Turgenev's lyrical story "Asya"

Popularity of the story “Asya” and translations

Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev himself was dissatisfied with his story: the work on it was quite difficult, and he considered the result frankly weak. However, immediately after its publication, “Asya” gained popularity, the story was highly appreciated by leading Russian writers. Moreover, the book was soon translated into English, German, Swedish and other European languages, and it also did not go unnoticed abroad.

Of course, several translations into French were also made, but Ivan Turgenev was not at all satisfied with their quality, so he soon wrote a French version of the story himself (the writer was fluent in Latin, Ancient Greek, French, German and English).

The place where the events of Turgenev’s story “Asya” take place

Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev

Asya

I

I was twenty-five years old then,” N.N. began, “things of a long time ago, as you can see. I had just broken free and went abroad, not in order to “finish my upbringing,” as they used to say then, but I simply wanted to look at God’s world. I was healthy, young, cheerful, I had no money transferred, worries had not yet begun - I lived without looking back, did what I wanted, prospered, in a word. It never occurred to me then that man is not a plant and cannot flourish for long. Youth eats gilded gingerbread, and thinks that this is their daily bread; and the time will come - and you’ll ask for some bread. But there is no need to talk about this.

I traveled without any purpose, without a plan; I stopped wherever I liked, and immediately went further as soon as I felt a desire to see new faces—namely, faces. I was occupied exclusively by people; I hated curious monuments, wonderful collections, the very sight of a footman [1] aroused in me a feeling of melancholy and anger; I almost went crazy in Dresden's Grüne Gewölbe.[2] Nature had an extraordinary effect on me, but I did not like its so-called beauties, extraordinary mountains, cliffs, waterfalls; I didn’t like her to impose herself on me, to disturb me. But faces, living, human faces - people’s speech, their movements, laughter - that’s what I couldn’t do without. In the crowd I always felt especially at ease and joyful; I had fun going where others went, screaming when others screamed, and at the same time I loved watching these others scream. It amused me to watch people... but I didn’t even watch them - I looked at them with some kind of joyful and insatiable curiosity. But I'm getting sidetracked again.

So, about twenty years ago I lived in the small German town of Z., on the left bank of the Rhine. I was looking for solitude: I had just been struck in the heart by a young widow whom I met on the waters. She was very pretty and smart, flirted with everyone - and with me, a sinner - at first she even encouraged me, and then she cruelly hurt me by sacrificing me to one red-cheeked Bavarian lieutenant. To be honest, the wound in my heart was not very deep; but I considered it my duty to indulge in sadness and loneliness for a while - something that youth has no pleasure in! - and settled in Z.

I liked this town for its location at the foot of two high hills, its decrepit walls and towers, centuries-old linden trees, a steep bridge over a bright river flowing into the Rhine, and most importantly, its good wine. Pretty blond German women walked along its narrow streets in the evening, immediately after sunset (it was in June), and, meeting a foreigner, said in a pleasant voice: “Guten Abend!” [3] - and some of them did not leave even then, when the moon rose from behind the sharp roofs of old houses and the small stones of the pavement were clearly visible in its motionless rays. I loved wandering around the city then; the moon seemed to be looking intently at him from the clear sky; and the city felt this gaze and stood sensitively and peacefully, completely bathed in its light, this serene and at the same time quietly soul-stirring light. The rooster on the high Gothic bell tower glittered with pale gold; The streams shimmered like gold across the black gloss of the river; thin candles (the German is thrifty!) glowed modestly in the narrow windows under the slate roofs; the vines mysteriously poked out their curled tendrils from behind the stone fences; something was running in the shadows near the ancient well on the triangular square, suddenly the sleepy whistle of the night watchman was heard, a good-natured dog was grumbling in a low voice, and the air was caressing his face, and the linden trees smelled so sweetly that his chest involuntarily began to breathe deeper and deeper, and the word : “Gretchen” is either an exclamation or a question – it just begged to be put on the lips.

The town of Z. lies two miles from the Rhine. I often went to look at the majestic river and, not without some tension, dreaming of a treacherous widow, I sat for long hours on a stone bench under a lonely huge ash tree. A small statue of a Madonna[4] with an almost childlike face and a red heart on her chest, pierced with swords, sadly looked out from its branches. On the opposite bank there was the town of L., a little larger than the one in which I settled. One evening I was sitting on my favorite bench and looking first at the river, then at the sky, then at the vineyards. In front of me, white-headed boys were climbing on the sides of a boat that had been pulled ashore and turned upside down with its tarred belly. The ships ran quietly on slightly inflated sails; greenish waves slid past, slightly swelling and rumbling. Suddenly the sounds of music reached me: I listened. In the city of L. they played a waltz; The double bass hummed abruptly, the violin sang vaguely, the flute whistled briskly.

- What is this? - I asked an old man in a corduroy vest, blue stockings and shoes with buckles who came up to me.

“This,” he answered me, having first moved the mouthpiece of his pipe from one corner of his lips to the other, “the students came from B. on commerce.”

“Let me take a look at this business,” I thought, “by the way, I’ve never been to L.” I found the carrier and went to the other side.

II

Maybe not everyone knows what commerce is. This is a special kind of solemn feast, which brings together students of one land or brotherhood (Landsmannschaft). Almost all participants in the commerce wear the long-established costume of German students: Hungarian women's boots, large boots and small hats with bands of famous colors. The students usually gather for dinner under the chairmanship of the senior, that is, the foreman, and feast until the morning, drink, sing songs, Landesvater,[5] Gaudeamus,[6] smoke, scold the philistines;[7] sometimes they hire an orchestra.

