The central character of Ivan Bunin's story has never been mentioned by name in the whole story. On the ship, in Capri and in Naples, he is called the master of San Francisco. In the described time period, he is 58 years old, and he goes on a two-year tour of the Old World, accompanied by his wife and daughter.
This elderly gentleman put his life on the altar of the "American Dream" - he was diligently building up his capital, and now decided that it was time to indulge in his travels in southern Italy. It crosses the ocean on a luxury cruise ship with the self-explanatory name Atlantis. The financial magnate plans to visit Nice, Monte-Carlo, Florence and Paris. He dreamed of playing in a casino, indulging in sailing and car races, seeing the legendary bullfight in Seville, visiting Athens and Constantinople, and honoring Japan with a visit on the way back.
All doors open for the master's money. The servant carries his suitcases, fulfills all wishes. Atlantis is a real floating hotel, a comfortable paradise for the cream of society. Water mountains move overboard, and the cabins are warm and cozy. And this is despite the end of November. The ship rips through the midnight darkness of Gibraltar, makes its way through a sleet storm.
The daughter of the protagonist is flirting with a certain oriental prince sailing incognito on a ship. The gentleman himself laid eyes on the famous European beauty, dressed and made up according to Parisian fashion. The schedule of the day for the passengers of the Atlantis was easy and monotonous. People get up early, drink coffee, chocolate and cocoa, tidy up, take hot baths and do gymnastics. Until eleven o'clock it is customary to stroll on the decks and contemplate the sea. Having whetted their appetite, the rich take their first breakfast. Then - reading newspapers and breakfast number two.
Another favorite pastime of travelers is to lie on the deck in armchairs, covered with blankets. The apotheosis of the day is lunch. An orchestra is playing in the exquisite hall. Men prefer to wear tuxedos and tailcoats, women prefer a neckline. In the evening, dances are woven into the program. Men drink expensive alcohol at the bar and smoke cigars. No one is afraid of the ocean, everyone believes in the overweight red-haired captain, who rarely appears in public.
Below, on the contrary, gigantic furnaces rumbled, steam plied through the pipes. A mechanized hell reigned there, safely hidden under the deck and not distracting the attention of passengers. There was also a couple hired by the shipowner to simulate perfect love.
The gentleman living in San Francisco was generous with the servants and hoped for her solicitude. He, like everyone else, believed that it was music thundering for him, it was he who was greeted by the commander, only he was needed by the boys advertising various services.
Naples' life also proceeded in an established rhythm. The master's family settles in an expensive hotel. Early breakfast, guides in the lobby, views of Mount Vesuvius, excursions to cathedrals and museums. The only thing that darkens the rest is a rainy December, mixed with snow and rain, and mud on the streets.
Sitting on a small steamer, the family moves to Capri. There, on the top of the mountain, where the funicular took them, they rent a room in another luxury hotel. In a quiet hotel reading room, the gentleman from San Francisco is overtaken by death.
The attitude towards him is radically changing. The rich man's body is transferred to a disgusting cheap room. Instead of a coffin, it is placed in a wooden box that once held soda bottles. At dawn, the body is taken out of the hotel and taken to the port.
At the end of the story, the gentleman goes home to the States, but does this way differently. He is in a tarred coffin, among the rumbling mechanisms, in the blackness of the hold. There was no trace of the honor with which he was taken to the Old World. Life, however, goes on. Passengers on the Atlantis are busy with their daily routines, and a couple hired by the company to feign their feelings are circling in the dance.
- Analysis of the story "Light Breathing"
- "Dark Alleys", analysis of Bunin's story
The gentleman from San Francisco - no one remembered his name either in Naples or in Capri - went to the Old World for two whole years, with his wife and daughter, solely for the sake of entertainment.
He was firmly convinced that he had every right to rest, to enjoy, to travel in all respects excellent. For such confidence, he had the argument that, firstly, he was rich, and secondly, he had just begun life, despite his fifty-eight years. Until that time, he did not live, but only existed, it is true, very well, but still pinning all hopes on the future. He worked tirelessly - the Chinese, whom he subscribed to work as many as thousands, knew well what that meant! - and finally saw that a lot had already been done, that he almost caught up with those whom he once took as a model, and decided to take a break. The people to whom he belonged had the custom to start enjoying life with a trip to Europe, to India, to Egypt. He put it on and he did the same. Of course, he wanted to reward himself, first of all, for the years of labor; however, he was glad for his wife and daughter. His wife was never particularly impressionable, but all elderly American women are passionate travelers. And as for her daughter, a girl of age and slightly painful, the journey was directly necessary for her: not to mention the health benefits, are there not happy meetings in travel? Here sometimes you sit at the table and look at the frescoes next to the billionaire.
The route was worked out by a gentleman from San Francisco. In December and January, he hoped to enjoy the sun of southern Italy, the monuments of antiquity, the tarantella, the serenades of itinerant singers, and what people in his years feel especially sensitively — the love of young Neapolitan women, even if not entirely disinterested; he thought to hold the carnival in Nice, in Monte Carlo, where at this time the most selective society flocks, where some enthusiastically indulge in automobile and sailing races, others to roulette, others to what is commonly called flirting, and the fourth to shooting pigeons, which they soar very beautifully from the cages above the emerald lawn, against the background of the sea the color of forget-me-nots, and immediately hit the ground with white lumps; the beginning of March he wanted to dedicate to Florence, to the passion of the Lord to come to Rome to listen to Miserere there; included in his plans and Venice, and Paris, and bullfighting in Seville, and swimming on the English islands, and Athens, and Constantinople, and Palestine, and Egypt, and even Japan, - of course, already on the way back ... went fine at first.
It was the end of November, and I had to sail all the way to Gibraltar, now in icy haze, now amid a storm with sleet; but they sailed quite safely. There were a lot of passengers, the steamer - the famous Atlantis - looked like a huge hotel with all the amenities - with a night bar, with oriental baths, with its own newspaper - and life on it proceeded very measuredly: they got up early, with trumpets, abruptly that were heard along the corridors even in that gloomy hour when it was so slowly and unfriendly over the gray-green water desert, heavily agitated in the fog; thrown on flannel pajamas, drank coffee, chocolate, cocoa; then they sat in the bathtubs, did gymnastics, stimulating appetite and well-being, doing daytime toilets and going to their first breakfast; until eleven o'clock they were supposed to walk briskly on the decks, breathing the cold freshness of the ocean, or play sheffleboard and other games for a new stimulation of appetite, and at eleven - to refresh themselves with sandwiches with broth; having refreshed themselves, they read the newspaper with pleasure and calmly waited for the second breakfast, even more nutritious and varied than the first; the next two hours were devoted to rest; all the decks were then filled with long reed armchairs, on which the travelers lay, covered with blankets, looking at the cloudy sky and at the foamy mounds that flashed overboard, or dozing sweetly; at five o'clock, refreshed and cheerful, they were given strong fragrant tea with cookies; at seven they announced with trumpet signals what constituted the main goal of all this existence, its crown ... And then the gentleman from San Francisco was in a hurry to his rich cabin - to get dressed.
