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Read taffy, stories. humorous stories of hope taffy

“What happiness to be a wild man! thought Katyusha, pushing her way through the bushes of the monastery forest. “Here, I’m wandering where, perhaps, a human foot has never set foot before. I feel with all my body, with all my soul, how I belong to this earth. And she probably feels me as her own. Too bad I can't walk barefoot - it hurts too much. Damned ancestors! They spoiled my soles with culture.

The sky turned pink through the thin pines. How wonderful!

She lifted her freckled nose enthusiastically and recited:

And resin and strawberries

Smells like an old forest.

But the old forest immediately ended near the state-owned house of the chief engineer.

Katyusha stopped. There was something going on in the lawn. Something extraordinary. The chief engineer himself, his assistant, a young doctor, and five other people - you can’t make out who from behind - gathered in a circle, bent down, some even squatted down, and someone suddenly roared offendedly, and everyone burst out laughing.

Who are they laughing at? That's right, some fool, deaf-mute.

It was scary and a little disgusting.

But the people are familiar. You can come up. It's just embarrassing that she's so disheveled. And the dress on the shoulder is torn with thorns. But, fortunately, he is not here. So, it will do without grumbling. (“He” is the husband.)

And again something roared, growled without words.

Katyusha came up.

The chief engineer raised his head, saw Katyusha, nodded to her:

- Katerina Vladimirovna! Come here! Look what a monster Nicholas brought.

Nikolai, the forest watchman—Katyusha knew him—was standing aside and smiling, covering his mouth with his fingers out of politeness.

The young doctor moved away, and in the center of the circle Katyusha saw a small fat bear cub. Around his neck was a piece of rope with a piece of wood tied to it. The little bear shook the block from side to side, caught it with its paw, and suddenly started to run skipping. And then the bar hit him on the sides, and the bear cub roared and menacingly raised its paw. This made the people around him laugh.

“Wait,” shouted the assistant engineer, “I’ll blow smoke up his nose, wait…”

But at this time, someone poked the bear cub with a stick. He turned angrily and, raising his paw, funny, terribly formidable, but not at all terrible, went to the offender.

Katyusha was confused. She herself did not understand how to be, and how she relates to this story.

“Wait a minute,” someone shouted, “Fifi is going to meet the bear. Skip Fifi.

Fifi, a poodle from a neighboring estate, small, lean, smartly cut like a lion, with mustaches and bracelets on his paws, entered the circle.

The bear, tired and offended, sat down and thought. The poodle, dapper with its paws, came up, sniffed the bear from the side, from the tail, from the muzzle, went around again, sniffed from the other side - the bear looked askance, but did not move. The poodle, dancing, had just aimed to sniff the ears of the bear, when he suddenly swung and bang the poodle in the face. He, not so much from the force of the blow, but from surprise, turned over in the air, squealed and started to run away.

Everyone cackled. Even the watchman Nikolai, forgetting politeness, threw back his head and rumbled at the top of his lungs.

And then Katyusha "found herself."

“Darling,” jumped the chief engineer. - Katerina Vladimirovna! Katyushenka! Why are you crying? Such an adult lady, and suddenly because of a bear cub ... Yes, no one offends him. The Lord is with you! Don't cry, or I'll cry myself!

“Ardalyon Ilyich,” murmured Katyusha, wiping her cheek with the tattered sleeve of her dress, “forgive me, but I can’t, when-ah-ah ...

“You are vainly walking in the heat without a hat,” said the young doctor instructively.

- Leave you! Katyusha shouted angrily at him. - Ardalyon Ilyich, my dear, give it to me if it is nobody's. I beg you.

- What are you, my dove! Yes, there is something to talk about! Nikolay, - he turned to the forest watchman, - you will take the bear cub to the Gordatskys, you know, to the justice of the peace. Here you go. Go quietly home.

Katyusha sighed with a trembling sigh. She looked around, wanted to explain her behavior - but there was no one to explain. Everyone dispersed.

At home, Katyusha had an angry husband, an angry cook and maid Nastya, her own man. Katyusha was afraid of the cook, fawning over her, calling her "Glafira, you." She called her "lady, you" and clearly despised her.

Nastya understood everything.

Nastya had a boy brother Nikolai and a gray cat. The boy was called the Cat, and the cat was called the Pawn.

Among people, Nastya was considered a fool and was called Nastya fat-footed.

The cook reacted negatively to the bear. Nastyuha, Cat and Pawn - enthusiastically. The angry husband was away.

- You understand, Nastya, this is a forest child. Do you understand?

And Nastya, and the boy Koshka, and the cat Pawn blinked knowing eyes.

- Give him something to eat. He will sleep with me. The teddy bear was cooked semolina porridge. He climbed into it with all four paws, ate, grumbled, then huddled under a chair and fell asleep. They pulled him out, dried him, and laid him on the bed next to Katyusha.

Katyusha looked with emotion at the paw that covered the bear's muzzle, at the furry ear. And there was no one in the world at that moment dearer and closer to her.

“I love you,” she said, and softly kissed her paw.

- I am no longer young, that is, not the first youth. I'll be eighteen soon... "Oh, how in our declining years we love more tenderly and more superstitiously..."

The bear woke up at half past three in the morning. He grabbed Katyushina's leg with his paws and began to suck it. Tickling, painful. Katyusha with difficulty freed her leg. The bear roared offendedly, walked across the bed, reached Katyusha's shoulder, sucked. Katyusha squealed, fought back. The bear was completely offended and began to descend from the bed. He stretched out a thick paw, began to carefully grope for the floor. He broke, flopped, roared, got up and ran, throwing up his ass, into the dining room. Dishes rattled a second later.