Just such a trade took place in the city of L. in front of a small hotel under the sign of the Sun, in the garden overlooking the street. Flags flew over the hotel itself and over the garden; students sat at tables under cropped stickers; a huge bulldog lay under one of the tables; off to the side, in a gazebo made of ivy, the musicians sat and played diligently, every now and then refreshing themselves with beer. Quite a lot of people had gathered on the street in front of the low garden fence: the good citizens of the town of L. did not want to miss the opportunity to gaze at the visiting guests. I also intervened in the crowd of spectators. I had fun looking at the students' faces; their hugs, exclamations, the innocent flirtation of youth, burning glances, laughter for no reason - the best laughter in the world - all this joyful effervescence of young, fresh life, this impulse forward - wherever it may be, as long as forward - this good-natured expanse touched me and set it on fire. “Shouldn’t we go to them?” – I asked myself...

- Asya, is that enough for you? – a male voice suddenly said behind me in Russian.

“We’ll wait a little longer,” answered another, female voice in the same language.

I quickly turned around... My gaze fell on a handsome young man in a cap and wide jacket; he was holding a short girl by the arm, wearing a straw hat that covered the entire upper part of her face.

-Are you Russian? – it came out of my mouth involuntarily.

The young man smiled and said:

- Yes, Russians.

– I never expected... in such a remote place,” I began.

“And we didn’t expect it,” he interrupted me, “well?” all the better. Let me introduce myself: my name is Gagin, and this is my... - he paused for a moment - my sister. May I know your name?

I introduced myself and we started talking.
I found out that Gagin, traveling just like me, for his own pleasure, stopped in the town of L. a week ago and got stuck in it. To tell the truth, I was reluctant to meet Russians abroad. I recognized them even from a distance by their gait, the cut of their dresses, and most importantly, by the expression of their faces. Smug and contemptuous, often imperious, it suddenly gave way to an expression of caution and timidity... The man suddenly became all wary, his eyes darted restlessly... “My fathers! “Am I lying, are they laughing at me,” this hurried look seemed to be saying... A moment passed and the grandeur of the face was restored again, occasionally alternating with dull bewilderment. Yes, I avoided Russians, but I liked Gagin immediately. There are such happy faces in the world: everyone loves to look at them, as if they are warming you or stroking you. Gagin had just such a face, sweet, affectionate, with large soft eyes and soft curly hair. He spoke in such a way that, even without seeing his face, you felt from the sound of his voice that he was smiling. Pages:

Brief summary of the story “Asya” by Ivan Turgenev

The narration in the work is told on behalf of an anonymous narrator, whom the author introduced to us as “Mr. N.N.” The book begins with the fact that the elderly N.N. remembers his youth and the story that happened to him many years ago. He then lived the carefree life of a young rake, not burdened with any responsibilities. One day, having stopped in the small German town of Z. on the banks of the Rhine for some time, a man accidentally met a young couple. It turned out that they were half-brother and sister. The author introduces us to his brother only by his surname Gagin; we never learn his name throughout the entire narrative. The sister’s name is Anna, but her brother calls her Asya.

Asya's fate was far from enviable. She was born as a result of an extramarital affair between a nobleman father and a maid. The girl was brought up in a peasant environment, however, after the death of her mother, she was taken into the manor's house as the owner's daughter. But soon the master also left this mortal world. Gagin, who lived and studied in St. Petersburg from the age of 12, arrived at his father’s house for the funeral and learned about the existence of a half-sister. And he took the troubles of arranging her fate upon himself.

Still from the film “Asya” 1978

For several years, Gagin placed his sister in a girls' boarding school, but for the girl these years became a real test. Then her brother took her home, and soon they went on a trip abroad.

The cuteness and enthusiasm of youth were combined in Asa with internal tension, which became the cause of sudden changes in mood and eccentricity. This internal anxiety stemmed from the girl’s unclear social status. Asya did not understand how to identify herself in society - who was she: the daughter of a maid or the heiress of a master? Because of this, it seemed to her that she was unworthy of the love of a noble man.

Soon N.N., who felt incredibly at ease and joyful in the company of his brother and sister, realized that he seemed to have fallen in love with a young girl. Asya also feels sympathy for her new acquaintance. However, Gagin, who dearly loves his sister and wants her to have a happy future, calls N.N. for a frank conversation, where he does not so much ask as assert that the young man will not marry Asa. N.N. at a loss: he is attracted to the girl, but he is really not ready for marriage. He promises Gagin to reject Asya’s feelings when they meet.

When the lovers meet, N.N. cannot contain his feelings, and Asya finds herself in his arms. Then the young man begins to reproach the girl for opening up to her brother, and now their happiness is impossible. Asya runs away. Neither N.N. nor Gagin can find her.

Still from the film “Asya” 1978

That night the main character cannot sleep at all, and he finally realizes that he is truly in love with Asya and is ready to marry her. However, when he goes to explain to his brother and sister in the morning, he no longer finds them, but only finds a note addressed to him, in which the girl admits that she was expecting only one word from N.N., but never received it.

N.N. tries to catch up with Gagin and Asya on the road, but he fails. He suffers from the pangs of unrequited love. And although after a while the man is consoled, he never manages to experience such a feeling again in his entire life. And already in old age, when the anticipation of happiness first gave way to unhappiness, and then to total loneliness, N.N. comes to the disappointing conclusion that happiness has no tomorrow, time and love are easy to miss, and true feeling does not tolerate cowardice.

