Ivan Turgenev - date. I. S. Turgenev. Notes of a hunter. Text of the work. Date Notes of a Hunter Turgenev date

I was sitting in a birch grove in the fall, around mid-September. From the very morning there was a light rain, replaced at times by warm sunshine; the weather was changeable. The sky was either covered with loose white clouds, then suddenly cleared in places for a moment, and then, from behind the parted clouds, azure appeared, clear and gentle, like a beautiful eye. I sat and looked around and listened. The leaves rustled slightly above my head; by their noise alone one could find out what time of year it was then. It was not the cheerful, laughing trembling of spring, not the soft whispering, not the long chatter of summer, not the timid and cold babbling of late autumn, but barely audible, drowsy chatter. A weak wind pulled slightly over the tops. The interior of the grove, wet from the rain, was constantly changing, depending on whether the sun was shining or covered by a cloud; She then lit up all over, as if suddenly everything in her smiled: the thin trunks of the not too common birch trees suddenly took on a delicate glow of white silk, the small leaves lying on the ground suddenly dazzled and lit up with red gold, and the beautiful stems of tall curly ferns, already painted in their autumn color , like the color of overripe grapes, they showed through, endlessly getting confused and intersecting before our eyes; then suddenly everything around turned slightly blue again: bright colors instantly went out, the birches stood all white, without shine, white, like freshly fallen snow, which had not yet been touched by the coldly playing ray of the winter sun; and stealthily, slyly, the smallest rain began to sow and whisper through the forest. The foliage on the birches was still almost all green, although noticeably paler; only here and there stood one, young, all red or all gold, and you had to see how she flashed brightly in the sun when its rays suddenly broke through, sliding and mottled, through the dense network of thin branches, just washed away by the sparkling rain. Not a single bird was heard: everyone took refuge and fell silent; only occasionally did the mocking voice of a tit ring like a steel bell. Before I stopped in this birch forest, my dog and I walked through a tall aspen grove. I confess that I am not too fond of this tree - the aspen - with its pale lilac trunk and grey-green, metallic foliage, which it lifts as high as possible and spreads out in the air like a trembling fan; I don’t like the eternal swaying of its round, untidy leaves, clumsily attached to long stems. It is good only on certain summer evenings, when, rising separately among low bush, stands point-blank to the reddening rays of the setting sun and shines and trembles, drenched from roots to top with the same yellow crimson - or when, on a clear windy day, it all noisily flows and babbles in the blue sky, and every leaf of it, caught up in aspiration, like as if it wants to break loose, fly off and rush off into the distance. But in general I don’t like this tree, and therefore, without stopping in the aspen grove to rest, I reached a birch forest, nestled under one tree, whose branches began low above the ground and, therefore, could protect me from the rain, and, admiring the surrounding view , fell asleep in that serene and gentle sleep that is familiar to only hunters.

