Once upon a time, there lived an old man - a kind soul. He lived with his wife, also a kind old woman, in a small white house near Snowdon.
Every evening, after dinner, the old man took a slop bucket with cleanings, and as soon as he took some ten steps, he was already at the stone fence of his garden. Hop! And all the peelings behind the fence - and onion peel, and potato peel, and carrot tops, and all that sort of thing.
And the next morning, the neighbor's pig came and ate everything, grunting with pleasure.
The good old man's soul rejoiced, looking at her. Needless to say, he really was a kind old man.
And then one evening, just as the moon was just rising, the old man, as usual, went out into the garden. Ten steps - and he was already at his fence. But just as he was about to pour the garbage pail over the fence, he suddenly noticed that someone was standing nearby. Some stranger whom the good old man had never seen before. Such a wonderful little man. Dressed in all green, only the vest is bright red. The style of his dress was also somehow wonderful - the old man had never seen such a thing in his life.
In addition, the stranger was very mowed down. But most of all, the old man was surprised by his huge, enormous feet.
Woe to me, woe! said the strange stranger. "Is this how it's going to go on every night?" And he pointed to the garbage pail.
The old man was surprised:
What is it? I've been doing this all my life, every God's evening!
That's the trouble, that every evening! - said the strange stranger and sighed so heavily that the good old man felt sorry for him.
Does anyone feel bad about this? - he asked.
Worse than ever! - said the stranger.
But not the neighbor's pig! retorted the warmly kind old man. “She is very fond of cleanings - and onion peels, and potato peels, and carrot tops, and all that kind of thing - and every morning she comes here for them.
I know all this very well,” said the strange stranger, and again heaved a sigh. “Listen,” he continued, “would you like to stand on my feet?
Get on your feet? - the old man was even more surprised. - How will this help you?
And here it will help! Then I can show you what the trouble is.
Well, I'll try, - says the old man, because he was a kind soul.
“Thank God,” he thought, “that cross-eyed eccentric has such huge feet! You can really stand on them."
And so, holding on to the stone fence, the kind old man stood up to the wonderful stranger on his feet and looked over the fence - just where he poured a slop bucket every evening for thirty years of his life. And - about a miracle! As if he looked through the earth, as if it were not solid earth, but pure, transparent water, and saw there - no, just imagine! - a small white house, exactly like his own. But my God, how dirty he was! Its roof was covered with slops, onion skins clogged the chimney, potato skins lay on the steps, carrot tops floated in a clean bucket of water, and so on.
Here's the trouble! - said the old man. - Well, who would have thought!
Yes, and all these cleanings through the chimney get into our room, - said the stranger, almost crying. - And so thirty years! My wife's heart is breaking with grief that she cannot clean our house.
Here's an attack! - exclaimed the old man. - What to do?
Think of something!
I'll think of something. But what?
I give you a day! Tomorrow I will come to you for an answer, but now get off my feet!
Before the good old man had time to take a few steps, the white house and the big-legged wonderful stranger disappeared as if they had never been.
When the old man returned home, his wife asked him why he was walking around like that in the moonlight. He told her everything.
Oh you, fathers! exclaimed the kind old woman. - Well, the poor thing got to clean and wash her house every God's day for thirty years in a row!
Almost all night the old man and the old woman sat by the fireplace. If they slept, then quite a bit - everyone thought and wondered how they should be.
And in the morning, as dawn broke, they both hurried to the fence and looked over it. But they didn’t see anything like that - neither a strange, big-legged little man, nor a small white house. Only the neighbor's pig. She dug the ground with a snout, but all in vain - no onion peel, no potato peels, no carrot tops - there was nothing on the ground. The old man felt so sorry for her!
And when evening came and the moon appeared, he went to the fence. A strange little man - you must have guessed that it was a brownie, one of those brownies that guard cleanliness in the house - yes, so a strange little man was already waiting for him there.
Well, did you come up with something? he asked after they had politely greeted each other.
Invented! - said the kind old man.
