Alexander Nikolaevich Ostrovsky.

Late love

ACT ONE

FACES:

Felitsata Antonovna Shablova, owner of a small wooden house.

Gerasim Porfiryich Margaritov, lawyer from retired officials, an old man of handsome appearance.

Lyudmila, his daughter, a middle-aged girl. All her movements are modest and slow, she is dressed very cleanly, but without pretensions..

Dormedont, younger son Shablova, as a clerk for Margaritov.

Onufriy Potapych Dorodnov, middle aged merchant.

A poor, darkened room in Shablova’s house. On the right side (away from the audience) are two narrow single-door doors: the closest one is to Lyudmila’s room, and the next one is to Shablova’s room; between the doors there is a tiled mirror of a Dutch oven with a firebox. In the back wall, to the right corner, is the door to Margaritov’s room; on the left is an open door to a dark hallway, in which you can see the beginning of the stairs leading to the mezzanine, where Shablova’s sons are housed. Between the doors is an antique chest of drawers with a glass cabinet for dishes. On the left side there are two small windows, in the wall between them there is an old mirror, on the sides of which there are two dim pictures in paper frames; under the mirror there is a large table of simple wood. Prefabricated furniture: chairs different types and sizes; With right side, closer to the proscenium, an old half-torn Voltaire chair. Autumn twilight, the room is dark.

SCENE ONE

Lyudmila leaves her room, listens and goes to the window.

Then Shablova leaves her room.

Shablova (without seeing Lyudmila). As if someone had knocked on a gate. No, it was my imagination. I have really pricked up my ears. What a weather! In a light coat now... oh-oh! Is my dear son walking somewhere? Oh, children, children - woe is mother! Here is Vaska, what a wandering cat, but he came home.

Lyudmila. Have you come?...Have you really come?

Shablova. Ah, Lyudmila Gerasimovna! I don’t even see you, I’m standing here and fantasizing among myself...

Lyudmila. Are you saying he has arrived?

Shablova. Who are you waiting for?

Lyudmila. I? I'm nobody. I just heard you say “he came.”

Shablova. This is me expressing my thoughts here; It’s going to boil in my head, you know... The weather, they say, is such that even my Vaska came home. He sat down on the bed and purred like that, even choking; I really want to tell him that I’m home, don’t worry. Well, of course, he warmed himself up, ate, and left again. It's a man's business, you can't keep it at home. Yes, here is a beast, and even he understands that he needs to go home - to see how it is supposed to be there; and my son Nikolenka has been missing for days.

Lyudmila. How do you know what's going on with him?

Shablova. Who would know if not me! He doesn’t have any business, he’s just busy.

Lyudmila. He is a lawyer.

Shablova. What abbreviation! There was a time, but it has passed.

Lyudmila. He is busy with some lady's business.

Shablova. Why, mother, lady! Ladies are different. Just wait, I'll tell you everything. He studied well with me and completed his university course; and, as luck would have it, these new courts have started here! He signed up as a lawyer - things went, and went, and went, raking in money with a shovel. From the very fact that he entered the moneyed merchant circle. You know, to live with wolves, howl like a wolf, and he began this very merchant life, that day in a tavern, and night in a club or wherever. Of course: pleasure; he's a hot man. Well, what do they need? Their pockets are thick. And he reigned and reigned, but things went between hands, and he was lazy; and there are countless lawyers here. No matter how much he got confused there, he still spent the money; I lost the acquaintance and again returned to the same poor situation: to my mother, which means that the sterlet fish soup was used for empty cabbage soup. He got into the habit of going to taverns - he had nothing to go to the good ones, so he started hanging around the bad ones. Seeing him in such decline, I began to find him something to do. I want to take him to a lady I know, but he is shy.

Lyudmila. He must be timid in character.

Shablova. Come on, mother, what a character!

Lyudmila. Yes, there are people of a timid character.

Shablova. Come on, what a character! Does a poor person have character? What other character have you found?

Lyudmila. So what?

