A.S. Pushkin "Blizzard"

A.S. Pushkin

The horses are racing over the hills, trampling the deep snow... Here, to the side, the temple of God is visible alone. ................................ Suddenly there is a snowstorm all around; The snow is falling in clumps; The black corvid, whistling with its wing, hovers over the sleigh; The prophetic groan says sadness! The horses are in a hurry, sensitively looking into the dark distance, raising their manes...

Zhukovsky.

At the end of 1811, in an era memorable to us, the good Gavrila Gavrilovich R** lived on his Nenaradov estate. He was famous throughout the area for his hospitality and cordiality; neighbors constantly went to him to eat, drink, play Boston for five kopecks with his wife, and some in order to look at their daughter, Marya Gavrilovna, a slender, pale and seventeen-year-old girl. She was considered a rich bride, and many expected her to marry them or their sons. Marya Gavrilovna was brought up on French novels, and consequently was in love. The subject she chose was a poor army ensign who was on leave in his village. It goes without saying that the young man was burning with equal passion, and that the parents of his beloved, noticing their mutual inclination, forbade their daughter to even think about him, and he was received worse than a retired assessor. Our lovers corresponded and saw each other every day alone in a pine grove or near the old chapel. There they swore eternal love to each other, complained about fate and made various assumptions. Corresponding and talking in this way, they (which is very natural) came to the following reasoning: if we cannot breathe without each other, and the will of cruel parents interferes with our well-being, then will it be impossible for us to do without it? It goes without saying that this happy thought first occurred to the young man, and that Marya Gavrilovna’s romantic imagination greatly liked it. Winter came and stopped their meetings; but the correspondence became all the more lively. Vladimir Nikolaevich in each letter begged her to surrender to him, to get married secretly, to hide for a while, then to throw herself at the feet of her parents, who, of course, would finally be touched by the heroic constancy and misfortune of the lovers, and would certainly say to them: Children! come into our arms. Marya Gavrilovna hesitated for a long time; many escape plans were abandoned. Finally she agreed: on the appointed day she was to not have dinner and retire to her room under the pretext of a headache. Her girlfriend was in the conspiracy; both of them had to go out into the garden through the back porch, find a ready-made sleigh behind the garden, get into it and drive five miles from Nenaradov to the village of Zhadrino, straight to the church, where Vladimir was supposed to be waiting for them. On the eve of the decisive day, Marya Gavrilovna did not sleep all night; She was getting ready, tying up her underwear and dress, and wrote a long letter to a sensitive young lady, her friend, and another to her parents. She said goodbye to them in the most touching terms, excused her offense with the irresistible power of passion, and ended with the fact that she would consider the happiest moment of her life to be the one when she was allowed to throw herself at the feet of her dearest parents. Having sealed both letters with a Tula seal, on which were depicted two flaming hearts with a decent inscription, she threw herself on the bed just before dawn and dozed off; but even here terrible dreams awakened her every minute. It seemed to her that at the very moment she got into the sleigh to go get married, her father stopped her, dragged her through the snow with excruciating speed and threw her into a dark, bottomless dungeon... and she flew headlong with an inexplicable sinking of her heart; then she saw Vladimir lying on the grass, pale, bloodied. He, dying, begged her in a shrill voice to hurry up and marry him... other ugly, meaningless visions rushed before her one after another. Finally she stood up, paler than usual and with a real headache. Her father and mother noticed her concern; their tender care and incessant questions: what’s wrong with you, Masha? aren't you sick, Masha? tore her heart apart. She tried to calm them down, to seem cheerful, but she couldn’t. Evening came. The thought that this was the last time she was spending the day among her family troubled her heart. She was barely alive; she secretly said goodbye to all the persons, to all the objects that surrounded her. Dinner was served; her heart began to beat violently. In a trembling voice, she announced that she did not want dinner, and began to say goodbye to her father and mother. They kissed her and, as usual, blessed her: she almost cried. Arriving at her room, she threw herself into an armchair and burst into tears. The girl tried to persuade her to calm down and take heart. Everything was ready. In half an hour, Masha had to leave her parents' house, her room, her quiet girlhood forever... There was a snowstorm in the yard; the wind howled, the shutters shook and rattled; everything seemed to her like a threat and a sad omen. Soon everything in the house calmed down and fell asleep. Masha wrapped herself in a shawl, put on a warm hood, took her box in her hands and went out onto the back porch. The maid carried two bundles behind her. They went down into the garden. The riot did not subside; the wind blew towards her, as if trying to stop the young criminal. They reached the end of the garden by force. On the road the sleigh was waiting for them. The horses, frozen, did not stand still; Vladimir’s coachman paced in front of the shafts, holding back the zealous. He helped the young lady and her girlfriend sit down and put away the bundles and box, took the reins, and the horses flew off. Having entrusted the young lady to the care of fate and the art of Tereshka the coachman, let us turn to our young lover. Vladimir was on the road all day. In the morning he visited the Zhadrinsky priest; I forcibly came to an agreement with him; then he went to look for witnesses among neighboring landowners. The first person to whom he came, the retired forty-year-old cornet Dravin, agreed willingly. This adventure, he assured, reminded him of his former time and the pranks of the hussars. He persuaded Vladimir to stay with him for dinner, and assured him that the case would not be resolved with the other two witnesses. In fact, immediately after dinner, land surveyor Shmit appeared in a mustache and spurs, and the police captain’s son, a boy of about sixteen who had recently joined the lancers. They not only accepted Vladimir’s offer, but even swore to him that they were ready to sacrifice their lives for him. Vladimir hugged them with delight and went home to get ready. It had long been dark. He sent his reliable Tereshka to Nenaradovo with his troika and with detailed, thorough orders, and for himself he ordered a small sleigh to be put on one horse, and alone without a coachman he went to Zhadrino, where Marya Gavrilovna was supposed to arrive in two hours. The road was familiar to him, and the drive was only twenty minutes. But as soon as Vladimir drove out of the outskirts into the field, the wind rose and there was such a storm that he could not see anything. One minute the road skidded; the surroundings disappeared into a muddy and yellowish haze, through which white flakes of snow flew; the sky merged with the earth. Vladimir found himself in a field and in vain wanted to get on the road again; the horse walked at random and constantly rode up a snowdrift and then fell into a hole; the sleigh was constantly capsizing. - Vladimir tried only not to lose the real direction. But it seemed to him that more than half an hour had already passed, and he had not yet reached the Zhadrinskaya Grove. About ten more minutes passed; the grove was still out of sight. Vladimir drove through a field crossed by deep ravines. The snowstorm did not subside, the sky did not clear. The horse was starting to get tired, and he was dripping with sweat, despite the fact that he was constantly waist-deep in snow. Finally he saw that he was driving in the wrong direction. Vladimir stopped: he began to think, remember, figure out, and became convinced that he should have sculpted to the right. He went to the right. His horse walked slightly. He had been on the road for more than an hour. Zhadrino should have been nearby. But he drove and drove, and there was no end to the field. All the snowdrifts and ravines; Every minute the sleigh overturned, every minute he raised it. As time went; Vladimir began to get very worried. Finally, something began to turn black to the side. Vladimir turned there. As he approached, he saw a grove. Thank God, he thought, it’s close now. He drove near the grove, hoping to immediately get onto a familiar road or go around the grove: Zhadrino was immediately behind it. He soon found the road and drove into the darkness of the trees, bare in winter. The wind could not rage here; the road was smooth; the horse cheered up, and Vladimir calmed down. But he drove and drove, and Zhadrin was nowhere to be seen; there was no end to the grove. Vladimir saw with horror that he had driven into an unfamiliar forest. Despair took possession of him. He hit the horse; the poor animal began to trot, but soon began to pester and after a quarter of an hour began to walk, despite all the efforts of unfortunate Vladimir. Little by little the trees began to thin out, and Vladimir rode out of the forest; Zhadrin was nowhere to be seen. It must have been around midnight. Tears flowed from his eyes; he went at random. The weather had calmed down, the clouds were clearing, and in front of him lay a plain covered with a white wavy carpet. The night was quite clear. He saw a village nearby, consisting of four or five courtyards. Vladimir went to see her. At the first hut he jumped out of the sleigh, ran to the window and began knocking. A few minutes later the wooden shutter rose and the old man stuck out his gray beard. "What do you want?" - “Is Zhadrino far away?” “Is Zhadrino far away?” - “Yes, yes! How far?” - “Not far; it will be about ten miles.” At this answer, Vladimir grabbed himself by the hair and remained motionless, like a man sentenced to death. “And where are you?” The old man continued. Vladimir did not have the courage to answer questions. “Can you, old man,” he said, get me horses to Zhadrin?” “What kind of horses are we?” the man answered. - “Can’t I at least hire a guide? I’ll pay whatever he wants.” “Wait,” said the old man, lowering the shutter, “I’ll send out my son; he’ll see you out.” Vladimir began to wait. Less than a minute later, he started knocking again. The shutter rose and the beard appeared. "What do you want?" - “What about your son?” - “Now he’ll go out and put on his shoes. Are you cold? Come up and warm yourself.” - “Thank you, send your son quickly.” The gates creaked; the guy came out with a club and walked forward, now pointing, now looking for the road, covered with snowdrifts. "What time is it now?" Vladimir asked him. “Yes, it will dawn soon,” answered the young man. Vladimir didn’t say a word anymore. The roosters were crowing and it was already light when they reached Zhadrin. The church was locked. Vladimir paid the conductor and went to the priest’s yard. He was not in the troika's yard. What news awaited him! But let’s return to the good Nenaradov landowners and see if they are doing something. Nothing. The old people woke up and went into the living room. Gavrila Gavrilovich in a cap and flannel jacket, Praskovya Petrovna in a cotton wool dressing gown. The samovar was served, and Gavrila Gavrilovich sent the girl to find out from Marya Gavrilovna what her health was and how she slept. The girl returned, announcing that the young lady had slept poorly, but that she was feeling better now, and that she would come to the living room now. In fact, the door opened and Marya Gavrilovna came up to greet daddy and mummy. "What's your head, Masha?" asked Gavrila Gavrilovich. “Better, daddy,” answered Masha. “You’re right. Masha, I was crazy yesterday,” said Praskovya Petrovna. “Perhaps, mamma,” answered Masha. The day went well, but at night Masha fell ill. They sent to the city for a doctor. He arrived in the evening and found the patient delirious. A severe fever developed, and the poor patient spent two weeks at the edge of the coffin. No one in the house knew about the intended escape. The letters she had written the day before were burned; her maid did not tell anyone about anything, fearing the wrath of the masters. The priest, the retired cornet, the mustachioed land surveyor and the little lancer were modest, and it was not for nothing that Tereshka the coachman never said anything unnecessary, even when drunk. Thus the secret was kept by more than half a dozen conspirators. But Marya Gavrilovna herself, in constant delirium, expressed her secret. However, her words were so inconsistent with anything that the mother, who did not leave her bed, could understand from them only that her daughter was mortally in love with Vladimir Nikolaevich, and that love was probably the cause of her illness. She consulted with her husband, with some neighbors, and finally everyone unanimously decided that apparently this was Marya Gavrilovna’s fate, that you couldn’t beat your betrothed with a horse, that poverty was not a vice, that living not with wealth, but with a person, and the like. Moral sayings can be surprisingly useful in cases where we can invent little on our own to justify ourselves. Meanwhile, the young lady began to recover. Vladimir had not been seen in Gavrila Gavrilovich’s house for a long time. He was frightened by the usual reception. They decided to send for him and announce to him unexpected happiness: consent to marriage. But what was the amazement of the Nenaradov landowners when, in response to their invitation, they received a half-crazed letter from him! He announced to them that he would never set foot in their house, and asked them to forget about the unfortunate man, for whom death remained the only hope. A few days later they learned that Vladimir had left for the army. This was in 1812. For a long time they did not dare to announce this to the recovering Masha. She never mentioned Vladimir. A few months later, having found his name among those who had distinguished themselves and were seriously wounded at Borodino, she fainted, and they were afraid that her fever would return. However, thank God, the fainting had no consequences. Another sadness visited her: Gavrila Gavrilovich died, leaving her as the heiress of the entire estate. But the inheritance did not console her; she sincerely shared the grief of poor Praskovya Petrovna, vowed never to part with her; They both left Nenaradovo, a place of sad memories, and went to live on the *** estate. The grooms circled around the sweet and rich bride; but she didn’t give anyone the slightest hope. Her mother sometimes persuaded her to choose a friend; Marya Gavrilovna shook her head and thought. Vladimir no longer existed: he died in Moscow, on the eve of the French entry. His memory seemed sacred to Masha; at least she cherished everything that could remind him: books they had once read, his drawings, notes and poems he had copied for her. The neighbors, having learned about everything, marveled at her constancy and waited with curiosity for the hero who was finally supposed to triumph over the sad fidelity of this virgin Artemisa. Meanwhile, the war with glory was over. Our regiments were returning from abroad. The people ran towards them. The music played conquered songs: Vive Henri-Quatre, Tyrolean waltzes and arias from La Gioconde. The officers who went on campaign almost as youths returned, having matured in the battle air, hung with crosses. The soldiers talked cheerfully among themselves, constantly interjecting German and French words into their speech. Unforgettable time! Time of glory and delight! How strongly the Russian heart beat at the word fatherland! How sweet were the tears of the date! With what unanimity we united the feelings of national pride and love for the sovereign! And for him, what a minute it was! Women, Russian women were incomparable then. Their usual coldness disappeared. Their delight was truly intoxicating when, meeting the winners, they shouted: Hurray! And they threw caps into the air.