Did your wife approve of what you came up with?
Approved! - said the old man.
So what did you come up with?
I will move the door of our house to the other side!
And so he did.
Called the carpenter, Mr. Williams, and the bricklayer, Mr. Bill Davis - he himself was too old to handle such a job - paid them generously, and they moved the door of his house to the other side. And every evening, after supper, the old man - a kind soul - took a slop bucket, and as soon as he took some ten steps, he was already at the fence of his garden. Hop! II all cleaning behind the fence.
Behind the fence, but only on the other side!
Since then, probably, it has become a tradition that the door of the Welsh is on the wrong side.
Yes, but the old man, by the way, did not remain for nothing. With Mr. Williams, a carpenter, and with Bill Davis, a bricklayer, he paid honor with honor. And yet it turned out that he did not spend a penny.
How so? - you ask.
And so that every Saturday, as soon as it got dark, the kind old man and his wife, also a kind old woman, found an old silver coin under their door.
Glossary:
- Good Soul
kind soul
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tulip elves English folk tales
tulip elves
Cherry of Zennor
Elf workers
Fairy Nurse
Magic ointment
Legend of Pantannas
Chowder in an eggshell
Taffy Up Zion and the fairy circle
Per. N. Budur
tulip elves
In the West of England, not far from Tywi, lived a kind old woman. Her house stood on the edge of an elven field, where green circles could be seen in the grass. Now people say that these "fairy rings" appear from the fact that elves catch foals. Caught and ride them around and around all night. That's what people say. But the old woman thought otherwise. Her clean house stood in a wonderful garden full of fragrant flowers. There grew lavender and mallow, lilies and rosemary, levkoy and cloves, forget-me-nots and rue. But best of all was a large bed of tulips, which the old woman took special care of. When the tulips were in bloom, there was not a person who, passing by, would not stop to admire them.
The elves were very fond of the old woman and her garden!
One summer night, when the air was filled with the scent of white lilacs that grew under the old woman's window, she was awakened by strange sounds. At first she thought it was an owl hooting in the elm branches, but she soon realized that a hoarse owl could not make such gentle sounds.
“Yes, it looks like a lullaby,” the old woman was surprised and listened to the magic music.
But then she decided to get up and see what was happening in her garden. Illuminated by the pale light of the moon, bright tulips shook their heads to the beat of a lovely melody. They seemed to sing too.
The same thing happened on the second and third nights. At this point, the old lady realized what was going on. The elves brought babies to her garden and put them to sleep in tulips: one elf child per flower.
They lull their babies to sleep, - the old woman whispered touched. - Shh! Yes, here they are, my dear! The elf children have already fallen asleep, and the adult elves are going to prancing on my field.
And she was absolutely right.
It was not the foals trampling circles on the green grass at all, but the elves themselves, when they circled in dance to the sounds of magical music. But as soon as dawn began to turn red in the east, the elves hurried to the old woman in the garden for their children, and then became invisible and disappeared.
Oh my God! - the old woman was surprised. - Yes, the elves kiss their babies before taking them out of the flowers! How they love them!
She soon noticed that the tulips did not wither as quickly as the other flowers in the garden. It even seemed to her that they would never bloom at all. And one fine day, when the old woman bent over the tulips, she suddenly noticed that they became even more beautiful from the breath of the elves and smelled wonderful - like lilies and roses.
No one will pick a single tulip in my garden now, the old woman decided. - Even myself. Let them bloom for the joy of the elves!
It went on year after year.
And it's time for the old lady to die. It was a sad day for her garden, and the tulips hung their heads.
They really had reason to grieve, because the garden had passed into other hands. Its new owner didn't care about the elves and their babies. He looked after the garden only because of the fruits and berries. Pies with gooseberries, raspberries and plums turned out to be extremely tasty!
You should not pick gooseberries ahead of time, - his neighbor once said to the new owner of the garden. - It will bring you bad luck. Elves don't like it when their stuff is taken.
Elves? What nonsense? laughed the owner of the garden.