I can’t say how long I slept, but when I opened my eyes, the entire interior of the forest was filled with the sun and in all directions, through the joyfully rustling leaves, the bright blue sky seemed to sparkle; the clouds disappeared, dispersed by the rushing wind; the weather had cleared, and there was that special, dry freshness in the air that, filling the heart with some kind of cheerful feeling, almost always predicts a peaceful and clear evening after a stormy day. I was about to get up and try my luck again, when suddenly my eyes stopped on a motionless human image. I took a closer look: it was a young peasant girl. She sat twenty paces from me, bowing her head thoughtfully and dropping both hands on her knees; on one of them, half open, lay a thick bunch of wildflowers and with every breath it quietly slid onto her plaid skirt. A clean white shirt, buttoned at the throat and wrists, lay in short soft folds near her waist; large yellow beads in two rows descended from the neck to the chest. She was very pretty. Thick blond hair of a beautiful ash color spread out in two carefully combed semicircles from under a narrow scarlet bandage pulled almost to the very forehead, white as Ivory; the rest of her face was barely tanned by that golden tan that only thin skin takes on. I couldn't see her eyes - she didn't raise them; but I clearly saw her thin, high eyebrows, her long eyelashes: they were wet, and on one of her cheeks a dried trace of a tear shone in the sun, stopping at the very lips, which were slightly pale. Her whole head was very cute; even a slightly thick and round nose did not spoil her. I especially liked the expression on her face: it was so simple and meek, so sad and so full of childish bewilderment at her own sadness. She was apparently waiting for someone; something faintly crunched in the forest: she immediately raised her head and looked around; in the transparent shadow her eyes quickly flashed before me, large, bright and timid, like a deer’s. She listened for several moments, keeping her wide-open eyes on the place where the faint sound was heard, sighed, quietly turned her head, bent even lower and began to slowly sort through the flowers. Her eyelids turned red, her lips moved bitterly, and a new tear rolled from under her thick eyelashes, stopping and sparkling radiantly on her cheek. Quite a long time passed like this; the poor girl did not move, she only moved her hands sadly from time to time and listened, listened to everything... Again something rustled in the forest - she perked up. The noise did not stop, became more distinct, got closer, and finally decisive, nimble steps were heard. She straightened up and seemed timid; her attentive gaze trembled and lit up with anticipation. The figure of a man quickly flashed through the thicket. She took a closer look, suddenly flushed, smiled joyfully and happily, wanted to get up, and immediately fell all over again, turned pale, embarrassed - and only then raised a trembling, almost pleading look at the man who had come, when he stopped next to her.

I looked at him curiously from my ambush. I admit, he didn't impress me have a pleasant experience. This was, by all indications, the spoiled valet of a young, rich master. His clothes revealed pretension to taste and dandy negligence: he was wearing a short bronze-colored coat, probably from a lord's shoulder, buttoned to the top, a pink tie with purple tips and a velvet black cap with gold braid, pulled down to his very eyebrows. The round collars of his white shirt mercilessly propped up his ears and cut his cheeks, and his starched mittens covered his entire hand right down to his red and crooked fingers, decorated with silver and gold rings with turquoise forget-me-nots. His face, ruddy, fresh, impudent, belonged to the number of faces that, as far as I could notice, almost always outrage men and, unfortunately, very often appeal to women. He apparently tried to give his rough features an expression of contempt and boredom; constantly squinted his already tiny, petty-gray eyes, winced, lowered the corners of his lips, forced a yawn, and with a careless, although not entirely deft, ease, he either straightened his reddish, arrogantly curled temples with his hand, or plucked the yellow hairs sticking out on his thick upper lip - in a word, it was unbearably broken. He began to break down as soon as he saw the young peasant woman waiting for him; Slowly, with a lounging step, he approached her, stood there, shrugged his shoulders, put both hands in his coat pockets and, barely deigning the poor girl with a cursory and indifferent glance, sank to the ground.

“What,” he began, continuing to look somewhere to the side, shaking his leg and yawning, “how long have you been here?”

The girl could not answer him immediately.

It’s been a long time, Viktor Alexandrych,” she finally said in a barely audible voice.

A! (He took off his cap, majestically ran his hand through his thick, tightly curled hair, which began almost at the very eyebrows, and, looking around with dignity, carefully covered his precious head again.) And I had completely forgotten. Besides, look, it’s raining! (He yawned again.) Things are abyss: you can’t look after everything, and he’s still scolding. We're leaving tomorrow...

Tomorrow? - said the girl and fixed her frightened gaze on him.

Tomorrow... Well, well, well, please,” he picked up hastily and with annoyance, seeing that she was trembling all over and quietly bowed her head, “please, Akulina, don’t cry.” You know I can't stand this. (And he wrinkled his stupid nose.) Otherwise I’ll leave now... What nonsense is this - whining!

Well, I won’t, I won’t,” Akulina said hastily, swallowing tears with effort. - So are you going tomorrow? - she added after a short silence. - Someday God will bring me to see you again, Viktor Alexandrovich?

See you, see you. Not next year, but after. The master, it seems, wants to enter the service in St. Petersburg,” he continued, pronouncing the words casually and somewhat nasally, “and maybe we’ll go abroad.”

“You will forget me, Viktor Alexandrych,” Akulina said sadly.

No, why? I won’t forget you: just be smart, don’t be a fool, listen to your father... And I won’t forget you - no, no. (And he calmly stretched and yawned again.)