It was he who climbed onto the table, caught his paws and pulled off the entire tablecloth with dishes together.

Nastya ran up to the roar.

Lock him up, right?

- It is forbidden! Katyusha cried out in despair. “A forest child must not be tortured.

Books rumbled in the office, the inkwell rang.

The forest child, a fat lump, felled everything he touched, and was offended that things fell, roared and ran away, throwing up his tailless back.

Katyusha, pale, with whitened eyes, with a blue mouth, rushed about the house in horror.

“I’ll just lock him up for an hour,” Nastya decided, “while you sleep.” Then we'll release it.

Katyusha agreed.

In the evening the angry husband returned. I found Katyusha in bed, exhausted, found out about bear pranks, forbade letting the bear into the rooms, and the forest child passed into the jurisdiction of Nastya, Koshka and the cat Peshka.

Then it turned out that the bear was not a bear, but a she-bear, and Katyusha was terribly disappointed.

- The bear is a fabulous, wonderful beast. And the bear is just somehow even stupid.

The bear cub lived in Nastya's little room, slept with her on the same bed. Sometimes at night they heard shouts from Nastya's little room:

- Masha, stop it! Here I am falling apart. There is no abyss for you!

Sometimes Katyusha asked:

- Well, how is the bear?

Nastya made a plaintive face; I was afraid that Masha would not be kicked out.

- Bear? He treats me like a mother. He understands everything, no worse than a cow. This is such a bear that you will not find it during the day with fire.

Katyusha was pleased that everyone was praising the beast, but there was no longer any interest in him. First, the bear. Secondly, he grew up a lot, stopped being funny and entertaining. And he became cunning. Once they hear - chickens beat in the chicken coop and cluck in a voice that is not their own, but for some reason the door is closed - which never happened during the day. Run and open. Bear! He climbed in, locked the door behind him and caught chickens. And after all, he perfectly understands that the case is illegal, because when they caught him, his face became very embarrassed and ashamed.

After that, Katya's angry husband said that keeping such an animal in the house, in which bloodthirsty instincts had woken up, was quite dangerous. Someone advised to give it to the mill, to the landowner Ampov. They have long wanted to have a bear to sit on a chain.

Wrote to the landowner.

In response to the letter, Madame Ampova herself arrived - a poetic, tender lady, all iridescent and flowing. Scarves of some kind always fluttered around her, frills rustled, chains rang. She didn't speak, she recited.

- Dear animal! Give it to me. He will sit on the chain free and proud, the chain is long, it will not interfere with him. We will feed him flour. I won't charge you dearly for flour, but, of course, you will have to pay for half a year in advance.

The lady chirped so tenderly that Katyusha, although she was very surprised that she would have to pay for the food of the bear she was giving, could not find an answer, and only scaredly asked how much she should pay.

The boy Koshka was instructed to deliver the bear. The cat harnessed the beast to the sleigh and rolled.

“As soon as he saw the forest, and as soon as he ran, his spirit was busy, he could barely turn it,” said Koshka.

Nastya was crying.

A month later, she ran to take a look - the Ampovs' estate was six miles from the city.

"Sit down," she cried. - He recognized me, but as soon as he rushed, he didn’t break the chain. After all, I ... after all, I was instead of a uterus for him. He sucked my entire shoulder...

Ampova sent a bill for flour with a letter in which she poured out her tenderness for the bear:

"Dear little animal. I admire him every day and treat him with sugar.

Then Katyusha went abroad with her husband for two months.

They returned and a few days later received a scented note from the Ampovs.

"Glad you're finally back," she wrote on lilac paper. - I honestly keep for you the legs from our Mishka. The hams came out great. We smoked at home. Come right in time for dinner. We are wonderful. Lilies of the valley are blooming, and all nature seems to be singing the song of beauty. Wonderful nights...»

- God! - Katyusha froze all over. - They ate it.

I remembered the "forest child", small, clumsy, funny and ferocious, how he put all four paws in semolina and how she told him at night: "I love you." And she remembered his furry ear, and how no one in the world was closer and dearer to her.

"Dangerous Beast!" But he didn’t eat us, but we did!

She went to Nastya, wanted to tell her, but did not dare.

She looked into Nastya's nook, saw the bed, narrow, small, where the forest animal lived, where he slept next to Nastya, and "revered her for the uterus", dear, warm, completely his own.

"Come right in time for dinner..."

No. She did not dare to tell this to Nastya.

We recently devoted an essay to the very colorful figure of A. V. Rumanov.

About 30 years ago, he "shocked" the St. Petersburg salons with a "filigree Christ."

Later, in the same salons, Rumanov dropped his soft, rumbling almost baritone voice:

Teffi is meek ... She is meek, - Taffy ...

And he said to her:

Taffy, you are meek.

In the northern skies of the Neva capital, the star of a talented poetess, feuilletonist and, now this will be a revelation for many, was already shining, the author of charming, gentle and completely original songs.

Taffy herself performed them in a small but pleasant voice to the accompaniment of her own guitar.

So you see her - Taffy ...

Wrapped up in a warm, fur-trimmed cozy dressing gown, her legs comfortably tucked up, she sits with a guitar on her knees in a deep armchair by the fireplace, casting warm, quivering reflections ...

Clever gray cat's eyes look unblinkingly into the blazing flames of the fireplace and the guitar rings:

Angry cats gnaw

Evil people in their hearts

My feet are dancing

In red heels...

Taffy loved red shoes.

It has already been printed. They talked about her. She was looking for cooperation.

Again Rumanov, shorn with a beaver hedgehog.

On the Caucasian mineral waters, he created a large resort newspaper and attracted the best St. Petersburg "forces".

One of the first visits - to her, "meek Taffy."