And you decided to dig up all the tulips? The old woman loved them very much. What do you want to plant there?
I'm going to plant a parsley patch there, if you're so interested!
Parsley? Oh my God! Don't you know it's a bad omen? I have only heard of one person who dared to plant a bed of parsley. Immediately afterwards, he fell ill and died.
What nonsense! - snorted the new owner of the garden.
And he dug up all the tulips, and planted parsley in their place. But the elves got angry and dried it up, and at the same time the whole old garden. They were very offended.
At night, they no longer cradled their babies in the tulip bed, but people sometimes heard them singing nearby. But now they came to the grave of the old woman, and their song was sad and sad. They always sang the night before the full moon.
No one cared for the grave old woman, but it never grew. As she looked after the elves' tulips, so they now looked after her grave. No one planted flowers there, but at night the old woman's favorite flowers always bloomed on the grave: rosemary and levkoy, lavender and forget-me-nots, sweet peas and ruga.
What is true and what is false, I do not know.
But I still trust you with this legend.
Cherry of Zennor
Old Honey lived with his wife and children in a small house of two rooms and a "bedroom" on the rocky coast of Tririn at Zennor. The old people had six children. They lived as well as they could, but not very well - they had only a few acres of meager land on which even a sheep could not feed.
There were a lot of shells lying around the house, and as if the poor family ate only scallops and oysters. But on weekdays, they had fish and chips for lunch, and on Sundays, occasionally, pork and gravy. White bread was baked at Christmas and Easter.
But the children were beautiful and healthy. One of the daughters was named Cherry. She ran as fast as a hare, and was very fond of playing pranks and joking.
One day a miller's son came to the city, tied his horse, and went to find out if anyone would take grain to the mill. Meanwhile, Cherry jumped on her horse and galloped to the rocks. The miller's son chased after her, but Cherry galloped to a rocky cliff, which no horse could climb, jumped to the ground and began to jump from stone to stone - then the hound could not keep up with her, not like the miller's son.
Cherry grew up, became a marriageable girl, but Cherry is no longer happy. Year after year, her mother promised her a new dress so that she could go to the fair and to festivities, but the family still did not have extra money. There was nothing for Cherry to go to church, or to her girlfriends, or anywhere else young girls go.
Cherry turned sixteen. One of her friends was bought a new dress with ribbons and lace, and she went to church in Nancledery in it. The girl told Cherry about this and also about how many guys wanted to take her home after the sermon. Cherry was very upset. And she told her mother that she had decided to go look for work in the villages in the valley of Toadneck and Zennor. Maybe it will be possible to earn money and buy an elegant dress, like other girls.
Then her mother asked her to look for a job in Toadneck first, so that they could see each other at least occasionally on Sundays.
Well, no, - Cherry objected to her. - I will never work in a village where cows chew rope from bells, and people eat fish and potatoes every day, and on Sundays - share with eel. [pai - Pie]
And one fine day, Cherry gathered her things, tied them in a bundle and got ready to go look for a job. She promised her father that she would try to settle closer to home and visit her parents more often. Old Honey asked to beware of pirates and robbers, but Cherry did not really pay attention to his words.
She went along the road to Ludgvan and Gyulval. As soon as the chimneys of Tririn disappeared from sight, she was frightened and wanted to return home, but changed her mind and went on.
She made her way to the Crossroads of Four Ways at the Lady Downs, sat on a rock by the roadside, and wept as if she had left home forever.
She burst into tears and decided that it would be best for her to immediately turn back home.
She wiped her eyes, raised her head and suddenly sees - an unfamiliar gentleman is walking towards her. She couldn't figure out where he came from, because only a few minutes ago the road to the Downs had been deserted.
The gentleman wished her " good morning”, he asked how to get to Twednak, and then asked where Cherry was going.
Cherry replied that she had just left home today to find a job, but something was restless in her heart, and therefore she decided to return to her parents.
I didn't think I'd be so lucky," said the gentleman. - I'm just looking for a girl to look after the house.