Horses rush over the hills,

Trampling deep snow...

Here, off to the side is God's temple

Seen alone.

……………………………………

Suddenly there is a snowstorm all around;

The snow is falling in clumps;

The black corvid, whistling with its wing,

Hovering over the sleigh;

The prophetic groan says sadness!

The horses are in a hurry

They look sensitively into the distance,

Raising their manes...

Zhukovsky

At the end of 1811, in an era memorable to us, the good Gavrila Gavrilovich R** lived on his Nenaradov estate. He was famous throughout the area for his hospitality and cordiality; neighbors constantly went to him to eat, drink, play Boston for five kopecks with his wife, Praskovya Petrovna, and some in order to look at their daughter, Marya Gavrilovna, a slender, pale and seventeen-year-old girl. She was considered a rich bride, and many expected her to marry them or their sons.

Marya Gavrilovna was brought up on French novels and, as a result, was in love. The subject she chose was a poor army ensign who was on leave in his village. It goes without saying that the young man was burning with equal passion and that the parents of his beloved, noticing their mutual inclination, forbade their daughter to even think about him, and he was received worse than a retired assessor.

Our lovers corresponded and saw each other alone every day in a pine grove or near the old chapel. There they swore eternal love to each other, complained about fate and made various assumptions. Corresponding and talking in this way, they (which is very natural) came to the following reasoning: if we cannot breathe without each other, and the will of cruel parents interferes with our well-being, then will it be impossible for us to do without it? It goes without saying that this happy thought first occurred to the young man and that Marya Gavrilovna’s romantic imagination greatly liked it.

Winter came and stopped their meetings; but the correspondence became all the more lively. Vladimir Nikolaevich in each letter begged her to surrender to him, to get married secretly, to hide for a while, then to throw herself at the feet of her parents, who, of course, would be touched, finally, by the heroic constancy and misfortune of the lovers and would certainly tell them: “Children! come into our arms."

Marya Gavrilovna hesitated for a long time; many escape plans were abandoned. Finally she agreed: on the appointed day she was to not have dinner and retire to her room under the pretext of a headache. Her girlfriend was in the conspiracy; both of them had to go out into the garden through the back porch, find a ready-made sleigh behind the garden, get into it and drive five miles from Nenaradov to the village of Zhadrino, straight to the church, where Vladimir was supposed to be waiting for them.

On the eve of the decisive day, Marya Gavrilovna did not sleep all night; She was getting ready, tying up her underwear and dress, and wrote a long letter to a sensitive young lady, her friend, and another to her parents. She said goodbye to them in the most touching terms, excused her offense with the irresistible power of passion and ended with the fact that she would consider the happiest moment of her life to be the one when she was allowed to throw herself at the feet of her dearest parents. Having sealed both letters with a Tula seal, on which were depicted two flaming hearts with a decent inscription, she threw herself on the bed just before dawn and dozed off; but even here terrible dreams awakened her every minute. It seemed to her that at the very moment she got into the sleigh to go get married, her father stopped her, dragged her through the snow with painful speed and threw her into a dark, bottomless dungeon... and she flew headlong with an inexplicable sinking of her heart; then she saw Vladimir lying on the grass, pale, bloodied. He, dying, begged her in a shrill voice to hurry up and marry him... other ugly, meaningless visions rushed before her one after another. Finally she stood up, paler than usual and with a real headache. Her father and mother noticed her concern; their tender care and incessant questions: what’s wrong with you, Masha? aren't you sick, Masha? - tore her heart apart. She tried to calm them down, to seem cheerful, but she couldn’t. Evening came. The thought that this was the last time she was spending the day among her family troubled her heart. She was barely alive; she secretly said goodbye to all the persons, to all the objects that surrounded her. Dinner was served; her heart began to beat violently. In a trembling voice, she announced that she did not want dinner, and began to say goodbye to her father and mother. They kissed her and, as usual, blessed her: she almost cried. Arriving at her room, she threw herself into an armchair and burst into tears. The girl tried to persuade her to calm down and take heart. Everything was ready. In half an hour, Masha had to leave her parents' house, her room, her quiet girlhood forever... There was a snowstorm outside; the wind howled, the shutters shook and rattled; everything seemed to her a threat and a sad omen. Soon everything in the house calmed down and fell asleep. Masha wrapped herself in a shawl, put on a warm hood, took her box in her hands and went out onto the back porch. The maid carried two bundles behind her. They went down into the garden. The snowstorm did not subside; the wind blew towards her, as if trying to stop the young criminal. They reached the end of the garden by force. On the road the sleigh was waiting for them. The horses, frozen, did not stand still; Vladimir’s coachman paced in front of the shafts, holding back the zealous. He helped the young lady and her girlfriend sit down and put away the bundles and box, took the reins, and the horses flew off. Having entrusted the young lady to the care of fate and the art of Tereshka the coachman, let us turn to our young lover.

Vladimir was on the road all day. In the morning he visited the Zhadrinsky priest; I forcibly came to an agreement with him; then he went to look for witnesses among neighboring landowners. The first person he came to, the retired forty-year-old cornet Dravin, agreed willingly. This adventure, he assured, reminded him of his former time and the pranks of the hussars. He persuaded Vladimir to stay with him for dinner and assured him that the case would not be resolved with the other two witnesses. In fact, immediately after dinner, land surveyor Shmit, in a mustache and spurs, and the police captain’s son, a boy of about sixteen, who had recently joined the lancers, appeared. They not only accepted Vladimir’s offer, but even swore to him that they were ready to sacrifice their lives for him. Vladimir hugged them with delight and went home to get ready.

It had long been dark. He sent his reliable Tereshka to Nenaradovo with his troika and with detailed, thorough orders, and for himself he ordered a small sleigh to be put on one horse, and alone without a coachman he went to Zhadrino, where Marya Gavrilovna was supposed to arrive in two hours. The road was familiar to him, and the drive was only twenty minutes.

But as soon as Vladimir drove out of the outskirts into the field, the wind rose and there was such a snowstorm that he could not see anything. One minute the road skidded; the surroundings disappeared into a muddy and yellowish haze, through which white flakes of snow flew; the sky merged with the earth. Vladimir found himself in a field and in vain wanted to get on the road again; the horse stepped at random and constantly drove into a snowdrift or fell into a hole; the sleigh constantly overturned; Vladimir only tried not to lose his true direction. But it seemed to him that more than half an hour had already passed, and he had not yet reached the Zhadrinskaya Grove. About ten more minutes passed; the grove was still out of sight. Vladimir drove through a field crossed by deep ravines. The snowstorm did not subside, the sky did not clear. The horse was starting to get tired, and he was dripping with sweat, despite the fact that he was constantly waist-deep in snow.

