Chapter 16 sixteen

After lunch, the guests gathered in the wing again.The princess came out to entertain them.All the regulars were there, and there was none missing, just like that first evening, which I will never forget.Even Neilmatsky actually came; Maidanov was the first of the day, and he brought some new poems.The fantasia game started again, but there was no more grotesque behavior like before, and no one was messing around or making noise—the gypsy temperament disappeared.Zinaïda added a new flavor to our party.I sat next to her as a boy bodyguard.By the way, she once advised people punished for playing games to tell a dream about themselves.

But this method will not work, the dream is either dry and boring (Belovzorov dreamed that he fed crucian carp to his horse, which had a wooden head), or it is unnatural and fabricated... Maidanov tells us a complete story: there are caves, angels playing the lyre, talking flowers, and voices from afar... But Zinaida won't let him finish. "If everyone tells stories that are made up," she said, "let everyone tell one thing that must be made up." It was Belomozorov's turn to speak first.The young hussar was embarrassed. "I can't make anything up!" he exclaimed.

"Don't be a mother-in-law!" Zinaïda interrupted. "Well, just imagine, say, that you are married, and tell us how you live with your honorable lady. Are you going to lock her up at home?" "I'm going to lock her up at home." "Do you want to stay with her?" "I must stay with her." "That's all very well. Well, what if she gets bored of this life and becomes unfaithful to you?" "I'll kill her." "What if she escapes?" "I'll go after her and still kill her." "That's right. Well, suppose I'm your wife, what do you do?"

Bylovzorov fell silent. "I would kill myself..." Zinaïda could not help laughing. "I know, your story won't be long." It was Zinaida's second turn.She looked up at the ceiling, lost in thought. "Now listen," she began at last, "I made up this story. Please imagine a magnificent palace, where a wonderful and grand ball is held on a summer night.The ball was presided over by a young queen.Gold, marble, crystal, silk, lights, diamonds, flowers, incense, and all the luxurious scenes carefully arranged..." "Do you like luxury? ' Lushin interrupted her.

"Luxury is beautiful," she replied, "I like everything that is beautiful." "Do you like anything lovelier than beauty?" he asked. "Your question is very good, but I don't understand what you mean. Don't interrupt. Anyway, the ball is luxurious and grand. There are many guests on this day. They are all young, beautiful, and brave, and they are all in love with the queen." "Aren't there any women among the guests?" Malevsky asked. "No . . . or wait a minute—there will be." "Aren't they pretty?" "Very charming too...but the men are in love with the queen, she is very slim and graceful...she has a little gold crown in her dark hair."

I glanced at Zinaïda, and at that moment it seemed to me that she was much nobler than all of us, and what a clear wisdom, infinite wisdom, was revealed from her white brow, from her immobile brows. Authority, I can't help thinking to myself: "You are that queen yourself!" "Everyone crowds around her," Zinaïda went on, "everyone flatters and pays her attention." "Does she like flattery?" asked Lushin. "What a nuisance, always interrupting... who doesn't like flattery?" "One last question?" said Malewski. "Does the queen have a husband?"

"It never occurred to me. No, why a husband?" "Of course," Malevsky continued, "why have a husband?" "Silence!" cried Maidanov, who spoke poor French. "Merci," Zinaïda said to him, "in short, the queen listens to the flattery and the music, but she does not glance at any of the guests. Six windows open from above to below— From the ceiling to the floor, the sky outside the window was black and full of great stars, and the dark garden was full of great trees. The Queen looked at the garden. There, near the trees, there was a fountain; it glowed white in the darkness. , looking long, like a ghost. The queen heard the slight splash of the spring water in the voice and the music; she looked at it and thought: You gentlemen are noble, and you are willing to die in my place. at my feet, you are all in my hands... But there, by the fountain, by the splashing fountain, my beloved, who can dominate me, stands there waiting for me. He does not wear finery I don't wear pearls and gems, I don't know him, but he waits for me and believes that I will go--to stay with him, to be there with him, in the dark of the garden, in the When the rustling of the trees and the splash of the fountain disappear together..." Zinaïda fell silent.

"Is this... a fabricated story?" Malevsky asked slyly. Zinaïda did not even look at him. "Gentlemen," said Lushin suddenly, "what should we do if we are among those guests and know the happy man standing by the fountain?" "Wait, wait," broke in Zinaida, "I will tell you what each of you is to do. You, Belovzorov, will challenge him to a duel; you, Ma Idanov, you will write a short satirical poem to mock him... But no—you are not good at writing satirical poems, then write him a long poem in Barbie style, which will be published in the Telegraph "② magazine. You, Neilmatsky, you will borrow from him... no, you will lend him money at usury; you, doctor..." She stopped. "I don't know what you want to do."