And he told Cherry that his wife had died, leaving him a son, a lovely boy, whom she could look after. She suits him very well. Neat and cute. He noticed, of course, that the dress was a patch on a patch, but she herself was as fresh as a rose, and all the seawater could not have made her purer. Poor Cherry would only reply to such speeches as "Yes, sir," but she herself did not understand half of what was said. Her mother taught her how to respond when a priest or some other gentleman addressed her, and she - just like now! She didn't understand what they were talking about.
The stranger said that he lived nearby, a little to the side, in a lowland, that she would have little work - to milk a cow and look after a child. And Cherry decided to go with him. On the way, he spoke to Cherry so friendly that the girl did not notice how time passed and where they were going.
But now they went along a dark alley, through the branchy trees of which not a single ray of sunlight could break through. There were greenery and flowers all around, and honey was in the air...
English folk tales Dear children! Today we have gathered for a meeting with an English fairy tale. Every nation has its own fairy tales, and the English also have their folk English fairy tales. Fairy tales reflect the soul of the people, their wisdom and thoughts. For the first time in the 19th century, two volumes of English folk tales were collected and published by Joseph Jacobs, president of the English Folk Club. It was difficult for Joseph Jacobs to collect fairy tales. many fairy tales have been forgotten. The scientist did not subject the fairy tale to literary processing, as did A.N. Afanasiev in Russia, Charles Perrault in France and the Brothers Grimm in Germany. He set himself the goal of giving examples of the fabulous people. English folk tales are strikingly different from the Russian ones we are used to. Everything is different in them - space and method of construction, genre and plot originality, features of heroes and characters. Fairy tales written in English language, give us ideas about national myths, legends, ballads, and also acquaint us with individual elements of the spiritual and material culture of this rich country. All this allows us to get acquainted with the life of England, learn about the different stages of its history. English fairy tales are based on specific information, some facts are used. Therefore, this means that English fairy tales are not very magical and fabulous, but rather sad stories. They do not always have a happy ending, sometimes even cruel: for example, "Magic Ointment", but always remain instructive. In them main character travels the world and observes various events, such as the gentleman from the fairy tale "Three Clever Heads". Along with morality, there is impracticality and stupidity. As a hero, there can be a practical and very smart person, but unfriendly and dishonorable, he is capable of cheating and deceit, although he is distinguished by enterprise and energy - character traits that were valued in bourgeois England where capitalism began to develop for the first time in the world. For example, deceiving the cannibal giants, the girl Molly in the fairy tale "Molly Wappy" and Jack in the fairy tale "Jack and beanstalk» achieve happiness for themselves and their loved ones. The heroes of other English fairy tales are industrious, honest, noble and courageous; some of them become real folk heroes. Yes, Jack peasant son, the hero of the fairy tale "Jack the Giant Killer", entering the fight against the cannibal giants, at first thinks only about the reward, but then becomes a true fighter for the liberation of his people from the giant villains. Most English fairy tales begin with these words: “Once upon a time there was either a king and a queen, they had a son, and behold, he grew up and went to seek his fortune!” Further it turns out that the happiness of the hero lies in the fact that after the fabulous events and incredible adventures he finds nothing but material wealth. The main motif of the English fairy tale is the avoidance of failure. In them, the heroes do not try to achieve something, but try to avoid failure, loss. But it is also worth saying that there is no pronounced motive for the English folk tale. The activities of the main characters are determined not only by their own desires, but also by duty, external circumstances. Recall, for example, the fairy tale "Mr. Mike", in which the little boy Tommy tries his best to behave in order not to get caught by Mr. Mike for dinner. So in the fairy tale "Magic Horn" greedy heroes take possession of the horn. Or, for example, in the fairy tale “Tom Tim Tom”, the main character is a not very smart girl who did not know how to spin five skeins of yarn per day, as her mother would have wished, but could only eat five puddings in one sitting. Nevertheless, even here the heroine finds a way out of the situation, finding herself a wonderful helper. In English fairy