Finally he saw that he was driving in the wrong direction. Vladimir stopped: he began to think, remember, figure out, and was convinced that he should have taken to the right. He went to the right. His horse walked slightly. He had been on the road for more than an hour. Zhadrino should have been nearby. But he drove and drove, and there was no end to the field. All the snowdrifts and ravines; Every minute the sleigh overturned, every minute he raised it. As time went; Vladimir began to get very worried.

Finally, something began to turn black to the side. Vladimir turned there. As he approached, he saw a grove. Thank God, he thought, it’s close now. He drove near the grove, hoping to immediately get onto a familiar road or go around the grove: Zhadrino was immediately behind it. He soon found the road and drove into the darkness of the trees, naked in winter. The wind could not rage here; the road was smooth; the horse cheered up, and Vladimir calmed down.

But he drove and drove, and Zhadrin was nowhere to be seen; there was no end to the grove. Vladimir saw with horror that he had driven into an unfamiliar forest. Despair took possession of him. He hit the horse; the poor animal began to trot, but soon began to pester and after a quarter of an hour began to walk, despite all the efforts of unfortunate Vladimir.

Little by little the trees began to thin out, and Vladimir rode out of the forest; Zhadrin was nowhere to be seen. It must have been around midnight. Tears flowed from his eyes; he went at random. The weather had calmed down, the clouds were clearing, and in front of him lay a plain covered with a white wavy carpet. The night was quite clear. He saw a village nearby, consisting of four or five courtyards. Vladimir went to see her. At the first hut he jumped out of the sleigh, ran to the window and began knocking. A few minutes later the wooden shutter rose and the old man stuck out his gray beard. "What do you want?" - “Is Zhadrino far away?” - “Is Zhadrino far away?” - "Yes Yes! Is it far? - “Not far; it will be ten versts.” At this answer, Vladimir grabbed himself by the hair and remained motionless, like a man sentenced to death.

“Where are you from?” – the old man continued. Vladimir did not have the heart to answer questions. “Can you, old man,” he said, “get me horses to Zhadrin?” “What kind of horses are we?” the man answered. - “Can’t I at least take a guide? I’ll pay him whatever he wants.” “Wait,” said the old man, lowering the shutter, “I’ll send out your son; he guides them through.” Vladimir began to wait. Less than a minute later, he started knocking again. The shutter rose and the beard appeared. "What do you want?" - “What about your son?” “Now he’s going out and putting on his shoes. Are you cold? “Come up and warm yourself.” - “Thank you, send your son quickly.”

The gates creaked; the guy came out with a club and walked forward, now pointing, now looking for the road covered with snowdrifts. "What time is it now?" – Vladimir asked him. “It’ll be dawn soon,” answered the young man. Vladimir didn’t say a word anymore.

The roosters were crowing, and it was already light when they reached Zhadrin. The church was locked. Vladimir paid the conductor and went to the priest’s yard. He was not in the troika's yard. What news awaited him!

But let’s return to the good Nenaradov landowners and see if they are doing something.

Nothing.

The old people woke up and went into the living room. Gavrila Gavrilovich in a cap and flannel jacket, Praskovya Petrovna in a cotton wool dressing gown. The samovar was served, and Gavrila Gavrilovich sent the girl to find out from Marya Gavrilovna what her health was and how she slept. The girl returned, announcing that the young lady had slept poorly, but that she was feeling better now and that she would come to the living room now. In fact, the door opened, and Marya Gavrilovna came up to greet daddy and mummy.

“What is your head, Masha?” – asked Gavrila Gavrilovich. “Better, daddy,” answered Masha. “You must have been crazy yesterday, Masha,” said Praskovya Petrovna. “Maybe mummy,” answered Masha.

The day went well, but at night Masha fell ill. They sent to the city for a doctor. He arrived in the evening and found the patient delirious. A severe fever developed, and the poor patient spent two weeks at the edge of the coffin.

No one in the house knew about the intended escape. The letters she had written the day before were burned; her maid did not tell anyone about anything, fearing the wrath of the masters. The priest, the retired cornet, the mustachioed surveyor and the little lancer were modest, and for good reason. Tereshka the coachman never said anything unnecessary, even when drunk. Thus the secret was kept by more than half a dozen conspirators. But Marya Gavrilovna herself, in constant delirium, expressed her secret. However, her words were so inconsistent with anything that the mother, who did not leave her bed, could understand from them only that her daughter was mortally in love with Vladimir Nikolaevich and that, probably, love was the cause of her illness. She consulted with her husband, with some neighbors, and finally everyone unanimously decided that, apparently, this was Marya Gavrilovna’s fate, that you couldn’t beat your betrothed with a horse, that poverty was not a vice, that living not with wealth, but with a person, and the like . Moral sayings can be surprisingly useful in cases where we can invent little on our own to justify ourselves.

Meanwhile, the young lady began to recover. Vladimir had not been seen in Gavrila Gavrilovich’s house for a long time. He was frightened by the usual reception. They decided to send for him and announce to him unexpected happiness: consent to marriage. But what was the amazement of the Nenaradov landowners when, in response to their invitation, they received a half-crazed letter from him! He announced to them that he would never set foot in their house, and asked them to forget about the unfortunate man, for whom death remained the only hope. A few days later they learned that Vladimir had left for the army. This was in 1812.

For a long time they did not dare to announce this to the recovering Masha. She never mentioned Vladimir. A few months later, having found his name among those who distinguished themselves and were seriously wounded at Borodino, she fainted, and they were afraid that her fever would return. However, thank God, the fainting had no consequences.

Another sadness visited her: Gavrila Gavrilovich died, leaving her as the heiress of the entire estate. But the inheritance did not console her; she sincerely shared the grief of poor Praskovya Petrovna, vowed never to part with her; They both left Nenaradovo, a place of sad memories, and went to live on the *** estate.

The grooms circled around the sweet and rich bride; but she didn’t give anyone the slightest hope. Her mother sometimes persuaded her to choose a friend; Marya Gavrilovna shook her head and thought. Vladimir no longer existed: he died in Moscow, on the eve of the French entry. His memory seemed sacred to Masha; at least she cherished everything that could remind him: books he had once read, his drawings, notes and poems he had copied for her. The neighbors, having learned about everything, marveled at her constancy and waited with curiosity for the hero who was finally supposed to triumph over the sad fidelity of this virgin Artemisa.

Meanwhile, the war with glory was over. Our regiments were returning from abroad. The people ran towards them. The music played the conquered songs: Vive Henri-Quatre, Long live Henry the Fourth (French). Tyrolean waltzes and arias from La Gioconde. The officers, who went on campaign almost as youths, returned, having matured in the battle air, hung with crosses. The soldiers talked cheerfully among themselves, constantly interjecting German and French words into their speech. Unforgettable time! Time of glory and delight! How strongly the Russian heart beat at the word fatherland! How sweet were the tears of the date! With what unanimity we united the feelings of national pride and love for the sovereign! And what a moment it was for him!

Women, Russian women were incomparable then. Their usual coldness disappeared. Their delight was truly intoxicating when, meeting the winners, they shouted: Hurray!

And they threw caps into the air.

Which of the officers of that time does not admit that he owed the best, most precious award to a Russian woman?..

At this brilliant time, Marya Gavrilovna lived with her mother in the *** province and did not see how both capitals celebrated the return of the troops. But in the districts and villages the general delight was perhaps even stronger. The appearance of an officer in these places was a real triumph for him, and the lover in a tailcoat felt bad in his neighborhood.

We have already said that, despite her coldness, Marya Gavrilovna was still surrounded by seekers. But everyone had to retreat when the wounded hussar Colonel Burmin appeared in her castle, with George in his buttonhole and interesting pallor, as the young ladies there said. He was about twenty-six years old. He came on vacation to his estates, located next to the village of Marya Gavrilovna. Marya Gavrilovna distinguished him very much. With him, her usual thoughtfulness was revived. It was impossible to say that she was flirting with him; but the poet, noticing her behavior, would say:

Se amor non è, che dunque?.. If this is not love, then what?.. (Italian).

Burmin was indeed a very nice young man. He had exactly the kind of mind that women like: a mind of decency and observation, without any pretensions and carelessly mocking. His behavior with Marya Gavrilovna was simple and free; but no matter what she said or did, his soul and eyes followed her. He seemed of a quiet and modest disposition, but rumor assured that he had once been a terrible rake, and this did not harm him in the opinion of Marya Gavrilovna, who (like all young ladies in general) gladly excused pranks that revealed courage and ardor of character.

But most of all... (more than his tenderness, more pleasant conversation, more interesting pallor, more bandaged hand) the silence of the young hussar most of all incited her curiosity and imagination. She could not help but admit that he liked her very much; Probably, he too, with his intelligence and experience, could have already noticed that she distinguished him: how come she had not yet seen him at her feet and had not yet heard his confession? What was holding him back? timidity, inseparable from true love, pride or the coquetry of a cunning red tape? It was a mystery to her. Having thought carefully, she decided that timidity was the only reason for this, and decided to encourage him with greater attentiveness and, depending on the circumstances, even tenderness. She was preparing the most unexpected ending and was looking forward to the moment of romantic explanation. A secret, no matter what kind it is, is always burdensome to a woman’s heart. Her military actions had the desired success: at least Burmin fell into such a thoughtfulness, and his black eyes rested on Marya Gavrilovna with such fire that the decisive moment seemed to be close. The neighbors talked about the wedding as if it were a matter already over, and the kind Praskovya Petrovna was glad that her daughter had finally found a worthy groom.

One day the old woman was sitting alone in the living room, playing grand solitaire, when Burmin entered the room and immediately inquired about Marya Gavrilovna. “She’s in the garden,” answered the old woman, “go to her, and I’ll be waiting for you here.” Burmin went, and the old woman crossed herself and thought: maybe the matter will end today!

