Analysis of the poem "Good and Evil" by Feta. Afanasy Fet - Two worlds have ruled since time immemorial (Good and Evil) Analysis of the poem by A.A. Feta "Good and Evil"
Two worlds have ruled for centuries,
Two equal beings:
One envelops a man,
The other is my soul and thought.And like a little dewdrop, barely noticeable
You will recognize the whole face of the sun,
So united in the depths of the cherished
You will find the entire universe.Young courage is not deceitful:
Bend over the fatal work -
And the world will reveal its blessings;
But being a deity is not a thought.And even in the hour of rest.
Raising my sweaty brow,
Don't be afraid of bitter comparisons
And distinguish between good and evil.But if on the wings of pride
You dare to know like a god,
Don’t bring shrines into the world
Your slave anxieties.Pari, all-seeing and all-powerful,
And from unsullied heights
Good and evil are like grave dust,
He will disappear into the crowds of people.
Analysis of Fet's poem "Good and Evil"
The author, true to the concept of romantic dual worlds, declares aspiration towards timeless categories as a worthy goal of poetry. Creativity inspires, allows you to soar “into the world of aspirations”, opposed to the “irritated wave” of human vanity. One who has the gift of artistic expression is a heavenly messenger who came “with news from paradise.”
In a philosophical work of 1884, the poet, wise in life and gained fame, gives a message to the younger generation, full of audacity and “youthful courage.” The poet models two traditional, independent and “equal” poles of artistic space - earthly existence and the ideal sphere of the divine. Only in the “cherished depths” of the soul is the merging of opposites possible. An abstract thought is illustrated by a comparison: the reflection of the sun's rays, noticeable in a barely visible drop of dew, is interpreted as a reflection of the great in the small, the eternal in inner world mortal.
What recommendations does he give? lyrical hero novice colleagues? Concentrated honest work will be crowned with a worthy result. He will be rewarded with earthly blessings. Interestingly, the complexities of poetic creativity are portrayed through vocabulary that typically describes hard physical work: “bend over,” “sweaty brow.”
If a novice poet is occupied with “earthly” themes, he has the right to operate with the concepts of good and evil familiar to the human ear. Both bitterness and evil irony are appropriate here. Talented daredevils who dared to make the “world of the sacred” the subject of their works need to abandon the ethical categories current in human society. The imperfect scale of the anthropomorphic approach is not capable of depicting the pole of the ideal. For this reason, fundamental moral values are likened to “dust of the grave,” serving the judgments and needs of the crowd, and not the heights above.
The venerable hero-mentor treats young authors favorably. He does not deny his colleagues involvement in the divine spheres: the creative gift inspires true talents - both young and experienced. Having rejected the “slave anxieties,” the “all-seeing and all-powerful” poet is able to soar and reach the heavenly spheres.
Fetov's poetic text, and especially its emotional ending, made a great impression on the young Blok. The idea of the super-moral nature of the pole of “unsullied heights” formed the basis of the ideological doctrine of “Poems about a Beautiful Lady.”
Who is this stern man who looks at us from the portrait? Is this a zealous landowner, a military doctor, a justice of the peace? Or is this the zealous owner of a trembling heart, carefully hiding it? Of course, in the creator, in the true creator, there are two hearts: one beats, everyday, life-like, and the other beats as nature asks, as God commands, as a stream flows over the stones. It happens that these hearts create a resonance - then this is the people's creator. And it happens that these hearts reject each other and take positions far from each other, living separately in a person, as if having agreed on possessions and dividing his world in two. Such a creator is a jeweler of the heart. He looks into a world in which there is no place for barricades, calls and popular cries, in which there are no extremes - here everything lives in unity. In this world there cannot be broad strokes, strict graphic figures, or extensive panoramas. This is only macro photography. Here is a look into each molecule and the illumination of the whole world in it:
... And like a little dewdrop, barely noticeable
You recognize the whole face of the sun,
So united, in the depths of the cherished
You will find the entire universe...