tales, characters are usually people: peasants, farmers, but also sorcerers, brownies. Often in English fairy tales there is such a character - a woman, brave and absolutely fearless. In fairy tales in which the main characters are animals, they teach the reader to distinguish between a good, bright beginning and an evil one, to empathize and help the weak, to believe in justice. The whole plot of the fairy tale is built on the constant clash of good and evil. The wolf and fox are very insidious and dangerous. But the power of evil is softened by humor, which occupies a significant place in the English fairy tale. Evil characters are constantly ridiculed and often get into ridiculous comic situations. English fairy tales are distinguished by great diversity and have long attracted the attention of many Russian writers. All of you guys know the famous fairy tale "Three Bears". And do you know what it is English fairy tale? L.N. Tolstoy retold it for Russian children. You also know another fairy tale "The Three Little Pigs". And this is also an English fairy tale! CM. Mikhalkov translated and edited it. It is curious that in the English version the piglet's terrible oath sounds like this: "I swear by my beard - beards!" This is explained by the fact that initially in the fairy tale it was not pigs that acted, but goats. Now I want to read to you an English folk tale called "The York House" Guys, what do you think, what is the meaning of this tale? Who is the positive character in the story and who is the negative character? What do you particularly remember about the story? Our lesson has come to an end, thank you for your attention!
Long ago, before the first sailors set sail to see the lands that lie beyond the sea, the sea king and sea queen lived peacefully and happily under the waves. They had many beautiful children.
The slender, brown-eyed children played all day long with merry sea sheep and swam in the thickets of purple algae that grow at the bottom of the ocean. They loved to sing, and wherever they sailed, they sang songs similar to the splashing of the waves.
But then great grief came to the sea king and his carefree children.
Once upon a time he lived at Clythra, in Lancashire, a poor little tailor. He worked conscientiously, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not get out of poverty. When things got really bad for him, the poor fellow decided to sell his soul to the devil. Who could blame him for this? Like every person, he wanted at least a little money and joy in this world, but what will happen in the next is not important.
The poor tailor knew exactly what to do and how. He wrote a letter in which he agreed to give his soul to the devil in fifteen years, and before going to bed, he put the letter under his pillow. The next morning, instead of a letter, he found half a crown there. The tailor knew that this half-crown was a deposit, and if you take the deposit, then he agrees to the deal.
He took the money, and although it was small, he still rejoiced, foreseeing better times. Now he will no longer starve and get cold! Soon he will buy himself everything he wants, settle in a big house, eat plenty. And even drink some wine!
In the good old time - and it really was a good time, although it was not my time and not your time, and no one's time - there lived a girl in the world. Her mother died and her father married another. The stepmother hated her stepdaughter because the girl was more beautiful than she, kept her in a black body, forced her to do all the hard work around the house and did not leave her alone for a moment. Finally, she decided to get rid of it altogether. She gave the girl a sieve and said:
- Go, fill this sieve with water from a source that is at the end of the world. Yes, bring the sieve full, otherwise it will be bad for you!
The stepmother thought that the girl would never find a source at the end of the world, and if she did, would she carry water in a sieve?
And so the girl set off on her journey and asked everyone she met where that source was at the end of the world? But no one knew this, and she kept thinking and wondering what to do.
Once upon a time there was a young man named Jack. One morning he went to seek his fortune in the world. After walking a little, he met a cat.
- Where are you going, Jack? - asked the cat.
- I'm going to seek happiness.
- Can I go with you?
- Yes, - said Jack, - it will be more fun than going alone.
Top yes top, top yes top. They walked a little and saw a dog.
That was a long time ago. Came to a village that stands on the banks of the beautiful river Tyne, an old woman named Clooty.
The men of this village were happy and satisfied with their lot. From time immemorial they sat on this land, grazed sheep and cows, plowed, sowed and lived in abundance. Everyone had strong, good houses, warm clothes in winter and a lot of all kinds of food. And so everything went until the old woman Clooty came to the village and settled in a small house with a lopsided chimney.