“Don’t forget me, Viktor Alexandrych,” she continued in a pleading voice. - It seems that I loved you so much, everything seems to be for you... You say, I should obey my father, Viktor Alexandrovich... But how can I obey my father...

And what? (He said these words as if from the stomach, lying on his back and putting his hands under his head.)

But of course, Viktor Alexandrych, you yourself know...

She fell silent. Victor played with the steel chain of his watch.

“You, Akulina, are not a stupid girl,” he finally spoke, “so don’t talk nonsense.” I wish you well, do you understand me? Of course, you are not stupid, not quite a peasant, so to speak; and your mother wasn’t always a peasant either. Still, you are uneducated, so you must obey when they tell you.

Yes, it’s scary, Viktor Alexandrovich.

And-and, what nonsense, my dear: where did I find fear! “What do you have,” he added, moving closer to her, “flowers?”

Flowers,” Akulina answered sadly. “I picked some field ash,” she continued, somewhat perking up, “it’s good for the calves.” And this is a series - against scrofula. Look, what a wonderful flower; I have never seen such a wonderful flower in my life. Here are the forget-me-nots, and here is Mother’s darling... And here I am for you,” she added, taking out from under a yellow mountain ash a small bunch of blue cornflowers tied with thin grass, “do you want it?”

Victor lazily extended his hand, took it, casually sniffed the flowers and began to twirl them in his fingers, looking up with thoughtful importance. Akulina looked at him... In her sad gaze there was so much tender devotion, reverent submission and love. She was afraid of him, and did not dare to cry, and said goodbye to him, and admired him in last time; and he lay lounging like a sultan, and with magnanimous patience and condescension endured her adoration. I admit, I looked with indignation at his red face, on which satisfied, satiated pride was visible through the feigned contemptuous indifference. Akulina was so beautiful at that moment; her whole soul trustingly, passionately opened up before him, reached out and caressed him, and he... he dropped the cornflowers on the grass, took out a round piece of glass in a bronze frame from the side pocket of his coat and began to squeeze it into his eye; but no matter how hard he tried to hold it with a frowning brow, raised cheek and even nose, the glass kept falling out and falling into his hand.

What is this? - finally asked the amazed Akulina.

Lornet,” he answered with importance.

For what?

And to see better.

Show me.

Victor winced, but gave her the glass.

Don't break it, look.

I'm sure I won't break it. (She timidly brought it to her eye.) “I don’t see anything,” she said innocently.

“Well, close your eyes,” he objected in the voice of a displeased mentor. (She closed her eye, in front of which she was holding the glass.) Not that one, not that one, stupid! Another! - Victor exclaimed and, not allowing her to correct her mistake, took the lorgnette away from her.

Akulina blushed, laughed a little and turned away.

Apparently, it’s not good for us,” she said.

The poor thing paused and took a deep breath.

Oh, Viktor Alexandrych, how will we be without you! - she said suddenly.

Victor wiped the hollow of the lorgnette and put it back in his pocket.

Yes, yes,” he finally spoke, “it will be hard for you at first, for sure.” (He patted her condescendingly on the shoulder; she quietly took his hand from her shoulder and timidly kissed it.) Well, yes, yes, you’re definitely a kind girl,” he continued, smiling smugly, “but what to do?” Judge for yourself! The master and I can’t stay here; Now winter is coming, and in the village in winter - you yourself know - it’s just nasty. It's the same in St. Petersburg! There are simply such miracles that you, stupid, cannot even imagine in a dream. What kind of houses, streets, and society, education - just surprise! After all, you cannot understand this.

Why, Viktor Alexandrych? I understood; I understood everything.

Look what!

Akulina looked down.

“You didn’t talk to me like that before, Viktor Alexandrych,” she said without raising her eyes.

Before?..before! Look!.. Before! - he remarked, as if indignant.

They were both silent.

However, it’s time for me to go,” Victor said and was about to lean on his elbow...

What to expect?.. After all, I already said goodbye to you.

Wait,” Akulina repeated.

