A. I. Kuprin

Garnet bracelet

L. van Beethoven. 2 Son. (op. 2, no. 2).

Largo Appassionato

In mid-August, before the birth of the new month, disgusting weather suddenly set in, such as is so typical of the northern coast of the Black Sea. Then for whole days a thick fog lay heavily over the land and sea, and then the huge siren at the lighthouse roared day and night, like a mad bull. From morning to morning there was a continuous rain, fine as water dust, turning the clay roads and paths into solid thick mud, in which carts and carriages got stuck for a long time. Then a fierce hurricane blew from the northwest, from the direction of the steppe; from it the tops of the trees swayed, bending and straightening up, like waves in a storm, the iron roofs of the dachas rattled at night, it seemed as if someone was running on them in shod boots, window frames trembled, doors slammed, and there was a wild howl in the chimneys. Several fishing boats got lost at sea, and two never returned: only a week later the corpses of fishermen were thrown up in different places on the shore.

The inhabitants of the suburban seaside resort - mostly Greeks and Jews, life-loving and suspicious, like all southerners - hastily moved to the city. Along the softened highway, drays stretched endlessly, overloaded with all sorts of household items: mattresses, sofas, chests, chairs, washbasins, samovars. It was pitiful, sad, and disgusting to look through the muddy muslin of the rain at this pitiful belongings, which seemed so worn out, dirty and miserable; at the maids and cooks sitting on top of the cart on a wet tarpaulin with some irons, tins and baskets in their hands, at the sweaty, exhausted horses, which stopped every now and then, trembling at the knees, smoking and often skidding on their sides, at the hoarsely cursing tramps, wrapped from the rain in matting. It was even sadder to see abandoned dachas with their sudden spaciousness, emptiness and bareness, with mutilated flowerbeds, broken glass, abandoned dogs and all sorts of dacha rubbish from cigarette butts, pieces of paper, shards, boxes and apothecary bottles.

But by the beginning of September the weather suddenly changed dramatically and completely unexpectedly. Quiet, cloudless days immediately arrived, so clear, sunny and warm, which were not there even in July. On the dried, compressed fields, on their prickly yellow stubble, an autumn cobweb glistened with a mica sheen. The calmed trees silently and obediently dropped their yellow leaves.

Princess Vera Nikolaevna Sheina, the wife of the leader of the nobility, could not leave the dacha because the renovations in their city house had not yet been completed. And now she was very happy about the wonderful days that had come, the silence, solitude, clean air, the chirping of the swallows on the telegraph wires as they flocked to take off, and the gentle salty breeze blowing weakly from the sea.

In addition, today was her name day - September 17th. According to the sweet, distant memories of her childhood, she always loved this day and always expected something happily wonderful from it. Her husband, leaving in the morning on urgent business in the city, put a case with beautiful earrings made of pear-shaped pearls on her night table, and this gift amused her even more.

She was alone in the whole house. Her single brother Nikolai, a fellow prosecutor, who usually lived with them, also went to the city, to court. For dinner, my husband promised to bring a few and only his closest acquaintances. It turned out well that the name day coincided with summer time. In the city, one would have to spend money on a big ceremonial dinner, perhaps even a ball, but here, at the dacha, one could get by with the smallest expenses. Prince Shein, despite his prominent position in society, and perhaps thanks to it, barely made ends meet. The huge family estate was almost completely destroyed by his ancestors, and he had to live beyond his means: to host parties, do charity work, dress well, keep horses, etc. Princess Vera, whose former passionate love for her husband had long since turned into a feeling of strong, faithful, true friendship, tried with all her might to help the prince refrain from complete ruin. She denied herself many things, unnoticed by him, and saved as much as possible in the household.

Now she walked around the garden and carefully cut flowers with scissors for the dinner table. The flower beds were empty and looked disorganized. Multi-colored double carnations were blooming, as well as gillyflower - half in flowers, and half in thin green pods that smelled like cabbage; the rose bushes were still producing - for the third time this summer - buds and roses, but already shredded, sparse, as if degenerate. But dahlias, peonies and asters bloomed magnificently with their cold, arrogant beauty, spreading an autumnal, grassy, ​​sad smell in the sensitive air. The remaining flowers, after their luxurious love and excessively abundant summer motherhood, quietly sprinkled countless seeds of future life onto the ground.

Close by on the highway the familiar sounds of a three-ton car horn were heard. It was Princess Vera's sister, Anna Nikolaevna Friesse, who had promised by telephone to come in the morning to help her sister receive guests and do housework.

The subtle hearing did not deceive Vera. She went forward. A few minutes later, an elegant car-carriage stopped abruptly at the country gate, and the driver, deftly jumping from the seat, opened the door.