Asya

I was twenty-five years old then,” N.N. began, things of long ago, as you can see. I had just broken free and went abroad, not in order to “finish my education,” as they used to say then, but I simply wanted to look at God’s world. I was healthy, young, cheerful, I had no money transferred, worries had not yet started - I lived without looking back, did what I wanted, prospered, in a word. It never occurred to me then that man is not a plant and cannot flourish for long. Youth eats gilded gingerbread, and thinks that this is their daily bread; and the time will come - and you’ll ask for some bread. But there is no need to talk about this.

I traveled without any purpose, without a plan; I stopped wherever I liked, and immediately went further as soon as I felt a desire to see new faces—namely, faces. I was occupied exclusively by people; I hated curious monuments, wonderful collections, the very sight of a footman aroused in me a feeling of melancholy and anger; I almost went crazy in Dresden's Grüne Gewelbe. Nature had an extraordinary effect on me, but I did not like its so-called beauties, extraordinary mountains, cliffs, waterfalls; I didn’t like her to impose herself on me, to disturb me. But faces, living human faces - people’s speech, their movements, laughter - that’s what I couldn’t do without. In the crowd I always felt especially at ease and joyful; I had fun going where others went, screaming when others screamed, and at the same time I loved watching those others scream. It amused me to watch people... but I didn’t even watch them - I looked at them with some kind of joyful and insatiable curiosity. But I'm getting sidetracked again.

I liked this town for its location at the foot of two high hills, its decrepit walls and towers, centuries-old linden trees, a steep bridge over a bright river flowing into the Rhine, and most importantly, its good wine. Pretty blond German women walked along its narrow streets in the evening, immediately after sunset (it was in June), and, meeting a foreigner, said in a pleasant voice: “Guten Abend!” - and some of them did not leave even when the moon rose from behind the sharp roofs of old houses and small stones of the pavement were clearly visible in its motionless rays. I loved wandering around the city then; the moon seemed to be looking intently at him from the clear sky; and the city felt this gaze and stood sensitively and peacefully, completely bathed in its light, this serene and at the same time quietly soul-stirring light. The rooster on the high Gothic bell tower glittered with pale gold; The streams shimmered like gold across the black gloss of the river; thin candles (the German is thrifty!) glowed modestly in the narrow windows under the slate roofs; the vines mysteriously poked out their curled tendrils from behind the stone fences; something was running in the shadows near the ancient well on the triangular square, suddenly the sleepy whistle of the night watchman was heard, a good-natured dog was grumbling in a low voice, and the air was caressing his face, and the linden trees smelled so sweetly that his chest involuntarily began to breathe deeper and deeper, and the word “Gretchen”—either an exclamation or a question—just begged to be spoken.

The town of Z. lies two miles from the Rhine. I often went to look at the majestic river and, not without some tension, dreaming of a treacherous widow, I sat for long hours on a stone bench under a lonely huge ash tree. A small statue of a Madonna with an almost childlike face and a red heart on her chest, pierced by swords, sadly looked out from its branches. On the opposite bank there was the town of L., a little larger than the one in which I settled. One evening I sat on my favorite bench and looked at the river, then at the sky, then at the vineyards. In front of me, white-headed boys were climbing on the sides of a boat that had been pulled ashore and turned upside down with its tarred belly. The ships ran quietly on slightly inflated sails; greenish waves slid past, slightly swelling and rumbling. Suddenly the sounds of music reached me; I listened. In the city of L. they played a waltz; The double bass hummed abruptly, the violin sang vaguely, the flute whistled briskly.

- What is this? - I asked an old man in a corduroy vest, blue stockings and shoes with buckles who came up to me.

“This,” he answered me, having first moved the mouthpiece of his pipe from one corner of his lips to the other, “the students came from B. on commerce.”

“Let me take a look at this business,” I thought, “by the way, I’ve never been to L.” I found the carrier and went to the other side.

Maybe not everyone knows what commerce is. This is a special kind of solemn feast, which brings together students of one land or brotherhood (Landsmannschaft). Almost all participants in the commerce wear the long-established costume of German students: Hungarian women's boots, large boots and small hats with bands of famous colors. The students usually gather for dinner under the chairmanship of the senior, that is, the foreman, and feast until the morning, drink, sing songs, Landesvater, Gaudeamus, smoke, scold the philistines; sometimes they hire an orchestra.

This exact type of business took place in L. in front of a small hotel under the sign of the Sun, in the garden overlooking the street. Flags flew over the hotel itself and over the garden; students sat at tables under cropped stickers; a huge bulldog lay under one of the tables; off to the side, in a gazebo made of ivy, the musicians sat and played diligently, every now and then refreshing themselves with beer. On the street, in front of the low fence of the garden, quite a lot of people had gathered: the good citizens of L. did not want to miss the opportunity to gaze at the visiting guests. I also intervened in the crowd of spectators. I had fun looking at the students' faces; their hugs, exclamations, the innocent flirtation of youth, burning glances, laughter for no reason - the best laughter in the world - all this joyful effervescence of young, fresh life, this impulse forward - wherever it may be, as long as forward - this good-natured expanse touched me and set it on fire. “Shouldn’t we go to them?” - I asked myself...

- Asya, is that enough for you? — a male voice suddenly said behind me in Russian

“We’ll wait a little longer,” answered another, female voice in the same language.

