Bunin Ivan Alekseevich

The grammar of love

I. A. Bunin

The grammar of love

Someone Ivlev was driving one day in early June to the far end of his district.

A tarantass with a crooked dusty top was given to him by a brother-in-law, on whose estate he spent the summer. He hired three horses "small, but fair, with thick, knocked down manes in the village, from a rich peasant. They were ruled by the son of this peasant, a young man of eighteen, stupid, economic. He kept thinking about something with displeasure, as if he was something then he was offended, did not understand the jokes. ”And, making sure that you wouldn’t talk to him, Ivlev gave himself up to that calm and aimless observation that goes so well to the harmony of hooves and the thundering of bells.

The ride was pleasant at first: a warm, dull day, a well-rolled road, in the fields there are many flowers and larks; from the loaves, from the low gray rye, which stretched as far as the eye could see, a sweet breeze blew, carried flower dust along their shoals, smoked it in places, and far from it it was even foggy. Small, in a new cap and a clumsy lustrin jacket. sat upright; the fact that the horses were completely committed to him and that he was dressed made him especially serious. And the horses coughed and ran unhurriedly, the roll of the left attachment sometimes scraped the wheel, sometimes pulled, and at one time a worn horseshoe flashed under it with white steel.

Will we stop by the count? - asked the fellow, without turning around, when a village appeared ahead, closing the horizon with its vines and garden.

What for? - asked Ivlev.

The fellow was silent for a moment and, knocking down a large gadfly that had stuck to the horse, answered gloomily:

Yes, drink tea ...

Not tea in your head, - said Ivlev. - You feel sorry for all the horses.

The horse is not afraid of riding, it is afraid of the stern, - answered the fellow instructively.

Ivlev looked around: the weather was getting bored, streaking clouds were on all sides and already dripping - these modest days always end in heavy rains ... An old man who plowed near the village said that there was only a young countess at home, but nevertheless they stopped by. Small pulled the army jacket over his shoulders and, pleased that the horses were resting, calmly soaked in the rain on the tarantass trestle, which had stopped in the muddy yard, near a stone trough that had grown into the ground, stuck with the hooves of cattle. He looked around at his boots, straightened the helmet on the wheelchair with a whip, while Ivlev sat in the living room darkened by the rain, chatting with the countess and waiting for tea; already smelled of a burning torch, the green smoke of a samovar floated thickly past the open windows, which the barefoot girl was stuffing on the porch with bunches of chips brightly blazing with kumakum fire, pouring kerosene over them. The Countess wore a wide pink bonnet with an open powdered chest; she smoked, drawing deep, often straightening her hair, exposing her tight and round arms to her shoulders; Dragging on and laughing, she kept the conversation down to love and, among other things, talked about her close neighbor, the landowner Khvbshchinsky, who, as Ivlev knew from childhood, had been obsessed with love for his maid Lushka, who died in early youth, all his life. - "Ah, this legendary Lushka!" Ivlev remarked jokingly, slightly embarrassed by his confession. God knows what, although, they say, she was not at all good herself. " - "Yes?" Said the countess, not listening. - He died this winter. And Pisarev, the only one whom he sometimes admitted to him out of old friendship, claims that in everything else he was not in the least crazy, and I quite believe this - just he was not the current couple ... "Finally, with extraordinary caution, the barefoot girl brought a glass of strong gray tea from the pond and a basket of cookies covered with flies on an old silver tray on an old silver tray.

When we drove on, the rain had really cleared. I had to lift the top, cover myself with a shriveled apron, sit bent over. The horses rumbled like wood grouses, trickles ran down their dark and shiny thighs, grasses rustled under the wheels of some border among the loaves, where the fellow drove in the hope of shortening the path, a warm rye spirit gathered under the horse, mixed with the smell of the old tarantass ... "And so Is it that Khvoshchinsky is dead, thought Ivlev. “We must certainly stop by, at least take a look at this deserted sanctuary of the mysterious Lushka ... But what kind of person was this Khvoshchinsky? Crazy or just some kind of stunned, all focused on one soul?” According to the stories of old landowners, Khvoshchinsky's peers, he was once known in the district for a rare clever girl. And suddenly this love fell on him, this Lushka, then her unexpected death, and everything went to pieces: he shut himself up in the house, in the room where Lushka lived and died, and for more than twenty years he sat on her bed, not only did not go anywhere , and even at his estate did not show himself to anyone; He sat through the mattress on Lushka's bed and attributed to Lushka's influence literally everything that was happening in the world: a thunderstorm sets - it is Lushka who sends a thunderstorm, war is declared - so Lushka decided that, a crop failure happened - the peasants did not please Lushka ...