The sisters kissed joyfully. From early childhood they were attached to each other with a warm and caring friendship. In appearance, they were strangely not similar to each other. The eldest, Vera, took after her mother, a beautiful Englishwoman, with her tall, flexible figure, gentle but cold and proud face, beautiful, although rather large hands and that charming sloping shoulders that can be seen in ancient miniatures. The youngest, Anna, on the contrary, inherited the Mongol blood of her father, a Tatar prince, whose grandfather was baptized only at the beginning of the 19th century and whose ancient family went back to Tamerlane himself, or Lang-Temir, as her father proudly called her, in Tatar, this great bloodsucker. She was half a head shorter than her sister, somewhat broad in the shoulders, lively and frivolous, a mocker. Her face was of a strongly Mongolian type with quite noticeable cheekbones, with narrow eyes, which she also squinted due to myopia, with an arrogant expression in her small, sensual mouth, especially in her full lower lip slightly protruded forward - this face, however, captivated some then an elusive and incomprehensible charm, which consisted, perhaps, in a smile, perhaps in the deep femininity of all features, perhaps in a piquant, perky, flirtatious facial expression. Her graceful ugliness excited and attracted the attention of men much more often and more strongly than the aristocratic beauty of her sister.

Each generation asks itself questions: Is there love? What is she like? Is it necessary? The questions are difficult and impossible to answer definitively. A. Kuprin is an unsurpassed master of the pen, capable of asking such questions and answering them. Kuprin loves to write about love, this is one of his favorite topics. A feeling of aching melancholy and at the same time enlightenment comes after reading “The Garnet Bracelet.”

A modest postal worker selflessly loves the princess. For seven long, weary years, Zheltkov loves a woman whom he has never even met. He just follows her, collects the things she forgot, breathes the air that she breathes. And what letters he writes to her! As a sign of his love, he gives her a garnet bracelet, which is very dear to him. But Vera Nikolaevna is offended and tells everything to her husband, whom she does not love, but is very attached to him. Shein, Vera Nikolaevna’s husband, sorts things out with Zheltkov. He asks her not to bother his wife anymore with letters and gifts, but allows her to write a farewell letter of apology. This was the reason for Zheltkov’s suicide. The realization that he would never achieve the love of his ideal, that his days would be empty and cold, pushed Zheltkov to a terrible act.

“Hallowed be thy name!” - with such enthusiastic words Zheltkov departs this life. And hasn’t Vera Nikolaevna lost the opportunity to love? Love is not given to everyone. Only a person with a pure, unsullied soul can surrender to this feeling. The modest Zheltkov, who may not be noticed in the crowd, is contrasted with the rich, callous people of the secular circle. But the soul, what a soul he has... It is not visible, it is not in clothes. You can only feel it, love it. Zheltkov was unlucky. No one saw his soul.

I cried when I read this work. I re-read Zheltkova’s experiences several times. And his letters to the woman he loved? They can be learned by heart. What depth of love, self-sacrifice and self-denial. They say that they can’t love like that now. Maybe. General Anosov says in the story that there is no love, and there wasn’t in our time. It turns out that all generations think about eternal love, but only a few manage to recognize it.

Kuprin wrote “Garnet Bracelet” in 1911. Until now, his work has not lost its relevance and relevance. Why? Because the theme of love is eternal. If there were no love, we would become all callous, iron machines without a heart and conscience. Love saves us, makes us human. Sometimes, it turns out, blood is shed because of love. It's painful and cruel, but it cleanses us.

I want to experience happy love in my life. And if there is no reciprocity, well. The main thing is that there is love.

Option 2

In the story of Alexander Kuprin, true love is described with extraordinary subtlety and tragedy, although unrequited, but pure, undeniable and sublime. Who else if not Kuprin to write about this great feeling? “...Almost all my works are my autobiography...” the writer noted.

...The main character is Vera Nikolaevna Sheina, who stood out for her kindness, courtesy, education, prudence and special love for children, whom she could not have. She was married to Prince Shein, who was in a state of bankruptcy.

On Vera’s name day, her husband presented her with earrings, and her sister gave her an antique prayer book made in the form of a notebook. Only close relatives were present at the holiday, as a result of which the holiday turned out to be good, everyone congratulated the princess. But at any holiday something can happen, and so it is here.

The main character is brought another present and a letter. This gift, a garnet bracelet, was of great significance for the writer, as he considered it a sign of love. The addressee of this offering was a secret admirer of Princess G.S. Zheltkov. He was a man aged thirty-five, of thin build with a puffy face, and worked as an official. His feelings for the woman seethed for eight years; it was unrequited love, reaching the point of recklessness. Zheltkov collected all the objects that belonged to or were held in the hands of his beloved.

