КНІГІ ОНЛАЙН
Пошук сярод кніг, што прайшлі індэксацыю гуглам. Некаторыя кнігі гугл не знаходзіць
And then his lips again broke out into a smile. “A Queen! My Beauty! I have lived to see this, holy martyrs! Yanowskaya to her very finger-tips!!! Allow me, dear daughter, your little foot.” And this enormous bear, grunting, spread himself out on the floor and put his lips to the tip of her tiny slipper. Then he arose and began to laugh: “Well, my little daughter, with such capital you should sit as quiet as a mouse, otherwise somebody will steal you.” And he suddenly winked: “And why not recall the old days, the days of your childhood when we used to dance together? Give this old beaver one dance, and then let death come.” The white queen held out her hand to him. “Come on, my swans, my beauties!” Dubatowk shouted to the invalids. “In the beginning give us our ‘Light Breeze’ — two circles, and then from my place — you know which one, don’t you? — change to a mazurka!” And in a whisper he turned to me: “Our dances are good in all respects, but there just isn’t such a fiery one as the Polish mazurka. Only ‘Lyavonikha’ might dispute it, but to dance that there must be several pairs, and can these hags and snivellers dance it? For this you need ballet legs, like mine here.” And he burst out laughing. But I looked in fright at his legs that were like hams and thought: “What he will make of this good dance!” In the meantime everybody moved aside to clear the space for them. 1 heard a voice: “He, Dubatowk... will dance!” I did not leave this profanation, because I wished to see this forgotten dance about which I had heard more than once, and which, people said, had been widespread some 80 years ago. The enormous bulk that was Dubatowk straightened up, and took Yanowskaya by the limpid transparent wrist of her left hand. From the first notes of “Light Breeze” he kicked his heels, made a three-step with the right, anc. then with the left foot. This huge man moved with unexpected ease, at first kicking his heels after every three steps, and then simply on the tips of his toes. And at his side she floated, simply floated in the air, a golden, white and blue being, as if she were a bird-ofparadise, her veil soaring in the air. Then they whirled, floated, sometimes drawing together, sometimes drawing apart, sometimes crossing each other’s path. No, this was not a profanation, just as the dance of an old man, once a great dancer, but now grown heavy, is not a profanation. It was in the full sense of a light breeze changing gradually into a storm, and the veil was circling in the air, the feet flashing by... And suddenly the musicians started a mazurka. As a matter of fact it was not a mazurka but some kind of an ancient local variation of its theme, including in itself elements of the “Light Breeze”. And here the huge bulk rushed ahead, thundered with his heels, then began rising smoothly into the air, striking one foot against the other. And at his side she floated, light, and smiling and sublimely majestic. This was indeed a real miracle: two people dressed as in olden times, creating a fairy-tale before our very eyes. Having circled about, Dubatowk led Yanowskaya up to me. He was red as a lobster. “She has tired me out...” “But, Uncle, you are like a young man.” “Young, young! No, words won’t help... The horse’s riding days are over. Soon I’ll be sent off to drink my beer with our forefather Abraham. For you, young ones, life’s ahead! Sing your songs and dance your dances! Dance, young fellow!” The dancing was resumed. Svetilovich did not like to dance. Varona sulked and he, too, did not come over, and I was left to dance with Yanowskaya till supper-time. How she danced! Involuntarily I became lost in contemplation of this childish face, which had suddenly become so alive and pleasantly cunning. We danced and danced, and it was all not enough, we whirled about the hall, the walls circled in front of us, and it was impossible to see anything on them. She probably felt as I did, but my feeling can be compared only with the dreams which sometimes come to us in our youth: in your dream you are dancing and a mysterious happiness envelops your heart. I could see only her pink face and her head thrown back, as it lightly turned about in time with the music. We went to have supper. While leading her into the dining-room, it seemed to me I heard some hissing in a corner of the hall. I looked there and in the semi-darkness saw someone’s eyes — some old ladies were sitting there — and I walked on. And I distinctly heard somebody’s dry voice squeaking: “Making merry as if death were facing them! They have sinned, have angered God and can yet make merry... A cursed family... It does not matter, soon the Wild Hunt will come... Just look at her, shameless one, all evening with this stranger, this atheist. She has found herself a friend, she has. Never mind! I swear that King Stakh will rise against her, too. The dark nights are beginning.” These vile, icy words filled me with alarm. Now that I came to think of it, I would leave and perhaps deprive the girl of the possibility of getting married. Why am I spending the entire evening with her? What am I doing? I am not at all in love with her, and never will be, because