Shablova. The poor man has character too! Wonderful, really! The dress is not good, that's all. If a person has no clothes, that’s a timid character; How can he have a pleasant conversation, but he must look around himself to see if there is a flaw somewhere. Take it from us women: why nice lady Does he have a loose conversation in company? Because everything on it is in order: one is fitted to the other, one is neither shorter nor longer than the other, the color is matched to the color, the pattern is matched to the pattern. This is where her soul grows. But our brother is in trouble in high company; It seems better to fall through the ground! It hangs here, briefly here, in another place like a bag, sinuses everywhere. They look at you like you're crazy. Therefore, it is not madams who sew for us, but we ourselves are self-taught; not according to magazines, but as it had to, on a damn wedge. It was also not the Frenchman who sewed for his son, but Vershkokhvatov from behind the Dragomilovskaya outpost. So he thinks about the tailcoat for a year, walks, walks around the cloth, cuts and cuts it; he’ll cut it on one side or the other—well, he’ll cut out a sack, not a tailcoat. But before, too, how money was there, Nikolai was dandy; Well, it’s wild for him in such and such disgrace. I finally persuaded him, and I wasn’t happy either; He’s a proud man, he didn’t want to be worse than others, that’s why she’s a dandy from morning to night, and he ordered a good dress from a dear German on credit.

Lyudmila. Is she young?

Shablova. It's time for a woman. That's the problem. If it were an old woman, she would pay the money.

Lyudmila. And what about her?

Shablova. Woman is light, spoiled, hopes for her beauty. There are always young people around her - she’s used to everyone pleasing her. Another will even consider it a pleasure to serve.

Lyudmila. So he bothers for nothing for her?

Shablova. It cannot be said that it was completely free. Yes, perhaps he would, but I’ve already taken a hundred and a half out of her. So all the money that I took from her for it, I gave it all to the tailor, and here’s your profit! In addition, judge for yourself, every time you go to her, he takes a cab from the stock exchange and keeps him there for half a day. It's worth something! And what does it beat from? Divi... The wind is all in my head.

Lyudmila. Maybe he likes her?

Shablova. But it’s a disgrace for a poor man to court a rich woman and even spend money himself. Well, where should he go: there are such colonels and guardsmen there that you really can’t find words. You look at him and just say: oh, my God! Tea, they’re laughing at ours, and look, she’s laughing too. Therefore, judge for yourself: a sort of colonel will roll up to the porch on a couple with a harness, rattle a spur or saber in front, glance in passing, over his shoulder, in the mirror, shake his head and straight into her living room. Well, but she is a woman, a weak creature, a meager vessel, she will look at him with her eyes, well, as if she’s boiled and done. Where is it?

When we arrive?

Abby felt like she had heard this question for the hundredth time. She turned the steering wheel and took a deep breath before answering her son.

In three days we’ll be at grandma’s,” she squeezed out, passing another huge truck ahead.

“I’m not talking about grandma’s house,” the boy objected. - And about the motel. When will we finally get there and be able to swim?

Bathe! Cass yelled from the back seat. - Want to swim.

Abby looked in the rearview mirror at the cheeky five-year-old girl smiling from ear to ear.

Soon, honey. As soon as we get some rest.

“You said we’d take a swim after lunch,” Matt reminded her. At eight years old, he often acted like an adult.

I meant evening. We only had lunch twenty minutes ago. We have to travel another two hundred miles today, or we'll never get to grandma's. Why don't you want to sleep?

He started leafing through his star Wars».

Let the little ones sleep.

“I’m not little,” Cass said. Her shrill voice could wake up every baby in Wyoming. - This is little Chrissy.

Thank God Chrissie slept like the dead. Abby hoped that the baby would sleep in her chair for a couple more hours. The second half of the day was the most difficult period: the children were tired of being stuck in the van all the time, Abby's shoulders were stiff from sitting for a long time behind the wheel and her eyes were starting to water. She lost her sunglasses somewhere in Nebraska.

“Nobody calls you little,” Abby replied. - Look out the window. Maybe you'll see a cow or a windmill.

Cows and windmills at least somehow diversified the desert area. On both sides of the highway stretched an endless plain, occasionally crossed by roads leading to small towns like Wheatland or Glenrock. A map of the western states lay on the floor between the seats, but Wyoming was stained with ketchup spilled by Matt during lunch, and Abby had no idea how many miles were left to the border. Washington State and Grandma seemed out of reach.

Let’s arrange a “quiet hour,” she suggested in a stern voice. You can read, color pictures or play with toys, but only silently, so as not to distract me from the road.

Can you wave to truck drivers? - Matt asked hopefully. Some drivers honked at the sight of children waving their arms.

Not until Chrissy wakes up.

The boy sighed.

Then I'll read it.

Great idea. Abby looked at Cass. Her little eyes were starting to close together. In silence, she will soon fall asleep.