I quickly turned around... My gaze fell on a handsome young man in a cap and wide jacket; he was holding a short girl by the arm, wearing a straw hat that covered the entire upper part of her face.

-Are you Russian? — came out of my mouth involuntarily.

The young man smiled and said:

- Yes, Russians.

“I never expected... in such a remote place,” I began.

I introduced myself and we started talking. I found out that Gagin, traveling just like me, for his own pleasure, stopped in the town of L. a week ago, and got stuck in it. To tell the truth, I was reluctant to meet Russians abroad. I recognized them even from a distance by their gait, the cut of their dresses, and most importantly, by the expression of their faces. Smug and contemptuous, often imperious, it suddenly gave way to an expression of caution and timidity... The man suddenly became all wary, his eyes darted restlessly... “My fathers! “Am I lying, are they laughing at me,” this hurried look seemed to be saying... A moment passed and the grandeur of the face was restored again, occasionally alternating with dull bewilderment. Yes, I avoided Russians, but I liked Gagin immediately. There are such happy faces in the world: everyone loves to look at them, as if they are warming you or stroking you. Gagin had just such a face, sweet, affectionate, with large soft eyes and soft curly hair. He spoke in such a way that even without seeing his face, you could feel from the sound of his voice that he was smiling.

The girl whom he called his sister seemed very pretty to me at first glance. There was something special about her dark, round face, with a small thin nose, almost childish cheeks and black, light eyes. She was gracefully built, but seemed not yet fully developed. She was not at all like her brother.

- Do you want to come to us? “Gagin told me, “it seems we’ve seen enough of the Germans.” Asya, shall we go home?

“We live outside the city,” Gagin continued, “in a vineyard, in a lonely house, high up.” It's great here, look. The hostess promised to prepare us some sour milk. Now it will soon get dark, and it will be better for you to cross the Rhine by moonlight.

We went. Through the low gates of the city (an ancient wall of cobblestones surrounded it on all sides, even the loopholes had not yet collapsed) we went out into the field and, after walking a hundred paces along the stone fence, we stopped in front of a narrow gate. Gagin opened it and led us up the mountain along a steep path. On both sides, on ledges, grapes grew; the sun had just set, and a thin scarlet light lay on the green vines, on the tall stamens, on the dry ground, strewn entirely with large and small flagstones, and on the white wall of a small house, with slanting black beams and four light windows, standing at the very top of the mountain which we climbed.

- Here is our home! - Gagin exclaimed as soon as we began to approach the house, - and here is the hostess bringing milk. Guten Abend, Madame!.. We will now start eating; but first,” he added, “look around... what’s the view?”

The view was truly wonderful. The Rhine lay before us all silver, between green banks; in one place it glowed with the crimson gold of sunset. The town nestled on the shore showed all its houses and streets; Hills and fields scattered widely. It was good below, but even better above: I was especially struck by the purity and depth of the sky, the radiant transparency of the air. Fresh and light, it quietly swayed and rolled in waves, as if he, too, felt more at ease at the height.

“You chose an excellent apartment,” I said.

“Asya found her,” answered Gagin. “Come on, Asya,” he continued, “make the arrangements.” They told me to bring everything here. We will dine outdoors. You can hear the music better here. Have you noticed,” he added, turning to me, “up close, some waltzes are no good—vulgar, rude sounds—but at a distance, it’s a miracle!” it stirs all the romantic strings in you.

Asya (her proper name was Anna, but Gagin called her Asya, and you will allow me to call her that) - Asya went to the house and soon returned with the hostess. The two of them carried a large tray with a pot of milk, plates, spoons, sugar, berries, bread. We sat down and started eating dinner. Asya took off her hat; her black hair, cut and combed like a boy's, fell in large curls over her neck and ears. At first she was shy of me; but Gagin told her:

- Asya, I’m so full of cringe! he doesn't bite.

She smiled and a little later she was talking to me. I have never seen a more agile creature. Not a single moment did she sit still; she got up, ran into the house and came running again, hummed in a low voice, often laughed, and in a strange way: it seemed that she was laughing not at what she heard, but at various thoughts that came into her head. Her large eyes looked straight, bright, bold, but sometimes her eyelids squinted slightly, and then her gaze suddenly became deep and tender.

We chatted for two hours. The day had long gone out, and the evening, at first all fiery, then clear and scarlet, then pale and vague, quietly melted and turned into night, and our conversation continued, peaceful and meek, like the air that surrounded us. Gagin ordered a bottle of Rhine wine to be brought; We sawed it slowly. The music still reached us, its sounds seemed sweeter and more tender; lights were lit in the city and over the river. Asya suddenly lowered her head so that her curls fell into her eyes, fell silent and sighed, and then told us that she wanted to sleep and went into the house; however, I saw how she stood for a long time outside the unopened window without lighting the candles. Finally, the moon rose and began to play along the Rhine; everything lit up, darkened, changed, even the wine in our cut glasses sparkled with a mysterious shine. The wind fell as if folded its wings and froze; night, fragrant warmth wafted from the earth.

- It's time! - I exclaimed, - otherwise, perhaps, you won’t find a carrier.

“It’s time,” Gagin repeated.

We walked down the path. Stones suddenly fell behind us: Asya was catching up with us.

- Aren't you sleeping? - her brother asked, but she ran past without answering him a word.