In the evenings, the floors of the Atlantis gaped in the darkness with fiery, innumerable eyes, and a great number of servants worked in cooks, dishwashers and wine cellars. The ocean that walked outside the walls was terrible, but they did not think about it, firmly believing in the power of the commander over it, a red-haired man of monstrous size and weight, always as if sleepy, similar in his uniform with wide gold stripes to a huge idol and very rarely appeared people from their mysterious chambers; on the tank every minute howled with infernal gloom and screeched with fierce anger, a siren, but few of the diners heard the siren - it was drowned out by the sounds of a beautiful string orchestra, exquisitely and tirelessly playing in a two-story hall, festively flooded with lights, overflowing with low-necked ladies and warrior dresses , slender lackeys and respectful head waiter, among whom one, the one who took orders only for wines, even walked with a chain around his neck, like the Lord Mayor. The tuxedo and starched underwear made the San Francisco gentleman very young. Dry, short, improperly cut, but tightly stitched, he sat in the golden pearl glow of this palace with a bottle of wine, glasses and goblets of the finest glass, behind a curly bouquet of hyacinths. There was something Mongolian in his yellowish face with a trimmed silver mustache, his large teeth glittered with golden fillings, and his strong bald head was old ivory. Richly, but for years his wife was dressed, a woman is large, wide and calm; difficult, but light and transparent, with innocent frankness - a daughter, tall, thin, with magnificent hair, charmingly tucked, with breath aromatic from violet cakes and with the most delicate pink pimples near the lips and between the shoulder blades, a little powdered ... The dinner lasted more than an hour , and after dinner, dances opened in the ballroom, during which men - including, of course, a gentleman from San Francisco - lifted their legs up, smoked Havana cigars until their faces were crimson red and drank liqueurs in the bar where negros served in red camisoles, with squirrels that look like peeled hard eggs. The ocean roared behind the wall as black mountains, the blizzard whistled strongly in the heavy tackle, the steamer trembled all over, overcoming both it and these mountains, as if with a plow toppling to the sides their unsteady, now and then boiling and hovering high with foamy tails, masses - in the siren stifled by the fog was moaning in deathly anguish, the watchmen on their watchtower were freezing from the cold and the watchmen on their watchtower, the gloomy and sultry depths of the underworld, its last, ninth circle was like the underwater womb of the the mouths of a pile of coal, thrown into them with a roar, doused with caustic, dirty sweat and to the waist with naked people, crimson from the flame; and here, in the bar, they carelessly threw their feet on the arms of the chairs, sipped cognac and liqueurs, swam in waves of spicy smoke, in the dance hall everything shone and poured out light, warmth and joy, couples were spinning in waltzes, then twisting into tango - and music persistently, in sweet, shameless sorrow, she prayed for one thing, all for the same. .. There was among this brilliant crowd a certain great rich man, shaved, long, in an old-fashioned tailcoat, there was a famous Spanish writer, there was an all-world beauty, there was an elegant couple in love, whom everyone watched with curiosity and who did not hide their happiness: he danced only with her, and everything came out so subtly, charmingly, that only one commander knew that this couple had been hired by Lloyd to play love for good money and had been sailing on one or another ship for a long time.
In Gibraltar, the sun cheered everyone, it felt like early spring; a new passenger appeared on board the Atlantis, which aroused general interest - the crown prince of an Asian state, traveling incognito, a small man, all wooden, broad-faced, narrow-eyed, wearing gold glasses, slightly unpleasant - because his large mustache showed through like a dead man, in general, sweet, simple and modest. In the Mediterranean Sea, there was a large and flowery wave, like a peacock's tail, which, with a bright brilliance and a completely clear sky, was spread cheerfully and madly flying towards the tramontana ... Then, on the second day, the sky turned pale, the horizon clouded: the earth was approaching, Ischia, Capri appeared, through binoculars lumps of sugar were already visible poured at the foot of something gray Naples ... Many ladies and gentlemen had already put on light, fur-up fur coats; unrequited, always whispering fighting Chinese, bow-legged teenagers with resin braids up to the toes and with girlish thick eyelashes, gradually pulled out blankets, canes, suitcases, toilet bags to the stairs ... The daughter of a gentleman from San Francisco stood on the deck next to the prince, yesterday in the evening, by a happy accident, presented to her, and pretended to gaze intently into the distance, where he pointed to her, explaining something, hastily and quietly telling something; he looked like a boy in stature among others, he was not at all good-looking and strange - glasses, a bowler hat, an English coat, and the hair of a rare mustache was like a horse's, the dark thin skin on a flat face was as if stretched and seemed to be slightly varnished - but the girl listened him and out of excitement did not understand what he was telling her; her heart was beating with incomprehensible delight in front of him: everything, everything in him was not the same as in others - his dry hands, his clean skin, under which the ancient royal blood flowed; even his European, very simple, but as if especially neat clothes concealed an inexplicable charm. And the gentleman from San Francisco, in gray leggings on boots, kept looking at the famous beauty standing next to him, a tall, surprisingly built blonde with eyes painted in the latest Parisian fashion, holding on a silver chain a tiny, bent, shabby dog \u200b\u200band talking to everything by her. And the daughter, in a kind of vague awkwardness, tried not to notice him.
He was quite generous on the way and therefore fully believed in the solicitude of all those who fed and watered him, from morning till evening they served him, preventing his slightest desire, guarded his purity and peace, dragged his things, called porters for him, delivered him hotel chests. So it was everywhere, so it was in sailing, so it should have been in Naples. Naples grew and drew near; the musicians, glittering with brass wind instruments, were already crowded on the deck and suddenly deafened everyone with the triumphant sounds of the march, the giant commander, in full dress, appeared on his walkways and, like a merciful pagan god, shook his hand at the passengers in greeting. And when the Atlantis finally entered the harbor, it rolled over to the embankment with its multi-storey bulk, strewn with people, and the gangways rumbled - how many porter and their assistants in caps with gold braids, how many commission agents, whistling boys and hefty ragamuffins with packs of colored postcards in hands threw to meet him with an offer of services! And he grinned at these ragamuffins, walking to the car of the very hotel where the prince could stay, and calmly spoke through his teeth, now in English, now in Italian: - Go away! Via!
Life in Naples immediately proceeded according to the established order: early in the morning - breakfast in a gloomy dining room, cloudy, little promising sky and a crowd of guides at the door of the lobby; then the first smiles of the warm pinkish sun, the view from the high-hanging balcony to Vesuvius, shrouded to the foot of the shining morning steam, to the silvery-pearl ripples of the bay and the thin outline of Capri on the horizon, to the tiny donkeys in gig cars running below along the embankment and to detachments soldiers walking somewhere with cheerful and challenging music; then - exit to the car and slow movement along crowded narrow and damp corridors of streets, among tall, multi-window houses, inspection of deathly clean and even, pleasant, but boring, like snow, lit museums or cold, wax-smelling churches, in which there is one and the same: the stately entrance, closed by a heavy leather curtain, but inside there is a huge emptiness, silence, quiet lights of a seven-branched candelabra blushing in the depths on a throne decorated with lace, a lonely old woman among dark wooden desks, slippery gravestones underfoot, and someone Descent from the Cross ”, certainly famous; at one o'clock - lunch on Mount San Martino, where many people of the very first class gather by noon and where one day the daughter of a gentleman from San Francisco almost got sick: it seemed to her that the prince was sitting in the hall, although she already knew from the newspapers, that he is in Rome; at five - tea in the hotel, in the elegant salon, where it is so warm from carpets and blazing fireplaces; and there again preparations for dinner - again the powerful, imperious hum of the gong on all floors, again the rows of low-necked ladies rustling along the stairs and reflected in the mirrors of the low-necked ladies, Again the wide and hospitable hall of the dining room, and the red jackets of the musicians on the stage, and the black crowd of footmen next to the maitre d ', with extraordinary skill in pouring thick pink soup into plates ... Lunches were again so plentiful in food, wines, mineral waters, sweets, and fruits, that by eleven o'clock in the evening the maids carried rubber bubbles with hot water to warm the stomachs.
