, - how my grandmother does not understand!
- Why is it surprising, - said Narumov, - that the eighty-year old woman does not understand?
- So you don't know anything about her?
- No! really nothing!
- Oh, so listen:
You must know that my grandmother, sixty years ago, went to Paris and was in great fashion there. The people ran after her to see la Venus moscovite; Richelieu trailed after her, and grandmother assures that he almost shot himself from her cruelty.
At that time, the ladies were playing Pharaoh. Once at court, she lost a lot to the Duke of Orleans. Arriving home, grandmother, peeling off the flies from her face and untie the tansy, announced her loss to grandfather and ordered him to pay.
The late grandfather, as far as I remember, was the family of my grandmother's butler. He was afraid of her like fire; however, hearing about such a terrible loss, he lost his temper, brought the bills, proved to her that in six months they had spent half a million, that they had neither a Moscow region nor a Saratov village near Paris, and completely refused to pay. Grandmother gave him a slap in the face and went to bed alone, as a sign of her disfavor.
The next day she ordered her husband to be called, hoping that the domestic punishment had worked on him, but she found him unshakable. For the first time in her life, she came with him to reasoning and explanation; I thought to convince him, condescendingly arguing that debt is a debt and that there is a difference between a prince and a coachman. - Where! grandfather rebelled. No, and only! Grandma didn't know what to do.
She was briefly acquainted with a very remarkable person. You have heard of the Comte Saint-Germain, about whom so many wonderful things are told. You know that he posed as the Eternal Jew, the inventor of the life elixir and the philosopher's stone, and so on. They laughed at him as at a charlatan, and Casanova in her Notes says that he was a spy; however, Saint-Germain, in spite of his secrecy, had a very respectable appearance and was a very amiable person in society. Grandmother still loves him unconsciously and gets angry if they talk about him with disrespect. Grandma knew that Saint Germain could have a lot of money. She decided to resort to him. I wrote him a note and asked him to come to her immediately.
The old eccentric appeared at once and found him in terrible grief. She described to him in the blackest colors her husband's barbarism and said at last that she was placing all her hope in his friendship and kindness.
Saint-Germain considered.
“I can serve you with this sum,” he said, “but I know that you will not be calm until you pay me off, and I would not wish to introduce you into new troubles. There is another remedy: you can win back. " "But, my dear count," answered the grandmother, "I tell you that we have no money at all." “No money is needed here,” said Saint-Germain. “Please listen to me.” Then he revealed to her a secret, for which each of us would give dearly ...
Young players redoubled their attention. Tomsky lit his pipe, inhaled and continued.
That same evening, my grandmother came to Versailles, au jeu de la Reine. Duke of Orleans metal; the grandmother slightly apologized for not bringing her debt, weaved a little story as an excuse and began to poke at him against him. She chose three cards, put them one after another: all three won her sonic, and the grandmother won back completely.
- The case! - said one of the guests.
- Fairy tale! - said Hermann.
- Maybe powder cards? - picked up the third.
“I don’t think so,” Tomsky answered importantly.
- How! - said Narumov, - you have a grandmother who guesses three cards in a row, but you still haven't adopted her cabalism from her?
- Yes, damn it! - answered Tomsky, - she had four sons, including my father: all four are desperate gamblers, and she never revealed her secret to any of them; though it would not be bad for them and even for me. But this is what my uncle, Count Ivan Ilyich, told me, and of which he assured me with honor. The late Chaplitsky, the one who died in poverty, squandering millions, once in his youth lost - I remember Zorich - about three hundred thousand. He was desperate. The grandmother, who was always strict with the pranks of young people, somehow took pity on Chaplitsky. She gave him three cards, so that he put them one after another, and took from him his word of honor never to play again. Chaplitsky came to his winner: they sat down to play. Chaplitsky put fifty thousand on the first card and won Sonic; bent passwords, passwords-ne, - won back and still won ...
“But it's time to sleep: it's already a quarter to six.
In fact, it was already dawn: the young people finished their glasses and departed.
II
- II parait que monsieur est decidement pourles suivantes.
- Que voulez-vus, madame? Elles sont plus fraiches.
Secular conversation.
The old Countess *** was sitting in her dressing room in front of the mirror. Three girls surrounded her. One held a can of blush, the other a box of hairpins, and the third a tall cap with fiery ribbons. The Countess had not the slightest claim to beauty, long faded, but retained all the habits of her youth, strictly followed the fashions of the seventies and dressed as long, as diligently as she had sixty years ago. A young lady, her pupil, was sitting at the window at the embroidery frame.
"Hello, grand" maman, "the young officer said, coming in." Bon jour, mademoiselle Lise. Grand "maman, I'm asking you.
- What is it, Paul?
“Allow me to introduce one of my friends and bring him to you for the ball on Friday.
- Bring it to me directly to the ball, and then you will introduce it to me. Did you visit *** yesterday?
- How! it was a lot of fun; danced until five o'clock. How good Yeletskaya was!
- And, my dear! What's good about it? Was her grandmother, Princess Darya Petrovna like that? .. By the way: I’m tea, she has grown very old, Princess Darya Petrovna?
- How old? - answered Tomsky absentmindedly, - she died seven years ago. The young lady raised her head and made a sign to the young man. He remembered that from the old
countess hid the death of her peers, and bit his lip. But the Countess heard the message, new to her, with great indifference.
- She's dead! - she said, - and I did not know! Together we were granted maids of honor, and when we introduced ourselves, the empress ...
And the Countess told her grandson her anecdote for the hundredth time.
“Well, Paul,” she said afterwards, “now help me up. Lizanka, where is my snuffbox?
And the countess with her girls went behind the screens to finish her toilet. Tomsky stayed with the young lady.
- Whom do you want to represent? - Lizaveta Ivanovna asked quietly.
- Narumova. Do you know him?
- No! Is he a military man or a civil servant?