The last dying bowls, lit by students in the hotel garden, illuminated the leaves of the trees from below, which gave them a festive and fantastic look. We found Asya near the shore: she was talking with the carrier. I jumped into the boat and said goodbye to my new friends. Gagin promised to visit me the next day; I shook his hand and extended mine to Asya; but she just looked at me and shook her head. The boat set sail and rushed along the fast river. The carrier, a cheerful old man, tensely plunged his oars into the dark water.

“You drove into the moon pillar, you broke it,” Asya shouted to me.

I lowered my eyes; the waves swayed around the boat, turning black.

- Goodbye! - her voice rang out again.

“See you tomorrow,” Gagin said after her.

The boat has moored. I went out and looked around. No one was visible on the opposite bank. The moon pillar again stretched like a golden bridge across the entire river. As if goodbye, the sounds of the old Lancer waltz rushed in. Gagin was right: I felt that all the strings of my heart trembled in response to those ingratiating melodies. I went home through the darkened fields, slowly inhaling the fragrant air, and came to my room all softened by the sweet languor of pointless and endless expectations.

I felt happy... But why was I happy? I didn’t want anything, I didn’t think about anything... I was happy.

Almost laughing from the excess of pleasant and playful feelings, I dived into bed and was about to close my eyes, when suddenly it occurred to me that during the evening I had never once remembered my cruel beauty... “What does this mean? - I asked myself. “Am I not in love?” But having asked myself this question, I seemed to immediately fall asleep, like a child in a cradle.

III

Are you sleeping? Guitar

I'll wake you up...

I hastened to open the door for him.

“Hello,” said Gagin, entering, “I disturbed you early, look what morning it is.” Freshness, dew, larks singing...

With his curly shiny hair, open neck and rosy cheeks, he himself was as fresh as the morning.

I got dressed; We went out into the kindergarten, sat down on a bench, ordered coffee to be served and began to talk. Gagin told me his plans for the future: owning a decent fortune and not depending on anyone, he wanted to devote himself to painting and only regretted that he had come to his senses late and wasted a lot of time; I also mentioned my assumptions, and, by the way, I told him the secret of my unhappy love. He listened to me with condescension, but, as far as I could notice, I did not arouse in him strong sympathy for my passion. Having sighed twice after me out of politeness, Gagin invited me to go to him to look at his sketches. I agreed immediately.

We didn't find Asya. She, according to the owner, went to the “ruin.” About two versts from the city of L. there were the remains of a feudal castle. Gagin revealed all his cardboards to me. There was a lot of life and truth in them, something free and wide; but not one of them was finished, and the drawing seemed careless and incorrect to me. I told him my opinion frankly.

“Yes, yes,” he picked up with a sigh, “you’re right; This is all very bad and immature, what should I do? I didn’t study properly, and the damned Slavic promiscuity is taking its toll. While you dream about work, you soar like an eagle; It seems that you would move the earth from its place - but in performance you immediately become weak and tired.

I started to encourage him, but he waved his hand and, gathering the cardboards into an armful, threw them on the sofa.

“If you have enough patience, something will come of me,” he said through gritted teeth, “if not enough, I’ll remain an undergrown nobleman. Let’s better go find Asya,” he said.

We are going.

The road to the ruin wound along the slope of a narrow wooded valley; at its bottom a stream ran and noisily spun through the stones, as if in a hurry to merge with the great river that calmly shone behind the dark edge of the steeply dissected mountain ridges. Gagin drew my attention to some happily illuminated places; in his words one could hear, if not a painter, then probably an artist. Soon a ruin appeared. At the very top of the bare rock stood a quadrangular tower, all black, still strong, but as if cut by a longitudinal crack. Mossy walls adjoined the tower; here and there there was ivy; twisted trees hung from gray loopholes and collapsed vaults. A rocky path led to the surviving gate. We were already approaching them, when suddenly a female figure flashed ahead of us, quickly ran over a pile of rubble and sat down on the ledge of the wall, right above the abyss.

- But this is Asya! - Gagin exclaimed, - what a crazy woman!

We entered the gate and found ourselves in a small courtyard, half overgrown with wild apple trees and nettles. Asya was definitely sitting on the ledge. She turned to face us and laughed, but did not move from her place. Gagin shook his finger at her, and I loudly reproached her for being careless.

“Come on,” Gagin said to me in a whisper, “don’t tease her; You don’t know her: she’ll probably climb the tower yet. But you better marvel at the intelligence of the local residents.

I looked back. In a corner, nestled in a tiny wooden booth, an old woman was knitting a stocking and looking sideways at us through her glasses. She sold beer, gingerbread and seltzer to tourists. We sat down on a bench and began drinking rather cold beer from heavy pewter mugs. Asya continued to sit motionless, tucked her legs under her and wrapped herself in a muslin scarf; her slender appearance was clearly and beautifully drawn against the clear sky; but I looked at her with a feeling of hostility. Already the day before, I noticed something tense in her, not entirely natural... “She wants to surprise us,” I thought, “why is this? What kind of childish trick is this?” As if she had guessed my thoughts, she suddenly cast a quick and piercing glance at me, laughed again, jumped off the wall in two leaps and, going up to the old woman, asked her for a glass of water.

- Do you think I'm thirsty? - she said, turning to her brother, - no; there are flowers on the walls that definitely need to be watered.

Gagin didn’t answer her; and she, with a glass in her hand, began to climb over the ruins, occasionally stopping, bending over and with amusing importance dropping a few drops of water that sparkled brightly in the sun. Her movements were very sweet, but I was still annoyed with her, although I involuntarily admired her lightness and dexterity. At one dangerous place she deliberately screamed and then laughed... I became even more annoyed.