Abby couldn't wait for this day to end. If they're lucky, they'll check into a motel by four o'clock, order pizza by five, and go to bed by eight. “Wyoming,” she thought, “this is some kind of hell.”

* * *

And without any,” Jed announced, saddling his beloved mare. - You're still too young.

“You’re wrong, Uncle Jed,” the young man answered stubbornly. - I'm already an adult. I've just finished school a year ago and I'm doing it here men's work.

Jed looked at his nephew, holding back his anger.

That's right, you're the man, Ty. A young man. A man who has not yet learned to think for himself.

There's nothing wrong with my head.

Yes, except for the fact that the wind is blowing through it. You don't want to get into trouble with the Jensens. They are nothing but trouble. - He tightened the girth and patted the mare on the neck. - This girl is making ropes out of you, son. So don't flap your ears. You are too young to get married, too young to take on such responsibility. Live for yourself.

You underestimate me. And Trisha too.

Jed glanced at his nephew. He was tall and slender, with the dark hair and brown eyes that had been passed down through the Monroe family for generations. From his father he inherited stubbornness, smiling and balanced character.

You don't know anything about women.

And do you know? - the boy snapped. - Where?

This doesn't concern you. - Jed turned to the mare, hoping that Ty would be smart enough to get down to business. - You have a job, so do it. We also need to check the fence in the southwestern pasture and make sure that everything is in order with irrigation there.

The guy sighed.

Do you want me to do this right now?

Wonderful.

Will you be back for dinner?

Will try.

Jed jumped into the saddle and watched Ty as he walked across the yard towards the house. The stupid boy puts his head in the noose himself. Trisha and Ty had been friends since childhood, although their parents, God knows why, were always at odds. Nineteen years old - no best age for marriage, but Ty cannot be convinced. At least he's got a stake on his head.

Jed watched the young man climb into the truck with his eyebrows knitted together. Ty is looking for trouble, but Jed will do everything he can to protect him from bitter disappointment.

He turned and galloped into the western pasture. This summer is unlikely to be easy.

* * *

What smells? - Matt wrinkled his nose and clicked the air conditioner knob.

It's not working, honey. Open the window.

Terrible stench.

A strange smell was coming from under the dashboard. Abby glanced in the rearview mirror, pulled over to the side of the road, turned off the engine, and pulled the hood release handle. Isn't there smoke coming from there?

Abby told herself it was just dust. Her van can't break down in this godforsaken wilderness. Some time ago she pulled off the highway to wash up and eat some ice cream. And, it seems, she took a wrong turn somewhere, returning to the highway. The dirt road with wormwood growing on the side was completely empty. From strong wind Abby's mouth filled with dust and her eyes watered. The June sun burned mercilessly.

What happened, mom? - asked Cass. - Where are you going?

Check the engine. - A very optimistic statement. Abby could stare at him all day and still wouldn't understand anything. She only knew that smoke was a very bad sign. It's better not to lift the hood to avoid getting burned.

She straightened up and brushed her hair out of her face. Naturally, something broke. In the last year and a half, everything has been going wrong. Why should this time be different?

Matt leaned out of the window.

But can we get to grandma's?

“Of course,” Abby replied, lowering her hands. It could be worse, she reminded herself. An accident, for example. Or the illness of one of the children.

Good question. Do you have a map? - Abby felt like her life was falling apart like a house of cards. One trouble follows another.

Be careful not to step on the snake. - Matt handed her the card through the window.

Abby looked around and scaredly ducked into the passenger seat of the van.

1

Alexander Nikolaevich Ostrovsky.

Late love

ACT ONE

FACES:

Felitsata Antonovna Shablova, owner of a small wooden house.

Gerasim Porfiryich Margaritov, lawyer from retired officials, an old man of handsome appearance.

Lyudmila, his daughter, a middle-aged girl. All her movements are modest and slow, she is dressed very cleanly, but without pretensions..

Dormedont, Shablova's youngest son, Margaritov's clerk.

Onufriy Potapych Dorodnov, middle aged merchant.