However, December "turned out" not entirely successful: the receptionist, when they were talking about the weather, only raised their shoulders guiltily, muttering that they would not remember such a year, although for several years they had to mutter this and refer to what was happening everywhere something terrible: on the Riviera there are unprecedented showers and storms, in Athens there is snow, Etna is also all brought in and shines at night, tourists from Palermo, fleeing the cold, scatter ... The morning sun deceived every day: from noon it was always gray and began to sow the rain is getting thicker and colder; then the palms at the entrance of the hotel glittered with tin, the city seemed especially dirty and cramped, the museums were too monotonous, the cigar butts of fat cabbies in rubber capes fluttering in the wind - unbearably smelly, the energetic flapping of their whips over the thin-necked nags that were clearly bluish, sweeping their shoes tram rails, terrible, and women, splashing in the mud, in the rain with black open heads - ugly short-legged; about the dampness and the stench of rotten fish from the foaming sea near the embankment and there is nothing to say. Mr. and Mrs. from San Francisco began quarreling in the morning; their daughter either walked pale, with a headache, then came to life, admired everything and was then both sweet and beautiful: those tender, complex feelings that aroused in her a meeting with an ugly man in whom unusual blood flowed, were beautiful, in the end, it doesn't matter what exactly awakens the girl's soul - whether money, fame, nobility of the family ... Everyone assured that it was not at all the same in Sorrento, in Capri - it was warmer and sunnier there, and lemons were blooming , and morals are more honest, and wine is more natural. And so a family from San Francisco decided to go with all their chests to Capri, so that, having examined it, walking over the stones in the place of the palaces of Tiberius, having visited the fabulous caves of the Azure Grotto and listened to the Abruzzian bagpipers, who wandered around the island for a whole month before Christmas and singing the praises of the Virgin Mary, to settle in Sorrento.
The day of departure - very memorable for a family from San Francisco! - even in the morning there was no sun. A heavy fog hid Vesuvius to the very bottom, gray low above the leaden swell of the sea. The island of Capri was not visible at all - as if it had never existed in the world. And the little steamer heading towards him was so rolling from side to side that a family from San Francisco lay in layers on sofas in this steamer's pitiful wardroom, wrapping their legs in rugs and closing their eyes from faintness. Mrs. suffered, as she thought, the most: she was overcome several times, it seemed to her that she was dying, and the maid, who had come running to her with a basin, had been swaying day after day on these waves for many years, in the heat and cold, and all the same tireless, - only laughed. Miss was terribly pale and held a slice of lemon in her teeth. Mister, lying on his back, in a wide coat and a large cap, did not open his jaws all the way; his face became dark, his mustache white, his head ached badly: in recent days, thanks to the bad weather, he drank too much in the evenings and admired too much "living pictures" in some brothels. And the rain fell into the rattling windows, on the sofas flowed from them, the wind howled into the masts and sometimes, together with the oncoming wave, put the steamer on its side, and then something rolled down with a roar. It was a little easier at the stops at Castellammare, Sorrento; but even here it was swinging terribly, the coast with all its cliffs, gardens, pine trees, pink and white hotels, and smoky, curly-green mountains flew up and down outside the window, as if on a swing; boats knocked against the walls, a damp wind blew at the doors, and, without stopping for a minute, a burly boy shrieked from a swinging barge under the flag of the Royal Hotel, luring travelers. And the gentleman from San Francisco, feeling as befitted him - quite an old man - was already thinking with anguish and anger about all these greedy, garlic-stinking people called Italians; once during a stop, opening his eyes and rising from the sofa, he saw under a rocky plumb line a bunch of such pitiful, moldy stone houses, glued to each other right next to the water, near boats, near some rags, cans and brown nets that, remembering that this is real Italy, which he had come to enjoy, he felt despair ... Finally, already at dusk, the island began to approach with its blackness, as if drilled through at the foot with red lights, the wind became softer, warmer, more fragrant, along the resigned waves golden boas flowed from the lanterns of the pier, shimmering like black oil. .. Then suddenly the anchor thundered and flopped into the water, furious screams of boatmen rushed with each other - and immediately it became easier in my soul, the wardroom shone brighter, I wanted to eat, drink, smoke, move ... In ten minutes a family from San Francisco went into a large barge, after fifteen stepped on the stones of the embankment, and then sat down in a light trailer and whirred up the slope, among the stakes in the vineyards, half-ruined stone fences and wet, gnarled orange trees covered in some places with straw canopies, with a shine orange fruits and thick glossy foliage sliding downhill, past the open windows of the trailer ... The earth smells sweet in Italy after the rain, and each island has its own special smell!
The island of Capri was damp and dark that evening. But then he came to life for a minute, lit up here and there. At the top of the mountain, on the platform of the funicular, there was again a crowd of those whose duties it was to receive the gentleman from San Francisco with dignity. There were other newcomers, but not worthy of attention - a few Russians who settled in Capri, slovenly and scattered, with glasses, with beards, with raised collars of old coats, and a company of long-legged, round-headed German youths in Tyrolean suits and with canvas bags over their shoulders who do not need anyone's services and are not at all generous in spending. The gentleman from San Francisco, calmly keeping away from both, was immediately noticed. He and his ladies were hastily helped out, they ran ahead of him, showing the way, he was again surrounded by boys and those stalwart Capri women who carry suitcases and chests of decent tourists on their heads. They knocked on a small, like an opera square, over which an electric ball swayed from a damp wind, their wooden foot benches, like a bird, whistled and rolled over the head of a crowd of boys - and how a gentleman from San Francisco walked along the stage among them to some medieval an arch under the houses merged into one, behind which a ringing street with a swirl of palm trees over the flat roofs to the left and blue stars in the black sky above, in front led to the shining in front of the hotel entrance. And it all looked like it was in honor of the guests from San Francisco that a damp stone town on a rocky island in the Mediterranean had come to life, that they made the owner of the hotel so happy and welcoming that only a Chinese gong waited for them, howling on all floors of the collection for dinner, as soon as they entered the lobby.