Victor lay down again and began to whistle. Akulina still didn’t take her eyes off him. I could notice that she was gradually becoming agitated: her lips were twitching, her pale cheeks were faintly turning red...

Viktor Alexandrych,” she finally spoke in a broken voice, “it’s a sin for you, it’s a sin for you, Viktor Alexandrych, by God!”

What is sin? - he asked, frowning his eyebrows, and slightly raised and turned his head towards her.

It’s a sin, Viktor Alexandrovich. At least they said a kind word to me when I said goodbye; at least say a word to me, poor orphan...

What can I tell you?

I don't know; you know this better, Viktor Alexandrovich. Here you go, and at least a word... What have I done to deserve it?

How strange you are! What can I do?

Just a word...

Well, I loaded the same thing,” he said with annoyance and stood up.

“Don’t be angry, Viktor Alexandrovich,” she hastily added, barely holding back her tears.

I'm not angry, but you're stupid... What do you want? After all, I can’t marry you? I can’t, right? Well, what do you want? what? (He buried his face, as if expecting an answer, and spread his fingers.)

“I don’t want anything... I don’t want anything,” she answered, stuttering and barely daring to stretch out her trembling hands to him, “but just a word, goodbye...

And her tears flowed in a stream.

Well, that’s right, I’m off to cry,” Victor said coolly, pulling his cap over his eyes from behind.

“I don’t want anything,” she continued, sobbing and covering her face with both hands, “but what is it like for me now in the family, what is it like for me? And what will happen to me, what will happen to me, miserable one? They will give an orphan to a disgraceful one... My poor little head!

And he would at least say a word, at least one... They say, Akulina, they say, I...

Sudden, chest-wrenching sobs did not allow her to finish her speech - she fell face down on the grass and cried bitterly, bitterly... Her whole body was convulsively agitated, the back of her head kept rising... The grief that had been suppressed for a long time finally poured out in a torrent. Victor stood over her, stood there, shrugged, turned and walked away with long steps.

A few moments passed... She became quiet, raised her head, jumped up, looked around and clasped her hands; she wanted to run after him, but her legs gave way - she fell to her knees... I couldn’t stand it and rushed to her; but she barely had time to peer at me when the strength came from - she got up with a weak cry and disappeared behind the trees, leaving scattered flowers on the ground.

I stood there, picked up a bunch of cornflowers and walked out of the grove into the field. The sun stood low in the pale, clear sky, its rays also seemed to have faded and grown colder: they did not shine, they spread with an even, almost watery light. There was no more than half an hour left until evening, and the dawn was barely breaking. A gusty wind quickly rushed towards me through the yellow, dried stubble; hastily rising in front of him, small, warped leaves rushed past, across the road, along the edge of the forest; the side of the grove, facing the field as a wall, trembled all over and sparkled with a small sparkle, clearly, but not brightly; on the reddish grass, on the blades of grass, on the straws - everywhere countless threads of autumn cobwebs glittered and waved. I stopped... I felt sad; through the gloomy, although fresh smile of fading nature, it seemed that the dull fear of the near winter was creeping in. High above me, heavily and sharply cutting through the air with its wings, a cautious raven flew by, turned its head, looked at me from the side, soared up and, cawing abruptly, disappeared behind the forest; a large flock of pigeons quickly rushed from the threshing floor and, suddenly spinning in a column, busily settled across the field - a sign of autumn! Someone drove past the bare hill, loudly knocking an empty cart...

I am back; but the image of poor Akulina did not leave my head for a long time, and her cornflowers, long withered, are still kept in my possession...