Here there is observation of only the grain, constant, vigilant monitoring and recording of its every movement, its every vibration. And even painting depicts a landscape only in order to convey the air - the “plein air” of thought, and the rest of the picture only borders this air. The trees, the forest, the river, the boat are built only to reflect one swaying branch touched by the wind and to gain experience from it. Instant experience. You can call it impressionism. Much boldness can be said about Fet's poetry. We can assume that this is not poetry, but real music:
Fet copes well with the task he proposed himself. Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky spoke about Fet’s exclusivity and even argued that he “in his best moments goes beyond the limits indicated by poetry and boldly takes a step into our field.”
And in the distance a bell suddenly begins to sing - and quietly
Sounds float into the room; I give myself over to them completely.
The heart always found some kind of moisture in them,
It’s as if they were washed by the dew of the night...
The sound still sings, but differently with each gust:
Sometimes there is more copper in it, sometimes more silver.
It is strange that at that time the ear seemed to hear without listening;
In my thoughts it’s completely different, thoughts - wave after wave...
Proof of Fet's musicality is also the small appeal to his poetry by composers. This can be explained by the fact that the 19th century did not have such musical means to express Fetov’s observation with sound, and perhaps also by the fact that such musical poetry does not need musical fertilization at all. Yes, you definitely can’t set Fet to music, you can only try to extract it from the verses themselves and bring it under the lines - carefully and gently connect the line of words and the line of melody together, having first sprayed a harmonic cloud. This was impossible in the 19th century, in the 20th century other tasks were found and new poets appeared, much more convenient for musical experience and, perhaps, because there was no composer who would be in tune with Fetov’s theme, so his poems did not go into music wide. I will humbly note that, having little ability in writing choral music, I made attempts to combine several poems with music. It is difficult to say whether I succeeded in this, but it is already useful that this experience has proven that some poems are so overflowing with musicality that even the music itself does not meet them halfway and they will never fall into the choral channel, much less into the romance one. I would like to consider Fet as a painter, but, unfortunately, I do not have any abilities for this. Although it would be very interesting to express it with a brush on canvas. Fet in general is an artist who does not see boundaries, and therefore “boldly takes a step” in any direction.
Noisy herons waved from their nests,
The last drops rolled off the leaves,
The sun, shining from the transparent skies,
Quiet streams overturned the forest...
A few seconds after reading, the forest overturns in the mind and the action, namely the picturesque action, is grasped. Nothing happens here - everything has already happened: the sun sets, the shadows lengthen, falling on the river, and in one phrase - from the sun shining from the sky to the overturned shadows - we slip through several hours, we catch a kind of evening of the day. And this together with the instant take-off of the heron and the rolling down of one or two drops. This is all located in several time planes, but is united by one short continuous movement and it is very cinematic, similar to fast or slow motion shots. Even in the same poem, Fet can step anywhere. Most often, he looks into nature as if in a mirror and sees himself there. Sees the coincidence of his movements with natural ones:
Care has flown from my heart somewhere,
I see someone smiling again;
Or does spring come to the rescue?
Or is my sun rising too?
On one side the sun is setting, and on the other it is just rising. Herons - worries - fly away from the heart - nests. Everything is very accurate. Thanks to natural comparison, we can understand the author's condition. Here the first part does not live without the second, and the second does not live without the first. Mirror. This is undoubtedly painting, but instead of paints, any materials are used in it: live birds, wind, bell sounds, copper-silver; in a word, everything that surrounds the poet is suitable for paintings. Why paintings? After all, only in paintings is the action stopped, captured, extracted from the flow. Fet has “everything covered.” A huge advantage of the picture is also a certain residual movement, a kind of inertia of a moment that has “stopped”. It was as if a person had stepped off a carousel and was already standing firmly on the ground, but tree branches, people, lights, everything that flashed before him in flight would still be flashing through his head. Such inertia appeared for the first time in sculpture Ancient Rome. Unlike the Greek statue, which expresses static beauty, the Roman statue was ready to rush into battle, throw a spear or merge in a kiss with its half every second. Such a moment was stopped with difficulty, and only the marble restrained him from rushing further. Fetov’s moment is unique; it sometimes combines several times, or, being located in one time, points us to something completely different:
I stood motionless for a long time
Peering into the distant stars, -
Between those stars and me
Some kind of connection was born.