"In my capacity as physician," Lushin replied, "I will advise the queen not to hold a ball when she does not wish to entertain guests." "Perhaps you are right. What about you, Count? . . . " "Me?" Maleevsky repeated with a malicious smile. "You'll serve him poisonous candy." Maleevsky's face changed slightly, and for a moment he took on a Jewish look, but immediately he burst out laughing. "As for you, Voldemar, you, as one of the queen's young guards, should hold up her long skirts that drag on the ground when she runs into the garden," said Malevsky viciously. .

I flew into a rage—but Zinaïda hastily put her hand on my shoulder, and, leaning back, said in a low, trembling voice: "I will never let you, the Earl, be impudent, so I ask you to leave here." She pointed to the door at him. "Forgive me, princess," Malevsky muttered, turning completely pale. "Princess is right," exclaimed Bylovzorov, who also stood up. "I, to tell the truth, never expected," Maleevsky went on, "that what I said It doesn't seem to mean that at all... It never occurred to me to insult you... Please forgive me." Zinaïda cast him a cold look, and sneered.

"Wait then," she whispered, gesturing casually. "Neither Monsieur Voljemar nor I should be offended. You have the pleasure of provoking us. . . . Well, please." "Forgive me," Malewski repeated.But I recalled Zinaida's behavior at that time, and I thought to myself that even a real queen could not point out the door to an impolite courtier more majestically than she told him to go out. After this small incident, the Fantawild game continued for a while.Everyone felt a little embarrassed, not so much from the incident as from another, somewhat vague, but very heavy feeling.No one talked about it, but everyone felt it in themselves and in the other regulars.Maidanov read to us his own poems - poems which Malevsky admired with exuberant enthusiasm. "Now how much he wants to show that he's a good man," Lushin whispered to me, and we parted shortly afterwards. Zinaida suddenly fell into deep thought; the princess sent word that she had a headache, and Nilmatsky began to complain of his rheumatism. I could not sleep for a long time, and Zinaïda's story surprised me. "Is there any hint in this story?" I asked myself. "Then who is she implying? And what? If she does imply something, then what? No, no, it's impossible," I whispered, rolling over and rubbing my burning cheeks. Turning from one side to the other... I recalled the expression on Zinaida's face when she told the story... I recalled Lushin's blurted emotions in Neskucciny Park, her attitude towards me. Mutation—but I can't fathom it. "Who is he?" These characters formed in the dark seem to be vividly remembered.It hung over my head like a low, ominous cloud, and I felt its pressure already, and I waited, seeing that it was about to start its mischief. I've gotten used to a lot of things lately, and I've seen a lot of things in Zasekin's house: the disarray in their house, the stumps of fat candles, the broken knives and forks, the gloomy Vonifati, the rags and rags. The behavior of the women's servants, the Duchess herself—this strange life no longer surprises me... But I am not yet used to what I now vaguely feel in Zinaïda. … My mother once referred to her as "the adventurer."She - my idol, my god - is a female adventurer!I was very sad to hear this title. I buried my head in the pillow and tried my best not to think about this title. can sacrifice. Blood boiled in my body and ran everywhere. "Garden... fountain..." I thought to myself. "Let me go to the garden." I quickly put on my clothes and slipped out of the house.The night was thick; the trees rustled slightly; a peaceful chill fell from the sky; and there was a smell of fennel from the vegetable garden.I have followed all the paths in the garden; the sound of my light footsteps disturbs and excites me; now and then I stop and wait and listen to how my heart beats--how it beats Dramatic yet hasty.At last I approached the fence and leaned against a thin wooden bar.Suddenly—or is this my hallucination? -A woman's figure flashed a few steps away from me... I tried to look into the darkness-I held my breath...What is this?Did I hear footsteps, or the beating of my heart? "Who's here?" I muttered vaguely.What is this?A suppressed laugh? ...or the rustling of leaves...or the sighing of ears?I felt scared... "Who is here?" I asked again in a softer voice. Suddenly the wind blew up; there was a flash of fire in the sky: a star had fallen. "Zinaïda?" I wanted to ask, but my lips blocked my voice.All of a sudden, there was silence all around, and this phenomenon of complete silence in the middle of the night is not uncommon...even the tits on the trees stopped calling, only the sound of a window closing somewhere.In my own cold bed.I felt an inexplicable restlessness: as if I had been promised a tryst with my lover--but I was waiting alone for nothing, and had to pass by other people's happiness.