The host, who bowed politely and exquisitely, an excellently elegant young man who met them, for a moment amazed the gentleman from San Francisco: he suddenly remembered that that night, among other confusion that besieged him in his dream, he had seen exactly this gentleman, exactly exactly the same as this one, in the same business card and with the same mirror-combed head. Surprised, he almost paused. But as in his soul for a long time there was not even a mustard seed of any so-called mystical feelings, then his surprise immediately faded: he jokingly told his wife and daughter about this strange coincidence of dream and reality, walking down the hotel corridor. The daughter, however, looked at him anxiously at that moment: her heart was suddenly gripped by longing, a feeling of terrible loneliness on this strange, dark island ...
A distinguished person, Flight XVII, who was visiting Capri, has just departed. And the guests from San Francisco were given the very apartments that he occupied. They were assigned the most beautiful and skillful maid, a Belgian woman, with a thin and firm waist from a corset and in a starched cap in the form of a small toothed crown, and the most prominent of the lackeys, a coal-black, fire-eyed Sicilian, and the most agile bellboy, small and stout Luigi , who have changed many similar places in their lifetime. A minute later, a French head waiter lightly knocked on the door of the gentleman from San Francisco, who came to find out if the gentlemen would dine, and in case of an affirmative answer, in which, however, there was no doubt, to report that today is a lobster, roast beef , asparagus, pheasants and so on. Paul still walked under the gentleman from San Francisco - this is how this trashy Italian steamer pumped him up, - but he slowly, with his own hands, although out of habit and not quite deftly, closed the window that slammed at the entrance of the head waiter, from which he smelled the smell of the distant kitchen and wet flowers in the garden, and with unhurried clarity replied that they would have dinner, that the table for them should be set away from the doors, in the very depths of the room, that they would drink local wine, and the head waiter assented to every word he said in a wide variety of intonations that had however, only the meaning that there is and cannot be doubts about the correctness of the wishes of the gentleman from San Francisco and that everything will be fulfilled exactly. Finally, he bowed his head and asked delicately: - Everything, sir?
And, having received a slow “yes” in response, he added that today they have a tarantella in the lobby - Carmella and Giuseppe, known throughout Italy and “the whole world of tourists”, are dancing.
“I saw her on postcards,” the gentleman from San Francisco said in an expressionless voice. "Is this Giuseppe her husband?"
“Cousin, sir,” the head waiter replied.
And, after hesitating, thinking something, but saying nothing, the gentleman from San Francisco released him with a nod of his head.
And then he again began to prepare for the crown: everywhere he turned on electricity, filled all the mirrors with the reflection of light and shine, furniture and open chests, began to shave, wash and call every minute, while other impatient calls rushed and interrupted him throughout the corridor - from the rooms of his wife and daughter. And Luigi, in his red apron, with the ease characteristic of many fat men, making grimaces of horror, to tears amused the maids who ran past with tiled buckets in their hands, rolled head over heels to the bell and, knocking on the door with his knuckles, with feigned timidity, brought to idiocy respectfully asked: - Ha sonato, signore?
And from behind the door was heard a slow and creaky, offensively polite voice: - Yes, come in ...
How did the gentleman from San Francisco feel, what did the gentleman from San Francisco think on this so significant evening for him? He, like anyone who had experienced rolling, only really wanted to eat, with delight he dreamed of the first spoonful of soup, of the first sip of wine, and did the usual toilet routine even in some excitement, leaving no time for feelings and reflection.
Having shaved, washed, well inserted a few teeth, he, standing in front of the mirrors, moistened and tidied up the remnants of pearl hair around the dark yellow skull with brushes in a silver frame, pulled a cream silk tights on a strong senile body with a waist that was growing fat from increased nutrition, and on dry legs with flat feet - black silk socks and ballroom shoes, squatting, put in order the black trousers and a snow-white shirt with a protruding chest, tucked up high with silk aids, put the cufflinks in the shiny cuffs and began to torment himself with catching cufflinks under his neck with a hard collar. The floor was still swaying under him, his fingertips were very painful, the cufflink sometimes bit hard on the flabby skin in the depression under the Adam's apple, but he was persistent and finally, with eyes shining with tension, all gray from the tight collar that squeezed his throat, completed the job - and in exhaustion sat down in front of the pier glass, all reflected in it and repeating in other mirrors.
- Oh, this is terrible! He muttered, dropping his strong bald head and not trying to understand, not thinking what was awful; Then, habitually and attentively, he examined his short fingers, with gouty indurations in the joints, their large and protruding almond-colored nails, and repeated with conviction: - This is terrible ...
But then loudly, as if in a pagan temple, the second gong hummed throughout the house. And, hastily getting up from his place, the gentleman from San Francisco pulled his collar even more with a tie, and his belly with an open waistcoat, put on a tuxedo, straightened his cuffs, once again looked at herself in the mirror ... This Carmella, dark-skinned, with feigned eyes, resembling a mulatto , in a flowery outfit, where the orange color predominates, he must be dancing extraordinarily, he thought. And, cheerfully leaving his room and walking across the carpet to the next woman, his wife, asked loudly if they were soon?
- In five minutes! - the girlish voice answered loudly and already cheerfully from behind the door.
“Excellent,” said the gentleman from San Francisco.
And he walked slowly down the corridors and down the stairs covered with red carpets, looking for a reading room. The oncoming servants pressed against the wall from him, and he walked, as if not noticing them. An old woman who was late for dinner, already stooped, with milky hair, but low-cut, in a light gray silk dress, hurried ahead of him with all her might, but funny, chicken-like, and he easily overtook her. Near the glass doors of the dining room, where everyone was already assembled and began to eat, he stopped in front of a table cluttered with boxes of cigars and Egyptian cigarettes, took a large manilla and threw three lyres on the table; on the winter veranda he glanced in passing through the open window: a gentle air blew at him from the darkness, the top of an old palm tree spread out over the stars, its fronds, which seemed gigantic, came the distant smooth sound of the sea ... In the reading room, cozy, quiet and light only above the tables a gray-haired German, like Ibsen, in silver round glasses and with crazy, amazed eyes, rustled the newspapers while standing. Coldly examining him, the gentleman from San Francisco sat down in a deep leather chair in the corner, near a lamp under a green cap, put on his pince-nez and, jerking his head from the collar that was choking him, covered himself with a newspaper sheet. He quickly skimmed through the titles of some of the articles, read a few lines about the never-ending Balkan war, turned the newspaper over with his usual gesture - when suddenly the lines flashed before him with a glass sheen, his neck stiffened, his eyes bulged, his pince-nez flew off his nose ... He rushed forward, wanted to take a breath of air - and wheezed wildly; his lower jaw fell off, illuminating his entire mouth with gold fillings, his head fell on his shoulder and wrapped around, the chest of his shirt bulged out in a box - and his whole body, wriggling, lifting the carpet with his heels, crawled to the floor, desperately struggling with someone.