I. S. Turgenev
Notes from a Hunter: Date
Birch Grove. Mid September. “From the very morning there was a light rain, replaced at times by warm sunshine; the weather was changeable. The sky was either covered with loose white clouds, then suddenly cleared in places for a moment, and then, from behind the parted clouds, azure appeared, clear and gentle...”
The hunter serenely fell asleep, “nesting” under a tree, “whose branches began low above the ground” and could protect from the rain, and when he woke up, he saw steps

A young peasant girl about twenty years old. She sat “thoughtfully with her head down and both hands on her knees.” She wore a plaid skirt and “a clean white shirt buttoned at the throat and wrists.” A narrow scarlet bandage pulled almost to her forehead, “thick blond hair of a beautiful ashen color”... “Her whole head was very cute; even a slightly thick and round nose did not spoil her. I especially liked the expression on her face: it was so simple and meek, so sad and so full of childish bewilderment in the face of her own sadness.”
She was waiting for someone; I started when something crunched in the forest, listened for a few moments, and sighed. “Her eyelids turned red, her lips moved bitterly, and a new tear rolled from under her thick eyelashes, stopping and sparkling radiantly on her cheek.”
She waited a long time. Something rustled again and she perked up. “Decisive, nimble steps” were heard. Well, now he’s coming, her idol. Mountains of books, thousands of songs about this... And in the 20th century the same problem:
“Why do you love beautiful girls?
Only suffering from that love!”
“She looked closely, suddenly flushed, smiled joyfully and happily, wanted to get up and immediately fell all over again, turned pale, embarrassed, and only then raised a trembling, almost pleading look at the man who had come, when he stopped next to her...
This was, by all indications, the spoiled valet of a young, rich master. His clothes revealed pretension to taste and dandy negligence.” “A short bronze-colored coat, probably from a lord’s shoulder,” “a pink tie,” “a velvet black cap with gold braid, pulled down to the very eyebrows. The face is “fresh” and “sassy.” “He apparently tried to give his rough features a contemptuous and bored expression,” he narrowed his eyes and “broke unbearably.”
“What,” he asked, sitting down next to him, but indifferently looking somewhere to the side and yawning, “how long have you been here?”
“It’s been a long time, Viktor Alexandritch,” she said at last in a barely audible voice.
- Ah!.. I completely forgot. Besides, look, it’s raining! (He yawned again.) Things are abyss: you can’t take care of everything, and he’s still scolding. We're leaving tomorrow...
- Tomorrow? - said the girl and fixed her frightened gaze on him.
“Tomorrow... Well, well, well, please,” he said hastily and with annoyance, please, Akulina, don’t cry. You know I can't stand this...
“Well, I won’t, I won’t,” Akulina said hastily, swallowing tears with effort.”
(He didn't care if they saw each other again.)
- See you, see you. Not next year, but after. The master, it seems, wants to enter the service in St. Petersburg... and maybe we’ll go abroad.
“You will forget me, Viktor Alexandrych,” Akulina said sadly.
- No, why? I will not forget you; just be smart, don’t be a fool, listen to your father... And I won’t forget you - no, no. (And he calmly stretched and yawned again).
“Don’t forget me, Viktor Alexandrych,” she continued in a pleading voice. - It seems that I loved you so much, everything seems to be for you... You say, I should obey my father, Viktor Alexandrovich... But how can I obey my father...
- And what? (He said this while lying on his back with his hands under his head.)
- But of course, Viktor Alexandrych, you yourself know...
“You, Akulina, are not a stupid girl,” he finally spoke: “and therefore don’t talk nonsense... I wish your best... Of course, you are not stupid, not quite a peasant, so to speak; and your mother wasn’t always a peasant either. Still, you are uneducated, so you must obey when they tell you.
- Yes, it’s scary, Viktor Alexandrovich.
- And-and, what nonsense, my dear: where did you find fear! “What do you have,” he added, moving closer to her: “flowers?”
“Flowers,” Akulina answered sadly. “I picked this field rowan,” she continued, somewhat perking up: “it’s good for the calves.” And this is a series - against scrofula. Look at this wonderful flower; I have never seen such a wonderful flower in my life... But here I am for you,” she added, taking out from under a yellow rowan a small bunch of blue cornflowers tied with thin grass: “Do you want some?” Victor lazily extended his hand, took it, casually sniffed the flowers and began to twirl them in his fingers, looking up with thoughtful importance. Akulina looked at him... In her sad gaze there was so much tender devotion, reverent submission, love. She was afraid of him, and did not dare to cry, and said goodbye to him, and admired him for the last time; and he lay lounging like a sultan, and with magnanimous patience and condescension endured her adoration... Akulina was so beautiful at that moment: her whole soul trustingly, passionately opened up before him, reached out and fawned over him, and he... he dropped the cornflowers on grass, took out a round piece of glass in a bronze frame from the side pocket of his coat and began to squeeze it into his eye; but, no matter how hard he tried to hold it with a frowning brow, raised cheek and even nose, the glass kept falling out and falling into his hand.
- What is this? - finally asked the amazed Akulina.
“Lornet,” he answered with importance.
- For what?
- To see better.
- Show me.
Victor winced, but gave her the glass.
- Don't break it, look.
- I'm sure I won't break it. (She timidly brought it to her eye.) “I don’t see anything,” she said innocently.