With his gift, he showed his feelings in front of the entire Shein family. The spouse and relatives decide that they need to return the gift to the owner and explain that this is an indecent act on his part. Vera’s husband, in a conversation with a fan, shows his nobility; he sees that Zheltkov’s feelings are genuine. Soon, the princess learns from the newspaper about the suicide of her admirer. She has a desire to look at a person, even after his death.

While in the apartment of the deceased, Vera Nikolaevna realizes that it was her man. Feelings for your spouse have long faded, only respect remains. An important symbol is the letter left by Zheltkov to his beloved.

In fiction, the theme of love is considered the main one; it is one of the main elements of society.

Analysis of the story for grade 11

Several interesting essays

• Examples of love from literature for essays

  Love has always had a place in every society and culture since time immemorial. Love connects people, love connects lives, love can lift someone into an incredible state of euphoria or break a heart in two.

Most people in the world are rich: there are a lot of pennies, valuables and speeches. Let us not forget that financial wealth is not the most important thing in life and we should not forget about such a term as spiritual wealth

• Characteristics and image of the Wild One in the play Groz Ostrovsky essay

  Savel Prokofievich Dikoy is one of the main characters of the work, presented by the writer in the image of an enterprising and powerful merchant, one of the wealthy residents of the county town.

• Analysis of the novel The Idiot by Dostoevsky

  Fyodor Dostoevsky's novel "The Idiot" is one of the masterpieces of Russian classical literature. Interest in this work can still be traced to this day. And not only among readers in our country, but also abroad.

• Analysis of Platonov's story In a beautiful and furious world

  The work belongs in genre to the writer’s philosophical prose, which has autobiographical moments, revealing as the main theme the actions of ordinary Russian people

In mid-August, before the birth of the new month, disgusting weather suddenly set in, such as is so typical of the northern coast of the Black Sea. Then for whole days a thick fog lay heavily over the land and sea, and then the huge siren at the lighthouse roared day and night, like a mad bull. From morning to morning there was a continuous rain, fine as water dust, turning the clay roads and paths into solid thick mud, in which carts and carriages got stuck for a long time. Then a fierce hurricane blew from the northwest, from the side of the steppe; from it the tops of the trees swayed, bending and straightening, like waves in a storm, the iron roofs of the dachas rattled at night, and it seemed as if someone was running on them in shod boots; window frames shook, doors slammed, and the chimneys howled wildly. Several fishing boats got lost at sea, and two never returned: only a week later the corpses of fishermen were thrown up in different places on the shore.

The inhabitants of the suburban seaside resort - mostly Greeks and Jews, life-loving and suspicious, like all southerners - hastily moved to the city. Along the softened highway, drays stretched endlessly, overloaded with all sorts of household items: mattresses, sofas, chests, chairs, washbasins, samovars. It was pitiful, sad, and disgusting to look through the muddy muslin of the rain at this pitiful belongings, which seemed so worn out, dirty and miserable; at the maids and cooks sitting on top of the cart on a wet tarpaulin with some irons, tins and baskets in their hands, at the sweaty, exhausted horses, which stopped every now and then, trembling at the knees, smoking and often skidding on their sides, at the hoarsely cursing tramps, wrapped from the rain in matting. It was even sadder to see abandoned dachas with their sudden spaciousness, emptiness and bareness, with mutilated flowerbeds, broken glass, abandoned dogs and all sorts of dacha rubbish from cigarette butts, pieces of paper, shards, boxes and apothecary bottles.

But by the beginning of September the weather suddenly changed dramatically and completely unexpectedly. Quiet, cloudless days immediately arrived, so clear, sunny and warm, which were not there even in July. On the dried, compressed fields, on their prickly yellow stubble, an autumn cobweb glistened with a mica sheen. The calmed trees silently and obediently dropped their yellow leaves.

Princess Vera Nikolaevna Sheina, the wife of the leader of the nobility, could not leave the dacha because the renovations in their city house had not yet been completed. And now she was very happy about the wonderful days that had come, the silence, solitude, clean air, the chirping of swallows on the telegraph wires, huddled together to fly away, and the gentle salty breeze blowing weakly from the sea.

In addition, today was her name day - the seventeenth of September. According to the sweet, distant memories of her childhood, she always loved this day and always expected something happily wonderful from it. Her husband, leaving in the morning on urgent business in the city, put a case with beautiful earrings made of pear-shaped pearls on her night table, and this gift amused her even more.