I invite you to Essentuki for two or three months. How many?

And without waiting for an answer, Rumanov somehow imperceptibly and deftly put a few brand new credit cards with portraits of Catherine the Great on the table like a fan.

This is an advance!

Take it away! I love rainbows in the sky, not on my desk, came the reply.

Romanov did not lose his head. Like a conjurer, he instantly took out a heavy suede bag from somewhere and poured a jingling, sparkling stream of gold coins onto the table.

Nadezhda Alexandrovna thoughtfully poured these coins through her fingers, like a child playing with sand.

A few days later she left for Essentuki and there immediately raised the circulation of the resort newspaper.

It was a long, long time ago, but still...

Time puts a seal - they say.

Both time and the press are extremely lenient towards Teffi. Here in Paris, she is almost the same as she was with a guitar by the fireplace in red shoes and a fur-trimmed dressing gown.

And intelligent eyes with a cat's gray yellowness and in a cat's frame are exactly the same.

Talking about current politics:

What do you say, Nadezhda Alexandrovna, about the "League of the Nation", about its acceptance into its bosom of Soviet Russia, or rather the Soviet government?

First a smile, then two dimples near the corners of the mouth. For a long time, the familiar dimples that resurrected St. Petersburg ...

What can I say? I'm not a politician, but a humorist. Only one thing: Everyone has a painfully ironic attitude towards the "League of the Nation", and therefore, what is the price of whether it recognizes someone or does not recognize it. And, really, nothing has changed and will not change from the fact that she adorned Litvinov's bald patch with her laurels with his, Litvinov's, not quite "Roman profile." A farce, albeit a tragicomic one, but a farce nonetheless...

Having done away with the League of Nations and Litvinov, we move on to the amnesty declared by the Bolsheviks.

Is it true that they announced it? - Taffy hesitated? - The Bolsheviks, at least, keep silent on this subject. I think this amnesty is like a mirage in the desert. Yes, yes, the disbelieving, exhausted emigration, perhaps, invented this amnesty itself and grabs at it... The Muslims say: "The drowning man is ready to grab hold of the snake."

What can you say about modern Germany?

And here's what I'll say: I had a story "Demonic Woman". He got lucky. A collection of my works under this general title was published in Poland. The "Demonic Woman" was also printed in German. And now I find out: some cheeky young German, take this story and put it under your own name. I was used to being reprinted without a fee, but not used to having someone else's name under my stories. Friends advised to call the young, promising plagiarist to order. They also advised to contact Prof. Luther ... It seems that at the University of Leipzig he occupies a chair ... A chair - now I'll tell you what. Yes, Slavic literature. I wrote him more in order to reassure my friends.

To great surprise, Professor Luther responded. But how! With what fervor! A whole thing has come up. He found a promising young man, lathered his head well, threatened: something else like that, and within Germany no one would ever print a single line of it. The fee for the "Demonic Woman" was awarded in my favor. The young man wrote me a letter of repentance on several pages. Not only that, but the venerable Professor Luther himself apologized to me for him. The corporation of German writers and journalists apologized. In the end, she herself felt ashamed, why did she make this mess? ...

And now, having done away with Germany. two words about reprints, in general. A big Russian newspaper in New York got into the habit of "decorating" its cellars with my feuilletons from Vozrozhdeniye. I applied for the protection of my copyright to the Canadian Society of Russian Journalists. Thanks to them, they took care of me, but there is no sense from this! In response to threats to sue, the newspaper in question continues to use my feuilletons and the number of reprinted stories has reached an impressive figure of 33. Alas, my likeable Canadian colleagues do not have the authority of the touching and all-powerful Professor Luther.

I knew it! No "real" interview is complete without it. What am I working on? Frankly, without concealing, I am writing an emigrant novel, where, although under pseudonyms, but very transparently, I bring out a whole phalanx of living people, pillars of emigration of a wide variety of professions and social positions. Will I spare my friends? Maybe yes, maybe no. Don't know. I once had something similar with Chateaubriand. He also announced the publication of the same portrait novel. The alarmed friends immediately organized themselves into a society, the purpose of which was to create a money fund named after Chateaubriand. Something like a propitiatory sacrifice to a formidable, punishing deity ... Would have nothing against it, - Taffy adds with a smile - and I - absolutely nothing - against such a friendly fund in favor of me, a sinner. However, isn't it time to end? I'm afraid that I'll take a lot of space in the magazine "For You"!

It turns out, something good, no longer “For you”, but “For me”. So what else? Beginning authors overwhelm me. From everywhere their works are sent with a request to be printed. And in order for the request to be valid, they dedicate all their stories to me. They think that Teffi, delighted with such attention, will immediately rush to the appropriate editorial offices and, with a Browning in hand, force young authors to print, at least in anticipation of the publication of flattering dedications. I take this opportunity to inform all my ardent correspondents that I am, well, not at all conceited! True, not bad stories come across, but most often my youth writes about what they do not know. And what he knows, he is silent about it. For example, an author from Morocco sent me a story… Who would you think? About the Eskimos! In the Eskimo life, although I don’t particularly passion, however, I immediately sensed that something was wrong.

From novice writers we move on to our Parisian professionals.

Tell me, - I ask - Nadezhda Alexandrovna, how to explain such a squabble among our brother? It would seem equally destitute? Why?

Angry cats gnaw

In evil people, in the hearts ...

What memory do you have! - Taffy was amazed and sparks flared in the cat's eyes. - Why? Everyone is exhausted, there is no more strength to endure ...

Great post. Moscow.

The church bell hums with a distant dull rumble. Smooth blows merge into a continuous heavy groan.