I thought... I don’t remember what I thought;
I listened to a mysterious choir
And the stars quietly trembled,
And I have loved the stars ever since...
Here the author tells us about something that already happened a long time ago, in the perfect past tense, but at the end, he inserts “love” in the present tense and instantly, thereby, transfers the entire described picture to the present time, or sends us by that time.
Analysis of Fet's poems can take many pages and extend quite far, but I will return to “lyrics” - the term that accompanies Fet’s poetry most of all.
The title of lyricist was finally attached to Fet and it is no longer possible to say “Feta” without putting “lyricist” first, and sometimes after the word “lyricist” one wants to say “Feta”. Is he a lyricist, and why is he a lyricist?
Fet's poetry is unique primarily in that it is very difficult to attribute it to any genre, just as it is difficult to call Tchaikovsky or Pushkin a classic or a romantic, a lyricist or an epic. There comes a time in art when many things are mixed up and, if Mozart is an undoubted classic, then Beethoven is already called the first romantic. Although there is a version that Beethoven, because he was deaf, idealized the sound of the piano, which did not sound very “romantic” at that time, and because of this he spilled it from one bowl to another. Fet generally stands apart, like Pushkin, like Tchaikovsky, with the only difference that the latter are national, world-wide artists, and Fet is a solitary artist. He was not interested in the fate of humanity, and if he was, he kept silent about it in poetry, he was not a broad philosopher, his philosophy was limited to nature and man, but not to society; he was silent about many things in poetry. In my opinion, this is quite understandable earthly reasons: origin of Feta.
In 1820, Charlotte Vöth left Germany with the noble landowner Afanasy Shenshin to Russia in the Oryol province, where two months later she was born future poet. For fourteen years he lives with the surname Shenshin, but in 1934 he is sent to the Krommer boarding house in the Livonia province, he learns about his origin and receives the surname Fet so that no one knows about his illegitimacy. “Ask me: what is the source of all my troubles, I will answer: their name is Fet,” he said himself. This a difficult situation changed Fet's life forever. By losing his surname, he also lost his noble title. He spent many years trying to regain this title and achieved this only in old age, when it no longer played any role. One of the ways to obtain the title of nobleman was to serve in the army. Fet entered the army. In 1845 he was accepted into the cuirassier regiment; in 1853 he transferred to the Uhlan guards regiment; during the Crimean campaign he was part of the troops guarding the Estonian coast; in 1858 he retired. Twelve years of service did not give him the title of nobleman, since as Fet’s rank grew, the conditions for obtaining the title changed: at the time of entering the service, the title of nobleman was given to an officer, but when Fet reached the rank of officer, the rank of colonel was already needed. No matter how difficult it is to admit, the most difficult questions for great artists always lay on a plane far from the sphere of their greatness. Poetry is an island, a solitude for Fet, an opportunity to lead a different life, separate from the conventional but main world. That is why both hearts - the worldly and the innermost - do not mix, do not sound in his poetry. The heart of life beats to improve the economy, strengthen the position, establish life, and that very thing - the heart of the poet - lives at night. Night is Fet's best friend or even sister. Night is everywhere for him: quiet, stormy, menacing and ominous, it is often depicted indirectly - “the moon as a dead man.” Fet comes so close to the night that we see the lines:
Night and I, we both breathe...
Such a simple treatment of the night imposes great poetic responsibilities on the poet in order to justify his “fraternization” with a vast natural and life phenomenon. And he - “nature’s idle spy” (the words belong to Tyutchev) - copes with this task.
Night and I, we both breathe
The air is drunk with linden blossom,
And, silent, we hear,
What, we sway with our stream,
The fountain sings to us.