A poor, darkened room in Shablova’s house. On the right side (away from the audience) are two narrow single-door doors: the closest one is to Lyudmila’s room, and the next one is to Shablova’s room; between the doors there is a tiled mirror of a Dutch oven with a firebox. In the back wall, to the right corner, is the door to Margaritov’s room; on the left is an open door to a dark hallway, in which you can see the beginning of the stairs leading to the mezzanine, where Shablova’s sons are housed. Between the doors is an antique chest of drawers with a glass cabinet for dishes. On the left side there are two small windows, in the wall between them there is an old mirror, on the sides of which there are two dim pictures in paper frames; under the mirror there is a large table of simple wood. Prefabricated furniture: chairs of different types and sizes; on the right side, closer to the proscenium, there is an old half-torn Voltaire chair. Autumn twilight, the room is dark.

SCENE ONE

Lyudmila leaves her room, listens and goes to the window.

Then Shablova leaves her room.

Shablova(without seeing Lyudmila). As if someone had knocked on a gate. No, it was my imagination. I have really pricked up my ears. What a weather! In a light coat now... oh-oh! Is my dear son walking somewhere? Oh, children, children - woe is mother! Here is Vaska, what a wandering cat, but he came home.

Lyudmila. Have you come?...Have you really come?

Shablova. Ah, Lyudmila Gerasimovna! I don’t even see you, I’m standing here and fantasizing among myself...

Lyudmila. Are you saying he has arrived?

Shablova. Who are you waiting for?

Lyudmila. I? I'm nobody. I just heard you say “he came.”

Shablova. This is me expressing my thoughts here; It’s going to boil in my head, you know... The weather, they say, is such that even my Vaska came home. He sat down on the bed and purred like that, even choking; I really want to tell him that I’m home, don’t worry. Well, of course, he warmed himself up, ate, and left again. It's a man's business, you can't keep it at home. Yes, here is a beast, and even he understands that he needs to go home - to see how it is supposed to be there; and my son Nikolenka has been missing for days.

Lyudmila. How do you know what's going on with him?

Shablova. Who would know if not me! He doesn’t have any business, he’s just busy.

Lyudmila. He is a lawyer.

Shablova. What abbreviation! There was a time, but it has passed.

Lyudmila. He is busy with some lady's business.

Shablova. Why, mother, lady! Ladies are different. Just wait, I'll tell you everything. He studied well with me and completed his university course; and, as luck would have it, these new courts have started here! He signed up as a lawyer - things went, and went, and went, raking in money with a shovel. From the very fact that he entered the moneyed merchant circle. You know, to live with wolves, howl like a wolf, and he began this very merchant life, that day in a tavern, and night in a club or wherever. Of course: pleasure; he's a hot man. Well, what do they need? Their pockets are thick. And he reigned and reigned, but things went between hands, and he was lazy; and there are countless lawyers here. No matter how much he got confused there, he still spent the money; I lost the acquaintance and again returned to the same poor situation: to my mother, which means that the sterlet fish soup was used for empty cabbage soup. He got into the habit of going to taverns - he had nothing to go to the good ones, so he started hanging around the bad ones. Seeing him in such decline, I began to find him something to do. I want to take him to a lady I know, but he is shy.

Svetlana Stepanovna Chistyakova

Late love

...Maxim Sergeevich Kazantsev, president of a large Moscow bank and shareholder of the QUIN STYL company, stood on the deck of the cruise ship Rus and looked at the water. Recently, Maxim turned thirty-seven and, having decided to unwind and relax a little, he bought himself a tour to St. Petersburg. What prompted him to go in this direction, he himself could not clearly explain to himself. He could have gone anywhere, but looking at the price list of the travel agency, he chose this particular trip.

His younger brother, Kirill, having learned where Maxim was going, asked in bewilderment:

Why exactly to St. Petersburg, Max? Is there nowhere else to relax? What did you forget there?

Kira, leave me alone! I just liked this route. I want to unwind, relax, admire the beauty of the Russian north! Just imagine - Valaam, Kizhi..! Believe me, there are a lot of beautiful places in Russia!

Kirill sighed sadly and looked at his brother.

Recently, Maxim divorced his third wife. Fortune seemed to laugh at this handsome, impressive man. Having showered him with incredible luck and success in business by the full handful, she took away his ability to love. He was married three times, but he was never able to truly love any of his wives. Love replaced passion for him. As soon as the attraction passed, he immediately got divorced. Unlike his younger brother, Maxim took this issue seriously and married all his women. Kirill, on the other hand, was considered a total womanizer and red tape. A lot of women have been in his bed. Maxim was always annoyed by this and he constantly scolded his brother for his promiscuity. But two years ago everything changed dramatically. Kazantsev Jr. fell in love with a girl from the provinces. Maxim, immersed in business, at first did not pay attention to this, but when his brother announced to him about the imminent wedding, he became furious.