“You should close your eyes,” he objected in the voice of a displeased mentor. (She closed her eye, in front of which she was holding the glass.) - Not that one, not that one, stupid! Another! - Victor exclaimed and, not allowing her to correct her mistake, took the lorgnette away from her.
“Akulina blushed, laughed a little and turned away.
“Apparently it’s not good for us,” she said.
- Still would!
The poor thing paused and took a deep breath.
- Oh, Viktor Alexandrych, how will we be without you! - she said suddenly.
Victor wiped the hollow of the lorgnette and put it back in his pocket.
“Yes, yes,” he finally spoke: “it will be hard for you at first, for sure.” (He patted her condescendingly on the shoulder; she quietly took his hand from her shoulder and timidly kissed it). Well, yes, yes, you’re definitely a kind girl,” he continued with a smug smile, “but what to do?” Judge for yourself! The master and I cannot stay here; Now winter is coming, and in the village in winter, you yourself know, it’s just nasty. It's the same in St. Petersburg! There are simply such miracles that you, stupid, cannot even imagine in a dream. What houses, streets, and society, education - just surprise!.. (Akulina listened to him with devouring attention, lips slightly parted, like a child). However,” he added, tossing and turning on the ground, “why am I telling you all this?” You can’t understand this.”
In the soul of the serf peasant, the “peasant,” for all his primitiveness and savagery, there was sometimes Christian gentleness and humble simplicity. The footman, at least a little in touch with lordly luxury, privileges, amusements, but unlike the rich master, is deprived of all this; and, in addition, never studied, well, at least like his master: “something and somehow”; such a lackey often became corrupted. The dark guy, having seen “sociality” and various “miracles”, St. Petersburg or even overseas, looks down on his former “class brothers” and for the sake of his own amusement will not spare anyone.
But let's return to Akulina and the valet.
“Why, Viktor Alexandrovich? I understood; I understood everything.
- Look, what!
Akulina looked down.
“You didn’t talk to me like that before, Viktor Alexandrovich,” she said without raising her eyes.
Before?..before! Look, you!.. Before! - he remarked, as if indignant.
They were both silent.
“But it’s time for me to go,” Victor said and was already leaning on his elbow...
“Wait a little more,” Akulina said in a pleading voice.
- What to expect? After all, I already said goodbye to you.
“Wait,” Akulina repeated... Her lips twitched, her pale cheeks faintly turned red...
“Viktor Alexandrych,” she finally spoke, in a broken voice: “it’s a sin for you... it’s a sin for you, Viktor Alexandrych...”
-What is sinful? - he asked, frowning his eyebrows...
- It’s a sin, Viktor Alexandrovich. At least they said a kind word to me when I said goodbye; at least say a word to me, poor orphan...
- What can I tell you?
- I don't know; you know this better, Viktor Alexandrovich. Here you go, and at least a word... What have I done to deserve it?
- How strange you are! Well I can!
- Just a word.
“Well, I loaded the same thing,” he said with annoyance and stood up.
“Don’t be angry, Viktor Alexandrovich,” she hastily added, barely holding back her tears.
- I’m not angry, but you’re stupid... What do you want? After all, I can’t marry you? Surely I can’t? Well, what do you want? What?..
“I don’t want anything... I don’t want anything,” she answered, stuttering and barely daring to stretch out her trembling hands to him: “but at least a word in parting...
And her tears flowed freely.
“Well, that’s right, I’m off to cry,” Victor said coolly, pulling his cap over his eyes from behind.
“I don’t want anything,” she continued, sobbing and covering her face with both hands: “but what is it like for me now in the family, what is it like for me?” And what will happen to me, what will happen to me, miserable one? They will give an orphan to a disgraceful one... My poor little head!
“Hurry up, chorus,” Victor muttered in a low voice, shifting in place.
- And he would at least say a word, at least one... They say, Akulina, they say, I...
Sudden, chest-wrenching sobs did not allow her to finish her speech - she fell face down on the grass and cried bitterly, bitterly... Her whole body was convulsively agitated... The grief that had been suppressed for a long time finally poured out in a torrent. Victor stood over her, stood there, shrugged, turned and walked away with long strides.
A few moments passed... She became quiet, raised her head, jumped up, looked around and clasped her hands; she wanted to run after him, but her legs gave way and she fell to her knees”...
The author of the “Notes” rushed to her, but as soon as she saw him, she “rose up with a weak cry and disappeared behind the trees, leaving scattered flowers on the ground.
I stood there, picked up a bunch of cornflowers and walked out of the grove into the field.”
Deprived of everything. Except youth, sweet untouched charm. Yes, and she sacrificed this to a random rogue. And he, too, is essentially deprived of everything, and is also morally crippled. A parrot, trustingly staring at “community”, “education” and so on.
And for her, he is not only her first love, but, perhaps, also the personification of unknown, distant “miracles”, “which you, stupid, cannot even imagine in your dreams”; he is from a dream, beautiful and inaccessible.
It's not just about unrequited love, it's also about social oppression.
“There was no more than half an hour left until evening, and the dawn was barely breaking. A gusty wind quickly rushed towards me through the yellow, dried stubble; hastily rising in front of him, small, warped leaves rushed past, across the road, along the edge of the forest;... through the gloomy, although fresh smile of fading nature, the sad fear of the near winter seemed to creep in.”