Burmin found Marya Gavrilovna by the pond, under a willow tree, with a book in her hands and in a white dress, the real heroine of the novel. After the first questions, Marya Gavrilovna deliberately stopped carrying on the conversation, thus increasing mutual confusion, which could only be gotten rid of with a sudden and decisive explanation. And so it happened: Burmin, feeling the difficulty of his situation, announced that he had been looking for a long time for an opportunity to open his heart to her, and demanded a minute of attention. Marya Gavrilovna closed the book and lowered her eyes as a sign of agreement.

“I love you,” said Burmin, “I love you passionately...” (Marya Gavrilovna blushed and bowed her head even lower.) “I acted carelessly, indulging in a sweet habit, the habit of seeing and hearing you every day...” (Marya Gavrilovna remembered the first letter St.-Preux. Saint Preux (French).) “Now it’s too late to resist my fate; the memory of you, your dear, incomparable image will henceforth be the torment and joy of my life; but I still have a difficult duty to fulfill, to reveal to you a terrible secret and to put an insurmountable barrier between us...” “She always existed,” Marya Gavrilovna interrupted with liveliness, “I could never be your wife...” “I know,” he answered. she is quiet, - I know that you once loved, but death and three years of mourning... Kind, dear Marya Gavrilovna! don’t try to deprive me of my last consolation: the thought that you would agree to make me happy if... be silent, for God’s sake, be silent. You are tormenting me. Yes, I know, I feel that you would be mine, but - I am the most unfortunate creature ... I am married!

Marya Gavrilovna looked at him in surprise.

“I’m married,” Burmin continued, “I’ve been married for four years now and I don’t know who my wife is, and where she is, and whether I should ever meet her!”

- What are you saying? - exclaimed Marya Gavrilovna, - how strange it is! Continue; I'll tell you later... but go ahead, do me a favor.

“At the beginning of 1812,” said Burmin, “I hurried to Vilna, where our regiment was located. Arriving one day at the station late in the evening, I ordered the horses to be laid as quickly as possible, when suddenly a terrible snowstorm arose, and the caretaker and the coachmen advised me to wait it out. I obeyed them, but an incomprehensible anxiety took possession of me; it seemed like someone was pushing me like that. Meanwhile, the snowstorm did not subside; I couldn’t bear it, ordered the laying again and rode into the storm. The coachman decided to go along the river, which should have shortened our journey by three miles. The banks were covered; the driver drove past the place where we entered the road, and thus we found ourselves in an unfamiliar direction. The storm did not subside; I saw a light and ordered to go there. We arrived at the village; there was a fire in the wooden church. The church was open, several sleighs stood outside the fence; people were walking around the porch. "Here! here!" – several voices shouted. I told the coachman to drive up. “For mercy, where did you stop? - someone told me, - the bride has fainted; the priest doesn't know what to do; we were ready to go back. Come out quickly." I silently jumped out of the sleigh and entered the church, dimly lit by two or three candles. The girl was sitting on a bench in a dark corner of the church; the other rubbed her temples. “Thank God,” this one said, “you came by force. You almost killed the young lady.” The old priest came up to me with the question: “Will you order us to begin?” “Begin, begin, father,” I answered absentmindedly. The girl was raised. She seemed pretty good to me... An incomprehensible, unforgivable frivolity... I stood next to her in front of the lectern; the priest was in a hurry; three men and a maid supported the bride and were busy only with her. We were married. “Kiss,” we were told. My wife turned her pale face to me. I wanted to kiss her... She screamed: “Oh, not him! not him! - and fell unconscious. The witnesses looked at me with frightened eyes. I turned around, left the church without any obstacles, rushed into the wagon and shouted: “Let’s go!”

- My God! - Marya Gavrilovna shouted, “and you don’t know what happened to your poor wife?”

“I don’t know,” Burmin answered, “I don’t know the name of the village where I got married; I don’t remember which station I left from. At that time, I believed so little importance in my criminal prank that, having driven away from the church, I fell asleep, and woke up the next morning, at the third station. The servant who was then with me died on the campaign, so I have no hope of finding the one on whom I played such a cruel joke and who has now been so cruelly avenged.

- My God, my God! - said Marya Gavrilovna, grabbing his hand, - so it was you! And you don't recognize me?

Burmin turned pale... and threw himself at her feet...

Current page: 1 (book has 1 pages in total)

Alexander Sergeevich Pushkin
Blizzard

Horses rush over the hills,
Trampling deep snow...
Here, off to the side is God's temple
Seen alone.
…………………………
Suddenly there is a snowstorm all around;
The snow is falling in clumps;
The black corvid, whistling with its wing,
Hovering over the sleigh;
The prophetic groan says sadness!
The horses are in a hurry
They look sensitively into the distance,
Raising their manes...

Zhukovsky

At the end of 1811, in an era memorable to us, the good Gavrila Gavrilovich R** lived on his Nenaradov estate. He was famous throughout the area for his hospitality and cordiality; neighbors constantly went to him to eat, drink, play Boston for five kopecks with his wife, Praskovya Petrovna, and some in order to look at their daughter, Marya Gavrilovna, a slender, pale and seventeen-year-old girl. She was considered a rich bride, and many expected her to marry them or their sons.

Marya Gavrilovna was brought up on French novels, and, consequently, was in love. The subject she chose was a poor army ensign who was on leave in his village. It goes without saying that the young man was burning with equal passion and that the parents of his beloved, noticing their mutual inclination, forbade their daughter to even think about him, and he was received worse than a retired assessor.

Our lovers corresponded and saw each other alone every day in a pine grove or near the old chapel. There they swore eternal love to each other, complained about fate and made various assumptions. Corresponding and talking in this way, they (which is very natural) came to the following reasoning: if we cannot breathe without each other, and the will of cruel parents interferes with our well-being, then will it be impossible for us to do without it? It goes without saying that this happy thought first occurred to the young man and that Marya Gavrilovna’s romantic imagination greatly liked it.

Winter came and stopped their meetings; but the correspondence became all the more lively. Vladimir Nikolaevich in each letter begged her to surrender to him, to get married secretly, to hide for a while, then to throw herself at the feet of her parents, who, of course, would finally be touched by the heroic constancy and misfortune of the lovers, and would certainly say to them: Children! come into our arms.

Marya Gavrilovna hesitated for a long time; many escape plans were abandoned. Finally she agreed: on the appointed day she was to not have dinner and retire to her room under the pretext of a headache. Her girlfriend was in the conspiracy; both of them had to go out into the garden through the back porch, find a ready-made sleigh behind the garden, get into it and drive five miles from Nenaradov to the village of Zhadrino, straight to the church, where Vladimir was supposed to be waiting for them.

On the eve of the decisive day, Marya Gavrilovna did not sleep all night; She was getting ready, tying up her underwear and dress, and wrote a long letter to a sensitive young lady, her friend, and another to her parents. She said goodbye to them in the most touching terms, excused her offense with the irresistible power of passion and ended with the fact that she would consider the happiest moment of her life to be the one when she was allowed to throw herself at the feet of her dearest parents. Having sealed both letters with a Tula seal, on which were depicted two flaming hearts with a decent inscription, she threw herself on the bed just before dawn and dozed off; but even here terrible dreams awakened her every minute. It seemed to her that at the very moment she got into the sleigh to go get married, her father stopped her, dragged her through the snow with painful speed and threw her into a dark, bottomless dungeon... and she flew headlong with an inexplicable sinking of her heart; then she saw Vladimir lying on the grass, pale, bloodied. He, dying, begged her in a shrill voice to hurry up and marry him... other ugly, meaningless visions rushed before her one after another. Finally she stood up, paler than usual and with a real headache. Her father and mother noticed her concern; their tender care and incessant questions: what’s wrong with you, Masha? aren't you sick, Masha? - tore her heart apart. She tried to calm them down, to seem cheerful, but she couldn’t. Evening came. The thought that this was the last time she was spending the day among her family troubled her heart. She was barely alive; she secretly said goodbye to all the persons, to all the objects that surrounded her. Dinner was served; her heart began to beat violently. In a trembling voice, she announced that she did not want dinner, and began to say goodbye to her father and mother. They kissed her and, as usual, blessed her: she almost cried. Arriving at her room, she threw herself into an armchair and burst into tears. The girl tried to persuade her to calm down and take heart. Everything was ready. In half an hour, Masha had to leave her parents' house, her room, her quiet girlhood forever... There was a snowstorm outside; the wind howled, the shutters shook and rattled; everything seemed to her a threat and a sad omen. Soon everything in the house calmed down and fell asleep. Masha wrapped herself in a shawl, put on a warm hood, took her box in her hands and went out onto the back porch. The maid carried two bundles behind her. They went down into the garden. The snowstorm did not subside; the wind blew towards her, as if trying to stop the young criminal. They reached the end of the garden by force. On the road the sleigh was waiting for them. The horses, frozen, did not stand still; Vladimir’s coachman paced in front of the shafts, holding back the zealous. He helped the young lady and her girlfriend sit down and put away the bundles and box, took the reins, and the horses flew off. Having entrusted the young lady to the care of fate and the art of Tereshka the coachman, let us turn to our young lover.

Vladimir was on the road all day. In the morning he visited the Zhadrinsky priest; I forcibly came to an agreement with him; then he went to look for witnesses among neighboring landowners. The first person he came to, the retired forty-year-old cornet Dravin, agreed willingly. This adventure, he assured, reminded him of his former time and the pranks of the hussars. He persuaded Vladimir to stay with him for dinner, and assured him that the case would not be resolved with the other two witnesses. In fact, immediately after dinner, land surveyor Shmit appeared in a mustache and spurs and the police captain’s son, a boy of about sixteen who had recently joined the lancers. They not only accepted Vladimir’s offer, but even swore to him that they were ready to sacrifice their lives for him. Vladimir hugged them with delight and went home to get ready.

It had long been dark. He sent his reliable Tereshka to Nenaradovo with his troika and with detailed, thorough orders, and for himself he ordered a small sleigh to be put on one horse, and alone without a coachman he went to Zhadrino, where Marya Gavrilovna was supposed to arrive in two hours. The road was familiar to him, and the drive was only twenty minutes.