I know my own heart. And I firmly decided not to dance with her any more or sit beside her at table. And anyway, I had to leave that place. Enough of the idyll of an aristocratic gentleman. Must be off as soon as possible to common people, back to work. I seated her and stood aside, intending to find Svetilovich and seat him with her. However, all my intentions went up in smoke. On entering the hall, Svetilovich immediately took a seat at the end of the table. And Dubatowk sat down beside the mistress at the right and growled at me: “Why are you standing? Sit down, my boy.” “A fine Polish gentleman you would have made some hundred years ago. Strong hands, eyes like steel. A handsome fellow. But I’m curious to know whether you are a serious person. Not a featherbrain, are you?” I had to sit next to the mistress, look after her, touching her hand with mine, at times touching her knee with mine. And it was a good feeling, but also I was very angry with Dubatowk. Sitting there gloomy as a dragon, looking at me searchingly, inquisitively. Could he be measuring me as the future husband of his ward? Very soon everybody became merry. The people ate a lot and drank even more. Their faces became red, witty jokes came thick and fast. And Dubatowk drank and ate more than anybody else, cracking jokes that made everybody hold themselves by their bellies. And gradually my anger passed. I was even grateful to Dubatowk that he had detained me here. Then there was dancing again, and only at about 5 o’clock in the morning did the guests begin to leave. Dubatowk was one of the last to leave. Passing by us, he came up closer and said in a hoarse voice: “Look here, young man, I invite you to come the day after tomorrow to a bachelor’s party. And how about you, daughter? Perhaps you, too, will come to us and spend some time with my step-daughter?” “No, thank you, Uncle dear. I’ll remain at home.” Her guardian sighed: “You’re ruining yourself, daughter. Well, all right.” And turning towards me, he continued: “I shall be waiting for you. Look at my hut. I don’t have any of these outlandish foreign things, your visit should be interesting for you.” We took leave of him, and I parted heartily with Svetilovich. The house became empty, the steps quieted down, again everything there became silent, probobly for the next 18 years. The servants walked about putting out the candles. The mistress disappeared, but when I entered the hall I saw her in her fairy-tale attire at the blazing fireplace. The corners of the hall were again in darkness, though music and laughter still seemed to be resounding there. The house was again living its usual life, a dark, dismal and depressing one. I came up closer to her and suddenly saw a pale face in which the last traces of joy had died out. The wind was howling in the chimney. “Mr. Belaretzky,” she said. “How quiet it is. I’ve lost the habit for all this. Come, let’s have one more waltz, before forever...” Her voice broke off. I put my hand on her waist, and we floated along the floor in time with the music that was still ringing in our ears. The shuffling of our feet sounded hollow beneath the ceiling. For some reason or other I felt terrible, as if I were present at a funeral, but she was experiencing all over again the events of the entire evening. Her veil flew round and about, the flames of the blazing fireplace falling on us were reflected in her dress, its colour changing to sky-blue when we moved away from the fireplace. This attire of olden times, this veil touching my face from time to time, this waist in my hand and these thoughtful eyes, I shall probably never forget. And suddenly, for one instant, her forehead touched my shoulder. “That’s all. I cannot continue, not anymore. Enough! Thank you... for everything!” And that was really all. She went to her room, and I stood watching the little figure in its attire of olden times walking down the hall, becoming lost in the darkness, her ancestors looking down from the walls. I forgot that night to put out the candle on the little table at the window; as I lay in bed, a bed as large as a field, and was almost asleep, footsteps along the corridor broke into my drowsiness. Knowing that were I to look out, I should again see nobody, I lay calmly. I felt drowsy again, but suddenly started. Through the window-pane the face of a human being was looking at me. He was very small (I could see him almost down to his belt, dressed in a caftan with a waist girdle round it, and with a wide collar). It was a man, but there was in him something inhuman. His little head was compressed at the sides and unnaturally drawn out in length, his hair was long and thinned and was hanging down. But the most surprising thing about this Little Man was his face. It was as green as his clothes, his mouth big and toothless, his nose small, while the lower eyelids were excessively large, like a frog’s. I compared him to a monkey, but he looked more like a real frog. And his eyes, wide and dark, looked at me in stupid anger. Then an unnaturally long green hand appeared. The being groaned a hollow groan, and that saved me from freezing with fear. I rushed to the window, stared through the window, but there was no Little Man there. He had disappeared.