- Military.
- Engineer?
- No! cavalryman. Why did you think he was an engineer? The young lady laughed and did not answer a word.
- Paul! - shouted the countess from behind the screens, - send me some new novel, but please, not from the current ones.
- How is it, grand "maman?
- That is, such a novel, where the hero would not crush either the father or the mother, and where there would be no drowned bodies. I am terribly afraid of the drowned!
- There are no such novels today. Would you like the Russians?
- Are there any Russian novels? .. Come, father, please come!
"Excuse me, grand" maman: I'm in a hurry ... Excuse me, Lizaveta Ivanovna! Why do you think Narumov is an engineer?
- And Tomsky left the toilet.
Lizaveta Ivanovna was left alone: \u200b\u200bshe left her work and began to look out the window. Soon a young officer appeared on one side of the street from behind a coal house. A blush covered her cheeks: she set to work again and bent her head over the canvas itself. At this moment the Countess entered, fully dressed.
- Order, Lizanka, - she said, - to lay the carriage, and we will go for a walk. Lizanka got up from behind the embroidery frame and began to put away her work.
- What are you, my mother! deaf or something! Cried the Countess. - Tell us to lay the carriage as soon as possible.
- Now! - answered the young lady quietly and ran into the hall. A servant entered and handed the countess books from Prince Pavel Alexandrovich.
- Okay! Thanks, ”said the Countess. - Lizanka, Lizanka! where are you running?
- Dress up.
- You will have time, mother. Sit here. Open the first volume; read aloud ... The young lady took the book and read a few lines.
- Louder! Said the Countess. - What's the matter with you, my mother? I was asleep with a voice, or what? .. Wait: move the bench closer to me ... well!
Lisaveta Ivanovna read two more pages. The Countess yawned.
“Drop this book,” she said. - what nonsense! Send this to Prince Pavel and tell him to thank him ... But what about the carriage?
"The carriage is ready," said Lizaveta Ivanovna, glancing out into the street.
- What are you not wearing? - said the countess, - you must always wait for you! This, mother, is unbearable.
Lisa ran to her room. Less than two minutes later, the Countess began to call with all her urine. Three girls ran through one door, and the valet into the other.
- Why won't you get it? The countess told them. - Tell Lizaveta Ivanovna that I'm waiting for her.
Lizaveta Ivanovna entered wearing a bonnet and a hat.
- Finally, my mother! Said the Countess. - What outfits! Why is this? .. Whom to seduce? .. And what is the weather? - it seems like the wind.
- No, sir, your Excellency! very quiet, sir! - answered the valet.
- You always speak at random! Open the window. So it is: the wind! and very cold! Put the carriage aside! Lizanka, we won't go: there was nothing to dress up.
"And this is my life!" Thought Lisaveta Ivanovna.
Indeed, Lizaveta Ivanovna was an unhappy creature. The bitterness of someone else's bread, says Dante, and the steps of someone else's porch are heavy, but who knows the bitterness of dependence if not the poor pupil of a noble old woman? The Countess ***, of course, did not have an evil soul; but she was wayward, like a woman spoiled by the light, stingy and immersed in cold egoism, like all old people who fell in love in their time and were alien to the present. She took part in all the vanities of the big world, dragged herself to balls, where she sat in a corner, reddened and dressed in the old fashion, like an ugly and necessary decoration of a ballroom; visiting guests approached her with low bows, as if according to the established rite, and then no one did it anymore. She hosted the whole city, observing strict etiquette and not recognizing anyone by sight. Her numerous servants, having grown fat and gray in her front room and in the girl's, did what they wanted, vying to rob the dying old woman. Lizaveta Ivanovna was a domestic martyr. She poured tea and was reprimanded for wasting sugar; she read novels aloud and was to blame for all the mistakes of the author; she accompanied the Countess on her walks and was in charge of the weather and the pavement. She was given a salary that was never paid; and meanwhile they demanded that she be dressed like everyone else, that is, like very few. She played the most pitiful role in the world. Everyone knew her and no one noticed; at balls she danced only when there was not enough vis-a-vis, and the ladies took her by the arm every time they needed to go to the dressing room to fix something in their outfit. She was proud, vividly felt her position and looked around herself - impatiently awaiting a deliverer; but young people, calculating in their windy vanity, did not honor her, although Lizaveta Ivanovna was a hundred times prettier than the arrogant and cold brides around whom they clung to. How many times, leaving quietly a dull and luxuriant living room, she went away to cry in her poor room, where there were screens covered with wallpaper, a chest of drawers, a mirror and a painted bed, and where a tallow candle burned darkly in a brass chandal!
Once, - this happened two days after the evening described at the beginning of this story, and a week before the scene at which we stopped - once Lizaveta Ivanovna, sitting under the window behind the embroidery frame, accidentally glanced into the street and saw a young engineer standing motionless and fixed his eyes to her window. She lowered her head and went back to work; five minutes later she looked again — the young officer was standing in the same place. Not having the habit of flirting with the passing officers, she stopped looking at the street and sewed for about two hours without raising her head. Dinner was served. She got up, began to remove her embroidery frame, and, looking by chance at the street, saw the officer again. This struck her as rather strange. After dinner she went to the window with a feeling of some uneasiness, but the officer was no longer there - and she forgot about him ...
Two days later, going out with the Countess to get into the carriage, she again saw him. He stood at the very entrance, covering his face with a beaver collar: his black eyes sparkled from under his hat. Lizaveta Ivanovna was frightened, not knowing what, and got into the carriage with an inexplicable trepidation.
Returning home, she ran to the window - the officer stood in the same place, fixing his eyes on her: she walked away, tormented by curiosity and agitated by a feeling completely new to her.