But as soon as Vladimir drove out of the outskirts into the field, the wind rose and there was such a snowstorm that he could not see anything. One minute the road skidded; the surroundings disappeared into a muddy and yellowish haze, through which white flakes of snow flew; the sky merged with the earth. Vladimir found himself in a field and in vain wanted to get on the road again; the horse walked at random and constantly rode up a snowdrift and then fell into a hole; the sleigh constantly overturned; Vladimir only tried not to lose his true direction. But it seemed to him that more than half an hour had already passed, and he had not yet reached the Zhadrinskaya Grove. About ten more minutes passed; the grove was still not visible. Vladimir drove through a field crossed by deep ravines. The snowstorm did not subside, the sky did not clear. The horse was starting to get tired, and he was dripping with sweat, despite the fact that he was constantly waist-deep in snow.

Finally he saw that he was driving in the wrong direction. Vladimir stopped: he began to think, remember, figure out, and was convinced that he should have taken to the right. He went to the right. His horse walked slightly. He had been on the road for more than an hour. Zhadrino should have been nearby. But he drove and drove, and there was no end to the field. Everything is snowdrifts and ravines; Every minute the sleigh overturned, every minute he raised it. As time went; Vladimir began to get very worried.

Finally, something began to turn black to the side. Vladimir turned there. As he approached, he saw a grove. Thank God, he thought, it’s close now. He drove near the grove, hoping to immediately get onto a familiar road or go around the grove: Zhadrino was immediately behind it. He soon found the road and drove into the darkness of the trees, naked in winter. The wind could not rage here; the road was smooth; the horse cheered up, and Vladimir calmed down.

But he drove and drove, and Zhadrin was nowhere to be seen; there was no end to the grove. Vladimir saw with horror that he had driven into an unfamiliar forest. Despair took possession of him. He hit the horse; the poor animal began to trot, but soon began to pester and after a quarter of an hour began to walk, despite all the efforts of unfortunate Vladimir.

Little by little the trees began to thin out, and Vladimir rode out of the forest; Zhadrin was nowhere to be seen. It must have been around midnight. Tears flowed from his eyes; he went at random. The weather had calmed down, the clouds were clearing, and in front of him lay a plain covered with a white wavy carpet. The night was quite clear. He saw a village nearby, consisting of four or five courtyards. Vladimir went to see her. At the first hut he jumped out of the sleigh, ran to the window and began knocking. A few minutes later the wooden shutter rose and the old man stuck out his gray beard. "What do you want?" - “Is Zhadrino far away?” “Is Zhadrino far away?” - "Yes Yes! Is it far? - “Not far; it will be ten versts.” At this answer, Vladimir grabbed himself by the hair and remained motionless, like a man sentenced to death.

“Where are you from?” – the old man continued. Vladimir did not have the heart to answer questions. “Can you, old man,” he said, “get me horses to Zhadrin?” “What kind of horses are we?” the man answered. “Can’t I at least take a guide? I’ll pay him whatever he wants.” “Wait,” said the old man, lowering the shutter, “I’ll send out your son; he guides them through.” Vladimir began to wait. Less than a minute later, he started knocking again. The shutter rose and the beard appeared. "What do you want?" - “What about your son?” “Now he’s going out and putting on his shoes. Are you cold? come up and warm yourself." - “Thank you, send your son quickly.”

The gates creaked; the guy came out with a club and walked forward, now pointing, now looking for the road covered with snowdrifts. "What time is it now?" – Vladimir asked him. “Yes, it will dawn soon,” answered the young man. Vladimir didn’t say a word anymore.

The roosters were crowing and it was already light when they reached Zhadrin. The church was locked. Vladimir paid the conductor and went to the priest’s yard. He was not in the troika's yard. What news awaited him!

But let’s return to the good Nenaradov landowners and see if they are doing something.

Nothing.

The old people woke up and went into the living room. Gavrila Gavrilovich in a cap and flannel jacket, Praskovya Petrovna in a cotton wool dressing gown. The samovar was served, and Gavrila Gavrilovich sent the girl to find out from Marya Gavrilovna what her health was and how she slept. The girl returned, announcing that the young lady had slept poorly, but that she was feeling better now, and that she would come to the living room now. In fact, the door opened and Marya Gavrilovna came up to greet daddy and mummy.

“What is your head, Masha?” – asked Gavrila Gavrilovich. “Better, daddy,” answered Masha. “You’re right, Masha, you were crazy yesterday,” said Praskovya Petrovna. “Maybe mummy,” answered Masha.

The day went well, but at night Masha fell ill. They sent to the city for a doctor. He arrived in the evening and found the patient delirious. A severe fever developed, and the poor patient spent two weeks at the edge of the coffin.

No one in the house knew about the intended escape. The letters she had written the day before were burned; her maid did not tell anyone about anything, fearing the wrath of the masters. The priest, the retired cornet, the mustachioed surveyor and the little lancer were modest, and for good reason. Tereshka the coachman never said anything unnecessary, even when drunk. Thus the secret was kept by more than half a dozen conspirators. But Marya Gavrilovna herself, in constant delirium, expressed her secret. However, her words were so inconsistent with anything that the mother, who did not leave her bed, could understand from them only that her daughter was mortally in love with Vladimir Nikolaevich and that, probably, love was the cause of her illness. She consulted with her husband, with some neighbors, and finally everyone unanimously decided that apparently this was Marya Gavrilovna’s fate, that you couldn’t beat your betrothed with a horse, that poverty was not a vice, that living not with wealth, but with a person, and the like. Moral sayings can be surprisingly useful in cases where we can invent little on our own to justify ourselves.

Meanwhile, the young lady began to recover. Vladimir had not been seen in Gavrila Gavrilovich’s house for a long time. He was frightened by the usual reception. They decided to send for him and announce to him unexpected happiness: consent to marriage. But what was the amazement of the Nenaradov landowners when, in response to their invitation, they received a half-crazed letter from him! He announced to them that he would never set foot in their house, and asked them to forget about the unfortunate man, for whom death remained the only hope. A few days later they learned that Vladimir had left for the army. This was in 1812.

For a long time they did not dare to announce this to the recovering Masha. She never mentioned Vladimir. A few months later, having found his name among those who distinguished themselves and were seriously wounded near Borodino, she fainted, and they were afraid that her fever would return. However, thank God, the fainting had no consequences.

Another sadness visited her: Gavrila Gavrilovich died, leaving her as the heiress of the entire estate. But the inheritance did not console her; she sincerely shared the grief of poor Praskovya Petrovna, vowed never to part with her; They both left Nenaradovo, a place of sad memories, and went to live on the *** estate.

The grooms circled around the sweet and rich bride; but she didn’t give anyone the slightest hope. Her mother sometimes persuaded her to choose a friend; Marya Gavrilovna shook her head and thought. Vladimir no longer existed: he died in Moscow, on the eve of the French entry. His memory seemed sacred to Masha; at least she cherished everything that could remind him: books he had once read, his drawings, notes and poems he had copied for her. The neighbors, having learned about everything, marveled at her constancy and waited with curiosity for the hero who was finally supposed to triumph over the sad fidelity of this virgin Artemisa.

Meanwhile, the war with glory was over. Our regiments were returning from abroad. The people ran towards them. Music played conquered songs: Vive Henri-Quatre 1
Long live Henry the Fourth! (French)

Tyrolean waltzes and arias from La Gioconde 2
“La Gioconde, or the Adventurer” is a comic opera by N. Izoard.

The officers, who went on campaign almost as youths, returned, having matured in the battle air, hung with crosses. The soldiers talked cheerfully among themselves, constantly interjecting German and French words into their speech. Unforgettable time! Time of glory and delight! How hard the Russian heart beat at the word fatherland! How sweet were the tears of the date! With what unanimity we united the feelings of national pride and love for the sovereign! And for him, what a minute it was!

Women, Russian women were incomparable then. Their usual coldness disappeared. Their delight was truly intoxicating when, meeting the winners, they shouted: hooray!

And they threw caps into the air 3
From A. Griboedov’s comedy “Woe from Wit” (act. 2, scene 5, words by Chatsky).

Which of the officers of that time does not admit that he owed the best, most precious award to a Russian woman?..

At this brilliant time, Marya Gavrilovna lived with her mother in the *** province and did not see how both capitals celebrated the return of the troops. But in the districts and villages the general delight was perhaps even stronger. The appearance of an officer in these places was a real triumph for him, and the lover in a tailcoat felt bad in his neighborhood.

We have already said that, despite her coldness, Marya Gavrilovna was still surrounded by seekers. But everyone had to retreat when the wounded hussar Colonel Burmin appeared in her castle, with George in his buttonhole and with interesting pallor, as the young ladies there said. He was about twenty-six years old. He came on vacation to his estates, located next to the village of Marya Gavrilovna. Marya Gavrilovna distinguished him very much. With him, her usual thoughtfulness was revived. It was impossible to say that she was flirting with him; but the poet, noticing her behavior, would say:

Se amor non è, che dunque?.. 4
If this isn't love, then what is? (it.)– from Petrarch’s 132nd sonnet (cycle “During the Life of Laura”).

Burmin was, in fact, a very nice young man. He had exactly the kind of mind that women like: a mind of decency and observation, without any pretensions and carelessly mocking. His behavior with Marya Gavrilovna was simple and free; but no matter what she said or did, his soul and eyes followed her. He seemed of a quiet and modest disposition, but rumor assured that he had once been a terrible rake, and this did not harm him in the opinion of Marya Gavrilovna, who (like all young ladies in general) gladly excused pranks that revealed courage and ardor of character.

But most of all... (more than his tenderness, more pleasant conversation, more interesting pallor, more bandaged hand) the silence of the young hussar most of all incited her curiosity and imagination. She could not help but admit that he liked her very much; Probably he too, with his intelligence and experience, could have already noticed that she distinguished him: how come she had not yet seen him at her feet and had not yet heard his confession? What was holding him back? timidity, inseparable from true love, pride or the coquetry of a cunning red tape? It was a mystery to her. Having thought carefully, she decided that timidity was the only reason for this, and decided to encourage him with greater attentiveness and, depending on the circumstances, even tenderness. She was preparing the most unexpected denouement and was looking forward to the moment of romantic explanation. A secret, no matter what kind it is, is always burdensome to a woman’s heart. Her military actions had the desired success: at least Burmin fell into such a thoughtfulness, and his black eyes rested on Marya Gavrilovna with such fire that the decisive moment seemed to be close. The neighbors talked about the wedding as if it were a matter already over, and the kind Praskovya Petrovna was glad that her daughter had finally found a worthy groom.