If there weren't a German in the reading room, they would have quickly and deftly managed to hush up this terrible incident in the hotel, instantly, in reverse, they would have rushed by the feet and head of the gentleman from San Francisco to hell - and not a single soul of the guests would have known what he had done he. But the German burst out of the reading room with a cry, he alarmed the whole house, the entire dining room. And many jumped up because of the food, many, turning pale, ran to the reading room, in all languages \u200b\u200bwas heard: "What, what happened?" - and no one answered plainly, no one understood anything, since people still marvel more than anything else and never want to believe death. The owner rushed from one guest to another, trying to delay the fleeing and reassure them with hasty assurances that this was so, a trifle, a small swoon with a gentleman from San Francisco ... But no one listened to him, many saw the footmen and bellhop this gentleman's tie, waistcoat, crumpled tuxedo and even for some reason ballroom shoes with black silk legs with flat feet. And he was still struggling. He persistently fought death, never wanted to succumb to it, so unexpectedly and rudely piled on him. He shook his head, wheezed like a stabbed one, rolled his eyes like a drunk ... When they hurriedly carried him in and put him on the bed in room forty-three - the smallest, worst, dampest and coldest, at the end of the lower corridor - he came running a daughter, with her hair loose, with a bare chest lifted up by a corset, then a large wife, already completely dressed up for dinner, whose mouth was round with horror ... But then he stopped shaking his head.
After a quarter of an hour, everything at the hotel was somehow in order. But the evening was irreparably ruined. Some, returning to the dining room, finished their dinner, but silently, with offended faces, while the owner approached one or the other, shrugging his shoulders in powerless and decent irritation, feeling guilty without guilt, assuring everyone that he understood perfectly well, “How unpleasant it is,” and giving his word that he will take “all measures in his power” to eliminate the trouble; the tarantella had to be canceled, the excess electricity was extinguished, most of the guests went to the city, to the pub, and it became so quiet that the sound of the clock was clearly heard in the lobby, where only one parrot was muttering something woodenly, fumbling before going to bed in his cage, managing an absurdly raised paw on the top pole ... The gentleman from San Francisco was lying on a cheap iron bed, under coarse woolen blankets, on which one horn shone dimly from the ceiling. An ice pack hung over his wet and cold forehead. The gray, already dead face gradually grew cold, the hoarse gurgle that escaped from the open mouth, illuminated by the glint of gold, was fading. It was no longer the gentleman from San Francisco — he was no longer there — but someone else. His wife, daughter, doctor, servants stood and looked at him. Suddenly, what they had been waiting for and feared came to pass - the wheeze stopped. And slowly, slowly, in front of everyone's eyes, pallor began to flow down the face of the deceased, and his features began to thin out, brighten ...
The owner entered. “Già é morto,” the doctor whispered to him. The owner shrugged his shoulders with an impassive face. Mrs., whose tears were quietly rolling down her cheeks, approached him and timidly said that now the deceased must be transferred to his room.
- Oh no, madam, - hastily, correctly, but without any courtesy and not in English, but in French, the owner objected, who was not at all interested in those trifles that those who had arrived from San Francisco could now leave at his checkout. “It’s absolutely impossible, madam,” he said and added in an explanation that he appreciates these apartments very much, that if he fulfilled her wish, then all Capri would become aware of this and tourists would begin to avoid them.
Miss, who had been looking at him strangely all the time, sat down on a chair and, holding her mouth with a handkerchief, burst into tears. Mrs. tears immediately dried up, her face flushed. She raised her tone, began to demand, speaking in her own language and still not believing that respect for them was completely lost. The owner, with polite dignity, besieged her: if Madame does not like the order of the hotel, he does not dare to delay her; and firmly declared that the body should be taken out this very day at dawn, that the police had already been given to know that their representative would now appear and carry out the necessary formalities ... Is it possible to get at least a simple ready-made coffin on Capri, Madame asks? Unfortunately, no, in any case, and no one will have time to do it. He'll have to do something differently ... English soda water, for example, he gets in large and long boxes ... the partitions from such a box can be removed ...
The whole hotel slept at night. They opened a window in room forty-three - it looked out into a corner of the garden, where a stunted banana grew under a high stone wall, studded with broken glass along the ridge, - they put out the electricity, locked the door and left. The dead man remained in the dark, blue stars looked at him from the sky, a cricket sang on the wall with sad carelessness ... In the dimly lit corridor, two maids were sitting on the windowsill, mending something. Luigi came in with a bunch of dresses on his arm and shoes.
- Pronto? (Ready?) - He asked anxiously in a sonorous whisper, pointing with his eyes to the terrible door at the end of the corridor. And he gently shook his free hand in that direction. - Partenza! - he shouted in a whisper, as if seeing off the train, what is usually shouted in Italy at stations when trains leave, - and the maids, choking on soundless laughter, fell head first on each other's shoulders.
Then, jumping softly, he ran to the door itself, slightly knocked on it and, tilting his head to one side, asked in an undertone most respectfully: - Íà sonato, signore?
And, squeezing his throat, extending his lower jaw, squeaky, slowly and sadly answered himself, as if from behind the door: - Yes, come in ...
And at dawn, when it turned white outside the window of the forty-third room and the damp wind rustled with torn banana foliage, when the blue morning sky rose and spread over the island of Capri and turned gold against the sun rising behind the distant blue mountains of Italy, the clear and clear peak of Monte Solaro, when the bricklayers went to work, fixing the paths for tourists on the island - they brought a long box of soda water to the forty-third room. Soon he became very heavy - and pressed hard on the knees of the junior porter, who quickly drove him in a one-horse cab along the white highway, which twisted up and down the slopes of Capri, among stone fences and vineyards, all down and down to the sea. The cabby, a tall man with red eyes, in an old jacket with short sleeves and knocked down shoes, was hungover - he played dice all night in a trattoria - and kept whipping his sturdy horse, dressed in Sicilian style, hastily rattling all kinds of bells on a bridle in colored woolen pom-poms and on the points of a high copper saddle, with an arshin, quivering bird feather sticking out of a cropped bang. The cabman was silent, he was depressed by his dissipation, by his vices — by the fact that he had lost to the last penny at night. But the morning was fresh, in such air, in the middle of the sea, under the morning sky, the hops soon disappear and soon the carelessness returns to the man, but he consoled the cabman with the unexpected earnings that some gentleman from San Francisco gave him, shaking his dead head in the box behind his back ... The steamer, lying like a beetle far below, on the tender and bright blue, which is so thick and full of the Gulf of Naples, was already giving the last beeps - and they cheerfully responded throughout the island, every bend of which, every crest, each stone was so clearly visible from everywhere, as if there was no air at all. Near the pier, the junior porter was caught up by the senior, who was rushing in the car of Miss and Mrs, pale, with eyes dropping from tears and sleepless night. And ten minutes later the steamer again rustled with water and again ran to Sorrento, to Castellammare, forever taking the family away from Capri from San Francisco ... And peace and tranquility were re-established on the island.