She was alone in the whole house. Her single brother Nikolai, a fellow prosecutor, who usually lived with them, also went to the city, to court. For dinner, my husband promised to bring a few and only his closest acquaintances. It turned out well that the name day coincided with summer time. In the city, one would have to spend money on a big ceremonial dinner, perhaps even a ball, but here, at the dacha, one could get by with the smallest expenses. Prince Shein, despite his prominent position in society, and perhaps thanks to it, barely made ends meet. The huge family estate was almost completely destroyed by his ancestors, and he had to live beyond his means: to host parties, do charity work, dress well, keep horses, etc. Princess Vera, whose former passionate love for her husband had long since turned into a feeling of strong, faithful, true friendship, tried with all her might to help the prince refrain from complete ruin. She denied herself many things, unnoticed by him, and saved as much as possible in the household.

Now she walked around the garden and carefully cut flowers with scissors for the dinner table. The flower beds were empty and looked disorganized. Multi-colored double carnations were blooming, as well as gillyflower - half in flowers, and half in thin green pods that smelled like cabbage; the rose bushes were still producing - for the third time this summer - buds and roses, but already shredded, sparse, as if degenerate. But dahlias, peonies and asters bloomed magnificently with their cold, arrogant beauty, spreading an autumnal, grassy, ​​sad smell in the sensitive air. The remaining flowers, after their luxurious love and excessively abundant summer motherhood, quietly sprinkled countless seeds of future life onto the ground.

Close by on the highway the familiar sounds of a three-ton car horn were heard. It was Princess Vera’s sister, Anna Nikolaevna Friesse, who had promised by phone in the morning to come and help her sister receive guests and do housework.

The subtle hearing did not deceive Vera. She went forward. A few minutes later, an elegant car-carriage stopped abruptly at the country gate, and the driver, deftly jumping from the seat, opened the door.

The sisters kissed joyfully. From early childhood they were attached to each other with a warm and caring friendship. In appearance, they were strangely not similar to each other. The eldest, Vera, took after her mother, a beautiful Englishwoman, with her tall, flexible figure, gentle but cold and proud face, beautiful, although rather large hands and that charming sloping shoulders that can be seen in ancient miniatures. The youngest, Anna, on the contrary, inherited the Mongolian blood of her father, a Tatar prince, whose grandfather was baptized only at the beginning of the 19th century and whose ancient family went back to Tamerlane himself, or Lang-Temir, as her father proudly called her, in Tatar, this great bloodsucker. She was half a head shorter than her sister, somewhat broad in the shoulders, lively and frivolous, a mocker. Her face was of a strongly Mongolian type with quite noticeable cheekbones, with narrow eyes, which she also squinted due to myopia, with an arrogant expression in her small, sensual mouth, especially in her full lower lip slightly protruded forward - this face, however, captivated some then an elusive and incomprehensible charm, which consisted, perhaps, in a smile, perhaps in the deep femininity of all features, perhaps in a piquant, perky, flirtatious facial expression. Her graceful ugliness excited and attracted the attention of men much more often and more strongly than the aristocratic beauty of her sister.

She was married to a very rich and very stupid man who did absolutely nothing, but was registered with some charitable institution and had the rank of chamber cadet. She couldn’t stand her husband, but she gave birth to two children from him - a boy and a girl; She decided not to have any more children and did not have any more. As for Vera, she greedily wanted children and even, it seemed to her, the more the better, but for some reason they were not born to her, and she painfully and ardently adored her younger sister’s pretty, anemic children, always decent and obedient, with pale, mealy cheeks. faces and with curled flaxen doll hair.

Anna was all about cheerful carelessness and sweet, sometimes strange contradictions. She willingly indulged in the most risky flirtations in all the capitals and resorts of Europe, but she never cheated on her husband, whom, however, she contemptuously ridiculed both to his face and behind his back; she was wasteful, loved gambling, dancing, strong impressions, thrilling spectacles, visited dubious cafes abroad, but at the same time she was distinguished by generous kindness and deep, sincere piety, which forced her to even secretly accept Catholicism. She had a rare beauty of back, chest and shoulders. When going to big balls, she exposed herself much more than the limits allowed by decency and fashion, but they said that under her low neckline she always wore a hair shirt.

L. van Beethoven. 2 Son. (op. 2, no. 2).

Largo Appassionato.