One day the old woman was sitting alone in the living room, playing grand solitaire, when Burmin entered the room and immediately inquired about Marya Gavrilovna. “She’s in the garden,” answered the old woman, “go to her, and I’ll be waiting for you here.” Burmin went, and the old woman crossed herself and thought: maybe the matter will end today!

Burmin found Marya Gavrilovna by the pond, under a willow tree, with a book in her hands and in a white dress, the real heroine of the novel. After the first questions, Marya Gavrilovna deliberately stopped carrying on the conversation, thus increasing mutual confusion, which could only be gotten rid of with a sudden and decisive explanation. And so it happened: Burmin, feeling the difficulty of his situation, announced that he had been looking for a long time for an opportunity to open his heart to her, and demanded a minute of attention. Marya Gavrilovna closed the book and lowered her eyes as a sign of agreement.

“I love you,” said Burmin, “I love you passionately...” (Marya Gavrilovna blushed and bowed her head even lower). “I acted carelessly, indulging in a sweet habit, the habit of seeing and hearing you every day...” (Marya Gavrilovna remembered St.-Preux’s first letter 5
Saint Preux (French)- the hero of the novel by J.-J. Rousseau "Julia, or the New Heloise."

). “Now it’s too late to resist my fate; the memory of you, your dear, incomparable image will henceforth be the torment and joy of my life; but I still have a difficult duty to fulfill, to reveal to you a terrible secret and to put an insurmountable barrier between us...” “She always existed,” Marya Gavrilovna interrupted with liveliness, “I could never be your wife...” “I know,” he answered. she is quiet, - I know that you once loved, but death and three years of mourning... Kind, dear Marya Gavrilovna! don’t try to deprive me of my last consolation: the thought that you would agree to make me happy if... be silent, for God’s sake, be silent. You are tormenting me. Yes, I know, I feel that you would be mine, but - I am the most unfortunate creature ... I am married!

Marya Gavrilovna looked at him in surprise.

“I’m married,” Burmin continued, “I’ve been married for four years now and I don’t know who my wife is, and where she is, and whether I should ever meet her!”

- What are you saying? - exclaimed Marya Gavrilovna, - how strange it is! Continue; I'll tell you later... but go ahead, do me a favor.

“At the beginning of 1812,” said Burmin, “I hurried to Vilna, where our regiment was located. Arriving one day at the station late in the evening, I ordered the horses to be laid as quickly as possible, when suddenly a terrible snowstorm arose, and the caretaker and the coachmen advised me to wait it out. I obeyed them, but an incomprehensible anxiety took possession of me, it seemed that someone was pushing me like that. Meanwhile, the snowstorm did not subside; I couldn’t bear it, ordered the laying again and rode into the storm. The coachman decided to go along the river, which should have shortened our journey by three miles. The banks were covered; the driver drove past the place where we entered the road, and thus we found ourselves in an unfamiliar direction. The storm did not subside; I saw a light and ordered to go there. We arrived at the village; there was a fire in the wooden church. The church was open, several sleighs stood outside the fence; people were walking around the porch. "Here! here!" – several voices shouted. I told the coachman to drive up. “For mercy, where did you stop? - someone told me; – the bride faints; the priest doesn't know what to do; we were ready to go back. Come out quickly." I silently jumped out of the sleigh and entered the church, dimly lit by two or three candles. The girl was sitting on a bench in a dark corner of the church; the other rubbed her temples. “Thank God,” this one said, “you came by force. You almost killed the young lady.” The old priest came up to me with the question: “Will you order us to begin?” “Begin, begin, father,” I answered absentmindedly. The girl was raised. She seemed pretty good to me... An incomprehensible, unforgivable frivolity... I stood next to her in front of the lectern; the priest was in a hurry; three men and a maid supported the bride and were busy only with her. We were married. “Kiss,” we were told. My wife turned her pale face to me. I wanted to kiss her... She screamed: “Oh, not him! not him! and fell unconscious. The witnesses looked at me with frightened eyes. I turned around, left the church without any obstacles, rushed into the wagon and shouted: “Let’s go!”

- My God! - Marya Gavrilovna shouted, “and you don’t know what happened to your poor wife?”

“I don’t know,” Burmin answered, “I don’t know the name of the village where I got married; I don’t remember which station I left from. At that time, I believed so little importance in my criminal prank that, having driven away from the church, I fell asleep and woke up the next morning, at the third station. The servant who was then with me died on the campaign, so I have no hope of finding the one on whom I played such a cruel joke, and who is now so cruelly avenged.

- My God, my God! - said Marya Gavrilovna, grabbing his hand, - so it was you! And you don't recognize me?

Burmin turned pale... and threw himself at her feet...

Horses rush over the hills,
Trampling deep snow...
Here, off to the side is God's temple
Seen alone.
……………………………………
Suddenly there is a snowstorm all around;
The snow is falling in clumps;
The black corvid, whistling with its wing,
Hovering over the sleigh;
The prophetic groan says sadness!
The horses are in a hurry
They look sensitively into the distance,
Raising their manes...
Zhukovsky

At the end of 1811, in an era memorable to us, the good Gavrila Gavrilovich R** lived on his Nenaradov estate. He was famous throughout the area for his hospitality and cordiality; neighbors constantly went to him to eat, drink, play Boston for five kopecks with his wife, Praskovya Petrovna, and some in order to look at their daughter, Marya Gavrilovna, a slender, pale and seventeen-year-old girl. She was considered a rich bride, and many expected her to marry them or their sons.

Marya Gavrilovna was brought up on French novels and, as a result, was in love. The subject she chose was a poor army ensign who was on leave in his village. It goes without saying that the young man was burning with equal passion and that the parents of his beloved, noticing their mutual inclination, forbade their daughter to even think about him, and he was received worse than a retired assessor.

Film based on the story by A. S. Pushkin “Blizzard”, 1984

Our lovers corresponded and saw each other alone every day in a pine grove or near the old chapel. There they swore eternal love to each other, complained about fate and made various assumptions. Corresponding and talking in this way, they (which is very natural) came to the following reasoning: if we cannot breathe without each other, and the will of cruel parents interferes with our well-being, then will it be impossible for us to do without it? It goes without saying that this happy thought first occurred to the young man and that Marya Gavrilovna’s romantic imagination greatly liked it.

Winter came and stopped their meetings; but the correspondence became all the more lively. Vladimir Nikolaevich in each letter begged her to surrender to him, to get married secretly, to hide for a while, then to throw herself at the feet of her parents, who, of course, would be touched, finally, by the heroic constancy and misfortune of the lovers and would certainly tell them: “Children! come into our arms."

Pushkin. Blizzard. Audiobook

Marya Gavrilovna hesitated for a long time; many escape plans were abandoned. Finally she agreed: on the appointed day she was to not have dinner and retire to her room under the pretext of a headache. Her girlfriend was in the conspiracy; both of them had to go out into the garden through the back porch, find a ready-made sleigh behind the garden, get into it and drive five miles from Nenaradov to the village of Zhadrino, straight to the church, where Vladimir was supposed to be waiting for them.

On the eve of the decisive day, Marya Gavrilovna did not sleep all night; She was getting ready, tying up her underwear and dress, and wrote a long letter to a sensitive young lady, her friend, and another to her parents. She said goodbye to them in the most touching terms, excused her offense with the irresistible power of passion and ended with the fact that she would consider the happiest moment of her life to be the one when she was allowed to throw herself at the feet of her dearest parents. Having sealed both letters with a Tula seal, on which were depicted two flaming hearts with a decent inscription, she threw herself on the bed just before dawn and dozed off; but even here terrible dreams awakened her every minute. It seemed to her that at the very moment she got into the sleigh to go get married, her father stopped her, dragged her through the snow with painful speed and threw her into a dark, bottomless dungeon... and she flew headlong with an inexplicable sinking of her heart; then she saw Vladimir lying on the grass, pale, bloodied. He, dying, begged her in a shrill voice to hurry up and marry him... other ugly, meaningless visions rushed before her one after another. Finally she stood up, paler than usual and with a real headache. Her father and mother noticed her concern; their tender care and incessant questions: what’s wrong with you, Masha? aren't you sick, Masha? - tore her heart apart. She tried to calm them down, to seem cheerful, but she couldn’t. Evening came. The thought that this was the last time she was spending the day among her family troubled her heart. She was barely alive; she secretly said goodbye to all the persons, to all the objects that surrounded her. Dinner was served; her heart began to beat violently. In a trembling voice, she announced that she did not want dinner, and began to say goodbye to her father and mother. They kissed her and, as usual, blessed her: she almost cried. Arriving at her room, she threw herself into an armchair and burst into tears. The girl tried to persuade her to calm down and take heart. Everything was ready. In half an hour, Masha had to leave her parents' house, her room, her quiet girlhood forever... There was a snowstorm outside; the wind howled, the shutters shook and rattled; everything seemed to her a threat and a sad omen. Soon everything in the house calmed down and fell asleep. Masha wrapped herself in a shawl, put on a warm hood, took her box in her hands and went out onto the back porch. The maid carried two bundles behind her. They went down into the garden. The snowstorm did not subside; the wind blew towards her, as if trying to stop the young criminal. They reached the end of the garden by force. On the road the sleigh was waiting for them. The horses, frozen, did not stand still; Vladimir’s coachman paced in front of the shafts, holding back the zealous. He helped the young lady and her girlfriend sit down and put away the bundles and box, took the reins, and the horses flew off. Having entrusted the young lady to the care of fate and the art of Tereshka the coachman, let us turn to our young lover.