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I. S. Turgenev Freeloader First, a list of characters with detailed characteristics. Here are some of these faces and characteristics. Pavel Nikolaevich Eletsky, 32 years old. Petersburg official...
First, a list of characters with detailed characteristics. Here are some of these faces and characteristics. Pavel Nikolaevich Eletsky, 32 years old. Petersburg official, not stupid. The man is not evil...

The author of the story becomes an accidental witness to the farewell scene between the peasant girl Akulina and the master's servant Victor, whom she respectfully calls by his patronymic - Alexandrovich. The servant behaves boorishly with the girl who is in love with him, pretending to be a master. Tomorrow he must leave for the capital, and then abroad, where, of course, there is everything that Akulina never dreamed of, in his opinion. The girl suffers, regrets the time spent on this ungrateful man, this evokes the sympathy of the author, who even betrays his presence. The author picks up flowers forgotten by her and keeps them for a long time, feeling sorry for her and other girls deceived by their appearance and fairy tales of low people.

the main idea

The story shows a real, strong and noble feeling aimed at an unworthy person who failed to dispose of it, but mixed it with dirt. Akulina was waiting for only one thing kind words from a former friend, and he showed off, but at the same time was afraid of her sincere feelings.

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The story begins with a description of a girl. The hunter admired her - her beauty and health, harmony. A simple girl does not look simple. It can be seen that she is tensely waiting for someone, sorting through the collected flowers. She still hears steps, a voice... but there is no one who has become dearer to her than anyone else.

Finally he appears. And the author immediately sees that this is an unworthy person. The writer, showing the handsome and dapper appearance of the stranger, regrets that women often like “that kind.” Yes, and this dandy in a dress from the lord’s shoulder (with pretensions to style) behaves without a care. Apparently, he was late on purpose, he yawns, stretches, complains about the weather, and speaks in a mannered manner - “on the nose.” It is clear that this scoundrel deceived Akulina, considering her unworthy of himself. Victor also advises her to behave well! As a result, the girl burst into tears. Shrugging his shoulders, Victor left, and the writer rushed to console Akulina.

Ivan Turgenev - date. I. S. Turgenev. Notes of a hunter. Text of the work. Date Notes of a Hunter Turgenev date

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