On this island two thousand years ago there lived a man who was unspeakably disgusting in satisfying his lust and for some reason had power over millions of people, who committed cruelties over them beyond all measure, and mankind forever remembered him, and many, many from all over the world come to watch to the remains of the stone house where he lived on one of the steepest climbs of the island. On this wonderful morning, everyone who came to Capri for this very purpose was still sleeping in hotels, although little mousey donkeys under red saddles were already being led to the entrances of the hotels, on which young and old Americans and American women should have woken up and gorged on again. , Germans and Germans, and after whom they again had to run along rocky paths, and all up the hill, right up to the very top of Monte Tiberio, beggar old Capri women with sticks in sinewy hands, in order to urge donkeys with these sticks. Reassured that the dead old man from San Francisco, who was also going to go with them, but instead of only frightened them with a reminder of death, had already been sent to Naples, the travelers slept soundly, and the island was still quiet, the shops in the city were still closed ... Only a market in a small square traded in fish and herbs, and there were only ordinary people there, among whom, as always, without any business, stood Lorenzo, a tall old boatman, a carefree reveler and a handsome man, famous throughout Italy, who served more than once model to many painters: he brought and already sold for a pittance two lobsters that he caught at night, rustling in the apron of the cook of the very hotel where the family from San Francisco spent the night, and now he could calmly stand even until the evening, looking around with a regal manner, pretending to in rags, a clay pipe, and a red woolen beret lowered over one ear. And along the cliffs of Monte Solaro, along the ancient Phoenician road, carved in the rocks, along its stone steps, two Abruzzian highlanders descended from Anacapri. One had a bagpipe under a leather cloak — a large goat fur with two pipes, the other — something like a wooden yarn. They walked - and the whole country, joyful, beautiful, sunny, stretched beneath them: the stony humps of the island, which was almost entirely at their feet, and that fabulous blue in which he swam, and shining morning steam over the sea to the east, under the dazzling sun, which was already warming up hot, rising higher and higher, and the misty azure, still in the morning unsteady massifs of Italy, its near and distant mountains, the beauty of which is powerless to express a human word. Halfway through, they slowed down: above the road, in the grotto of the rocky wall of Monte Solaro, all illuminated by the sun, all in its warmth and splendor, stood in snow-white plaster robes and in a royal crown, golden-rusty from bad weather, mother of God, meek and merciful , with eyes lifted to heaven, to the eternal and blessed abodes of her thrice-blessed son. They bared their heads - and naive and humbly joyful praises poured on their sun, morning, her, the immaculate intercessor of all those suffering in this evil and beautiful world, and born of her womb in the cave of Bethlehem, in the poor shepherd's shelter, in the distant land of Judah ... ...
The body of a dead old man from San Francisco was returning home to his grave on the shores of the New World. Having experienced a lot of humiliation, a lot of human inattention, after spending a week from one port shed to another, it finally got back on the same famous ship, on which so recently, with such honor, it was taken to the Old World. But now they were hiding him from the living - they lowered him deeply in a tarred coffin into the black hold. And again, again the ship went on its distant sea route. At night he sailed past the island of Capri, and his lights, slowly hiding in the dark sea, were sad for those who looked at them from the island. But there, on the ship, in the bright halls shining with chandeliers, there was, as usual, a crowded ball that night.
He was on the second, and on the third night - again among the furious blizzard that swept over the ocean, humming like a funeral mass, and walking mourning mountains from the silver foam. The countless fiery eyes of the ship were barely visible behind the snow to the Devil, who watched from the rocks of Gibraltar, from the stony gates of two worlds, the ship that was leaving in the night and the blizzard. The devil was huge, like a cliff, but the ship was also huge, multi-tiered, multi-pipe, created by the pride of a New Man with an old heart. The blizzard beat in his tackle and wide-mouthed pipes, white with snow, but he was firm, solid, dignified and terrible. On the topmost roof of it, lonely among the snowy whirlwinds, were those cozy, dimly lit chambers, where, immersed in a sensitive and anxious slumber, over the entire ship sat its overweight driver, like a pagan idol. He heard heavy howls and furious squeals of a siren, suffocated by the storm, but he reassured himself by the proximity of what, in the end, for him the most incomprehensible, what was behind his wall: that kind of armored cabin that was filled with a mysterious rumble, trembling and dry crackling every now and then. blue lights that flashed and burst around the pale-faced telegraph operator with a metal half-hoop on his head. At the very bottom, in the underwater womb of Atlantis, steel shone dimly, hissing steam and oozing with boiling water and oil, thousands of pounds of boilers and all sorts of other machines, that kitchen, heated underside by hellish furnaces, in which the movement of the ship was boiled, - the terrible bubbling in their concentration forces transmitted to its very keel, to an endlessly long dungeon, into a round tunnel, weakly illuminated by electricity, where slowly, with an overwhelming rigidity of the human soul, a gigantic shaft revolved in its oily bed, like a living monster stretching in this tunnel, similar to a mouth ... And the middle of Atlantis, its dining rooms and ballrooms, poured out light and joy, buzzed with the talk of an elegant crowd, smelled of fresh flowers, and sang with a string orchestra. And again, painfully writhing and sometimes convulsively collided among this crowd, amid the glitter of lights, silks, diamonds and naked female shoulders, a thin and flexible pair of hired lovers: a sinfully modest girl with lowered eyelashes, with an innocent hairdo, and a tall young man with black, as if with hair glued on, pale with powder, in the finest patent leather shoes, in a narrow tailcoat with long tails — a handsome man who looked like a huge leech. And no one knew anything that had long bored this couple of pretending to suffer with their blissful torment under shamelessly sad music, nor that which stands deep, deep under them, at the bottom of a dark hold, in the vicinity of the gloomy and sultry bowels of the ship, it is hard prevailed over the darkness, ocean, blizzard. .. October. 1915
Bunin wrote the story "The gentleman from San Francisco" in 1915. The work was created in the traditions of neorealism (artistic direction in Russian literature).
In the story, the author touches on the theme of life and death, shows how insignificant power and wealth really are in the face of death. According to the depicted society, money can buy anything (even supposedly love in the example of a pair of hired lovers), but this turns out to be an illusion generated by the “pride of the New Man”.
main characters
Mr. from San Francisco - a wealthy 58-year-old man who worked all his life for the "American Dream".
Master's wife and daughter
The hotel owner
Couple playing lovers
"The gentleman from San Francisco - no one remembered his name either in Naples or in Capri - went to the Old World for two whole years, with his wife and daughter, solely for the sake of entertainment."
The gentleman was rich and "just started to live." Before that, he "only existed" because he worked very hard. The gentleman planned to vacation in southern Italy in December and January, to attend a carnival in Nice, to visit Florence in March. Then go to Rome, Venice, Paris, Seville, the English islands, Athens, Asia.
It was late November. They sailed on the steamer Atlantis, which "looked like a huge hotel with all the amenities." Passengers lived here in a measured way, walked on decks, played various games, read newspapers, dozed on long-chairs.
In the evenings, after a sumptuous dinner, dancing began in the ballroom. Among the people vacationing on the steamer, there was a great rich man, and a famous writer, and an elegant couple in love (although only the commander knew that the couple had been hired here specifically for the entertainment of the public - so that they played love), and the Crown Prince of Asia, who traveled incognita. The gentleman's daughter was carried away by the prince, while the gentleman himself “kept looking” at the famous beauty - a tall blonde.
In Naples, the family stayed in a room overlooking the bay and Mount Vesuvius. In December the weather turned bad, "the city seemed especially dirty and cramped." In rainy Italy, the gentleman felt "as befits him - quite an old man."