Vladimir was on the road all day. In the morning he visited the Zhadrinsky priest; I forcibly came to an agreement with him; then he went to look for witnesses among neighboring landowners. The first person he came to, the retired forty-year-old cornet Dravin, agreed willingly. This adventure, he assured, reminded him of his former time and the pranks of the hussars. He persuaded Vladimir to stay with him for dinner and assured him that the case would not be resolved with the other two witnesses. In fact, immediately after dinner, land surveyor Shmit, in a mustache and spurs, and the police captain’s son, a boy of about sixteen, who had recently joined the lancers, appeared. They not only accepted Vladimir’s offer, but even swore to him that they were ready to sacrifice their lives for him. Vladimir hugged them with delight and went home to get ready.

It had long been dark. He sent his reliable Tereshka to Nenaradovo with his troika and with detailed, thorough orders, and for himself he ordered a small sleigh to be put on one horse, and alone without a coachman he went to Zhadrino, where Marya Gavrilovna was supposed to arrive in two hours. The road was familiar to him, and the drive was only twenty minutes.

But as soon as Vladimir drove out of the outskirts into the field, the wind rose and there was such a snowstorm that he could not see anything. One minute the road skidded; the surroundings disappeared into a muddy and yellowish haze, through which white flakes of snow flew; the sky merged with the earth. Vladimir found himself in a field and in vain wanted to get on the road again; the horse stepped at random and constantly drove into a snowdrift or fell into a hole; the sleigh constantly overturned; Vladimir only tried not to lose his true direction. But it seemed to him that more than half an hour had already passed, and he had not yet reached the Zhadrinskaya Grove. About ten more minutes passed; the grove was still out of sight. Vladimir drove through a field crossed by deep ravines. The snowstorm did not subside, the sky did not clear. The horse was starting to get tired, and he was dripping with sweat, despite the fact that he was constantly waist-deep in snow.

Finally he saw that he was driving in the wrong direction. Vladimir stopped: he began to think, remember, figure out, and was convinced that he should have taken to the right. He went to the right. His horse walked slightly. He had been on the road for more than an hour. Zhadrino should have been nearby. But he drove and drove, and there was no end to the field. All the snowdrifts and ravines; Every minute the sleigh overturned, every minute he raised it. As time went; Vladimir began to get very worried.

Finally, something began to turn black to the side. Vladimir turned there. As he approached, he saw a grove. Thank God, he thought, it’s close now. He drove near the grove, hoping to immediately get onto a familiar road or go around the grove: Zhadrino was immediately behind it. He soon found the road and drove into the darkness of the trees, naked in winter. The wind could not rage here; the road was smooth; the horse cheered up, and Vladimir calmed down.

But he drove and drove, and Zhadrin was nowhere to be seen; there was no end to the grove. Vladimir saw with horror that he had driven into an unfamiliar forest. Despair took possession of him. He hit the horse; the poor animal began to trot, but soon began to pester and after a quarter of an hour began to walk, despite all the efforts of unfortunate Vladimir.

Little by little the trees began to thin out, and Vladimir rode out of the forest; Zhadrin was nowhere to be seen. It must have been around midnight. Tears flowed from his eyes; he went at random. The weather had calmed down, the clouds were clearing, and in front of him lay a plain covered with a white wavy carpet. The night was quite clear. He saw a village nearby, consisting of four or five courtyards. Vladimir went to see her. At the first hut he jumped out of the sleigh, ran to the window and began knocking. A few minutes later the wooden shutter rose and the old man stuck out his gray beard. "What do you want?" - “Is Zhadrino far away?” - “Is Zhadrino far away?” - "Yes Yes! Is it far? - “Not far; it will be ten versts.” At this answer, Vladimir grabbed himself by the hair and remained motionless, like a man sentenced to death.

“Where are you from?” – the old man continued. Vladimir did not have the heart to answer questions. “Can you, old man,” he said, “get me horses to Zhadrin?” “What kind of horses are we?” the man answered. - “Can’t I at least take a guide? I’ll pay him whatever he wants.” “Wait,” said the old man, lowering the shutter, “I’ll send out your son; he guides them through.” Vladimir began to wait. Less than a minute later, he started knocking again. The shutter rose and the beard appeared. "What do you want?" - “What about your son?” “Now he’s going out and putting on his shoes. Are you cold? “Come up and warm yourself.” - “Thank you, send your son quickly.”

The gates creaked; the guy came out with a club and walked forward, now pointing, now looking for the road covered with snowdrifts. "What time is it now?" – Vladimir asked him. “It’ll be dawn soon,” answered the young man. Vladimir didn’t say a word anymore.

The roosters were crowing, and it was already light when they reached Zhadrin. The church was locked. Vladimir paid the conductor and went to the priest’s yard. He was not in the troika's yard. What news awaited him!

But let’s return to the good Nenaradov landowners and see if they are doing something.

Nothing.

The old people woke up and went into the living room. Gavrila Gavrilovich in a cap and flannel jacket, Praskovya Petrovna in a cotton wool dressing gown. The samovar was served, and Gavrila Gavrilovich sent the girl to find out from Marya Gavrilovna what her health was and how she slept. The girl returned, announcing that the young lady had slept poorly, but that she was feeling better now and that she would come to the living room now. In fact, the door opened, and Marya Gavrilovna came up to greet daddy and mummy.

“What is your head, Masha?” – asked Gavrila Gavrilovich. “Better, daddy,” answered Masha. “You must have been crazy yesterday, Masha,” said Praskovya Petrovna. “Maybe mummy,” answered Masha.

The day went well, but at night Masha fell ill. They sent to the city for a doctor. He arrived in the evening and found the patient delirious. A severe fever developed, and the poor patient spent two weeks at the edge of the coffin.

No one in the house knew about the intended escape. The letters she had written the day before were burned; her maid did not tell anyone about anything, fearing the wrath of the masters. The priest, the retired cornet, the mustachioed surveyor and the little lancer were modest, and for good reason. Tereshka the coachman never said anything unnecessary, even when drunk. Thus the secret was kept by more than half a dozen conspirators. But Marya Gavrilovna herself, in constant delirium, expressed her secret. However, her words were so inconsistent with anything that the mother, who did not leave her bed, could understand from them only that her daughter was mortally in love with Vladimir Nikolaevich and that, probably, love was the cause of her illness. She consulted with her husband, with some neighbors, and finally everyone unanimously decided that, apparently, this was Marya Gavrilovna’s fate, that you couldn’t beat your betrothed with a horse, that poverty was not a vice, that living not with wealth, but with a person, and the like . Moral sayings can be surprisingly useful in cases where we can invent little on our own to justify ourselves.

Meanwhile, the young lady began to recover. Vladimir had not been seen in Gavrila Gavrilovich’s house for a long time. He was frightened by the usual reception. They decided to send for him and announce to him unexpected happiness: consent to marriage. But what was the amazement of the Nenaradov landowners when, in response to their invitation, they received a half-crazed letter from him! He announced to them that he would never set foot in their house, and asked them to forget about the unfortunate man, for whom death remained the only hope. A few days later they learned that Vladimir had left for the army. This was in 1812.

For a long time they did not dare to announce this to the recovering Masha. She never mentioned Vladimir. A few months later, having found his name among those who distinguished themselves and were seriously wounded at Borodino, she fainted, and they were afraid that her fever would return. However, thank God, the fainting had no consequences.

Another sadness visited her: Gavrila Gavrilovich died, leaving her as the heiress of the entire estate. But the inheritance did not console her; she sincerely shared the grief of poor Praskovya Petrovna, vowed never to part with her; They both left Nenaradovo, a place of sad memories, and went to live on the *** estate.

The grooms circled around the sweet and rich bride; but she didn’t give anyone the slightest hope. Her mother sometimes persuaded her to choose a friend; Marya Gavrilovna shook her head and thought. Vladimir no longer existed: he died in Moscow, on the eve of the French entry. His memory seemed sacred to Masha; at least she cherished everything that could remind him: books he had once read, his drawings, notes and poems he had copied for her. The neighbors, having learned about everything, marveled at her constancy and waited with curiosity for the hero who was finally supposed to triumph over the sad fidelity of this virgin Artemisa.

Meanwhile, the war with glory was over. Our regiments were returning from abroad. The people ran towards them. The music played conquered songs: Vive Henri-Quatre [Long live Henry the Fourth (French).], Tyrolean waltzes and arias from La Giaconde. The officers, who went on campaign almost as youths, returned, having matured in the battle air, hung with crosses. The soldiers talked cheerfully among themselves, constantly interjecting German and French words into their speech. Unforgettable time! Time of glory and delight! How strongly the Russian heart beat at the word fatherland! How sweet were the tears of the date! With what unanimity we united the feelings of national pride and love for the sovereign! And what a moment it was for him!

Women, Russian women were incomparable then. Their usual coldness disappeared. Their delight was truly intoxicating when, meeting the winners, they shouted: Hurray!

And they threw caps into the air.

Which of the officers of that time does not admit that he owed the best, most precious award to a Russian woman?..

At this brilliant time, Marya Gavrilovna lived with her mother in the *** province and did not see how both capitals celebrated the return of the troops. But in the districts and villages the general delight was perhaps even stronger. The appearance of an officer in these places was a real triumph for him, and the lover in a tailcoat felt bad in his neighborhood.

We have already said that, despite her coldness, Marya Gavrilovna was still surrounded by seekers. But everyone had to retreat when the wounded hussar Colonel Burmin appeared in her castle, with George in his buttonhole and with an interesting pallor, as the local young ladies said. He was about twenty-six years old. He came on vacation to his estates, located next to the village of Marya Gavrilovna. Marya Gavrilovna distinguished him very much. With him, her usual thoughtfulness was revived. It was impossible to say that she was flirting with him; but the poet, noticing her behavior, would say:

Se amor non è, che dunque?..
[If this is not love, then what?.. (Italian)]

Burmin was indeed a very nice young man. He had exactly the kind of mind that women like: a mind of decency and observation, without any pretensions and carelessly mocking. His behavior with Marya Gavrilovna was simple and free; but no matter what she said or did, his soul and eyes followed her. He seemed of a quiet and modest disposition, but rumor assured that he had once been a terrible rake, and this did not harm him in the opinion of Marya Gavrilovna, who (like all young ladies in general) gladly excused pranks that revealed courage and ardor of character.