Me, and blood, and thought, and body -
We are obedient slaves:
Up to a certain limit
We all rise boldly
Under the pressure of fate.
The thought rushes, the heart beats.,
The darkness cannot be helped by a flicker;
The blood will return to the heart again,
My ray will spill into the pond,
And the dawn will extinguish the night.
Here he compares himself with the night and brings the night to the dawn, and directs himself with a ray into the reservoir, thereby completing both himself and the night. But here again everything is reversed. He is like the very ray of dawn that will extinguish the night. In addition, only by reading, you can feel the whole mechanism invented by Fet, see the many gears and pendulums from which the poem is assembled and see how easily phenomena play with each other, how lines can be connected to each other not sequentially, but through one or two how cleverly the thought hides behind this game. If we talk about gears and pendulums, then we need to cite one more poem, found in the margins of Fet’s notebook and not even dated:
A whole world of beauty
From big to small,
And you search in vain
Find its beginning.
What is a day or an age?
Before what is infinite?
Although man is not eternal,
What is eternal is human.
What I see here is not a poem or a mechanism, but a formula. At first glance, this is just a play on words: forever, humanely, century, man. It seems as if the poet did not say enough, did not develop his formula, but that is why it is a formula, to be only the first line of thought, to give only a signal for development (of thought). Fet here seems to be flirting with thoughts that even human language is not enough to “think.” Poetry and music in general are very closely intertwined and penetrate each other everywhere, but if we take only one aspect - expressiveness - we can compare them. Music, since it is completely abstract, is not capable of clearly expressing precise thoughts, and poetry lags behind music significantly in terms of expressiveness. “Where poetry ends, music begins” (Heinrich Heine) If you build an ascending line of expressiveness from the flattest poetry to the most sophisticated music, then somewhere at the junction there will be a small “blind spot” - not yet music, but no longer poetry . This is where Fet flies in. Here the words already acquire true musicality and, along with it, lose intelligibility, but at the same time lose part of their verbal poetry, in return for a new musical sonority. Of course, poetry and music are equally great arts and comparing them is pointless. And perhaps such a comparison looks ridiculous, but, it seems to me, it somehow reveals visually, schematically the ability of one type of art to penetrate another, moreover, independently, without mutual participation. For a more visible comparison, I will give another example. Color. And the way the human eye picks it up. In humans, this function is performed by the retina, in which special cells - cones - are responsible for the perception of color. Humans only have cones three types: perceive color in the violet-blue, green-yellow and yellow-red parts of the spectrum. Each type of cone integrates incoming radiant energy over a fairly wide range of wavelengths, and the sensitivity ranges of the three types of cones overlap, differing only in the degree of sensitivity _..:::.._ Thus, certain “blind zones” are formed in which the human eye is less sensitive to transitional colors. In science this phenomenon is called "metamerism". If you look at a rainbow, you will notice that the colors seem to have gaps between each other that are devoid of tone. In fact, colors move from one to another with the same saturation, but the human eye does not distinguish between these intermediate shades, since it is accustomed to striving for middle, pronounced colors. Therefore, a person may not see objects that have such intermediate colors. A person, in general, may not see, hear, or feel many things in this world, and therefore he is sure that there is nothing else except what he can see and hear. Fet, on the other hand, sees much more than a common person. He roams freely in blind spots. After all, even where thoughts are not clear, they exist.
If we talk about the “formularity” of Fet’s poems, then it occurs quite often. The construction of such poems is illogical, the form is incomprehensible. And the point here is not in the lack of thought or spontaneity of the composition, but precisely in those very “failures” into the “blind spot”. We don't catch the transition, so changing the theme seems illogical to us:
GOOD AND EVIL
Two worlds have ruled for centuries,
Two equal beings:
One envelops a man,
The other is my soul and thought.
Here we are talking about two worlds, separated from each other. Moreover, there is no indication in the poem itself that this is good and evil, but this seems to be projected from the title; the reader already perceives this comparison as a comparison of good and evil. But then, like an artificial insert:
And like a little dewdrop, barely noticeable
You will recognize the whole face of the sun,
So united in the depths of the cherished
You will find the entire universe.