The family moved to Capri, where they were provided with the best apartments. In the evening, the tarantella was supposed to be at the hotel. The gentleman was the first to change for dinner, so, expecting his wife and daughter, he decided to go into the reading room. There was already a German sitting there. The gentleman sat down in a "deep leather chair", straightened his tight collar and picked up a newspaper.
“Suddenly the lines flashed in front of him with a glass shine, his neck stiffened, his eyes bulged, his pince-nez flew off his nose ... He rushed forward, wanted to take a breath - and wheezed wildly; his lower jaw fell off, illuminating his entire mouth with gold fillings, his head fell over his shoulder and wrapped around, the chest of his shirt protruded into a box - and the whole body, wriggling, lifting the carpet with his heels, crawled to the floor, desperately struggling with someone.
If there were no German in the reading room, this "terrible incident" "would have been quickly and cleverly hush up in the hotel." But the German ran out of the reading room with a cry and "alarmed the whole house." The owner tried to reassure the guests, but many had already seen how the footmen tore off the gentleman's clothes, how he “still struggled,” wheezed, “persistently fought death,” how he was carried out and put in the worst and smallest room - forty-third, on downstairs.
“In a quarter of an hour everything was somehow in order at the hotel. But the evening was irreparably ruined. " The owner approached the guests, calming them, "feeling guilty without guilt," promising to take "all measures in his power." Because of the incident, the tarantella was canceled, excess electricity was extinguished. The master's wife asked to transfer her husband's body to their apartment, but the owner refused and ordered that the body be taken out at dawn. Since there was nowhere to get the coffin, the body of the gentleman was placed in a long soda box of English water.
The body of "a dead old man from San Francisco was returning home to his grave on the shores of the New World." “It again got, at last, on the same famous ship” - “Atlantis”. "But now they were hiding him from the living - they lowered him deeply in a tarred coffin into the black hold." At night, the steamer sailed past the island of Capri. As usual, there was a ball on the ship. "He was on the other and on the third night."
The Devil watched the ship from the rocks of Gibraltar. "The devil was as huge as a cliff, but even more huge was his ship, multi-tiered, multi-tube, created by the pride of a New Man with an old heart." In the upper chambers of the ship "sat" the overweight driver of the ship, looking like a "pagan idol". “In the underwater womb of Atlantis, thousands of pounds of boilers and all sorts of other machines gleamed dully with steel, hissed with steam and oozed with boiling water and oil.” "And the middle of Atlantis, its dining rooms and ballrooms, poured out light and joy, buzzed with the talk of an elegant crowd, smelled of fresh flowers, sang with a string orchestra."
And again among the crowd flashed a "thin and flexible" pair of those same lovers. “And no one knew anything that had long bored this couple of feigned torment with their blissful torment under shamelessly sad music, nor that there was a coffin deep, deep under them, at the bottom of a dark hold, in the vicinity of the gloomy and sultry bowels of the ship ".
Conclusion
Bunin's story "Mister from San Francisco" is compositionally divided into two parts: before and after the master's death. The reader becomes a witness of a metamorphosis: in an instant the status and money of the deceased depreciated. His body is disrespected as an “item” that can be thrown into a beverage drawer. The author shows how the people around them are indifferent to the death of the same person as they are, how everyone thinks only about themselves and their “peace of mind”.
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In 1915, a short story by I.A. Bunin "Mr. from San Francisco". When reading the title of the work, thoughts immediately come to mind about an exciting plot, where a mysterious citizen from a distant country becomes the main character of amazing and somewhere dangerous events .... However, the plot of the story is far from the intended options. Who is this man from San Francisco? A summary will help us figure it out. This is not difficult.
Transmitting a summary of "The gentleman from San Francisco", it should be noted that the author, introducing the main character, from the first lines, as it were, warns the reader that no one remembered the name of this person, neither in Naples, nor in Capri. On the one hand, this seems surprising - it cannot be that a person in whose life there were no defamatory actions, who has a good strong family, a wife and a daughter, whose aspirations were aimed at work and later on a well-deserved rest, could not to be remembered by others. But continuing to read line by line, you realize that his life was so colorless and empty that, on the contrary, if someone remembered his name, it would be amazing. All his life he strived to work tirelessly, but not in order to come to a well-deserved success, some unprecedented achievements and discoveries, but in the end - to inner satisfaction that life was not lived in vain, but in order to catch up with respected people and then to the end of their days to be in the same pleasures and idle pleasures, like other "respectable" citizens. And now there comes that long-awaited moment in his life, when it seemed that a lot had been done, and his condition approached the figure when he could afford to go on a long journey. And again, traveling across the ocean in his understanding is not new lands, not acquaintance with another culture and distant traditions, but rather an indispensable attribute of the life of any rich person.
The main character, together with his wife and adult daughter, sits on the famous motor ship Atlantis and goes to the Old World. He plans to visit the monuments of Ancient Greece, take part in car and sailing races in Nice and Monte Carlo, enjoy the delights of young Neapolitan women and be sure to swim in the waters of the English islands, and getting to know the local refined society can be of great benefit both for himself and and for his daughter - a girl of marriageable age ... And it seemed that nothing and no one could interfere with his plans - after all, he dreamed about this all his life.
Continuing the summary of "Mr. from San Francisco", we are transferred to the steamer, which is taking our hero and his family to Naples.
Life on a ship that resembles a real hotel with all the amenities and all kinds of entertainment is measured. In the morning - a mandatory two-hour walk on the deck to whet your appetite, then breakfast, after breakfast everyone looks at the fresh newspapers, again a walk and a short rest under blankets in long chairs on the deck ... Second breakfast is replaced by hot tea with cookies, conversations - by walks, and at the end day comes that long-awaited moment, the real apotheosis of everything - a hearty lunch and an evening of dancing.
Soon the floating hotel arrives in Italy, and a citizen from San Francisco finds himself in the epicenter of his Naples, an expensive hotel, helpful staff, the same serene and luxurious lifestyle, breakfasts, dinners, dancing, visiting cathedrals and museums ... But you don't feel that pleasure from the life he dreamed of: it is constantly raining outside, the wind is howling, and endless despondency around. And the nameless man with his family decides to go to where, as they assured, it is sunny and warm. And again they are on a small steamer, sailing in the hope of finding that oasis in the desert to which they have been going for so long. But a terrible pitching, a stormy wind does not bode well ...
Capri welcomes the gentleman from San Francisco, but, as the protagonist himself notes, the pitiful shacks of the fishermen on the coast cause only irritation and feelings far from the expected admiration.
But, having arrived at the hotel, where he was greeted with all appropriate honors and even more, the gentleman is sure that the annoying feelings are behind, and only pleasure and pleasure are ahead. He prepares for dinner with all pomp, shaves, washes, puts on a tailcoat, buttons up his cufflinks ... Without waiting for his wife and daughter, he goes down to the cozy reading room, sits down, puts on his pince-nez, opens the newspaper ... And here something terrible and unexpected happens - everything grows cloudy before his eyes , and he, all wriggling, falls to the floor ... There is noise all around, surprised exclamations and shouts, but they do not feel compassion and desire to help. No, rather fear and disappointment that the evening is hopelessly ruined, and maybe even have to leave the hotel.