He yelled at Kirill that he was disgracing the family, that he would never allow such a misalliance, that if his mother found out, she would be struck. But Casanova did not want to listen to anything. He kept repeating as usual that he loved his chosen one and did not care about the opinions of his relatives. Waving his hand, Maxim resigned himself, and after getting to know Anechka, Kirill’s wife, he even fell in love with her as a sister. He simply idolized little Andryusha, his nephew. Max did not have any children of his own.

He would never have divorced if at least one of his wives had given him a child. But, unfortunately, all his girlfriends were busy only with themselves and no children were included in their plans. Max was already beginning to fear that it was him, and secretly went to the doctor, but the doctor assured him that everything was fine with him.

“This happens,” said Maxim old doctor, is simply physiological incompatibility.

But why? - asked Max. - I still understand if it’s with one woman. But I already have a third wife! And, to be honest, there were also affairs on the side, but none of my women ever conceived a child from me.

The old doctor scratched the back of his head and looked thoughtfully at the man and asked:

Tell me, did you love these women?

Max mumbled something vaguely.

“Wow,” the doctor said thoughtfully. A desired child must be born in love! But in your case, this does not happen.

Nonsense! In Russia, all orphanages are overcrowded with abandoned children! Do you think they were all conceived in love?!

This is completely different.

Didn't understand. Explain! - Maxim demanded.

And look at yourself in the mirror. You are amazing handsome man! You are smart, talented, rich. You have position, power. You are the elite of Russia. Her gene pool. At one time, the Bolsheviks destroyed the color Russian nation. They put the best military leaders against the wall, rotted in the camps of scientists, forced people who had been the Russian aristocracy for centuries to go abroad. For seventy years, Russia was on its knees. She was first in the clutches of a crazy dictator, who thus decided to avenge the death of his brother, and then he was completely replaced by a bloody sadist. Well, then... Yes, what can I say, you yourself know everything perfectly well.

It's time to correct the mistakes. Smart and beautiful children must be born so that the Russian nation does not disappear from the face of the earth, so that Russia does not become an appendage of some Asian country, where the inhabitants breed like rabbits. And such children can only be born in love!

Having finished his speech, the doctor fell silent.

Do you think I should find a woman I love and she will give birth to my child? - asked Maxim.

Exactly,” the doctor said affirmatively.

But I'm thirty-five years old! It’s a little late to look for love, don’t you think?

Nonsense! You're in your prime male power. You know that according to research by gerontologists, humanity has become at least ten years younger. And if, a hundred years ago, you would have actually been considered a fairly mature person, now, your physiological age corresponds to a twenty-five-year-old man. This is a scientifically proven fact. If you don't believe me, I can recommend this article.

Thank you. I believe you.

Well then, good luck to you! Cherche la femme, as the French say.

So, Maxim Kazantsev stood on the deck of the liner looking at clear water and recalled a conversation with a doctor that took place two years ago. From that moment on, nothing happened, except that Max Once again divorced. The man honestly tried to find a woman who would touch his soul and heart, but not a single one aroused even a spark of love in him. Desire, yes, but not love. Having given up on everything and deciding that it was not fate, Maxim gave up on these nonsense and plunged headlong into work...

... Turning his head, Max noticed that a short, slender woman with shoulder-length black hair had come out onto the deck. Dressed very simply: a pink summer blouse, a white linen skirt and white sandals with small heels. Chiseled, intelligent facial features, graceful cheekbones, steep arched eyebrows, long fluffy eyelashes and huge Brown eyes with bluish whites. Like Nefertiti. Black, smooth, iridescent sunlight her hair fell beautifully onto her shoulders. A pink blouse made of crinkled chintz that showed off her figure well - thin waist, high breasts, purely symbolically supported by a lace bra that matches the blouse. Short White skirt, generously revealed the woman’s slender, golden-tanned legs. The beautiful brunette walked over to a nearby chaise lounge, sat down and began reading the book she had brought with her.

Maxim seemed to have been electrocuted. He could have sworn that he had seen this woman somewhere before. Or she looked incredibly similar to someone. But, to whom?! Damn, where could he have seen her?! Forgetting about decency, Maxim Sergeevich unceremoniously examined the woman.