Through the door, which is open to the cloudy pre-morning haze, one can see how, under quiet, cautious rustles, an obscure figure is moving. It either stands out unsteadily as a thick gray spot, then blurs again and completely merges with the muddy haze. The rustling subsides, a floorboard creaks and another one - away. Everything is quiet. It was the nanny who went to church in the morning.

She is fasting.

This is where it gets scary.

The girl curls up in her bed, barely breathing. And he listens and looks, listens and looks.

The hum becomes ominous. There is a sense of insecurity and loneliness. If you call, no one will come. What can happen? The night is ending, probably, the roosters have already sung dawn, and all the ghosts have gone home.

And their “friends” are in cemeteries, in swamps, in lonely graves under the cross, at the crossroads of deaf roads near the forest edge. Now none of them will dare to touch a person, now they serve early Mass and pray for all Orthodox Christians. So what's so terrible about it?

But the eight-year-old soul does not believe the arguments of reason. The soul shrinks, trembles and whimpers softly. The eight-year-old soul does not believe that this is a bell. Later, during the day, she will believe, but now, in anguish, in defenseless loneliness, she “does not know” that this is just a blessing. For her, this rumble is unknown. Something sinister. If longing and fear are translated into sound, then there will be this rumble. If longing and fear are translated into color, then there will be this unsteady gray haze.

And the impression of this pre-dawn melancholy will remain with this creature for many years, for a lifetime. This creature will wake up at dawn from an incomprehensible longing and fear. Doctors will prescribe sedatives for her, advise her on evening walks, open a window at night, stop smoking, sleep with a heating pad on her liver, sleep in an unheated room, and much, much more will advise her. But nothing will erase from the soul the stamp of predawn despair long imposed on it.

The girl was given the nickname "Kishmish". Kishmish is a small Caucasian raisin. She was nicknamed so, probably for her small stature, small nose, small hands. Generally, a trifle, a small fry. By the age of thirteen, she will quickly stretch, her legs will become long, and everyone will forget that she was once a sultana.

But, being a small sultana, she suffered greatly from this offensive nickname. She was proud and dreamed of advancing somehow and, most importantly, grandiosely, extraordinary. To become, for example, a famous strongman, to bend horseshoes, to stop a madly racing troika on the move. It also beckoned to be a robber, or, perhaps, even better - an executioner. The executioner is more powerful than the robber, because he will prevail in the end. And could any of the adults, looking at a thin, fair-haired, short-haired girl, quietly knitting a beaded ring, could it have occurred to anyone what formidable and imperious dreams were wandering in her head? By the way, there was another dream - it was to be a terrible ugly, not just ugly, but such that people were frightened. She went to the mirror, squinted her eyes, stretched her mouth and stuck out her tongue to one side. At the same time, she first pronounced in a bass, on behalf of an unknown gentleman, who does not see her face, but speaks in the back of her head:

- Allow me to invite you, madam, to a quadrille.

Then a face was made, a full turn, and the answer to the gentleman followed:

- OK. Just kiss my crooked cheek first.

The cavalier was supposed to run away in terror. And then after him:

– Ha! Ha! Ha! Don't you dare!

Kishmish was taught the sciences. At first - only the Law of God and calligraphy.

They taught that every work must begin with prayer.

Kishmish liked it. But referring, by the way, to the career of a robber, Kishmish became alarmed.

“And the robbers,” Kishmish asked, “when they go to rob, should they also pray?”

She was vaguely answered. They replied: "Don't talk nonsense." And Kishmish did not understand - did this mean that the robbers do not need to pray, or that they absolutely need to, and this is so clear that it is stupid to ask about it.

When Kishmish grew up and went to confession for the first time, a fracture occurred in her soul. Terrible and domineering dreams went out.

They sang the trio “May my prayer be corrected” very well.

Three boys went out into the middle of the church, stopped at the very altar and sang with angelic voices. And under these blissful sounds the soul was humbled, touched. I wanted to be white, light, airy, transparent, to fly away in the sounds and smokes of censers there, under the very dome, where the white dove of the Holy Spirit spread its wings.

There was no place for a robber here. And the executioner and even the strongman did not fit here at all. The ugly monster would have stood somewhere outside the door and would have covered her face. It would be inappropriate to scare people here. Ah, if only one could become a saint! How wonderful it would be! Being a saint is so beautiful, so tender. And this is above all and above all. This is more important than all teachers and bosses and all governors.

But how do you become a saint? You will have to do miracles, but Kishmish did not know how to do miracles in the least. But that's not where they start. Start with a holy life. You need to become meek, kind, distribute everything to the poor, indulge in fasting and abstinence.

Now, how to give everything to the poor? She has a new spring coat. Here it, first of all, and to give.

But why would mom be angry? It will be such a scandal and such a beating that it’s scary to think. And mom will be upset, and the saint should not upset or upset anyone. Maybe give it to the poor, and tell your mother that the coat was just stolen? But a saint is not supposed to lie. Terrible position. Here is a robber - it is easy for him to live. Lie as much as you like, and still laugh with insidious laughter. So how were they made, these saints? It's just that they were old - all at least sixteen years old, and even just old people. They didn't have to listen to their mother. They just took all their good and immediately distributed it. So you can't start with this. This will come to an end. We must begin with meekness and obedience. And more with abstinence. You only need to eat black bread with salt, drink - only water straight from the tap. And here again the trouble. The cook gossips that she drank raw water, and she will get it. There is typhus in the city, and my mother does not allow drinking raw water. But maybe when mom realizes that Kishmish is a saint, she won't make any obstacles?

And how wonderful it is to be a saint. Now this is such a rarity. All friends will be surprised:

- Why is it over Kishmish - radiance?

- How, don't you know? Yes, she's been a saint for a long time.