Since that time, not a day has passed that the young man, at a certain hour, does not appear under the windows of their house. An unconditional relationship was established between him and her. Sitting in her place at work, she felt his approach, - raised her head, looked at him every day longer and longer. The young man seemed to be grateful to her for that: she saw with the sharp gaze of youth how a quick blush covered his pale cheeks whenever their gaze met. A week later, she smiled at him ...
When Tomsky asked permission to introduce his friend to the Countess, the poor girl's heart began to beat. But when she learned that Naumov was not an engineer, but a horse guard, she regretted that with an immodest question she had expressed her secret to the windy Tomsky.
Hermann was the son of a Russified German who left him a small capital. Firmly convinced of the need to strengthen his independence, Hermann did not even touch on interest, he lived on a single salary, did not allow himself the slightest whim. However, he was secretive and ambitious, and his comrades rarely had occasion to laugh at his excessive frugality. He had strong passions and a fiery imagination, but firmness saved him from the usual delusions of youth. So, for example, being a gambler in his soul, he never took the cards in hand, for he calculated that his condition did not allow him (as he said) to sacrifice the necessary in the hope of acquiring the excess, and meanwhile he sat at the card tables all night and followed with feverish thrill over the different turns of the game.
The anecdote about the three cards strongly influenced his imagination and did not leave his head for the whole night. “What if,” he thought the next evening, wandering around Petersburg, “what if the old countess reveals her secret to me! - or assign me these three correct cards! Why not try your luck? .. Introduce yourself to her, bend her mercy - perhaps become her lover, but it takes time - and she is eighty-seven years old - she can die in a week, yes, in two days! .. And the joke itself? .. Can I believe him? .. No! calculation, moderation and industriousness: here are my three true cards, this is what will triple, size my capital and give me peace and independence! "
Reasoning in this way, he found himself in one of the main streets of St. Petersburg, in front of a house of ancient architecture. The street was crowded with carriages, carriages, one after another, rolled towards the lighted entrance. From the carriages, the slender leg of a young beauty, the rattling over-the-knee boots, then the striped stocking and the diplomatic shoe were constantly stretched out. Fur coats and cloaks flashed past the stately doorman. Hermann stopped.
- Whose is this house? - he asked the corner alarm.
- Countess ***, - answered the guard.
Hermann trembled. The amazing anecdote again presented itself to his imagination. He began to walk around the house, thinking about his mistress and her wonderful ability. He returned late to his humble corner; for a long time he could not fall asleep, and when sleep took possession of him, he dreamed of cards, a green table, piles of banknotes and piles of ducats. He put card after card, bent the corners decisively, won incessantly, and raked in gold to himself, and put banknotes in his pocket. Waking up late, he sighed about the loss of his fantastic wealth, went to wander around the city again and again found himself in front of the Countess's house ***. An unknown force seemed to attract him to him. He stopped and looked at the windows. In one he saw a black-haired head bent, probably over a book or over work. The head was lifted. Hermann saw a face and black eyes. This minute decided his fate.
III
Vous m "ecrivez, mon ange, des lettres de quatre pages plus vite que je ne puis les lire.
Correspondence.
Only Lisaveta Ivanovna had time to take off her bonnet and hat when the countess sent for her and ordered the carriage to be brought in again. They went to sit down. Just as two footmen lifted the old woman and pushed her through the door, Lizaveta Ivanovna saw her engineer at the very wheel; he grabbed her hand; she could not recover from fright, the young man disappeared: the letter remained in her hand. She hid it behind a glove and heard or saw nothing the whole journey. The Countess was in the habit of constantly asking questions in the carriage: who met us? - what is the name of this bridge? - what is written on the sign? This time Lisaveta Ivanovna answered at random and inappropriately, and angered the Countess.
- What happened to you, my mother! Did you get tetanus, or what? Do you either not hear me or do not understand? .. Thank God, I don’t lurk and I’m not out of my mind yet!
Lizaveta Ivanovna did not listen to her. Returning home, she ran to her room, took out a letter from her glove: it was not sealed. Lizaveta Ivanovna read it. The letter contained a declaration of love: it was tender, respectful and word for word taken from a German novel. But Lisaveta Ivanovna could not speak German and was very pleased with it.
However, the letter she received worried her extremely. For the first time she entered into secret, close relations with a young man. His insolence terrified her. She reproached herself for her careless behavior and did not know what to do: should she stop sitting at the window and inattentively cool down in a young officer the hunt for further pursuits? - whether to send him a letter?
- whether to answer coldly and decisively? She had no one to consult with, she had neither a friend nor a mentor. Lizaveta Ivanovna decided to answer.
She sat down at the writing table, took out a pen and paper, and thought. She began her letter several times - and tore it up: the expressions seemed to her too condescending, then too cruel. Finally she managed to write a few lines with which she was pleased. “I am sure,” she wrote, “that you have good intentions and that you did not want to offend me with a rash act; but our acquaintance was not to begin in this way. I am returning your letter to you and I hope that I will no longer have reasons to complain about undeserved disrespect. "
The next day, seeing Hermann walking, Lisaveta Ivanovna got up from behind the embroidery frame, went out into the hall, opened the window and threw the letter out into the street, hoping for the young officer's agility. Hermann ran up, picked him up and entered the pastry shop. Breaking the seal, he found his letter and Lizaveta Ivanovna's answer. He had expected that and returned home, very busy with his intrigue.
Three days after that, a young, quick-eyed mother brought Lizaveta Ivanovna a note from a fashionable shop. Lizaveta Ivanovna opened it with concern, anticipating monetary requirements, and suddenly recognized Hermann's hand.
“You, darling, are mistaken,” she said. “This note is not for me.
- No, definitely to you! - answered the brave girl, not hiding a sly smile. - Please read it!