Fet seems to be sending us to another area. Man contains within himself a projection of the whole world.
Young courage is not deceitful:
Bend over the fatal work -
And the world will reveal its blessings;
But being a deity is not a thought.
Then he literally instructs, calls for work, and already in the fourth line shoots out a new thought. Or not a thought. This is a new line. Already the fourth line is woven into the poem.
And even in the hour of rest.
Raising my sweaty brow,
Don't be afraid of bitter comparisons
And distinguish between good and evil.
This line continues and is no longer interrupted to the end.
But if on the wings of pride
You dare to know like a god,
Don’t bring shrines into the world
Your slave anxieties.
Pari, all-seeing and all-powerful,
And from unsullied heights
Good and evil are like grave dust,
He will disappear into the crowds of people.
Why are these lines about the world in a dewdrop needed? They do not accompany thoughts of good and evil. And “youthful courage” and “fatal labor” do not indicate good and evil. At first, Fet shows the direction to the “world of the sacred” through “young courage” and “fatal labor”. Even earlier, he shows that a person has everything, that a person can achieve any limits if he works. And at the very beginning he lays down the idea that good and evil in man are not opposites, but only two different worlds of a person: the external (cares, affairs, vanity), he is also evil, and the internal - “soul and thought” - he is also good. Carrying this thought through the entire poem, he shows the conventions of good and evil from “unsullied heights.” The amazing thing about this poem is that it cannot be understood, and all my attempts to understand it are in vain. It’s as if he writes in another language, indirect to Russian. And his good is not good, and his evil is not evil. And, most importantly, here I feel the conventions of human language, its constraint and inertia. And even the Russian language, a language without borders, in highest degree free-thinking language!
This poem cannot be classified as lyric. It also refutes the opinion that Fet is not a philosopher. He is a "blind spot" philosopher, floating between poetry and music. His lyrics are attached to him only because they are the most understandable and least of all require penetration from the reader, because they themselves penetrate into the reader.
I remember the words of one of my friends: “Poems are for everyone, poetry is only for poets.” Apparently, in order to “see” and “hear” poetry, you have to be at least a little bit of a poet yourself. Then Fet will appear in a broader sense than just a lyricist, then a researcher of human life will appear - not of philosophers, absorbing a certain set of ideas for a long time, but of the endlessly changing, elusive experience of life itself. Of course, Fet doesn’t have many such soulful, complex creations, and there can’t be many of them.
It cannot be denied that Fet is a lyricist, but this is not his main achievement - “nature created Fet in order to eavesdrop and spy on itself and understand itself. In order to find out what man, her brainchild, thinks about her, nature, how he perceives it..." (L. Ozerov)
Analysis of the poem by A.A. Feta "Good and Evil"
Two worlds have ruled for centuries,
Two equal beings:
One envelops a man,
The other is my soul and thought.
And like a little dewdrop, barely noticeable
You will recognize the whole face of the sun,
So united in the depths of the cherished
You will find the entire universe.
Young courage is not deceitful:
Bend over the fatal work -
And the world will reveal its blessings;
But being a deity is not a thought.
And even in the hour of rest.
Raising my sweaty brow,
Don't be afraid of bitter comparisons
And distinguish between good and evil.
But if on the wings of pride
You dare to know like a god,
Don’t bring shrines into the world
Your slave anxieties.
Pari, all-seeing and all-powerful,
And from unsullied heights
Good and evil are like grave dust,
He will disappear into the crowds of people.
I liked this poem because its meaning is the main problem of human civilization: the difference between good and evil. To be honest, at first I regretted that I undertook to analyze this particular work of the poet, since it is quite difficult to understand.