The women of this village were hard-working and friendly; they themselves baked bread and rolls, sewed and knitted, and stocked up on provisions for the winter. And so everything went until the old woman Clooty came to the village and settled in a small house with a lopsided chimney.
In the reign of King John, the Abbot of Canterbury lived in his abbey no worse than the king himself. Every day, a hundred monks dined with him in the refectory, and he was always surrounded by a retinue of fifty knights in velvet robes and with golden chains on their chests.
As you know, King John was an extremely bad king. He did not tolerate that any of his subjects - even the holy father - was revered more than himself. And he summoned the Abbe of Canterbury to his place.
Cat and Parrot agreed to invite each other over for dinner every day. Today, say, the Parrot calls the Cat to him, and the next day - on the contrary, and so on. The first was the turn of the Cat.
The cat bought half a penny worth of rice at the market, and the same amount of milk and sugar.
The parrot, having appeared at the appointed time, saw nothing but Lenten food. Moreover, the Cat took such poor care of his guest that he had to cook for himself.
The next day it was Parrot's turn. He bought thirty pounds of flour from the market, plenty of butter and sugar, and everything he needed to bake pies. There were so many of them that they could fill a huge basket, like those carried by washerwomen. In total, five hundred ruddy, delicious pies came out.
Long ago, two brothers lived in the wilderness of Scotland. They lived in a very secluded place, many miles from the nearest village, and were served by an old cook. Apart from the three of them, there was not a soul in the house, except for the old woman's cat and hunting dogs.
One autumn, the elder brother, Elshender, decided to stay at home, and the younger, Fergas, went hunting alone. He went far into the mountains, where he hunted with his brother the day before, and promised to return home before sunset.
But the day was over, it was high time to sit down to supper, and still Fergas did not return. Elshender was worried - he had never had to wait so long for his brother.
In those days, a beautiful young king ruled in this country, and this king decided one day to go on a wandering in search of a bride; she must be beautiful, of noble birth, and above all, the royal bride must be modest, hardworking and sincere. The king would not agree to anything less. So he decided, got on his horse one morning and set off.
He drove and he drove, and the road led him to the place where Little Matty kept her sheep. Seeing the little shepherdess, the king politely greeted her and said:
"God bless you, Little Matty, how are you?"
"Well, thank you," said Little Matty, "even though I'm dressed in rags." But when I marry a king, I will only wear pure gold!
“That will never happen,” said the king.
“Oh no, that’s exactly what it will be,” said Little Matty.
Often I think: what is the cutest thing in the world? and no matter how I guess, one answer always comes out: there is no sweeter human soul in the world. Of course, a good person does not always live well; Of course, he suffers even more often than the other, who looks with bulging eyes at the world of God, and he doesn’t care about anyone’s great sorrows, but he also suffers somehow quietly, sweetly, lovingly ...
It is good to meet a kind person in life: firstly, he has always seen, thought and experienced a lot, and therefore, he can tell and explain a lot; secondly, the very closeness of a good human soul enlightens and calms everything, no matter what touches it. How people get to the point where they become very, very kind, that they do not blame, do not resent, but only love and pity - it is rather difficult to explain right away. However, it can be said almost without error that this cannot be achieved otherwise than through the constant work of thought. When a person thinks a lot, when he considers not only the external signs of the deeds and actions of his neighbors, but also the inner history that served as a preparation for them, then it is very difficult to remain in the role of an accuser, even if the external signs of a certain action arouse indignation. As soon as thought explains and purifies action of impurities that confuse it, the heart cannot but dissolve and justify. Criminals disappear; their place is taken by the "unfortunate", and because of these "unfortunates" the good human soul burns, languishes and languishes...
We meet a lot of people in the world, but, unfortunately, most of them belong precisely to the number of those who walk around with bulging eyes and do not want to hear about anything except their little personal interests. These people are the most unfortunate, even more unhappy than those whom we actually call criminals. A real “criminal” may have his whole soul hurt before he decides to commit a crime, and this one, who walks down the street with bulging eyes, does his little nasty things at every step and does not even feel that these nasty things are the same crimes and that all worldly misfortunes emanate from their dark mass.