Lizaveta Ivanovna skimmed through the note. Hermann demanded a date.
- Can not be! - said Lizaveta Ivanovna, frightened both by the haste of demands and by the method he used. - This is not written correctly to me! - And tore the letter into small pieces.
- If the letter is not for you, why did you tore it? - said mamzel, - I would return it to the one who sent it.
- Please, darling! - said Lizaveta Ivanovna, flushing at her remark, - do not carry notes forward to me. And tell the person who sent you that he should be ashamed ...
But Hermann did not quit. Lizaveta Ivanovna received letters from him every day, now in one way or another. They were no longer translated from German. Hermann wrote them, inspired by passion, and spoke in a language characteristic of him: in him both the inflexibility of his desires and the disorder of unbridled imagination were expressed. Lizaveta Ivanovna no longer thought to send them away: she reveled in them; began to answer them - and her notes became longer and softer from hour to hour. Finally, she threw the following letter out the window to him:
“Today is the ball at the *** envoy. The Countess will be there. We will stay until two o'clock. Here's a chance for you to see me alone. As soon as the Countess leaves, her people will probably disperse, the doorman will remain in the entryway, but he usually goes to his little room. Come at half past eleven. Go straight up the stairs. If you find someone in the hall, then you ask if the Countess is at home. They will tell you no - and there is nothing to do. You will have to go back. But you probably won't meet anyone. The girls are sitting in their own room, all in the same room. From the hall, go to the left, go all the way to the Countess's bedroom. In the bedroom, behind the screens, you will see two small doors: on the right to the study, where the Countess never enters; to the left into the corridor, and right there is a narrow twisted staircase: it leads to my room. "
Hermann trembled like a tiger, waiting for the appointed time. At ten o'clock in the evening he was already standing in front of the countess's house. The weather was terrible: the wind howled, sleet fell in flakes; the lanterns shone dimly; the streets were empty. From time to time Vanka stretched out on his skinny nag, looking out for the belated rider. - Hermann stood in one frock coat, not feeling either the wind or the snow. Finally the carriage was brought to the Countess. Hermann saw how the footmen carried a hunched old woman, wrapped in a sable fur coat, under the arms, and how her pupil flashed after her, in a cold cloak, with her head decorated with fresh flowers. The doors slammed shut. The carriage rolled heavily on the loose snow. The doorman locked the doors. The windows were dark. Hermann began to walk around the empty house: he went up to the lamp, looked at his watch - it was twenty minutes past eleven. Hermann stepped onto the Countess's porch and entered the brightly lit entrance. There was no porter. Hermann ran up the stairs, opened the doors to the anteroom, and saw a servant sleeping under a lamp in old, stained chairs. With a light and firm step, Hermann walked past him. The hall and drawing room were dark. The lamp illumined them dimly from the hall. Hermann entered the bedroom. In front of the kivot filled with ancient images, a golden lamp glimmered. The faded damask armchairs and sofas with down pillows, with the gilding that had come down, stood in sad symmetry near the walls covered with Chinese wallpaper. On the wall were two portraits painted in Paris by Madame Lebrun. One of them depicted a man of about forty, ruddy and plump, in a light green uniform and with a star; the other, a young beauty with an aquiline nose, combed temples and a rose in her powdered hair. Porcelain shepherdesses, dining hours of the glorious Gegou, boxes, roulettes, fans and various ladies' toys, invented at the end of the last century together with the Hot Air Balloon and Mesmer magnetism, stuck out in all corners. Hermann went behind the screens. Behind them was a small iron bed; on the right was the door leading to the study; on the left, the other into the corridor. Hermann opened it, saw a narrow, twisted staircase that led to the poor pupil's room ... But he turned back and entered the dark office.
Time passed slowly. Everything was quiet. It struck twelve in the living room; in all the rooms the clocks, one after the other, chimed twelve, and everything was silent again. Hermann was leaning against the cold stove. He was calm; his heart was beating smoothly, like that of a man who has decided on something dangerous, but necessary. The clock struck the first and second o'clock in the morning, and he heard the distant clatter of a carriage. An involuntary excitement took possession of him. The carriage drove up and stopped. He heard the knock of the footboard being lowered. The house was bustling. People ran, voices were heard and the house lit up. Three old maids ran into the bedroom, and the Countess, barely alive, entered and sank into Voltaire's armchairs. Hermann looked through the crack: Lizaveta Ivanovna passed him. Hermann heard her hurrying steps up the stairs. Something like a remorse echoed in his heart and fell silent again. He turned to stone.
The Countess began to undress in front of the mirror. Chipped off her cap decorated with roses; removed the powdered wig from her gray and close-cropped head. Pins rained down around her. A yellow dress, embroidered with silver, fell to her swollen legs. Hermann witnessed the hideous mysteries of her dressing room; finally, the countess remained in her sleeping jacket and nightcap: in this attire, more characteristic of her old age, she seemed less terrible and ugly.
Like all old people in general, the Countess suffered from insomnia. Having undressed, she sat down in Voltaire's armchairs by the window and sent the maids away. The candles were taken out, the room was again lit up by one lamp. The Countess sat all yellow, moving her droopy lips, swaying right and left. Her dim eyes showed a complete absence of thought; looking at her, one would think that the rocking of the terrible old woman did not come from her will, but from the action of hidden galvanism.
Suddenly this dead face changed inexplicably. Lips ceased to move, eyes brightened: an unfamiliar man stood in front of the Countess.
- Do not be alarmed, for God's sake, do not be alarmed! - he said in an intelligible and quiet voice. “I have no intention of harming you; I have come to beg you for one mercy.
The old woman looked at him in silence and did not seem to hear him. Hermann imagined that she was deaf, and, bending over her ear, repeated the same to her. The old woman was silent as before.