Tatyana bought a tour to St. Petersburg to get a little distraction. The difficult divorce from her husband took a lot of strength from her. Just recently, Tanechka was absolutely happy. She had a handsome husband and a job she loved. And suddenly everything collapsed. Everything turned out like in the old joke. “The husband arrives from a business trip and...” Only instead of the husband there was a wife, and instead of the mistress... a man. Until now, Tanya could not forget the picture that opened before her eyes! Two muscular male body, entwined in love ecstasy... Her husband cheated on her, and with a man. Tatyana, proud by nature, could not forgive this. Of course, she didn’t make scenes in the style of neighbor Kuzya Rossomakhin’s wife, with snot smeared on her cheeks, screaming at the entire entrance and breaking dishes. She simply packed her things and went to her mother, filing for divorce herself. Alexander didn’t even try to make excuses. In principle, everything was going that way. Tanya had long noticed some oddities in her husband, especially when a young, handsome doctor with manners reminiscent of a woman came to work with them, but she thought that she was just imagining it. After all, she lived in marriage with Sasha for ten years. Of course, in intimate matters, not everything was smooth, but they worked a lot, were very tired, and Tanya considered it quite natural that her husband refused to make love. The only thing that upset the young woman was the lack of children. A career is a career, but I really wanted a child. And her husband constantly put it off until a later date. As a result, Tanya was left with nothing but a feeling of disgust and resentment towards this traitor. And the point is not even that Sasha turned out to be a hidden gay, but that for many years he brazenly deceived her, hiding behind her as a shield so that no one would know about his preferences.

Felitsata Antonovna Shablova, owner of a small wooden house.

Gerasim Porfiryich Margaritov, lawyer from retired officials, an old man of handsome appearance.

Lyudmila, his daughter, a middle-aged girl. All her movements are modest and slow, she is dressed very cleanly, but without pretensions..

Dormedont, Shablova's youngest son, Margaritov's clerk.

Onufriy Potapych Dorodnov, middle aged merchant.

A poor, darkened room in Shablova’s house. On the right side (away from the audience) are two narrow single-door doors: the closest one is to Lyudmila’s room, and the next one is to Shablova’s room; between the doors there is a tiled mirror of a Dutch oven with a firebox. In the back wall, to the right corner, is the door to Margaritov’s room; on the left is an open door to a dark hallway, in which you can see the beginning of the stairs leading to the mezzanine, where Shablova’s sons are housed. Between the doors is an antique chest of drawers with a glass cabinet for dishes. On the left side there are two small windows, in the wall between them there is an old mirror, on the sides of which there are two dim pictures in paper frames; under the mirror there is a large table of simple wood. Prefabricated furniture: chairs of different types and sizes; on the right side, closer to the proscenium, there is an old half-torn Voltaire chair. Autumn twilight, the room is dark.

SCENE ONE

Lyudmila leaves her room, listens and goes to the window.

Then Shablova leaves her room.

Shablova (without seeing Lyudmila). As if someone had knocked on a gate. No, it was my imagination. I have really pricked up my ears. What a weather! In a light coat now... oh-oh! Is my dear son walking somewhere? Oh, children, children - woe is mother! Here is Vaska, what a wandering cat, but he came home.

Lyudmila. Have you come?...Have you really come?

Shablova. Ah, Lyudmila Gerasimovna! I don’t even see you, I’m standing here and fantasizing among myself...

Lyudmila. Are you saying he has arrived?

Shablova. Who are you waiting for?

Lyudmila. I? I'm nobody. I just heard you say “he came.”

Shablova. This is me expressing my thoughts here; It’s going to boil in my head, you know... The weather, they say, is such that even my Vaska came home. He sat down on the bed and purred like that, even choking; I really want to tell him that I’m home, don’t worry. Well, of course, he warmed himself up, ate, and left again. It's a man's business, you can't keep it at home. Yes, here is a beast, and even he understands that he needs to go home - to see how it is supposed to be there; and my son Nikolenka has been missing for days.

Lyudmila. How do you know what's going on with him?

Shablova. Who would know if not me! He doesn’t have any business, he’s just busy.

Lyudmila. He is a lawyer.

Shablova. What abbreviation! There was a time, but it has passed.

Lyudmila. He is busy with some lady's business.