The gentleman from San Francisco is transferred to a very small and damp room, where he soon dies. The women, wife and daughter, who came running in horror, no longer hear those helpful and servile notes in the owner's voice, only irritation and displeasure that the hotel's reputation could be permanently damaged. He does not allow his body to be transferred to another room and refuses to help with the search for the coffin, offering in return a long box of bottles. This is how the main character spends his last night in Capri - a cold, musty room and a simple box. It would seem that this is the summary of "Mr. from San Francisco" comes to an end. But do not rush, because ahead, albeit insignificant scenes, are the deepest, leading the reader to the most important thing ...
The next day, his wife, daughter and a dead old man - as the author now calls him - are sent back to San Francisco by steamer. Finishing the summary of "Mister from San Francisco", one should certainly describe the same "Atlantis", on board which the same idle persons, the same breakfasts and walks, and the same heroes .... But no one suspects, and no one is interested in what is happening in the soul of each of those present and who is hidden in a tarred coffin deep below in a dark, cold hold ...
In conclusion, I would like to say that if I. A. Bunin called his work differently, and, say, instead of "The gentleman from San Francisco" at the moment you would read "Citizen from San Francisco", a summary, the main idea of \u200b\u200bthe work would not change. Dullness, emptiness and aimlessness of existence lead to only one end - in the far hold there is a coffin not with a person, but with a body without a name ...
Ivan Bunin
Mr. from San Francisco
Woe to you, Babylon, mighty city
Apocalypse
The gentleman from San Francisco - no one remembered his name either in Naples or in Capri - went to the Old World for two whole years, with his wife and daughter, solely for the sake of entertainment.
He was firmly convinced that he had every right to rest, to enjoy, to travel long and comfortable, and you never know what else. For such confidence, he had the reason that, firstly, he was rich, and secondly, he had just begun life, despite his fifty-eight years. Until that time, he did not live, but only existed, although it was not bad, but still pinning all hopes on the future. He worked tirelessly - the Chinese, whom he signed out to work with thousands of them, knew well what that meant! - and, finally, he saw that a lot had already been done, that he was almost on par with those whom he once took as a model, and decided to take a break. The people to whom he belonged had the custom to start enjoying life with a trip to Europe, to India, to Egypt. He put it on and he did the same. Of course, he wanted to reward himself, first of all, for the years of labor; however, he was glad for his wife and daughter. His wife was never particularly impressionable, but how old American women are passionate travelers. And as for her daughter, a girl of age and slightly painful, the journey was absolutely necessary for her - not to mention the health benefits, isn't there happy meetings in travel? Sometimes you sit at the table or look at the frescoes next to the billionaire.
The route was worked out by a gentleman from San Francisco. In December and January, he hoped to enjoy the southern Italian sunshine, the ancient monuments, the tarantella, the serenades of itinerant singers, and what people of his age feel! especially subtly, - with the love of young Neapolitan women, even if not entirely disinterested, he thought to hold the carnival in Nice, in Monte Carlo, where at this time the most selective society flocks, - the very one on which the benefits of civilization depend: and the style of tuxedos , and the strength of thrones, and the declaration of wars, and the welfare of hotels - where some enthusiastically indulge in car and sailing races, others to roulette, others to what is commonly called flirting, and the fourth to shooting pigeons, which soar very beautifully from the cages above the emerald a lawn, against the background of the sea, the colors of forget-me-nots, and immediately knock on the ground with white lumps; the beginning of March he wanted to dedicate to Florence, to the passion of the Lord to come to Rome to listen to Miserere there; included in his plans and Venice, and Paris, and bullfighting in Seville, and swimming on the English islands, and Athens, and Constantinople, and Palestine, and Egypt, and even Japan - of course, already on the way back ... And everything went first fine.
It was the end of November, and I had to sail as far as Gibraltar, now in icy haze, now amid a storm with sleet; but they sailed quite safely.
There were a lot of passengers, the steamer - the famous Atlantis - looked like a huge hotel with all the amenities - with a night bar, with oriental baths, with its own newspaper - and life on it proceeded very measuredly: they got up early, with trumpets, abruptly that were heard along the corridors even in that gloomy hour, when it was so slowly and unfriendly over the gray-green water desert, heavily agitated in the fog; thrown on flannel pajamas, drank coffee, chocolate, cocoa; then they sat in marble baths, did gymnastics, stimulating appetite and well-being, made daytime toilets and went to their first breakfast; until eleven o'clock they were supposed to walk briskly on the decks, breathing the cold freshness of the ocean, or play sheffle-board and other games for a new stimulation of appetite, and at eleven - to refresh themselves with sandwiches with broth; having refreshed themselves, they read the newspaper with pleasure and calmly waited for the second breakfast, even more nutritious and varied than the first; the next two hours were devoted to rest; all the decks were then filled with longsheses, on which the travelers lay, covered with blankets, looking at the cloudy sky and at the foamy mounds that flashed overboard, or dozing sweetly; at five o'clock, refreshed and cheerful, they were given strong fragrant tea with cookies; at seven they announced with trumpet signals what constituted the main goal of all this existence, its crown ... And then the gentleman from San Francisco, rubbing his hands from the surge of vitality, hurried to his rich luxury cabin - to get dressed.
In the evenings, the floors of "Atlantis" gaped in the darkness as if with fiery innumerable eyes, and a great number of servants worked in the cooks, dishwashers and wine cellars. The ocean that walked outside the walls was scary, but they did not think about it, firmly believing in the power of the commander over it, a red-haired man of monstrous size and weight, always as if sleepy, looking like in his uniform, with wide gold stripes on a huge idol and very rarely appearing on people from their mysterious chambers; a siren was constantly howling on the tank with infernal gloom and screeching with fierce malice, but few of the diners heard the siren - it was drowned out by the sounds of a beautiful string orchestra, exquisitely and tirelessly playing in a marble two-story hall, covered with velvet carpets, festively flooded with ladies and ladies decals overflowing with lights in tailcoats and tuxedos, slender footmen and respectful head waiter, among whom one, the one who took orders only for wine, even walked with a chain around his neck, like some Lord Mayor. The tuxedo and starched underwear made the San Francisco gentleman very young. Dry, short, improperly cut, but tightly stitched, cleaned to a gloss and moderately lively, he sat in the golden pearl glow of this palace behind a bottle of amber Johannisberg, behind glasses and goblets of the finest glass, behind a curly bouquet of hyacinths. There was something Mongolian in his yellowish face with a trimmed silver mustache, his large teeth glittered with golden fillings, and his strong bald head was old ivory. Richly, but for years his wife was dressed, a woman is large, wide and calm; difficult, but light and transparent, with innocent frankness - a daughter, tall, thin, with magnificent hair, charmingly tucked, with breath aromatic from violet cakes and with the most delicate pink pimples near the lips and between the shoulder blades, a little powdered ... The dinner lasted more than an hour, and after dinner, dances opened in the ballroom, during which men - including, of course, a gentleman from San Francisco - raised their legs, decided on the basis of the latest stock market news, the fate of nations, smoked Havana cigars until raspberry red and a bar where negroes served in red jackets, with squirrels that looked like peeled hard eggs.