– Ah! Oh! It can not be.

- Yes, see for yourself.

And Kishmish sits and smiles meekly and eats black bread with salt.

The guests are envious. They don't have holy children.

Maybe she's faking it?

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humorous stories

... For laughter is joy, and therefore in itself is good.

Spinoza. "Ethics", part IV.

Position XLV, scholia II.

Cursed

Leshka's right leg was numb for a long time, but he did not dare to change his position and listened eagerly. It was completely dark in the corridor, and through the narrow slit of the half-open door one could see only a brightly lit piece of the wall above the kitchen stove. A large dark circle surmounted by two horns hovered on the wall. Lyoshka guessed that this circle was nothing more than a shadow from his aunt's head with the ends of the scarf sticking up.

The aunt had come to visit Lyoshka, whom she had identified only a week ago as "boys for room service," and was now in serious negotiations with the cook who had patronized her. The negotiations were of an unpleasantly disturbing nature, the aunt was very agitated, and the horns on the wall rose and fell steeply, as if some unseen beast butted their invisible opponents.

It was assumed that Lyoshka washes galoshes in the front. But, as you know, a person proposes, but God disposes, and Lyoshka, with a rag in his hands, was eavesdropping outside the door.

“I understood from the very beginning that he was a bungler,” the cook sang in a rich voice. - How many times I tell him: if you, guy, are not a fool, keep your eyes open. Don't do shit, but keep your eyes open. Because - Dunyashka scrubs. And he does not lead with his ear. This morning again the lady shouted - she didn’t interfere in the stove and closed it with a firebrand.

The horns on the wall are agitated, and the aunt groans like an aeolian harp:

"Where can I go with him?" Mavra Semyonovna! I bought him boots, not to eat, not to eat, I gave him five rubles. For a jacket for alteration, a tailor, not a drink, not eaten, ripped off six hryvnias ...

- No other way than to send home.

- Darling! The road, no food, no food, four roubles, dear!

Lyoshka, forgetting all the precautions, sighs outside the door. He doesn't want to go home. His father promised that he would bring down seven skins from him, and Leshka knows from experience how unpleasant it is.

“Well, it’s still too early to howl,” the cook sings again. “So far, no one is chasing him. The lady only threatened... But the tenant, Pyotr Dmitritch, is very protective. Right up the mountain for Leshka. Enough of you, says Marya Vasilievna, he says he is not a fool, Leshka. He, he says, is a uniform adeot, and there is nothing to scold him. Just a mountain for Leshka.

Well, God bless him...

- And with us, what the tenant says is sacred. Because he is a well-read person, he pays carefully ...

- And Dunya is good! - the aunt twisted her horns. - I don’t understand such a people - to let a sneak on a boy ...

- True! True. This morning I say to her: “Go open the doors, Dunyasha,” affectionately, as if in a kind way. So she snorts in my face: “I, grit, you are not a doorman, open it yourself!” And I drank it all to her. How to open doors, so you, I say, are not a porter, but how to kiss a janitor on the stairs, so you are all a doorman ...

- Lord have mercy! From these years to everything, dospying. The girl is young, to live and live. One salary, no pity, no...

- Me, what? I told her directly: how to open the doors, so you are not a doorman. She, you see, is not a doorman! And how to accept gifts from the janitor, so she is the doorman. Yes, tenant lipstick ...

Trrrr…” the electric bell crackled.

- Leshka-a! Leshka-a! cried the cook. - Oh, you, fail! Dunyasha was sent away, but he doesn’t even listen with his ear.

Lyoshka held his breath, pressed himself against the wall and stood quietly until an angry cook swam past him, angrily rattling starched skirts.

“No, pipes,” Leshka thought, “I won’t go to the village. I'm not a fool guy, I want to, I'll curry favor so quickly. Don't rub me, not like that."

And, having waited for the return of the cook, he went with resolute steps into the rooms.

“Be, grit, in front of your eyes. And in what eyes will I be when no one is ever at home.

He went into the front. Hey! The coat hangs - the tenant of the house.

He rushed to the kitchen and, snatching the poker from the dumbfounded cook, rushed back into the rooms, quickly threw open the door to the lodger's quarters, and went to stir in the stove.

The tenant was not alone. With him was a young lady, in a jacket and under a veil. Both shuddered and straightened up when Lyoshka entered.

"I'm not a fool," Leshka thought, jabbing a poker at the burning firewood. “I’ll wet those eyes.” I’m not a parasite - I’m all in business, all in business! .. "

Firewood crackled, the poker rattled, sparks flew in all directions. The tenant and the lady were tensely silent. Finally, Lyoshka headed for the exit, but at the very door he stopped and began to anxiously examine the damp spot on the floor, then turned his eyes to the guest's legs and, seeing galoshes on them, shook his head reproachfully.

“Here,” he said reproachfully, “they inherited it!” And then the hostess will scold me.

The guest blushed and looked at the tenant in bewilderment.

“All right, all right, go on,” he soothed embarrassedly.

And Lyoshka left, but not for long. He found a rag and returned to mop the floor.

He found the tenant and guest silently bent over the table and immersed in the contemplation of the tablecloth.

“Look, they stared,” Leshka thought, “they must have noticed the spot. They think I don't understand! Found the fool! I understand. I work like a horse!”

And, going up to the pensive couple, he diligently wiped the tablecloth under the very nose of the tenant.

- What are you? - he was afraid.

- Like what? I can't live without my eyes. Dunyashka, slash, knows only a sneak, and she is not a janitor to look after order ... A janitor on the stairs ...

- Go away! Idiot!

But the young lady, frightened, grabbed the tenant by the hand and began to whisper something.