But there are many good people, and you, dear children, are always the fastest to distinguish them. When you feel that it is easy and pleasant for you around some person; when your faces bloom with a smile at the sight of him, when you are instinctively beckoned to caress him ... know that he is as pure and sweet a person as you are; know that it is precisely that kind human heart that I want to talk about here is beating around you.
There are so many nowhere good souls like between women. A man is almost always up to his neck in his petty worldly affairs; he is more on the people, he is more often forced to fight, to see and endure injustice. Therefore, he has more reasons to cultivate a sense of annoyance in himself and there is no time to consider his conclusions with the benefits of others, there is no time to forgive. Moreover, a certain degree of independence gave his actions a somewhat predatory character, as a result of which his favorite proverbs became: “That's what the war is for!” yes “Then in the sea there is a pike, so that the crucian does not doze off!” On the contrary, a woman from her earliest years is almost always alone and always in a pen; the actual role to which, at least for the time being, woman is condemned is that of silence and fulfillment of other people's desires and whims. So she is silent, but at the same time she thinks, she thinks a lot. And the more she thinks, the more painfully her own lonely life drags on, the more her loving, kind heart dissolves. She sees how a man fusses and thrashes all his life, how he is cunning and dodging because of a piece of daily bread, and the thought of “misfortune”, which, as it were, has entangled the entire human race with a net, arises in her head by itself. Whether the husband returns home angry and drunk, she thinks: “Lord! what a miserable man he is!" If the son is caught in lawless deeds, she thinks: “Lord! how he must suffer and how it is necessary, how he needs a loving heart that could instill peace in his yearning soul!
And when a woman wants to comfort a grieving man, then we can say for sure that in the whole world there is no sweeter and better than that consolation. There is no woman who would not open a source of tears at the sight of a pacifying female caress; there is no murderer whose heart would not tremble before the one who loves feminine word. And not only because this caress or word puts a person to sleep or makes him forget something, but because this caress, this word restores a distorted human image, because they suddenly cleanse his soul from the alluvial dirt of life, which, although they do not destroy the past, but make it impossible to return to it...
When I was in that slum that I recently told you about, then chance brought me precisely to one infinitely kind woman, the memory of which will be blessed for me until the end of my life. I will talk about her with you.
It was the tradesman's widow, Anna Markovna Glavshchikova. Her husband was once a sufficient merchant, but then he lived, went bankrupt and died in the middle class, leaving Anna Markovna the most limited fortune. As I remember now, she lived in her small one-story house, with three windows looking out onto the street, near which stood a rather roomy barn with large folding doors. Mark Gavrilych, the father of Anna Markovna, usually traded in this hut, filled with all sorts of petty goods, an old man, as if covered with moss, who almost did not hear or see anything, but did not agree to let go of the reins of government. Seryozha was assigned to help him, a rather lively little boy who was something like a nephew to Anna Markovna, and by joint efforts they somehow managed to do business without detriment, although the father of the archpriest of the neighboring church, every time he passed by the Glavshchikovs’ shop, did not could resist not to say:
- Old age and youth entered into an alliance; both yell, "Help!"
When I recognized Anna Markovna, she was already a woman in her fifties. Her face, apparently, even in her former young years could not be called beautiful, but good nature and some kind of happy calm shone in all his features. Often sensibility made her weep, but she wept effortlessly; tears will spontaneously spring from the eyes and run down the senile ruddy cheeks; and it was evident that she was crying easily and crying sweetly. Often she also sighed, but these were not real sighs, but some kind of soft sob, quite similar to a child's. In general, her ugliness was of such a kind that one could very soon get used to it, and the more you get used to it, the better and freer you feel with it, so that in the end, perhaps, this face devoid of any grace will seem more beautiful than any beauty.