The landowner Ivlev, not busy with anything, decides to ride along the farthest edges of his district. He chooses the count's house as his destination. Arriving at his estate, he discovers that the owner himself is not, but only the countess. Ivlev is invited to drink tea, they have small talk, but no matter what topic the main character starts, the young woman reduces everything to the topic of love.

So smoothly they move on to discussing their common neighbor Khvoshchinsky. It turns out that the landowner Khvoshchinsky dearly loved his maid Lushka. But by the will of fate, she died while still very young. Since then, the old landowner locked himself in his estate and did not appear in the public eye. He lived with his son, whom Lushka gave birth to him at one time, and did not communicate with anyone else and did not see anyone else. Such love admired everyone around, including Ivlev. He would even like to meet the former maid, to understand what is so special about her. But the old landowner died, and now his young son remained in charge of the big house.

Having left the countess, the hero of the story decides to stop by at Khvoschinskoye and see how it became there after the death of the owner. Upon arrival, finding no other reason for the visit, Ivlev asks the young landowner to familiarize himself with the library and asks permission to buy it. After looking through all the available books, the man stops at the book "The Grammar of Love". It was a small, grubby book, with different chapters. There were sections on the heart, on the mind and on beauty. And on the very last page was written a quatrain by the elder Khvoschinsky himself.

Taking one single book, Ivlev went home. All the way back, he looks through the small notes made in the margins of "Grammar" and thinks about true love that can live in a person's heart. And although the young Khvoshchinsky said that his father was simply moved by poverty, this does not convince the protagonist. He is delighted with the depth and strength of those feelings that forced the landowner to turn his greatest love and most terrible loss into some even semblance of holy worship.

The story "The Grammar of Love" shows that even in our time there are such miracles when a person can once and for all tie his destiny with someone one. And even having lost the object of his passion, he still does not stop loving and honoring just one person. Very few people are capable of such feelings, and when faced with such, then involuntarily there is respect for such people and their eternal affection.

Picture or drawing Grammar of love

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One day in early June, a certain Ivlev was driving to the far end of his district. At first, the trip was pleasant: it was a warm day, and there was a well-knocked road ahead. But soon the weather got bored, the sky was overcast, and when a village appeared in front of Ivlev, he decided to stop by the count. An old man plowing near the village said that the count was not at home, only a young countess was at home, but Ivlev still stopped by.

The decanter wore a pink hood, her powdered chest was exposed; she smoked, now and then straightened her hair, exposing her round and tight arms to her shoulders.

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The countess reduced all conversations to love and, as if by the way, talked about the landowner Khvoshchinsky, her neighbor, who died this winter and, as Ivlev knew from childhood, who had been in love with his maid Lushka all his life, who had left this world in early youth ...

Ivlev went further, meanwhile the rain had really broken up. Ivlev thought that Khvoshchinsky had died, and it was imperative to stop by to look at the sanctuary of the mysterious Lushka, which had already been deserted ... What kind of person was Khvoshchinsky? Was he crazy? Or was it a dazed soul? " The old landowners said that Khvoshchinsky was once known in the district as a rare clever girl. And suddenly Lushka appeared - and everything went to pieces: the landowner locked himself in Lushka's room, where she lived and died, and sat on her bed for more than twenty years ...

It was getting dark, the rain began to calm down, the Khvoshchinskoye estate appeared beyond the forest. The hero looked at the approaching estate, and it seemed to him that Lushka had lived and died not two decades ago, but rather in time immemorial.

The facade of the estate looked boring: small windows, gloomy porches, thick walls. On one of the porches stood a young man, dressed in a gymnasium blouse, with beautiful eyes, black, and very pretty, albeit freckled.

Ivlev justifies his visit by the fact that he wants to see and, possibly, purchase the library of the late master. A deep blush appeared on the young man's cheeks. Ivlev realized that before him was Lushka's son. The young man took the hero into the house.

Young Khvoshchinsky answered Ivlev's questions in monosyllables and hastily, apparently out of shyness mixed with greed: he was very glad to have the opportunity to sell books at high prices. Together with the young man, Ivlev entered the large and gloomy hallway covered with newspapers through the half-dark canopy covered with straw. Then they went into the cold hall, which occupied almost half of the house. On a dark ancient image in the shrine, in a silver robe, there were wedding candles. The young man muttered in embarrassment that the priest bought candles after Lushka's death and even always wore a wedding ring. Dry bees were scattered on the floor of the hall, as in the empty living room. Then Ivlev found himself in a gloomy room with a lounger, with difficulty the young man unlocked the low door, and Ivlev saw a closet with two windows; near one wall was a bare bunk, opposite was a library, which consisted of two bookcases.

This library consisted of very strange books: "The Morning Star and Night Demons", "The Cursed Tract", "Reflections on the Mysteries of the Universe", "The Newest Dream Book", "A Wonderful Journey to a Magic Land." The reclusive soul was far from the real world. But then the purple clouds parted, the sun peeped out from behind them and illuminated this unfortunate shelter of love, which turned a person's life, which could have been ordinary, into an ecstatic life. But the mysterious Lushka appeared in the life of this man, and everything changed.