But most of all... (more than his tenderness, more pleasant conversation, more interesting pallor, more bandaged hand) the silence of the young hussar most of all incited her curiosity and imagination. She could not help but admit that he liked her very much; Probably, he too, with his intelligence and experience, could have already noticed that she distinguished him: how come she had not yet seen him at her feet and had not yet heard his confession? What was holding him back? timidity, inseparable from true love, pride or the coquetry of a cunning red tape? It was a mystery to her. Having thought carefully, she decided that timidity was the only reason for this, and decided to encourage him with greater attentiveness and, depending on the circumstances, even tenderness. She was preparing the most unexpected ending and was looking forward to the moment of romantic explanation. A secret, no matter what kind it is, is always burdensome to a woman’s heart. Her military actions had the desired success: at least Burmin fell into such a thoughtfulness, and his black eyes rested on Marya Gavrilovna with such fire that the decisive moment seemed to be close. The neighbors talked about the wedding as if it were a matter already over, and the kind Praskovya Petrovna was glad that her daughter had finally found a worthy groom.

One day the old woman was sitting alone in the living room, playing grand solitaire, when Burmin entered the room and immediately inquired about Marya Gavrilovna. “She’s in the garden,” answered the old woman, “go to her, and I’ll be waiting for you here.” Burmin went, and the old woman crossed herself and thought: maybe the matter will end today!

Burmin found Marya Gavrilovna by the pond, under a willow tree, with a book in her hands and in a white dress, the real heroine of the novel. After the first questions, Marya Gavrilovna deliberately stopped carrying on the conversation, thus increasing mutual confusion, which could only be gotten rid of with a sudden and decisive explanation. And so it happened: Burmin, feeling the difficulty of his situation, announced that he had been looking for a long time for an opportunity to open his heart to her, and demanded a minute of attention. Marya Gavrilovna closed the book and lowered her eyes as a sign of agreement.

“I love you,” said Burmin, “I love you passionately...” (Marya Gavrilovna blushed and bowed her head even lower.) “I acted carelessly, indulging in a sweet habit, the habit of seeing and hearing you every day...” (Marya Gavrilovna remembered the first letter St.-Preux [Saint-Preux (French)]) “Now it is too late to resist my fate; the memory of you, your dear, incomparable image will henceforth be the torment and joy of my life; but I still have a difficult duty to fulfill, to reveal to you a terrible secret and to put an insurmountable barrier between us...” “She always existed,” Marya Gavrilovna interrupted with liveliness, “I could never be your wife...” “I know,” he answered. she is quiet, - I know that you once loved, but death and three years of mourning... Kind, dear Marya Gavrilovna! don’t try to deprive me of my last consolation: the thought that you would agree to make me happy if... be silent, for God’s sake, be silent. You are tormenting me. Yes, I know, I feel that you would be mine, but - I am the most unfortunate creature ... I am married!

Marya Gavrilovna looked at him in surprise.

“I’m married,” Burmin continued, “I’ve been married for four years now and I don’t know who my wife is, and where she is, and whether I should ever meet her!”

- What are you saying? - exclaimed Marya Gavrilovna, - how strange it is! Continue; I'll tell you later... but go ahead, do me a favor.

“At the beginning of 1812,” said Burmin, “I hurried to Vilna, where our regiment was located. Arriving one day at the station late in the evening, I ordered the horses to be laid as quickly as possible, when suddenly a terrible snowstorm arose, and the caretaker and the coachmen advised me to wait it out. I obeyed them, but an incomprehensible anxiety took possession of me; it seemed like someone was pushing me like that. Meanwhile, the snowstorm did not subside; I couldn’t bear it, ordered the laying again and rode into the storm. The coachman decided to go along the river, which should have shortened our journey by three miles. The banks were covered; the driver drove past the place where we entered the road, and thus we found ourselves in an unfamiliar direction. The storm did not subside; I saw a light and ordered to go there. We arrived at the village; there was a fire in the wooden church. The church was open, several sleighs stood outside the fence; people were walking around the porch. "Here! here!" – several voices shouted. I told the coachman to drive up. “For mercy, where did you stop? - someone told me, - the bride has fainted; the priest doesn't know what to do; we were ready to go back. Come out quickly." I silently jumped out of the sleigh and entered the church, dimly lit by two or three candles. The girl was sitting on a bench in a dark corner of the church; the other rubbed her temples. “Thank God,” this one said, “you came by force. You almost killed the young lady.” The old priest came up to me with the question: “Will you order us to begin?” “Begin, begin, father,” I answered absentmindedly. The girl was raised. She seemed pretty good to me... An incomprehensible, unforgivable frivolity... I stood next to her in front of the lectern; the priest was in a hurry; three men and a maid supported the bride and were busy only with her. We were married. “Kiss,” we were told. My wife turned her pale face to me. I wanted to kiss her... She screamed: “Oh, not him! not him! - and fell unconscious. The witnesses looked at me with frightened eyes. I turned around, left the church without any obstacles, rushed into the wagon and shouted: “Let’s go!”

- My God! - Marya Gavrilovna shouted, “and you don’t know what happened to your poor wife?”

“I don’t know,” Burmin answered, “I don’t know the name of the village where I got married; I don’t remember which station I left from. At that time, I believed so little importance in my criminal prank that, having driven away from the church, I fell asleep, and woke up the next morning, at the third station. The servant who was then with me died on the campaign, so I have no hope of finding the one on whom I played such a cruel joke and who has now been so cruelly avenged.

- My God, my God! - said Marya Gavrilovna, grabbing his hand, - so it was you! And you don't recognize me?

Burmin turned pale... and threw himself at her feet...

“Blizzard” - a work by A.S. Pushkin, written in 1830. Many of the works of the great classic are filled with special meaning; the author talks about the incomprehensible game of the Creator. "Blizzard" was no exception. The work is full of philosophy and romantic thoughts of the author.

Ideology

The literary direction of the story is bright youthful sentimentalism. The central theme is the relationship between man and Rock, how people change by the will of fate, their idea of ​​life and aspirations for the ideal.

The great classic was always interested in the role of chance, capricious fate attracted him with its intrigues and unpredictability. Pushkin believed in Rock, sensing that he himself would someday fall into the trap of fatal circumstances.

In the story “Blizzard,” Alexander Sergeevich specifically examines the life of the most ordinary people. They are not distinguished by a particularly brilliant mind, delightful appearance, and are not inclined to heroic deeds. They do not have genius inclinations, special talents, or incredible fortitude.

History of the creation of the work

"Blizzard", written by Pushkin in 1830, became the final work of the cycle. The author worked on the Boldinsky estate. This period of his work is often called the “Boldino Autumn”. This is one of the most active periods in the life of a classic.

Researchers believe that work began in 1829. Pushkin nurtured the idea for a long time, and began to realize his fantasies only in Boldino. The work was published in 1831. The publication was not made public under Pushkin's name. The reasons are still not clear. Most likely, the Russian classic was afraid of overly aggressive criticism. The first film adaptation of Pushkin’s brilliant creation took place in 1964.

Analysis of the work

Story line

The story begins back in 1811. The daughter of a respectable landowner, Marya Gavrilovna, suffers from ardent feelings for warrant officer Vladimir Nikolaevich. The young man is not rich, so the young girl’s parents are categorically against such an unfavorable union.

However, driven by love, Maria and Vladimir secretly see each other. After several dates, the girl agrees to a risky adventure: get married and hide from everyone. On the night when the escape was planned, a strong snowstorm begins.

Maria is the first to leave the house, heading to a church nearby. Her lover should follow her to the appointed place. However, due to a strong snowstorm, the man loses his bearings, completely losing his way.

Marya is waiting for the groom in the church. At this time, the hussar Burmin comes here. He decides to play a trick on the girl and pretends to be her chosen one. The priest performs the ceremony and only then Mary realizes with horror that she has become engaged to a complete stranger. The girl immediately returns home, and Vladimir, having reached the church only in the morning, learns that Marya has become the wife of another.

Maria is very worried, being close to death. The parents manage to find Vladimir. They are ready to agree to the marriage, but Vladimir refuses. He leaves for the war, where he dies.

After her father's death, Maria and her mother move to another estate. There a girl meets a man. She really likes him. This is the same Burmin.

A young man confesses to a girl that he is married, telling a story about a wedding in a snowstorm. The girl tells him her story with surprise. Having learned the whole truth, the young hussar falls at the feet of his chosen one.

Heroes of the story

Marya is the main female character in the story “Blizzard”. The seventeen-year-old noblewoman is pale and slender, rich and spoiled by her parents. The girl is capable of strong love experiences. She is not alien to the spirit of adventurism and a certain courage. A dreamy and sentimental lady is ready to defy her parents and secretly get married to her loved one. A sensitive and vulnerable young lady, living with happy ideas of mutual love, is having a hard time parting with Vladimir.

Burmin is a military hussar who mistakenly becomes Marya's husband. He is smart but careless. Quite mocking and impulsive. Driven by empty frivolity, he understood that he would commit an unforgivable offense, but still impersonates the groom at a secret wedding.

Vladimir is a young warrant officer from a poor class. He is romantic, full of impulses, and not always prudent and reasonable. He perceives Marya's mistaken wedding as the gravest betrayal. Believing that the girl is doing this deliberately, he leaves her forever.

Composition of the story

The basis of the plot is a curious marriage. For a man, this is an attempt to have fun, for a girl - the collapse of all her love hopes. The plot is divided into two lines:

• Marya and Vladimir;
• Marya and Burmin.

There is no prologue or epilogue, and the story itself begins with a small exposition that describes the everyday life of the estate. The intermediate climax is the moment when Maria learns about the fatal mistake in the church. At this moment, one storyline smoothly transitions into another. The main climax: after many years, Marya recognizes her “old” husband in the new gentleman.

The key symbol that predetermines the course of events is a blizzard. The raging elements changed the plans of a young couple to get engaged at night. On the other hand, bad weather symbolizes youth, full of passion, serenity, devoid of reason and order.

The story “Blizzard” is Pushkin’s brilliant creation. The work is distinguished by strict completeness, proportionality, and, in fact, mathematical calculations of all elements of the composition. The author, purely on an intuitive level, could find the ideal form through which he skillfully expressed his idea.