- He will understand ... - Lyoshka heard, - servants ... gossip ...

The lady had tears of embarrassment in her eyes, and she said to Leshka in a trembling voice:

“Nothing, nothing, boy… You don’t have to close the doors when you go…”

The tenant smiled contemptuously and shrugged his shoulders.

Lyoshka left, but, having reached the front, he remembered that the lady asked not to lock the doors, and, returning, opened it.

The lodger bounced off his lady like a bullet.

“An eccentric,” Leshka thought, leaving. “It’s light in the room, and he gets scared!”

Lyoshka went into the hall, looked in the mirror, tried on the lodger's hat. Then he went into the dark dining room and scratched the cupboard door with his nails.

“Look, damn unsalted!” You're here all day, like a horse, work, and she only knows the closet locks.

I decided to go again to stir in the stove. The door to the tenant's room was closed again. Lyoshka was surprised, but he entered.

The tenant sat quietly next to the lady, but his tie was on one side, and he looked at Leshka with such a look that he only clicked his tongue:

“What are you looking at! I myself know that I am not a parasite, I do not sit idly by.”

The coals are stirred, and Lyoshka leaves, threatening that he will soon return to close the stove. A quiet half-groan-half-sigh was his answer.

Lyoshka went and got bored: you can’t think of any more work. I looked into the lady's bedroom. It was quiet there. The lamp was glowing in front of the icon. It smelled of perfume. Lyoshka climbed onto a chair, looked at the faceted pink lamp for a long time, devoutly crossed himself, then dipped his finger into it and oiled his hair over his forehead. Then he went to the dressing table and sniffed each bottle in turn.

- Eh, what's here! No matter how hard you work, if not in front of your eyes, they don’t count for anything. At least break your forehead.

He wandered sadly into the hallway. In the dim living room something squeaked under his feet, then a curtain fluttered from below, followed by another ...

"Cat! he thought. - Look, look, again to the tenant in the room, again the lady will be furious, like the other day. You're joking!.. "

Joyful and animated, he ran into the cherished room.

- I am the damned one! I'll show you how to roam! I'll turn your face on the tail! ..

There was no face on the tenant.

"You're out of your mind, you wretched idiot!" he shouted. - Who are you scolding?

“Hey, vile, just give me an indulgence, so after that you won’t survive,” Leshka tried. “You can’t let her into the rooms!” From her only a scandal! ..

The lady, with trembling hands, straightened her hat that had fallen to the back of her head.

"He's kind of crazy, this boy," she whispered, frightened and embarrassed.

- Get out, you damned one! - and Lyoshka finally, to everyone's reassurance, dragged the cat out from under the sofa.

“Lord,” the tenant pleaded, “will you leave here at last?”

- Look, damn it, it scratches! She cannot be kept in the rooms. She was yesterday in the living room under the curtain ...

And Lyoshka long and detailed, not concealing a single detail, not sparing fire and colors, described to the astonished listeners all the dishonorable behavior of a terrible cat.

His story was heard in silence. The lady bent down and kept looking for something under the table, and the tenant, somehow strangely pressing Leshkin's shoulder, forced the narrator out of the room and closed the door.

“I’m a smart guy,” Leshka whispered, releasing the cat onto the back stairs. - Smart and hard worker. I'm going to turn on the oven now.

This time the tenant did not hear Leshka's steps: he was kneeling in front of the lady and, bowing his head low to her legs, froze without moving. And the lady closed her eyes and her whole face cringed, as if looking at the sun ...

"What is he doing there? Lesha was surprised. - Like chewing on a button on her shoe! Not ... apparently, he dropped something. I'll go look for…”

He approached and bent down so quickly that the tenant, who suddenly perked up, hit him painfully with his forehead right on the brow.

The lady jumped up all confused. Lyoshka climbed under a chair, searched under the table and stood up, spreading his arms.

- There is nothing there.

- What are you looking for? What do you finally need from us? shouted the lodger in an unnaturally thin voice, and blushed all over.

- I thought they dropped something ... It will disappear again, like a brooch from that lady, from a black one, who goes to drink tea with you ... The third day, as I was leaving, I, grit, Lyosha, lost the brooch, - he turned directly to the lady , who suddenly began to listen to him very carefully, even opened her mouth, and her eyes became completely round.

- Well, I went behind the screen on the table and found it. And yesterday I forgot the brooch again, but it wasn’t I who cleaned it, but Dunyashka, - that’s the brooch, therefore, the end ...

“Honest to God, it’s true,” Lyoshka reassured her. - Dunyashka stole, slash. If it wasn't for me, she would steal everything. I clean everything like a horse ... by God, like a dog ...

But they didn't listen to him. The lady soon ran into the anteroom, the lodger behind her, and both hid behind the front door.

Lyoshka went into the kitchen, where, going to bed in an old chest without a top, he said to the cook with a mysterious air:

- Tomorrow, slash the lid.

- Well! she was surprised with joy. - What did they say?

- If I say, it has become, I know.

The next day, Leshka was kicked out.

Agility of hands

On the doors of a small wooden booth, in which on Sundays local youth danced and played charity performances, there was a long red poster:

“Specially passing through, at the request of the public, a session of the grandiose fakir from black and white magic.

The most amazing tricks, such as: burning a handkerchief in front of your eyes, extracting a silver ruble from the nose of the most respectable public, and so on, contrary to nature.

A sad head peeped out of the side window and sold tickets.

It has been raining since morning. The trees in the garden around the booth got wet, swollen, and drenched in gray fine rain obediently, without shaking off.

At the very entrance, a large puddle was bubbling and gurgling. Tickets were sold for only three rubles.

It began to get dark.