“Yes, she climbs like a goat,” the old woman muttered under her breath, looking up for a moment from her stocking.

Finally, Asya emptied her entire glass and, swaying playfully, returned to us. A strange smile twitched her eyebrows, nostrils and lips slightly; The dark eyes squinted, half-insolently, half-amusedly.

“You find my behavior indecent,” her face seemed to say, “all the same: I know you admire me.”

“Skillfully, Asya, skillfully,” Gagin said in a low voice.

moments later it had already turned pale and assumed a concentrated, almost sad expression; her very features seemed larger, stricter, simpler to me. She became completely silent. We walked around the ruin (Asya followed us) and admired the views. Meanwhile, lunch hour was approaching. While paying the old woman, Gagin asked for another glass of beer and, turning to me, exclaimed with a sly grimace:

- For the health of the lady of your heart!

- Does he, - do you have such a lady? - Asya suddenly asked.

- Who doesn’t have it? - Gagin objected.

Asya thought for a moment; her face changed again, a defiant, almost impudent grin appeared on it again.

On the way back she laughed and played pranks even more. She broke a long branch, put it on her shoulder like a gun, and tied a scarf around her head. I remember we met a large family of blond and prim Englishmen; All of them, as if on command, followed Asya with cold amazement with their glass eyes, and she, as if to spite them, began to sing loudly. Returning home, she immediately went to her room and appeared only at dinnertime, dressed in her best dress, carefully combed, tied up and wearing gloves. She behaved very sedately, almost primly, at the table; she barely tasted the food and drank water from a glass. She clearly wanted to play a new role in front of me - the role of a decent and well-bred young lady. Gagin did not interfere with her: it was noticeable that he was used to indulging her in everything. He only looked at me good-naturedly from time to time and slightly shrugged his shoulder, as if wanting to say: “She’s a child; be lenient." As soon as lunch was over, Asya stood up and, putting on her hat, asked Gagin: could she go to Frau Louise?

- How long ago did you start asking? - he answered with his unchanged, this time somewhat embarrassed smile, - are you bored with us?

- No, but yesterday I promised Frau Louise to visit her; besides, I thought that it would be better for you two together: Mr. N. (she pointed at me) will tell you something else.

She left.

“Frau Louise,” said Gagin, trying to avoid my gaze, “is the widow of the former burgomaster here, a kind, but empty old woman.” She fell in love with Asya very much. Asya has a passion for meeting people of the lower circle: I noticed that the reason for this is always pride. She’s very spoiled, as you can see,” he added, after a pause, “but what do you want me to do?” I don’t know how to collect from anyone, and even less so from her. I have to be lenient with her.

I said nothing. Gagin changed the conversation. The more I got to know him, the more attached I became to him. I soon understood it. It was just a Russian soul, truthful, honest, simple, but, unfortunately, a little lethargic, without tenacity and inner heat. Youth was not in full swing in him; she glowed with a quiet light. He was very sweet and smart, but I could not imagine what would become of him once he matured. To be an artist... Without bitter, constant work there are no artists... but to work, I thought, looking at his soft features, listening to his leisurely speech - no! You won’t work, you won’t be able to give up. But it was impossible not to love him: my heart was drawn to him. We spent four hours together, sometimes sitting on the sofa, sometimes slowly walking in front of the house; and in these four hours they finally came together.

The sun had set and it was time for me to go home. Asya still did not return.

- What a free spirit she is! - said Gagin. - Do you want me to accompany you? On the way we will stop by Frau Louise; I'll ask if she's there? The hook is not big.

We went down into the city and, turning into a narrow, crooked alley, stopped in front of a house with two windows four stories wide and four stories high. The second floor protruded onto the street more than the first, the third and fourth even more than the second; the whole house, with its dilapidated carvings, two thick ones at the bottom, sharp tiled roofs and a beak-shaped gate in the attic, seemed like a huge, hunched bird.

- Asya! - Gagin shouted, - are you here?

The illuminated window on the third floor knocked and opened, and we saw Asya’s dark head. The toothless and blind face of an old German woman peeked out from behind her.

Frau Louise laughed.

“N. is leaving,” Gagin answered, “he wants to say goodbye to you.”

- As if? - Asya said, - in that case, give him my branch, and I’ll be right back.

She slammed the window and, it seems, kissed Frau Louise. Gagin silently handed me a branch. I silently put it in my pocket, walked to the carriage and crossed to the other side.

hemp. Its steppe smell instantly reminded me of my homeland and aroused in my soul a passionate longing for it. I wanted to breathe Russian air, to walk on Russian soil. “What am I doing here, why am I wandering around in a strange place, among strangers?” - I exclaimed, and the deathly heaviness that I felt in my heart suddenly resolved into bitter and burning emotion. I came home in a completely different mood than the day before. I felt almost angry and could not calm down for a long time. An incomprehensible annoyance was wreaking havoc on me. Finally, I sat down, and, remembering my treacherous widow (the official memory of this lady was my every day), I took out one of her notes. But I didn't even open it; my thoughts immediately took a different direction. I started thinking... thinking about Asa. It occurred to me that during the conversation Gagin had hinted to me about some difficulties preventing his return to Russia... “Come on, is she his sister?” - I said loudly.