Then Ivlev noticed on the middle shelf a very small book, similar to a prayer book, and a darkened box, in which lay a necklace that belonged to the late Lushka. It was a cheap drop of blue marbles. Ivlev was seized by a deep emotion, his heart was beating with the thought that this necklace lay on the neck of a woman who was once beloved by someone. Ivlev put down the box and took the booklet. It was The Grammar of Love, or The Art of Love and Mutually Loved, nearly a century old. The young man noted that he does not sell this book, because it is very expensive. Ivlev felt embarrassed, but he began leafing through the "Grammar". The book was divided into separate chapters: “On the Heart”, “On Beauty”, “On Love Signs”, “On the Mind”, etc. Each chapter contained short and graceful maxims, some of which were marked with a pen. Ivlev read that love is not just an episode in life. The woman has dominion over the ideal dream and is therefore adorable. The first step belongs to a lovely woman, the second to a beautiful woman. It is a sweet woman who becomes the mistress of the heart: before we form an opinion about her, our heart becomes the slave of eternal love. Further in the book was given "an explanation of the language of flowers", and notes were also made in the margins. At the very end, on a blank page, a quatrain was written in small beaded handwriting. The son of the master explained: "They themselves composed it ..."

Half an hour later, Ivlev said goodbye to the young man. Of all the books, the hero bought only a small book, paying dearly for it. On the way back, the coachman talked about young Khvoshchinsky, that he lived with the deacon's wife, but Ivlev did not listen to him, thinking about Lushka and her necklace, which plunged him into confused feelings that reminded him of those that he had once experienced in a little Italian town, looking at the relics of a saint. Ivlev thought that this woman entered his life forever. He took the Grammar of Love from his pocket, turned to the last page, and slowly reread the verses in the pen.

Ivan Alekseevich Bunin

"The grammar of love"

Someone Ivlev was driving one day in early June to the far end of his district. The ride was pleasant at first: a warm, dull day, a well-knocked road. Then the weather got bored, clouds came on, and when the village appeared in front, Ivlev decided to stop by the count. An old man who plowed near the village said that there was one young countess at home, but still they stopped by.

The Countess was in a pink bonnet, with an open powdered chest; she smoked, often straightened her hair, exposing her tight and round arms to her shoulders. She reduced all conversations to love and, by the way, talked about her neighbor, the landowner Khvoshchinsky, who died this winter and, as Ivlev knew from childhood, his whole life was obsessed with love for his maid Lushka, who died in early youth.

When Ivlev drove on, the rain had really broken down. “So Khvoshchinsky died,” Ivlev thought. - We must certainly stop by, look at the deserted sanctuary of the mysterious Lushka ... What kind of man was this Khvoshchinsky? Crazy? Or just a dazed soul? " According to the stories of old landowners, Khvoshchinsky was once known in the district for a rare clever girl. And suddenly this Lushka fell on him - and everything went to pieces: he shut himself up in the room where Lushka lived and died, and spent more than twenty years on her bed ...

It was getting dark, the rain thinned, Khvoschinskoe appeared beyond the forest. Ivlev looked at the approaching estate, and it seemed to him that Lushka had lived and died not twenty years ago, but almost in times immemorial.

The facade of the estate, with its small windows in thick walls, was unusually dull. But the gloomy porches were huge, on one of which stood a young man in a gymnasium blouse, black, with beautiful eyes and very pretty, although completely freckled.

To somehow justify his visit, Ivlev said that he wanted to see and, perhaps, buy the library of the late master. The young man, blushing deeply, took him into the house. "So he is the son of the famous Lushka!" - thought Ivlev, looking around the house and, gradually, its owner.

The young man answered the questions hastily, but in monosyllables, out of shyness, apparently, and out of greed: he was so terribly happy about the opportunity to sell books at a high price. Through a semi-dark passage, covered with straw, he led Ivlev into a large and inhospitable hall, covered with newspapers. Then they entered the cold hall, which occupied almost half of the entire house. In the shrine, on a dark ancient image in a silver robe, there were wedding candles. “Father bought them after her death,” the young man muttered, “and even a wedding ring was always worn…”. The floor in the hall was covered with dry bees, as was the empty living room. Then they passed some gloomy room with a couch, and the young man with great difficulty unlocked the low door. Ivlev saw a closet with two windows; a bare bunk stood against one wall, and a library on the other, two bookcases.