- You can, - continued Hermann, - make up the happiness of my life, and it will cost you nothing: I know that you can guess three cards in a row ...
Hermann stopped. The Countess seemed to understand what was required of her; she seemed to be searching for words for her answer.
It was a joke, ”she said at last,“ I swear to you! it was a joke!
There is nothing to joke about, ”Hermann objected angrily. - Remember Chaplitsky, whom you helped to recoup.
The Countess was evidently embarrassed. Her features depicted a strong movement of the soul, but she soon fell into her former insensitivity.
“Can you,” Hermann continued, “assign me these three correct cards? The Countess was silent; Hermann continued:
- For whom do you keep your secret? For grandchildren? They are rich already: they do not know the price of money either. Your three cards won't help Motu. He who does not know how to preserve his father's inheritance will nevertheless die in poverty, despite any demonic efforts. I'm not a freak; I know the value of money. Your three cards won't go to waste for me. Well!..
He stopped and waited with trepidation for her answer. The Countess was silent; Hermann knelt down.
- If ever, - he said, - your heart knew the feeling of love, if you remember its raptures, if you ever smiled at the cry of a newborn son, if something human ever beat in your chest, then I implore you with feelings spouses, mistresses, mothers - all that is sacred in life - do not deny me my request! - tell me your secret! - what do you want in it? .. Perhaps it is associated with a terrible sin, with the destruction of eternal bliss, with a devilish pact ... Think: you are old; you will not live long - I am ready to take your sin upon my soul. Tell me only your secret. Think that the happiness of a person is in your hands; that not only I, but also my children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren will bless your memory and will honor it as a shrine ...
The old woman did not answer a word. Hermann stood up.
- Old witch! - he said, gritting his teeth, - so I'll make you answer ... With that, he took a pistol out of his pocket.
At the sight of the pistol, the Countess had a strong feeling for the second time. She nodded her head and raised her hand, as if shielding herself from the shot ... Then she rolled backwards ... and remained motionless.
“Stop kidding,” Hermann said, taking her hand. - I ask for the last time: would you like to assign me your three cards? - Yes or no?
The Countess did not answer. Hermann saw that she was dead.
IV
7 Mai 18 **. Homme sams mceurs et sans religion!
Correspondence.
Lizaveta Ivanovna was sitting in her room, still in her ballroom outfit, immersed in deep reflections. Arriving home, she hastened to send the sleepy girl, who reluctantly offered her a favor, said that she would undress herself, and with trepidation went into her room, hoping to find Hermann there and wishing not to find him. At first glance, she made sure of his absence and thanked fate for the obstacle that prevented their meeting. She sat down, without undressing, and began to recall all the circumstances, in such a short time and so far enticed her. Not even three weeks had passed since the first time she saw a young man through the window - and she was already in correspondence with him - and he managed to demand a night meeting from her! She knew his name only because some of his letters were signed by him; never spoke to him, never heard his voice, never heard of him ... until this very evening. Strange affair! That very evening, at the ball, Tomsky, sulking at the young princess Polina ***, who, contrary to usual, was not flirting with him, wanted revenge, showing indifference: he called Lizaveta Ivanovna and danced an endless mazurka with her. All the time he joked about her predilection for engineering officers, assured that he knew much more than she could have guessed, and some of his jokes were so well directed that Lizaveta Ivanovna thought several times that her secret was known to him.
- From whom do you know all this? She asked, laughing.
- From a friend of a person you know, - answered Tomsky, - a very wonderful person!
- Who is this wonderful person?
- His name is Hermann.
Lizaveta Ivanovna did not answer anything, but her arms and legs went cold ...
“This Hermann,” Tomsky continued, “has a truly romantic face: he has the profile of Napoleon, and the soul of Mephistopheles. I think he is responsible for at least three atrocities. How pale you are! ..
My head hurts ... What did Hermann tell you - or what do you mean him? ..
Hermann is very dissatisfied with his friend: he says that in his place he would have acted completely differently ... I even believe that Hermann himself has views on you, at least he is very partial to listening to the exclamations of his friend in love.
- Where did he see me?
- In the church, maybe - for a walk! .. God knows! maybe in your room, during your sleep: it will become ...
Three ladies approached them with questions - oubli ou regret? - interrupted the conversation, which was becoming excruciatingly curious for Lizaveta Ivanovna.
The lady chosen by Tomsky was the princess herself ***. She managed to explain to him, running around an extra circle and once again turning in front of her chair. - Tomsky, returning to his place, no longer thought of either Hermann or Lizaveta Ivanovna. She absolutely wanted to resume the interrupted conversation; but the mazurka ended, and soon after the old countess left.
Tomsky's words were nothing more than mazuric chatter, but they sank deeply into the soul of the young dreamer. The portrait sketched by Tomsky resembled the image she had drawn up, and, thanks to the latest novels, this already vulgar face frightened and captivated her imagination. She was sitting with her bare arms folded in a cross, her head bent over her open chest, still decorated with flowers ... Suddenly the door opened, and Hermann entered. She fluttered ...
- Where have you been? She asked in a frightened whisper.
“In the old countess’s bedroom,” Hermann answered, “I’m from her now. The Countess is dead.
- My God!., What are you saying? ..
- And it seems, - continued Hermann, - I am the cause of her death.
Lizaveta Ivanovna looked at him and Tomsky's words resounded in her soul: this man has at least three evil deeds in his soul! Hermann sat down on the window beside her and told everything.