I undressed, lay down and tried to sleep; but an hour later I was again sitting in bed, leaning my elbow on the pillow, and again thinking about this “capricious girl with a forced laugh...”. “She is built like Raphael’s little Galatea in the Farnesina,” I whispered, “yes; and she is not his sister..."

The next morning I went to L. again. I assured myself that I wanted to see Gagin, but secretly I wanted to see what Asya would do, whether she would be as “strange” as the day before. I found them both in the living room, and what a strange thing! - Is it because I thought a lot about Russia at night and in the morning - Asya seemed to me like a completely Russian girl, a simple girl, almost a maid. She was wearing an old dress, she combed her hair behind her ears and sat, motionless, by the window and sewed in a hoop, modestly, quietly, as if she had never done anything else in her entire life. She said almost nothing, calmly looked at her work, and her features took on such an insignificant, everyday expression that I involuntarily remembered our home-grown Katya and Masha. To complete the similarity, she began to hum “Mother, darling” in a low voice. I looked at her yellowish, faded face, remembered yesterday’s dreams, and I felt sorry for something. The weather was wonderful. Gagin announced to us that he would go today to draw a sketch from life: I asked him if he would allow me to accompany him, if I would interfere with him?

“On the contrary,” he objected, “you can give me good advice.”

Asya promised to visit the kitchen. Gagin reached the valley that was already familiar to me, sat down on a stone and began to sketch an old hollow oak tree with spreading branches. I lay down on the grass and took out a book; but I didn’t read two pages, and he only ruined the paper; We talked more and more, and, as far as I can judge, we talked quite intelligently and subtly about how exactly one should work, what should be avoided, what should be adhered to, and what is the actual importance of an artist in our age. Gagin finally decided that he was “not in the mood today,” lay down next to me, and then our young speeches flowed freely, sometimes passionate, sometimes thoughtful, sometimes enthusiastic, but almost always unclear speeches, in which Russian so readily flows Human. Having chatted to our heart's content and filled with a feeling of satisfaction, as if we had done something, succeeded in something, we returned home. I found Asya exactly the same as I left her; No matter how hard I tried to observe her, I did not notice a shadow of coquetry or a sign of a deliberately adopted role in her; this time there was no way to reproach her for unnaturalness.

- A-ha! - said Gagin, - she imposed fasting and repentance on herself.

In the evening she yawned several times unfeignedly and went to her room early. I myself soon said goodbye to Gagin, and, returning home, I no longer dreamed of anything: that day passed in sober sensations. I remember, however, as I was going to bed, I involuntarily said out loud:

- What a chameleon this girl is! - and, after thinking a little, he added: “Still, she’s not his sister.”

A whole two weeks have passed. I visited the Gagins every day. Asya seemed to be avoiding me, but she no longer allowed herself any of those pranks that had so surprised me in the first two days of our acquaintance. She seemed secretly distressed or embarrassed; she laughed less. I watched her with curiosity.

Gagin himself. He, despite his hat a la Van Dyck and blouse, smelled of a soft, semi-effete, Great Russian nobleman, and she did not look like a young lady; there was something restless in all her movements: this wild animal had recently been grafted, this wine was still fermenting. By nature shy and timid, she was annoyed at her shyness and, out of frustration, forcibly tried to be cheeky and bold, which she did not always succeed. I talked to her several times about her life in Russia, about her past: she was reluctant to answer my questions; I learned, however, that before going abroad she lived in the village for a long time. I found her reading a book once, alone. Leaning her head on both hands and running her fingers deep into her hair, she devoured the lines with her eyes.

- Bravo! - I said, approaching her, - how diligent you are!

She raised her head and looked at me importantly and sternly.

“You think that I only know how to laugh,” she said and wanted to leave...

I looked at the title of the book: it was some kind of French novel.

- What to read! - she exclaimed, and, throwing the book on the table, added: “Well, I’d better go fool around,” and ran into the garden.

That same day, in the evening, I read Gagina’s “Herman and Dorothea.” At first Asya just darted past us, then suddenly she stopped, put her ear to her ear, quietly sat down next to me and listened to the reading to the end. The next day I didn’t recognize her again until I guessed what had suddenly entered her head: to be homely and sedate, like Dorothea. In a word, she appeared to me as a semi-mysterious creature. Proud to the extreme, she attracted me even when I was angry with her. There was only one thing that I became more and more convinced of, namely, that she was not Gagina’s sister. He did not communicate with her in a brotherly way: too affectionately, too condescendingly and at the same time somewhat forced.

A strange incident seemed to confirm my suspicions.

One evening, approaching the vineyard where the Gagins lived, I found the gate locked. Without thinking for long, I reached one collapsed place in the fence, which I had already noticed before, and jumped over it. Not far from this place, off to the side of the path, there was a small gazebo made of acacia trees; I caught up with her and was about to pass by... Suddenly I was struck by Asya’s voice, uttering the following words with fervor and through tears:

“Come on, Asya, calm down,” Gagin said, “you know, I believe you.”

Their voices were heard in the gazebo. I saw them both through the sparse tangle of branches. They didn't notice me.

“You, you alone,” she repeated, threw herself on his neck and, with convulsive sobs, began to kiss him and press herself against his chest.

“It’s enough, it’s enough,” he repeated, lightly running his hand through her hair.

I didn’t run home. I smiled, rubbed my hands, marveled at the incident that suddenly confirmed my guesses (I did not doubt their validity for a single moment), and yet my heart was very bitter. “However,” I thought, “they know how to pretend! But why? Why do you want to fool me? I didn’t expect this from him... And what kind of sensitive explanation is that?”