The sad head sighed, disappeared, and a shabby little gentleman of indeterminate age crawled out of the door.

Holding his overcoat by the collar with both hands, he lifted his head and looked at the sky from all sides.

- Not a single hole! Everything is grey! A burnout in Timashev, a burnout in Shchigry, a burnout in Dmitriev... A burnout in Oboyan, a burnout in Kursk... And where is not a burnout? Where, I ask, is it not a burnout? I sent a ticket of honor to the judge, sent it to the head, sent it to the chief police officer ... sent it to everyone. I'm going to turn on the lights.

He glanced at the poster and couldn't tear himself away.

What else do they need? An abscess in the head or what?

By eight o'clock they began to gather.

Either no one came to places of honor, or servants were sent. Some drunks came to the standing places and immediately began to threaten that they would demand money back.

By half past ten it turned out that no one else would come. And those who were sitting were cursing so loudly and definitely that it became dangerous to delay it any longer.

The magician put on a long frock coat, which became wider with each tour, sighed, crossed himself, took a box with mysterious accessories and went on stage.

For a few seconds he stood silently and thought:

“The collection is four rubles, the kerosene is six hryvnias, that’s still nothing, but the room is eight rubles, so that’s what! Golovin's son is in a place of honor - let him. But how will I leave and what will I eat, I ask you.

And why is it empty? I myself would pour the crowd on such a program.

- Bravo! yelled one of the drunks.

The magician woke up. He lit a candle on the table and said:

- Dear audience! Let me preface you with a preface. What you will see here is not anything miraculous or witchcraft that is against our Orthodox religion and is even prohibited by the police. This doesn't even happen in the world. No! Far from it! What you will see here is nothing but the dexterity and agility of the hands. I give you my word of honor that there will be no mysterious witchcraft here. Now you will see the extraordinary appearance of a hard-boiled egg in a completely empty handkerchief.

He rummaged through the box and pulled out a colorful handkerchief folded into a ball. His hands shook slightly.

“Let me assure you that the handkerchief is completely empty. Here I am shaking it out.

He shook out the handkerchief and stretched it out with his hands.

“In the morning, one kopeck bun and tea without sugar,” he thought. “What about tomorrow?”

“You can make sure,” he repeated, “that there is no egg here.

The audience stirred and whispered. Someone snorted. And suddenly one of the drunks buzzed:

- You eat! Here is an egg.

- Where? What? - the magician was confused.

- And tied to a scarf on a string.

The embarrassed magician turned over the handkerchief. Indeed, an egg hung on a string.

- Oh you! Someone spoke in a friendly way. - You would go behind a candle, that would be imperceptible. And you got ahead! Yes, brother, you can't.

The magician was pale and smiled wryly.

“It really is,” he said. - I, however, warned that this is not witchcraft, but only the agility of the hands. Excuse me, gentlemen…” His voice trembled and stopped.

- OK! OK!

“Now let’s move on to the next amazing phenomenon, which will seem even more amazing to you. Let someone from the most respectable audience lend his handkerchief.

The public was shy.

Many had already taken it out, but after looking carefully, they hurried to put it in their pockets.

Then the magician went up to Golovin's son and held out his trembling hand.

“I could, of course, have my handkerchief, as it is perfectly safe, but you might think that I changed something.

Golovin's son gave him his handkerchief, and the magician unfolded it, shook it and stretched it out.

- Please make sure! A complete scarf.

Golovin's son proudly looked at the audience.

- Now look. This scarf is magical. So I roll it up with a tube, now I bring it to a candle and light it. Lit. Burnt out the whole corner. See?

The audience craned their necks.

- Right! the drunk shouted. - Smells burnt.

- And now I will count to three and - the handkerchief will be whole again.

- Once! Two! Three!! Please take a look!

He proudly and deftly straightened his handkerchief.

- Ah! the audience gasped.

There was a huge burnt hole in the middle of the scarf.

- However! - said Golovin's son and snuffled his nose.

The magician pressed the handkerchief to his chest and suddenly burst into tears.

- Lord! Most respectable pu ... No collection! .. Rain in the morning ... did not eat ... did not eat - a penny for a bun!

- Why, we're nothing! God be with you! the audience screamed.

- Kill us beasts! The Lord is with you.

But the magician was sobbing and wiping his nose with a magic handkerchief.

- Four rubles fee ... room - eight rubles ... vo-o-o-eight ... o-o-o-o ...

Some woman sighed.

- Yes, you are full! Oh my God! Soul turned out! shouted all around.

A head in an oilcloth hood poked through the door.

- What is it? Go home!

Everyone got up anyway. They left. They splashed through the puddles, were silent, sighed.

“And what can I tell you, brothers,” one of the drunks suddenly said clearly and loudly.

Everyone even paused.

- What can I tell you! After all, the scoundrel people have gone away. He will take money from you, he will turn your soul out. A?

- Inflate! - someone hooted in the mist.

- Exactly what to inflate. Aida! Who is with us? One, two ... Well, march! Without any conscience, the people ... I also paid the money not stolen ... Well, we'll show them! Zhzhiva.

penitential

The old nanny, living at rest in the general's family, came from confession.

She sat for a moment in her corner and was offended: the gentlemen were having dinner, there was a smell of something tasty, and there was a quick clatter of the maid serving the table.

- Pah! Passionate not Passionate, they don't care. Just to feed your womb. Reluctantly you sin, God forgive me!

She got out, chewed, thought, and went into the passage room. Sat on a chest.

The maid passed by, surprised.

- And why are you sitting here, nanny? Exactly a doll! By God - exactly a doll!

- Think what you say! the nanny snapped. - Such days, and she swears. Is it shown to swear on such days. There was a man at confession, and, looking at you, you will have time to get dirty before communion.