In the first stanza, Fet describes the scale of two world phenomena: good and evil, which are limitless. In the line “One embraces a man”, in my opinion, we are talking about evil, and describes how easy it is for a person to fall under the influence of this phenomenon. And in the line “Another is my soul and thought,” it presumably speaks of goodness, and that the author considers explaining the attractiveness of this phenomenon to be his main task, which is “stuck” in his soul. moral moral responsibility being
In the second stanza, the poet tries to explain the obviousness of the structure of the universe and for this he uses a very cool comparison. According to Afanasy, in the soul of every person there is a fairly accurate picture of the structure of the universe; you just have to “go deeper” a little. And by the way, it should be noted that in the line “So united in the depths of the cherished” we are most likely talking about the “depth” of the human soul, and the moral component of man and his existence.
In the third, Fet invites the reader to take the “path of good”; in the line “Bend over fatal labor,” the phrase “fatal labor” is given not in the literal sense, but in the sense of describing the complexity of the “path of good.” And also in the line “And the world will reveal its blessings” the benefits of the “path of good” are described. That is, a person who has embarked on the “path of good” will be given the opportunity to use all the resources and potential of the world.
And in the fourth stanza, the poet reminds that sometimes it is extremely difficult to draw the line between good and evil, and as a result, a person goes towards an easier path, which can turn out to be fatal. Fet encourages the reader not to be afraid of choosing good, even if it requires a lot of resources and deprivation.
In the following stanzas, Athanasius offers more strong people to be more responsible towards good, since the fate of other people depends on them.
The theme of this poem is written in its title. The author tried to answer several global eternal questions: what is good and evil?; what is the attraction of one and the other?; how to distinguish them and is it worth doing this at all? etc. He tried, but whether it worked or not is up to the reader to decide.
Two worlds have ruled for centuries,
Two equal beings:
One envelops a man,
№4
The other is my soul and thought.
And like a little dewdrop, barely noticeable
You will recognize the whole face of the sun,
So united in the depths of the cherished
№8
You will find the entire universe.
Young courage is not deceitful:
Bend over the fatal work,
And the world will reveal its blessings,
№12
But being a deity is not a thought.
And even in the hour of rest,
Raising my sweaty brow,
Don't be afraid of bitter comparisons
№16
And distinguish between good and evil.
But if on the wings of pride
You dare to know, like God,
Don’t bring shrines into the world
№20
Your slave anxieties.
Pari, all-seeing and all-powerful,
And from unsullied heights
Good and evil are like grave dust,
№24
He will disappear into the crowds of people.
Dva mira vlastvuyut ot veka,
Dva ravnopravnykh bytia:
Odin obyemlet cheloveka,
Drugoy - dusha i mysl moya.
I kak v rosinke chut zametnoy
Ves solntsa lik ty uznayesh,
Tak slitno v glubine zavetnoy
All mirozdanye ty naydesh.
Ne lzhiva yunaya otvaga:
Sognis nad rokovym trudom,
I mir svoi raskroyet blaga,
No byt ne mysli bozhestvom.
I dazhe v chas otdokhnovenya,
Podyemlya potnoye chelo,
Ne boysya gorkogo sravnenya
I razlichay good i zlo.
No yesli na krylakh gordyni
Poznat derzayesh ty, kak bog,
Ne zanosi zhe v mir svyatyni
Svoikh nevolnichyikh trevog.
Pari, vsezryashchy i vsesilny,
I s nezapyatnannykh vysot
Dobro i zlo, kak prakh mogilny,
V crowd lyudskiye otpadet.