I

In mid-August, before the birth of the new month, disgusting weather suddenly set in, such as is so typical of the northern coast of the Black Sea. Then for whole days a thick fog lay heavily over the land and sea, and then the huge siren at the lighthouse roared day and night, like a mad bull. From morning to morning there was a continuous rain, fine as water dust, turning the clay roads and paths into solid thick mud, in which carts and carriages got stuck for a long time. Then a fierce hurricane blew from the northwest, from the side of the steppe; from it the tops of the trees swayed, bending and straightening, like waves in a storm, the iron roofs of the dachas rattled at night, and it seemed as if someone was running on them in shod boots; window frames shook, doors slammed, and the chimneys howled wildly. Several fishing boats got lost at sea, and two never returned: only a week later the corpses of fishermen were thrown up in different places on the shore.

The inhabitants of the suburban seaside resort - mostly Greeks and Jews, life-loving and suspicious, like all southerners - hastily moved to the city. Along the softened highway, drays stretched endlessly, overloaded with all sorts of household items: mattresses, sofas, chests, chairs, washbasins, samovars. It was pitiful, sad, and disgusting to look through the muddy muslin of the rain at this pitiful belongings, which seemed so worn out, dirty and miserable; at the maids and cooks sitting on top of the cart on a wet tarpaulin with some irons, tins and baskets in their hands, at the sweaty, exhausted horses, which stopped every now and then, trembling at the knees, smoking and often skidding on their sides, at the hoarsely cursing tramps, wrapped from the rain in matting. It was even sadder to see abandoned dachas with their sudden spaciousness, emptiness and bareness, with mutilated flowerbeds, broken glass, abandoned dogs and all sorts of dacha rubbish from cigarette butts, pieces of paper, shards, boxes and apothecary bottles.

But by the beginning of September the weather suddenly changed dramatically and completely unexpectedly. Quiet, cloudless days immediately arrived, so clear, sunny and warm, which were not there even in July. On the dried, compressed fields, on their prickly yellow stubble, an autumn cobweb glistened with a mica sheen. The calmed trees silently and obediently dropped their yellow leaves.

Princess Vera Nikolaevna Sheina, the wife of the leader of the nobility, could not leave the dacha because the renovations in their city house had not yet been completed. And now she was very happy about the wonderful days that had come, the silence, solitude, clean air, the chirping of swallows on the telegraph wires, huddled together to fly away, and the gentle salty breeze blowing weakly from the sea.

II

In addition, today was her name day - the seventeenth of September. According to the sweet, distant memories of her childhood, she always loved this day and always expected something happily wonderful from it. Her husband, leaving in the morning on urgent business in the city, put a case with beautiful earrings made of pear-shaped pearls on her night table, and this gift amused her even more.

She was alone in the whole house. Her single brother Nikolai, a fellow prosecutor, who usually lived with them, also went to the city, to court. For dinner, my husband promised to bring a few and only his closest acquaintances. It turned out well that the name day coincided with summer time. In the city, one would have to spend money on a big ceremonial dinner, perhaps even a ball, but here, at the dacha, one could get by with the smallest expenses. Prince Shein, despite his prominent position in society, and perhaps thanks to it, barely made ends meet. The huge family estate was almost completely destroyed by his ancestors, and he had to live beyond his means: to host parties, do charity work, dress well, keep horses, etc. Princess Vera, whose former passionate love for her husband had long since turned into a feeling of strong, faithful, true friendship, tried with all her might to help the prince refrain from complete ruin. She denied herself many things, unnoticed by him, and saved as much as possible in the household.

Now she walked around the garden and carefully cut flowers with scissors for the dinner table. The flower beds were empty and looked disorganized. Multi-colored double carnations were blooming, as well as gillyflower - half in flowers, and half in thin green pods that smelled like cabbage; the rose bushes were still producing - for the third time this summer - buds and roses, but already shredded, sparse, as if degenerate. But dahlias, peonies and asters bloomed magnificently with their cold, arrogant beauty, spreading an autumnal, grassy, ​​sad smell in the sensitive air. The remaining flowers, after their luxurious love and excessively abundant summer motherhood, quietly sprinkled countless seeds of future life onto the ground.

Close by on the highway the familiar sounds of a three-ton car horn were heard. It was Princess Vera’s sister, Anna Nikolaevna Friesse, who had promised by phone in the morning to come and help her sister receive guests and do housework.

The subtle hearing did not deceive Vera. She went forward. A few minutes later, an elegant car-carriage stopped abruptly at the country gate, and the driver, deftly jumping from the seat, opened the door.