The maid was scared.

- Guilty, nanny! Congratulations, confession.

- "Congratulations!" Today is congratulations! Nowadays they strive, as it were, to offend and reproach a person. Just now their liquor spilled. Who knows what she spilled. You won't be smarter than God either. And the little young lady says: “That’s right, the nanny spilled it!” From such years and such words.

- Surprising even, nanny! So small and already everyone knows!

- Noneshnye children, mother, worse than obstetricians! Here they are, noneshnie children. Me, what! I don't judge. I was at confession, now I won’t take a sip of poppy dew until tomorrow, let alone ... And you say - congratulations. There is an old lady in the fourth week of fasting; I say to Sonya: "Congratulate the grandmother." And she snorts: “Here it is! very necessary!" And I say: “Grandma must be respected! The grandmother will die, she can deprive her of her inheritance. Yes, if I had some kind of woman, yes, every day I would have found something to congratulate. Good morning, grandma! Yes, good weather! Yes, Happy Holidays! Yes, with callous name days! Have a happy bite! Me, what! I don't judge. Tomorrow I'm going to take communion, I'm only saying that it's not good and rather shameful.

- You should rest, nanny! the maid fawned.

“I’ll stretch my legs, I’ll lie down in the coffin. I'm resting. You will have time to rejoice. I would have long been out of the world, but here I am not given to you. The young bone on the teeth crunches, and the old one across the throat becomes. Don't swallow.

- And what are you, nanny! And everyone is just looking at you, as if to respect.

- No, don't talk to me about respecters. It’s your respecters, but no one respected me even from my youth, so it’s too late for me to be ashamed in my old age. You'd better go and ask the coachman where he drove the lady the other day ... Ask that.

- Oh, and what are you, nanny! the maid whispered, and even squatted down in front of the old woman. - Where did he take it? I'm, by God, no one ...

- Don't worry. To swear is a sin! For swearing, you know how God will punish! And he took me to a place where they show men moving. They move and sing. They spread the sheet, and they move along it. The little lady told me. By herself, you see, it’s not enough, so she was lucky with the girl. I would have found out myself, I would have taken a good twig and driven it along Zakharyevskaya! There's just no one to say. Does the current people understand sneak. Nowadays, everyone only cares about himself. Ugh! Whatever you remember, you will sin! Lord forgive me!

“The master is a busy man, of course, it’s hard for them to see through everything,” the maid sang modestly lowering her eyes. “They are nice people.

- I know your master! I know from childhood! If I didn't go to communion tomorrow, I would tell you about your master! Since childhood! People are going to mass - ours has not yet slept. People from the church are coming - our teas and coffees are drinking. And as soon as the Holy Mother dragged him to the general, a couch potato, a parasite, I can’t imagine! I already think: he stole this rank for himself! Wherever there is, but stole! There's just no one to try! And I've been thinking for a long time that I stole it. They think: the nanny is an old fool, everything is possible with her! It's stupid, maybe stupid. Yes, not everyone should be smart, someone needs to be stupid.

The maid glanced frightened at the door.

- Our business, nanny, official. God be with him! Let it go! We don't understand. Will you go to church early in the morning?

“I might not go to bed at all. I want to be the first to go to church. So that all rubbish does not climb ahead of people. Every cricket know your hearth.

- Who is climbing something?

- Yes, the old woman is alone here. Icy, what keeps the soul. Before everyone else, God forgive me, the bastard will come to the church, and after everyone else will leave. Kazhinny time will stop everyone. And Hosha would sit down for a minute! All of us old women are surprised. No matter how strong you are, while the clock is reading, you will sit down a little. And this echida is not otherwise than on purpose. Is it a static thing to survive so much! One old woman almost burned her handkerchief with a candle. And it's a shame it didn't catch on. Don't stare! Why stare! Is indicated to stare. I’ll come tomorrow before everyone else and stop it, so I suppose it will ease the force. I can't see her! Today I am on my knees, and I myself look at her. Echida you, I think, echida! To burst your water bubble! It's a sin, and there's nothing you can do about it.

- Nothing, nanny, now that you have confessed, all the sins of the priest were forgiven. Now your darling is pure and innocent.

- Yes, damn it! Let go! This is a sin, but I must say: this priest confessed me badly. That's when they went to the monastery with the aunt and the princess, so you can say that he confessed. Already he tortured me, tortured, reproached, reproached, imposed three penances! All asked. He asked if the princess was thinking of renting out the meadows. Well, I repented, said I don't know. And entot alive soon. What is wrong? Yes, I say, father, what sins I have. The oldest ones. I love coffee and quarrel with servants. “And special ones,” he says, “no?” And what are the special ones? Each person has his own special sin. That's what. And instead of trying and shaming him, he took and read the leave. That's all for you! Somehow he took the money. I suppose I didn’t give up, that I don’t have any special ones! Ugh, sorry sir! Remember, you are wrong! Save and have mercy. Why are you sitting here? It would be better to go and think: “How am I living like this, and everything is not going well?” You are young girl! There's a crow's nest curled on her head! Have you thought about the days. On such days, let yourself be allowed. And nowhere from you, shameless ones, there is no passage! Having confessed, I came, let me - I thought - I'll sit quietly. Tomorrow, after all, go to communion. No. And then she got there. She came, did all sorts of dirty tricks, whichever is worse. Damn bastard, God forgive me. Look, I went with what force! Not long, mother! I know everything! Give me time, I'll drink everything to the lady! - Go to rest. God forgive me, who else will be attached!

humorous stories

... For laughter is joy, and therefore in itself is good.

Spinoza. "Ethics", part IV. Proposition XLV, scholia II.