Ldf vbhf dkfcnde/n jn dtrf,
Ldf hfdyjghfdys[ ,snbz:
Jlby j,]tvktn xtkjdtrf,
Lheujq - leif b vsckm vjz/
B rfr d hjcbyrt xenm pfvtnyjq
Dtcm cjkywf kbr ns epyftim,
Nfr ckbnyj d uke,byt pfdtnyjq
Dct vbhjplfymt ns yfqltim/
Yt k;bdf /yfz jndfuf:
Cjuybcm yfl hjrjdsv nheljv,
B vbh cdjb hfcrhjtn ,kfuf,
Yj ,snm yt vsckb ,j;tcndjv/
B lf;t d xfc jnljtvkz gjnyjt xtkj,
Yt ,jqcz ujhmrjuj chfdytymz
B hfpkbxfq lj,hj b pkj/
Yj tckb yf rhskf[ ujhlsyb
Gjpyfnm lthpftim ns, rfr ,ju,
Yt pfyjcb ;t d vbh cdznsyb
Cdjb[ ytdjkmybxmb[ nhtdju/
Gfhb, dctphzobq b dctcbkmysq,
B c ytpfgznyfyys[ dscjn
Lj,hj b pkj, rfr ghf[ vjubkmysq,
D njkgs k/lcrbt jngfltn/
A song to lift your spirits ;-)
The audio tag is not supported by your browser.
Chapter 57
Two worlds have ruled for centuries,
Two equal beings:
One envelops a man,
Another is my soul and thought,
And like a barely noticeable drop of dew,
You will recognize the whole face of the sun,
So united in the depths of the cherished
You will find the entire universe.
F. I. Tyutchev
January 1986.
They were silent the whole way. Freddie tried to console her, but it was all useless. Every time he took her hand in his, Betty simply pulled her hand away. She didn't listen to him, she was all in her own thoughts. When he said that everything would come to its senses, she understood that everything was not so good.
At family Christmas, the last time they got together, Victor said goodbye to everyone. He talked a lot about himself, a lot that he did not tell during his life, he dreamed that everything would be fine with them, that they would be together, but they themselves did not want it. Victor reconciled them, sometimes crying, sometimes rejoicing.
Allen Hall greeted them with cold silence. George and Harry were waiting for her on the threshold; they hugged, silently walking into the castle, which was plunged into mourning. Victor was not yet dead, but his end was very close. Squeezing his hand, Diana sobbed at her husband’s bedside.
Victor died quietly, no one saw him stop breathing. When he was found in the morning, his body had already cooled down.
The funeral took place. Allen Hall became somehow gray without its owner, now the castle was waiting for a new master. There were many people at the funeral who had known Victor Layton at least briefly. The priest spoke for a long time, wiping away tears. He was everything to the villagers whom he helped free of charge, a father to his workers, a friend, a joyful person. It was hard to say goodbye, as was letting him go to heaven, but it was destined to be so. In the evening the Laytons gathered at the table. The owner's place was empty, and it was somehow cold because of it. Harry realized this and stood up.
I know this is blasphemy, but we need new chapter families. Dad, now it’s you,” George swallowed hard. Now he was the eldest in this family.
Two weeks later, Victor’s executor, Mr. Bennet, his lawyer, arrived. The Laytons gathered in the marble living room to hear how Victor had decided to dispose of his property. Flora felt the oppressive atmosphere. After George became head of the family, Rufus caused a scandal because he was now the eldest. But Victor's children and grandchildren defended George's right.
No one wanted to compete with the second family anymore. Mr. Bennet adjusted his glasses as he looked at them all. This was a little instruction. Victor divided all his money between his children and grandchildren, gave shares to Robert, and paid attention to everyone. Rufus fidgeted, he hoped that the main pearl in the treasury would go to him, and then he could move to London and become even richer. But Allen Hall ended up going to Betty.
She felt at ease, and she did not believe that it was true, and she began to cry again. She needs to become strong, she needs to come to her senses.
Spring-summer 1986.
Marriage, as it turned out, was a boring business, although Flora expected it. At Hugo's insistence, she left Alik's office and even received her diploma ahead of schedule - she wanted to go into science. But he didn't let her. During the day she was left to her own devices; Deborah did not allow her to get too bored, constantly saddled her with household chores. Everyone was happy about her marriage, except herself. So when Deborah asked if she could design her garden, she was happy to do so.
In London, she found the Flora's Garden office and was attracted by the name and types of services. She walked in, telling the secretary that she had an appointment with a designer, and she was told to go ahead. Flora came in and almost fainted, her legs were giving way, and he helped her into a chair.