The sisters kissed joyfully. From early childhood they were attached to each other with a warm and caring friendship. In appearance, they were strangely not similar to each other. The eldest, Vera, took after her mother, a beautiful Englishwoman, with her tall, flexible figure, gentle but cold and proud face, beautiful, although rather large hands and that charming sloping shoulders that can be seen in ancient miniatures. The youngest, Anna, on the contrary, inherited the Mongolian blood of her father, a Tatar prince, whose grandfather was baptized only at the beginning of the 19th century and whose ancient family went back to Tamerlane himself, or Lang-Temir, as her father proudly called her, in Tatar, this great bloodsucker. She was half a head shorter than her sister, somewhat broad in the shoulders, lively and frivolous, a mocker. Her face was of a strongly Mongolian type with quite noticeable cheekbones, with narrow eyes, which she also squinted due to myopia, with an arrogant expression in her small, sensual mouth, especially in her full lower lip slightly protruded forward - this face, however, captivated some then an elusive and incomprehensible charm, which consisted, perhaps, in a smile, perhaps in the deep femininity of all features, perhaps in a piquant, perky, flirtatious facial expression. Her graceful ugliness excited and attracted the attention of men much more often and more strongly than the aristocratic beauty of her sister.

She was married to a very rich and very stupid man who did absolutely nothing, but was registered with some charitable institution and had the rank of chamber cadet. She couldn’t stand her husband, but she gave birth to two children from him - a boy and a girl; She decided not to have any more children and did not have any more. As for Vera, she greedily wanted children and even, it seemed to her, the more the better, but for some reason they were not born to her, and she painfully and ardently adored her younger sister’s pretty, anemic children, always decent and obedient, with pale, mealy cheeks. faces and with curled flaxen doll hair.

Anna was all about cheerful carelessness and sweet, sometimes strange contradictions. She willingly indulged in the most risky flirtations in all the capitals and resorts of Europe, but she never cheated on her husband, whom, however, she contemptuously ridiculed both to his face and behind his back; she was wasteful, loved gambling, dancing, strong impressions, thrilling spectacles, visited dubious cafes abroad, but at the same time she was distinguished by generous kindness and deep, sincere piety, which forced her to even secretly accept Catholicism. She had a rare beauty of back, chest and shoulders. When going to big balls, she exposed herself much more than the limits allowed by decency and fashion, but they said that under her low neckline she always wore a hair shirt.

Vera was strictly simple, cold with everyone and a little patronizingly kind, independent and royally calm.

III

- My God, how good it is here! How good! - Anna said, walking with quick and small steps next to her sister along the path. – If possible, let’s sit for a while on a bench over the cliff. I haven't seen the sea for so long. And what a wonderful air: you breathe - and your heart is happy. In Crimea, in Miskhor, last summer I made an amazing discovery. Do you know what sea water smells like during the surf? Imagine - mignonette.

Vera smiled affectionately:

- You are a dreamer.

- No no. I also remember once everyone laughed at me when I said that there was some kind of pink tint in the moonlight. And the other day the artist Boritsky - the one who paints my portrait - agreed that I was right and that artists have known about this for a long time.

– Is being an artist your new hobby?

- You will always come up with ideas! - Anna laughed and, quickly approaching the very edge of the cliff, which fell like a sheer wall deep into the sea, she looked down and suddenly screamed in horror and recoiled back with a pale face.

- Wow, how high! – she said in a weakened and trembling voice. - When I look from such a height, I always have a sweet and disgusting tickling in my chest... and my toes ache... And yet it pulls, pulls...

She wanted to bend over the cliff again, but her sister stopped her.

– Anna, my dear, for God’s sake! I get dizzy myself when you do that. Please sit down.

- Well, okay, okay, I sat down... But just look, what beauty, what joy - the eye just can’t get enough of it. If you only knew how grateful I am to God for all the miracles he has done for us!

They both thought for a moment. Deep, deep below them lay the sea. The shore was not visible from the bench, and therefore the feeling of the infinity and grandeur of the sea expanse intensified even more. The water was tenderly calm and cheerfully blue, brightening only in slanting smooth stripes in places of flow and turning into a deep deep blue color on the horizon.

Fishing boats, difficult to spot with the eye - they seemed so small - dozed motionless in the surface of the sea, not far from the shore. And then, as if standing in the air, without moving forward, was a three-masted ship, all dressed from top to bottom with monotonous white slender sails, bulging from the wind.

“I understand you,” the older sister said thoughtfully, “but somehow my life is different from yours.” When I see the sea for the first time after a long time, it excites me, makes me happy, and amazes me. It’s as if I’m seeing a huge, solemn miracle for the first time. But then, when I get used to it, it begins to crush me with its flat emptiness... I miss looking at it, and I try not to look anymore. It gets boring.

Anna smiled.

-What are you doing? - asked the sister.