VII

I slept poorly and the next morning I got up early, tied my traveling bag behind my back and, telling my mistress not to expect me at night, set off on foot to the mountains, upstream of the river on which the town of Z lies. These mountains are branches of the ridge , called the Dog's Back (Hundsruck), very interesting geologically; They are especially remarkable for the regularity and purity of the basalt layers; but I had no time for geological observations. I was not aware of what was happening in me; one feeling was clear to me: reluctance to see Gagin. I assured myself that the only reason for my sudden dislike towards them was annoyance at their cunning. Who forced them to pretend to be relatives? However, I tried not to think about them; wandered leisurely through the mountains and valleys, sat in village taverns, peacefully talking with owners and guests, or lay down on a warm flat stone and watched the clouds float, fortunately the weather was amazing. I spent three days in such activities, and not without pleasure, although my heart ached at times. The mood of my thoughts just matched the calm nature of that region.

I gave myself entirely to the quiet play of chance, the rushing impressions; laughing leisurely, they flowed through my soul and finally left in it one common feeling, in which everything that I saw, felt, heard in those three days merged - everything: the subtle smell of resin in the forests, the cry and knock of woodpeckers, the silent the chatter of bright streams with colorful trout on a sandy bottom, the not too bold outlines of mountains, gloomy rocks, clean villages with venerable old churches and trees, storks in the meadows, cozy mills with nimble turning wheels, the hospitable faces of the villagers, their blue jackets and gray stockings, creaky, slow carts drawn by fat horses and sometimes cows, young long-haired wanderers along clean roads lined with apple and pear trees...

Even now I am pleased to remember my impressions of that time. Hello to you, modest corner of the German soil, with your unpretentious contentment, with the ubiquitous traces of diligent hands, patient, although unhurried work... Hello to you and peace!

I came home at the very end of the third day. I forgot to say that out of annoyance at the Gagins, I tried to resurrect the image of the hard-hearted widow; but my efforts remained in vain. I remember when I began to dream about her, I saw a peasant girl of about five years old, with a round, curious face, and innocently bulging eyes. She looked at me so childishly and innocently... I felt ashamed of her pure gaze, I did not want to lie in her presence and immediately said goodbye to my former subject completely and forever.

but the next day I went to L.

History of the story and prototypes

Ivan Turgenev began writing the story in July 1857 and planned to finish it by the end of summer. However, the work stretched until October. This slow pace was explained by the poor health of the writer: he was forced to correct his neurological disorder in foreign health resorts.

As Ivan Sergeevich himself admitted, the idea of writing a story with a similar plot first came to him in a hotel room in the small German town of Sinzig. Looking out of the window of his room, Turgenev noticed the head of an elderly woman in the window opposite, and in the window above him could be seen the face of a pretty young girl. This picture aroused interest in the writer’s soul, and he began to think about the possible fate of these ladies. Later, he was so carried away by this activity that he decided to put his thoughts on paper.

I. S. Turgenev, 1871

In the same German town, Turgenev met the artist A.P. Nikitin and brother and sister Saburov, who could become the prototypes of the main characters.

Also, many researchers of Turgenev’s life are inclined to think that the writer’s image of Asya was inspired by the fate of his own illegitimate daughter Polina. The girl was born as a result of Ivan Sergeevich’s relationship with a laundress in his mother’s house. He learned about the girl's existence when she was already 7 years old. Since the girl’s position in the house was very unenviable (the writer’s mother did not accept her, and all the servants made fun of her, calling her “young lady”), Ivan Sergeevich decided to take the girl with him and placed her in a boarding school abroad.

In addition, Ivan Sergeevich had a cousin Anna, or, as she was called at home, Asya. She was the illegitimate daughter of his uncle Nikolai Nikolaevich Turgenev and was brought up in the house of the writer's mother. Asya grew up with Varvara, the illegitimate daughter of the writer’s mother. Thus, Ivan Turgenev more than once met in his life the fates of girls like his literary Asya, saw their mental suffering up close, and therefore could vividly and figuratively convey them to readers.

Reflections on love

The reader sees the main character as a special and unusual girl. She draws talentedly, is fond of literature, has a vulnerable, sensitive soul and keenly perceives any injustice. Due to internal contradictions, Asya is constantly drawn to extravagant actions, which worries the main character, but at the same time attracts him. He cannot understand either her or his feelings for this unusual girl.

Asya is very young and inexperienced; for the first time she encounters love, which she unexpectedly discovers in her soul. The title of the work included the female name “Asya”, which later allowed literary scholars to identify a new type of female heroine – the “Turgenev girl”.

The author never gives the main character a name, N.N. remains nameless throughout the story. And since N.N. is both the central character and the narrator, then the author in the story, as it were, withdraws himself and relieves himself of the need to comment on the events taking place, the behavior of the characters and bringing readers closer to the characters in the story.

Elena Koreneva as Asya

As a result, N.N. is faced with a choice: take responsibility for his beloved and their future life or pretend that nothing happened. This turn is entirely in keeping with the traditions of Russian literature, where heroes often undergo “tests of love.” N.N. at the decisive moment he became faint-hearted and turned out to be weaker than his own feelings and, even more so, the feelings of the girl.

Was N.N. right, or was his caution correct? The union would bring N.N. and Asya family happiness? The author does not give ready answers to all these questions, inviting readers to reflect on this important topic for themselves.