It was he. He was still great, no, he even got better. She looked into his dark, Arabian eyes and almost went crazy, her heart beating loudly, reminding her of her love for him. She sighed slightly, involuntarily touching the thin ring with a flower. Hugo was terribly infuriated that she wore it without taking it off, but she kept repeating how dear it was to her. Hugo's magnificent ring meant little to her.
“Hello, Flora,” he said, his velvety voice making her tremble even more. He expected to see anyone, but not the one he had almost forgotten.
Hello, Richard,” he noticed the wedding ring on her hand and froze. Although... what did he expect? She is already twenty-two, she is young and pretty, and, of course, there was someone she married. He began to look for his ring, but Flora was hiding her other hand in the folds of her warm jacket. - How are you?
Not bad, I'm married. My mother-in-law made me do the garden... - she fell silent. - I didn't expect to see you here.
I didn't think I'd see you either. And what does she want? - he smiled at her. How damn difficult it is to remain indifferent, to pretend that five years ago nothing happened between them, there weren’t those delightful nights in the gardens, words of love and happiness.
Something in the style of formal gardens, copying Blaheim or Allen Hall.
Mortal boredom,” he muttered. - Well, let's do it. Allen Hall is very beautiful, to say the least, about seven years ago I helped in the gardens there,” Flora lowered her gaze, what a pity that she lived in Spencer House and did not see him then. “I’ll come tomorrow and have a look, then I’ll call you when the project is ready.” Are you home tomorrow?
No, I’ll go to my sister,” she stood up, getting ready to leave; being with him was unbearable for her. -Have you often thought about me? - he was waiting for this question and at the same time afraid of it.
Yes, at first - every day,” he answered. Flora opened the door, then turned around.
Tears ran down her cheeks: so many years had passed, but he still worried her, so many lonely days had passed, and she was still drowning, looking into his eyes. What could it be? She so wanted to hug him, cling to his broad chest and dissolve, get lost in his strong, real embrace. Get lost, drown out your mind and jump into the abyss, knowing that you will be picked up by a blissful hot stream and will sweep away everything that stands in its way. And then marriage, money, position will be nothing compared to what they can have. But does he need her?
He called four days later, and Flora quickly got ready, sometimes it seemed to her that Deborah suspected something, but every day she told herself that this was a figment of her imagination. Flora ran into the office and waited for him to be free. He was talking loudly to someone and snatches of the conversation began to reach her.
When will you propose to me? - the lady did not speak, but squealed.
“I told you a long time ago that I don’t want to get married,” his voice sounded calm. - I will never marry!
Then you won’t marry anyone, have you ever loved? - Flora held her breath.
I loved you, it was a long time ago, and it was wonderful,” she sighed with relief. - Heather, I won't marry you.
It hurts! - She came out noisily and looked at Flora:
Do you also want to just be used and abandoned? - and with a whirlwind this brunette ran out into the street. Flora looked at Richard, he smiled at her, and led her into his office.
Sorry for this scandal,” he looked somehow depressed, it seemed funny to her that he was making excuses for her.
It’s okay,” he hung her coat on the back of the chair. - So it's ready?
Yes,” he explained to her for a long time what he wanted, and she, silently, as always, listened to him. - Would you like to have dinner with me tomorrow, as a sign of old friendship? - She raised an eyebrow and nodded at him.
Will you be here at eight? - She nodded again, wondering if it would be a date or just dinner.
She was getting ready at Jenny's so that Deborah could not see her carefully dressing up. She chose a satin gray-blue dress with a deep neckline, and realized that she wanted to spend the night with him, especially since Hugo went to Geneva for a month and a half. Richard was shocked when he saw her. During the day, an ordinary girl appeared before him, but today he saw a nymph, whom he passionately wanted from the very moment she crossed the threshold of his office. All these days he could not get her out of his head. Since then she has changed a lot, the young woman has become a fatal seductress, but she herself doesn’t know it yet.