“Last summer,” Anna said slyly, “we rode from Yalta in a large cavalcade on horseback to Uch-Kosh. It's there, behind the forestry, above the waterfall. At first we got into a cloud, it was very damp and hard to see, and we all climbed up a steep path between the pine trees. And suddenly the forest suddenly ended and we came out of the fog. Imagine: a narrow platform on a rock, and there is an abyss under our feet. The villages below seem no bigger than a matchbox, the forests and gardens look like small grass. The entire area slopes down to the sea, like a geographical map. And then there’s the sea! Fifty or a hundred versts ahead. It seemed to me that I was hanging in the air and was about to fly. Such beauty, such lightness! I turn around and say to the conductor in delight: “What? Okay, Seid-ogly? And he just smacked his tongue: “Eh, master, I’m so tired of all this. We see it every day.”

“Thank you for the comparison,” Vera laughed, “no, I just think that we northerners will never understand the beauty of the sea.” I love the forest. Do you remember the forest in Yegorovskoye?.. Can it ever get boring? Pines!.. And what mosses!.. And fly agarics! Exactly made of red satin and embroidered with white beads. The silence is so... cool.

“I don’t care, I love everything,” Anna answered. “And most of all I love my sister, my prudent Verenka.” There are only two of us in the world.

She hugged her older sister and pressed herself against her, cheek to cheek. And suddenly I realized it. - No, how stupid I am! You and I, as if in a novel, are sitting and talking about nature, and I completely forgot about my gift. Look at this. I'm just afraid, will you like it?

She took from her hand bag a small notebook in an amazing binding: on the old, worn and grayed blue velvet, curled a dull gold filigree pattern of rare complexity, subtlety and beauty - obviously the labor of love of the hands of a skillful and patient artist. The book was attached to a gold chain as thin as a thread, the leaves in the middle were replaced by ivory tablets.

– What a wonderful thing! Lovely! – Vera said and kissed her sister. - Thank you. Where did you get such a treasure?

- In an antique shop. You know my weakness for rummaging through old trash. So I came across this prayer book. Look, you see how the ornament here creates the shape of a cross. True, I found only one binding, everything else had to be invented - leaves, clasps, a pencil. But Mollinet did not want to understand me at all, no matter how I interpreted it to him. The fasteners had to be in the same style as the whole pattern, matte, old gold, fine carving, and God knows what he did. But the chain is real Venetian, very ancient.

Vera affectionately stroked the beautiful binding.

– What a deep antiquity!.. How old can this book be? – she asked. – I'm afraid to determine exactly. Approximately the end of the seventeenth century, mid-eighteenth...

“How strange,” Vera said with a thoughtful smile. “Here I am holding in my hands a thing that, perhaps, was touched by the hands of the Marquise of Pompadour or Queen Antoinette herself... But you know, Anna, it was only you who could have come up with the crazy idea of ​​​​turning a prayer book into a ladies’ carnet.” However, let’s still go and see what’s going on there.

They entered the house through a large stone terrace, covered on all sides by thick trellises of Isabella grapes. Black abundant clusters, emitting a faint smell of strawberries, hung heavily among the dark greenery, gilded here and there by the sun. A green half-light spread across the entire terrace, causing the women’s faces to immediately turn pale.

-Are you ordering it to be covered here? – Anna asked.

– Yes, I thought so myself at first... But now the evenings are so cold. It's better in the dining room. Let the men go here and smoke.

– Will there be anyone interesting?

- I do not know yet. I only know that our grandfather will be there.

- Oh, dear grandfather. What a joy! – Anna exclaimed and clasped her hands. “It seems like I haven’t seen him for a hundred years.”

– There will be Vasya’s sister and, it seems, Professor Speshnikov. Yesterday, Annenka, I just lost my head. You know that they both love to eat - both the grandfather and the professor. But neither here nor in the city you can get anything for any money. Luka found quails somewhere - he ordered them from a hunter he knew - and he’s playing tricks on them. The roast beef turned out to be relatively good - alas! – inevitable roast beef. Very good crayfish.

- Well, it’s not so bad. Don't worry. However, between us, you yourself have a weakness for tasty food.

“But there will also be something rare.” This morning a fisherman brought a sea rooster. I saw it myself. Just some kind of monster. It's even scary.

Anna, greedily curious about everything that concerned her and what did not concern her, immediately demanded that they bring her the sea cock.

The tall, shaved, yellow-faced cook Luka arrived with a large elongated white tub, which he held with difficulty and carefully by the ears, afraid of spilling water on the parquet floor.

“Twelve and a half pounds, your Excellency,” he said with special chef’s pride. - We weighed it just now.

The fish was too big for the tub and lay on the bottom with its tail curled up. Its scales shimmered with gold, its fins were bright red, and from its huge predatory muzzle two long pale blue wings, folded like a fan, extended to the sides. The gurnard was still alive and was working hard with its gills.