Lisaveta Ivanovna listened to him with horror. So, these passionate letters, these fiery demands, this audacious, stubborn pursuit, all this was not love! Money - that's what his soul craved! It was not she who could satisfy his desires and make him happy! The poor pupil was nothing but the blind assistant of the robber, the murderer of her old benefactor! .. She wept bitterly in her late, painful repentance. Hermann looked at her in silence: his heart was also tormented, but neither the tears of the poor girl, nor the amazing charm of her grief troubled his harsh soul. He did not feel remorse at the thought of the dead old woman. One thing terrified him: the irreversible loss of the secret, from which he expected enrichment.
- You are a monster! - said Lizaveta Ivanovna at last.
- I did not want her death, - Hermann answered, - my pistol is not loaded. They fell silent.
Morning was coming. Lizaveta Ivanovna put out the dying candle: a pale light illuminated her room. She wiped her tear-stained eyes and raised them to Hermann: he was sitting at the window, arms folded and frowning menacingly. In this position, he remarkably resembled a portrait of Napoleon. This resemblance struck even Lizaveta Ivanovna.
How do you get out of the house? - said Lizaveta Ivanovna at last. - I thought to lead you up a secret staircase, but I must go past the bedroom, and I'm afraid.
- Tell me how to find this hidden staircase; I'll go out.
Lisaveta Ivanovna got up, took out the key from the chest of drawers, handed it to Hermann and gave him detailed instructions. Hermann shook her cold, unrequited hand, kissed her bowed head and left.
He went down the spiral staircase and entered the Countess's bedroom again. The dead old woman sat petrified; her face expressed deep calmness. Hermann stopped in front of her, looked at her for a long time, as if wishing to be convinced of the terrible truth; finally entered the office, felt the door behind the wallpaper, and began to descend the dark stairs, agitated by strange feelings. Along this very staircase, he thought, perhaps sixty years ago, into this very bedroom, at the same hour, in an embroidered caftan, combed al "oiseau royal, clutching a triangular hat to his heart, a young, lucky man, long decayed in the grave , and the heart of his elderly mistress stopped beating today ...
Under the stairs Hermann found a door, which he unlocked with the same key, and found himself in a through corridor that led him out into the street.
V
That night the deceased Baroness von W *** came to me. She was all in white and said to me: "Hello, Mr. Counselor!"
Schwedenborg.
Three days after the fateful night, at nine o'clock in the morning, Hermann went to the *** monastery, where the body of the deceased countess was to be buried. Feeling no remorse, he could not completely drown out the voice of conscience, which told him: you are the murderer of the old woman! With little true faith, he had many prejudices. He believed that the dead countess could have a harmful effect on his life - and decided to attend her funeral to ask her forgiveness.
The church was full. Hermann could force his way through the crowd of people. The coffin stood on a rich hearse under a velvet canopy. The deceased lay in it with her hands folded across her chest, in a lace cap and in a white satin dress. Her household stood around: servants in black caftans with heraldic ribbons on their shoulders and with candles in their hands; relatives in deep mourning - children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. Nobody cried; the tears would be une affectation. The Countess was so old that her death could not strike anyone and that her relatives had long looked at her as outdated. The young bishop pronounced his eulogy. In simple and touching expressions, he presented the peaceful dormition of the righteous woman, who for many years had been a quiet, touching preparation for a Christian end. "The angel of death found her," said the orator, "awake in good thoughts and waiting for the midnight bridegroom." The service was performed with sad decency. The relatives were the first to go to say goodbye to the body. Then numerous guests moved, who had come to bow to the one who had been a participant in their vain amusements for so long. After them, and all the household. Finally, an old gentleman lady approached, the same age as the deceased. Two young girls led her by the arms. She could not bow down to the ground, - and one shed a few tears, kissing the cold hand of her mistress. After her, Hermann decided to go to the coffin. He bowed to the ground and lay for several minutes on the cold floor covered with fir trees. Finally he got up, as pale as the deceased herself, went up the steps of the hearse and bent down ...
At that moment it seemed to him that the dead woman looked at him mockingly, screwing up one eye. Hermann hastily leaned back, stumbled, and hit the ground on his back. He was raised. At the same time, Lizaveta Ivanovna was carried in a swoon to the porch. This episode outraged for several minutes the solemnity of the gloomy rite. A dull murmur arose between the visitors, and a thin chamberlain, a close relative of the deceased, whispered in the ear of an Englishman standing next to him that the young officer was her bastard son, to which the Englishman answered coldly: Oh?
All day Hermann was extremely upset. While dining in a secluded inn, he, contrary to his habit, drank a lot, hoping to stifle his inner excitement. But the wine fueled his imagination even more. Returning home, he threw himself, without undressing, on the bed and fell fast asleep.
He woke up at night: the moon lit up his room. He glanced at his watch: it was a quarter to three. His sleep is gone; he sat down on the bed and thought about the funeral of the old countess.
At that time, someone from the street looked into his window, and immediately walked away. Hermann paid no attention to this. A minute later he heard that the door in the front room was being unlocked. Hermann thought that his orderly, drunk as usual, was returning from a night walk. But he heard an unfamiliar gait: someone was walking, quietly shuffling his shoes. The door opened and a woman in a white dress entered. Hermann took her for his old nurse and wondered what could have brought her at such a time. But the white woman slipped and suddenly found herself in front of him - and Hermann recognized the Countess!
“I came to you against my will,” she said in a firm voice, “but I have been ordered to fulfill your request. Three, seven and an ace will win you in a row - but so that you don't bet more than one card a day and that you don't play afterwards for the rest of your life. I forgive you my death, so that you marry my pupil Lizaveta Ivanovna ...
With this word, she quietly turned, walked to the door and disappeared, shuffling her shoes. Hermann heard the door slam in the entryway and saw that someone was again looking out the window at him.
Hermann could not recover for a long time. He went into another room. His orderly slept on the floor; Hermann woke him up by force.

Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin often found inspiration for his works where no one else could have imagined. So, the idea of \u200b\u200bthe story "The Queen of Spades" was born ... at the card table. His friend, Prince Golitsyn, told the poet about his grandmother, who once helped him recoup by naming three cards. The prince bet on them and won. The old woman then said that the famous French swindler Saint-Germain had revealed this secret to her. Princess Golitsyna became the prototype of the countess, and the story of a friend formed the basis for Pushkin's The Queen of Spades, but Alexander Sergeevich invented all the other events in the story. He embodied his idea in Boldino - researchers assume that the story was written in the fall of 1833, but this is not known for certain, since the manuscript of one of the most famous works of the genius of Russian literature, unfortunately, was lost. Many critics note that in fact form "The Queen of Spades" is more a story than a story. It is also difficult to determine the genre of the work - it has the characteristic features of a Gothic novel, such as an old mansion, a mystery associated with evil spirits, and fatal coincidences. However, it can also be attributed to the genre of realism, if we consider that everything fantastic in it is presented through the perception of the main character, Herman, who ultimately goes crazy. Today, "The Queen of Spades" can be read from a book or downloaded for free - any format will give a complete picture of the idea that Pushkin wanted to express. And it consists in the fact that a person is punished for any of his actions. There are no innocents in the history of the story: the countess cruelly tortures her pupil Liza; Herman uses the girl's feelings to enter the old woman's house and find out her secret, while Lisa herself dreams of freeing herself from the clutches of her imaginary benefactress and uses Herman for this. If you read the story online in full, you can see how in passing Pushkin hints at the transformation of the heroine who was shown as a victim - Lisa does not yearn for her lover who has gone mad, she happily married and sheltered a poor pupil in her house. The circle is complete.