Shablova. Why, mother, lady! Ladies are different. Just wait, I'll tell you everything. He studied well with me and completed his university course; and, as luck would have it, these new courts have started here! He signed up as a lawyer - things went, and went, and went, raking in money with a shovel. From the very fact that he entered the moneyed merchant circle. You know, to live with wolves, howl like a wolf, and he began this very merchant life, that day in a tavern, and night in a club or wherever. Of course: pleasure; he's a hot man. Well, what do they need? Their pockets are thick. And he reigned and reigned, but things went between hands, and he was lazy; and there are countless lawyers here. No matter how much he got confused there, he still spent the money; I lost the acquaintance and again returned to the same poor situation: to my mother, which means that the sterlet fish soup was used for empty cabbage soup. He got into the habit of going to taverns - he had nothing to go to the good ones, so he started hanging around the bad ones. Seeing him in such decline, I began to find him something to do. I want to take him to a lady I know, but he is shy.

Lyudmila. He must be timid in character.

Shablova. Come on, mother, what a character!

Lyudmila. Yes, there are people of a timid character.

Shablova. Come on, what a character! Does a poor person have character? What other character have you found?

Lyudmila. So what?

Shablova. The poor man has character too! Wonderful, really! The dress is not good, that's all. If a person has no clothes, that’s a timid character; How can he have a pleasant conversation, but he must look around himself to see if there is a flaw somewhere. Take it from us women: why does a good lady have a cheeky conversation in company? Because everything on it is in order: one is fitted to the other, one is neither shorter nor longer than the other, the color is matched to the color, the pattern is matched to the pattern. This is where her soul grows. But our brother is in trouble in high company; It seems better to fall through the ground! It hangs here, briefly here, in another place like a bag, sinuses everywhere. They look at you like you're crazy. Therefore, it is not madams who sew for us, but we ourselves are self-taught; not according to magazines, but as it had to, on a damn wedge. It was also not the Frenchman who sewed for his son, but Vershkokhvatov from behind the Dragomilovskaya outpost. So he thinks about the tailcoat for a year, walks, walks around the cloth, cuts and cuts it; he’ll cut it on one side or the other—well, he’ll cut out a sack, not a tailcoat. But before, too, how money was there, Nikolai was dandy; Well, it’s wild for him in such and such disgrace. I finally persuaded him, and I wasn’t happy either; He’s a proud man, he didn’t want to be worse than others, that’s why she’s a dandy from morning to night, and he ordered a good dress from a dear German on credit.

Lyudmila. Is she young?

Shablova. It's time for a woman. That's the problem. If it were an old woman, she would pay the money.

Lyudmila. And what about her?

Shablova. The woman is light, spoiled, and relies on her beauty. There are always young people around her - she’s used to everyone pleasing her. Another will even consider it a pleasure to serve.

Lyudmila. So he bothers for nothing for her?

Shablova. It cannot be said that it was completely free. Yes, perhaps he would, but I’ve already taken a hundred and a half out of her. So all the money that I took from her for it, I gave it all to the tailor, and here’s your profit! In addition, judge for yourself, every time you go to her, he takes a cab from the stock exchange and keeps him there for half a day. It's worth something! And what does it beat from? Divi... The wind is all in my head.

Lyudmila. Maybe he likes her?

Shablova. But it’s a disgrace for a poor man to court a rich woman and even spend money himself. Well, where should he go: there are such colonels and guardsmen there that you really can’t find words. You look at him and just say: oh, my God! Tea, they’re laughing at ours, and look, she’s laughing too. Therefore, judge for yourself: a sort of colonel will roll up to the porch on a couple with a harness, rattle a spur or saber in front, glance in passing, over his shoulder, in the mirror, shake his head and straight into her living room. Well, but she is a woman, a weak creature, a meager vessel, she will look at him with her eyes, well, as if she’s boiled and done. Where is it?

Lyudmila. So that's what she is like!

Shablova. She only looks like a great lady, but when you look closer, she is quite cowardly. She gets entangled in debts and cupids, so she sends for me to tell her fortunes with cards. You talk and talk to her, but she cries and laughs like a little child.

Lyudmila. How strange! Is it really possible to like such a woman?

Shablova. But Nikolai is proud; I got it into my head that I’ll conquer it, so I’m tormented. Or maybe he was out of pity; therefore it is impossible not to feel sorry for her, poor thing. Her husband was just as confused; They ran around and made debts, they didn’t tell each other. But my husband died, and I had to pay. Yes, if you use your mind, you can still live like this; otherwise she will get confused, dear, head over heels. They say she started giving bills in vain, she signs without knowing what. And what kind of condition it was, if only it were in hand. Why are you in the dark?