Strange books made up this library! "The Sworn Tract", "The Morning Star and Night Demons", "Reflections on the Mysteries of the Universe", "A Wonderful Journey to the Magic Land", "The Newest Dream Book" - this is what the lonely soul of the recluse ate, "there is being ... it is neither a dream, nor a vigil ... ". The sun peeped out from behind the lilac clouds and strangely illuminated this poor shelter of love, which turned a whole human life into some kind of ecstatic life, a life that could be the most ordinary life, do not happen mysterious in its charm Lushka ...

"What is it?" - Ivlev asked, leaning towards the middle shelf, on which lay only one very small book, similar to a prayer book, and there was a darkened box. In the box was the necklace of the late Lushka - a drop of cheap blue balls. And such excitement seized Ivlev when he looked at this necklace, which lay on the neck of the once so beloved woman that his heart beat madly. Ivlev carefully put the box back in place and took up the book. It was the charmingly published Grammar of Love, or The Art of Love and Mutually Beloved, almost a hundred years ago.

“Unfortunately, I cannot sell this book,” the young man said with difficulty, “it’s very expensive…” Overcoming his awkwardness, Ivlev began slowly leafing through the “Grammar”.

It was all divided into small chapters: “On beauty”, “On the heart”, “On the mind”, “On the signs of love” ... Each chapter consisted of short and graceful sentences, some of which were delicately marked with a pen: “Love is not simple episode in our life. - We adore a woman because she dominates our ideal dream. - A beautiful woman should take the second step; the first belongs to a lovely woman. This becomes the mistress of our heart: before we give an account of her to ourselves, our heart becomes the slave of love forever ... ”Then came the“ explanation of the language of flowers, ”and again something was noted. And on a blank page at the very end, a quatrain was written in small beads with the same pen. The young man stretched out his neck and said with a feigned grin: "They themselves composed this ..."

Half an hour later, Ivlev said goodbye to him with relief. Of all the books, he bought only this book for a high price. On the way back, the coachman told me that young Khvoshchinsky was living with the deacon's wife, but Ivlev did not listen. He kept thinking about Lushka, about her necklace, which left in him a complex feeling, similar to what he once experienced in one Italian town when looking at the relics of a saint. "She entered my life forever!" He thought. And, taking the "Grammar of Love" out of his pocket, he slowly re-read the verses written on its last page: "The hearts of those who love you will say: /" Live in the traditions of the sweet! "/ And they will show their grandchildren, great-grandchildren / This Grammar of Love." Retold Natalia Bubnova

Once Ivlev was driving along the road to his county. The day at the beginning of the journey was fine and gentle, but after that the weather turned bad, and he decided to stop by his friend, the count. He knew that only the young countess was in the house, but he did not change the route.

The hostess met the guest in a pink hood, with her chest wide open. Slowly smoking a cigarette, she often straightened her beautiful thick hair, exposing her hands. She spoke a lot about love, remembering her deceased neighbor, the landowner Khvoshchinsky, who was in love with his maid Lushka, who left this world in her youth.

Ivlev drove on, despite the heavy rain. On the way, he was haunted by thoughts about Khvoshchinsky. He was a very strange person. He was always a correct and competent landowner, and when Lushka appeared and died, he simply went crazy. He became a recluse, having spent more than twenty years in her former bed. Ivlev decided to stop by his estate.

Evening came, the rain was gradually subsiding. The estate was very close. HER facade seemed to the visitor rather boring. A handsome, unusual-looking young man stood on the porch. Ivlev lied to him that he was a potential buyer of the library of the late Khvoshchinsky. The guy, who turned out to be Lushka's son, took him into the house.

Ivlev examined the house. The young man brought him to a room where there were wedding candles, which the owner bought after the death of his beloved. Dry bees lay on the floor. Then they went into a small room - the library. On the shelves were strange books with marvelous titles: "The Cursed Tract", "The Morning Star and Night Demons", "Reflections on the Mysteries of the Universe." What is the mystery of this woman who turned the life of an ordinary person into a reclusive existence?

And on the middle shelf, Ivlev's attention was attracted by a gray box, and next to a small-sized book. In the box was an inexpensive necklace of Lushka herself. My heart pounded with a frantic rhythm. The feelings caused by the sight of this little thing were indescribable. And the old little book was called "The Grammar of Love, or The Art of Love and Be Mutually Loved."

Ivlev began to carefully leaf through the "Grammar", which consisted of several chapters: "On beauty", "On the heart", "On the mind", "On the signs of love", etc. The content amazed the reader. Love for a woman is an unearthly and high feeling. At the end of the book, several rhymed lines were written, which the lovers composed themselves.

Soon Ivlev hit the road. He did buy this Grammar. All the way I continued to think about Lushka and her necklace. He experienced similar feelings from what he saw only once - at the sight of a relic of a saint. Taking a marvelous book out of his pocket, he reread the beautiful lines of the last page again: “The hearts of those who love you will say: / Live in the traditions of the sweet! / And they will show their grandchildren, great-grandchildren / This Grammar of Love. "