Today, many people know that Tolstoy and Dostoevsky are popular in Europe, but in fact, it was The Queen of Spades that became one of the first works that opened Russian literature to foreign readers: for example, Prosper Merimee himself translated its text into French. And the famous Tchaikovsky ballet, based on this story, immediately conquered European theaters and continues to do so today.

And on rainy days

They were going

Bent - God forgive them! -

From fifty

And won

And wrote off

So, on rainy days,

They were engaged

- What have you done, Surin? The owner asked.

- Lost, as usual. - I must admit that I am unhappy: I play with Mirandole, I never get excited, nothing will confuse me, but I keep losing!

- And you have never been tempted? never bet on rue? .. Your firmness is amazing to me.

- The game interests me greatly, - said Hermann, - but I am not able to sacrifice the necessary in the hope of acquiring the superfluous.

- Hermann is German: he is calculating, that's all! - remarked Tomsky. - And if someone is incomprehensible to me, it is my grandmother Countess Anna Fedotovna.

- How? what? The guests shouted.

- I cannot comprehend, - continued Tomsky, - how my grandmother does not understand!

- Why is it surprising, - said Narumov, - that the eighty-year old woman does not understand?

- So you don't know anything about her?

- No! really nothing!

- Oh, so listen:

You must know that my grandmother, sixty years ago, went to Paris and was in great fashion there. The people ran after her to see la Venus moscovite; Richelieu trailed after her, and grandmother assures that he almost shot himself from her cruelty.

The late grandfather, as far as I remember, was the family of my grandmother's butler. He was afraid of her like fire; however, hearing about such a terrible loss, he lost his temper, brought the bills, proved to her that in six months they had spent half a million, that they had neither a Moscow region nor a Saratov village near Paris, and completely refused to pay. Grandmother gave him a slap in the face and went to bed alone, as a sign of her disfavor.

The next day she ordered her husband to be called, hoping that the domestic punishment had worked on him, but she found him unshakable. For the first time in her life, she came with him to reasoning and explanation; I thought to convince him, condescendingly arguing that debt is a debt and that there is a difference between a prince and a coachman. - Where! grandfather rebelled. No, and only! Grandma didn't know what to do.

She was briefly acquainted with a very remarkable person. You have heard of the Comte Saint-Germain, about whom so many wonderful things are told. You know that he posed as the Eternal Jew, the inventor of the life elixir and the philosopher's stone, and so on. They laughed at him as at a charlatan, and Casanova in her Notes says that he was a spy; however, Saint-Germain, in spite of his secrecy, had a very respectable appearance and was a very amiable person in society. Grandmother still loves him unconsciously and gets angry if they talk about him with disrespect. Grandma knew that Saint Germain could have a lot of money. She decided to resort to him. I wrote him a note and asked him to come to her immediately.

Saint-Germain considered.

“I can serve you with this sum,” he said, “but I know that you will not be calm until you pay me off, and I would not wish to introduce you into new troubles. There is another remedy: you can win back. " "But, my dear count," answered the grandmother, "I tell you that we have no money at all." “No money is needed here,” said Saint-Germain. “Please listen to me.” Then he revealed to her a secret, for which each of us would give dearly ...

Young players redoubled their attention. Tomsky lit his pipe, inhaled and continued.

That same evening, my grandmother came to Versailles, au jeu de la Reine. Duke of Orleans metal; the grandmother slightly apologized for not bringing her debt, weaved a little story as an excuse and began to poke at him against him. She chose three cards, put them one after another: all three won her sonic, and the grandmother won back completely.

- The case! - said one of the guests.

- Fairy tale! - said Hermann.

- Maybe powder cards? - picked up the third.

“I don’t think so,” Tomsky answered importantly.

- How! - said Narumov, - you have a grandmother who guesses three cards in a row, but you still haven't adopted her cabalism from her?

- Yes, damn it! - answered Tomsky, - she had four sons, including my father: all four are desperate gamblers, and she never revealed her secret to any of them; though it would not be bad for them and even for me. But this is what my uncle, Count Ivan Ilyich, told me, and of which he assured me with honor. The late Chaplitsky, the one who died in poverty, squandering millions, once in his youth lost - I remember Zorich - about three hundred thousand. He was desperate. The grandmother, who was always strict with the pranks of young people, somehow took pity on Chaplitsky. She gave him three cards, so that he put them one after another, and took from him his word of honor never to play again. Chaplitsky came to his winner: they sat down to play. Chaplitsky put fifty thousand on the first card and won Sonic; bent passwords, passwords-ne, - won back and still won ...

“But it's time to sleep: it's already a quarter to six.

In fact, it was already dawn: the young people finished their glasses and departed.

- II parait que monsieur est decidement pourles suivantes.

- Que voulez-vus, madame? Elles sont plus fraiches.

Secular conversation.

The old Countess *** was sitting in her dressing room in front of the mirror. Three girls surrounded her. One held a can of blush, the other a box of hairpins, and the third a tall cap with fiery ribbons. The Countess had not the slightest claim to beauty, long faded, but retained all the habits of her youth, strictly followed the fashions of the seventies and dressed as long, as diligently as she had sixty years ago. A young lady, her pupil, was sitting at the window at the embroidery frame.

"Hello, grand" maman, "the young officer said, coming in." Bon jour, mademoiselle Lise. Grand "maman, I'm asking you.

- What is it, Paul?

“Allow me to introduce one of my friends and bring him to you for the ball on Friday.

- Bring it to me directly to the ball, and then you will introduce it to me. Did you visit *** yesterday?

- How! it was a lot of fun; danced until five o'clock. How good Yeletskaya was!

The Queen of Spades: read. Online reading of the book The Queen of Spades I The Queen of Spades in full

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CONCLUSION

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