The younger sister carefully touched the fish's head with her little finger. But the rooster suddenly flicked his tail, and Anna pulled her hand away with a squeal.

“Don’t worry, your Excellency, we’ll arrange everything in the best possible way,” said the cook, who obviously understood Anna’s anxiety. – Now the Bulgarian brought two melons. Pineapple. Kind of like cantaloupes, but the smell is much more aromatic. And I also dare to ask your Excellency what kind of sauce would you order to serve with the rooster: tartar or Polish, or maybe just breadcrumbs in butter?

- Do as you please. Go! - ordered the princess.

The hero of the story “The Garnet Bracelet” is one of the most touching images in literature. The author himself cried over the manuscript of this work. Kuprin claimed that it was the most chaste of all that he created. Characteristics of the heroes (“Garnet Bracelet”) is the topic of this article.

Faith

The main characters are the Sheina spouses. It is noteworthy that the characteristics of the heroes (“Garnet Bracelet”) are given by the author very unevenly. Kuprin did not consider it necessary to describe the character of Princess Vera and her habits. He described the heroine’s appearance, comparing her with her sister Anna.

He has a flexible figure, a gentle, cold and proud face. That's almost all that is said about the main character. Her sister is depicted in more detail, although her presence in the story does not affect the plot in any way.

Each of the images is a kind of means for revealing the main theme of the work, namely the theme of love. And therefore the writer characterizes the characters quite selectively. “The Garnet Bracelet” is a story in which the fate and inner world of the characters can be understood from short phrases spoken by them and various small details.

Princess Vera is a kind, sensitive and honest woman. The ending of the story speaks about her ability to sympathize, when she comes to the house of the deceased Zheltkov to say goodbye to him. Honesty is indicated by the remorse of conscience that she experiences in one of the scenes. When a dispute breaks out between Vasily and Vera’s brother Nikolai about correspondence, which allegedly compromises all family members, Shein coldly notes that this epistolary phenomenon is exclusively one-sided. At her husband’s words, the princess blushes deeply. After all, only one single message was received by the person who presented this ill-fated garnet bracelet.

The main characters, whose characteristics are finally revealed in the denouement, are secondary characters throughout the main part.

Vasily Shein

Even less is said about this hero than about Vera Nikolaevna. As already noted, in the work “The Garnet Bracelet” the main characters, whose characteristics are given by the author at the beginning of the story laconically and restrained, show their best qualities at the end. Vasily Shein goes to Zheltkov and, unlike Vera’s brother, who accompanies him, behaves tactfully, politely and somewhat confused. The prince is able to see a huge tragedy in a man who has been in love with his wife for eight years. He knows how to feel someone else's pain even when someone else would only show hostility and acute irritation.

Later, after Zheltkov commits suicide, Vasily conveys to Vera his impressions of what he saw: “This man loved you, and he was not mad,” he says, and at the same time treats with understanding the princess’s desire to say goodbye to the deceased.

But at the same time, both Vera and Vasily are arrogant people. Which, however, is not surprising, given their position in society. This quality is not negative. This is not arrogance, nor is it a kind of condescension that manifests itself in their attitude towards people outside their circle. Vera is characterized by coldness and an authoritative tone. Vasily treats his wife’s secret admirer with excessive irony. And perhaps all this led to the tragedy.

After reading the summary of the work, one gets the impression that Kuprin dedicated “Garnet Bracelet” to love, which is so scarce in real life. The characteristics of the heroes, which are revealed in the story, give, however, credibility and truthfulness to this plot. To understand this, you need to read carefully and thoughtfully.

Anosov

The author devoted most of the fourth chapter to the image of this hero. The image of Anosov plays an important role in revealing the main idea of ​​the story. In one of the fragments, he talks with the heroine about true love, which he has never experienced in his entire long life, because such a feeling is born once every hundred years. And in response to Vera’s story about Zheltkov, he suggested that this was that rare case.

Zheltkov

This man is pale and has a gentle girlish face. There is no need to talk about the qualities of his character, since the meaning of his life is Vera Nikolaevna. In his last letter, he confesses to her that after he saw her for the first time, he stopped being interested in anything. The image of Zheltkov is central to the plot, but little is said about him. The strength of the feeling he experienced for the last eight years of his life is much more important than his personality.

Using a small diagram, you can summarize the analysis of images in the story “Garnet Bracelet”

Characteristics of heroes (table)

This is the characteristic of heroes. “Garnet Bracelet” - despite its small volume, is a profound work. The article provides a brief description of the imagery and lacks important details and citations.