MihaElla > Recent Status Updates

From the first day, I fell passionately in love with her, and from the first day too I knew that I was in love. Over the course of 3 weeks I saw her every day. Those 3 weeks were the happiest time of my life, but the memory of them is painful. I cannot think of them alone and can’t help calling to mind what followed. Then a toxic sadness slowly takes possession of my softened heart.

But is it all that absurd to begin your diary with perhaps two weeks to go before you die? Where’s the harm in that? How are 14 days less than 14 years or 14 centuries? In the face of eternity all is vanity, so they say. Yes indeed, but in that case eternity itself is vanity. I seem to be indulging in idle speculation. That’s a bad sign. Am I being cowardly?

In the dark, the trombonist had poked his trombone into the back of the orchestra’s leader, Anna Anufriyevna Denzhina, with such force that “only an X-ray will be able to show how much damage has been done!”
Romanus added that the place to break someone’s ribs wasn’t the theatre, but a public bar, which is where some people received their artistic education anyway.

You ought to get married, Sergei Leontyevich, to some nice, affectionate girl or woman.

That’s already been said by Gogol, I answered, so we don’t need to say it again. Just tell me what all that was about.

Bombardov shrugged his shoulders.

There’s nothing worse, comrades, than faint-heartedness and lack of self-confidence. It was such failings that led me to consider whether perhaps I really should turn the sister in my play into a mother after all.

‘Maybe he really is talking sense, I argued to myself. He is an expert in his field, after all.’

So I picked up my pen and began to jot something down on paper.

Oh, these mediocrities! said Toropetskaya. Is there nothing sacred? You’ve heard the way they talk?

Hmm, I replied, unsure what to say, and above all not knowing how to interpret the word “mediocrities”.

I'm sorry, but who on earth's that? I asked, looking in astonishment at the cruel face of a man with a head of curly hair adorned by laurel leaves. The man was wearing a toga and holding a five-stringed lyre.

That's the Emperor Nero, Bombardov said, and once again his eyes flashed

But what's he doing here?

Ivan Vasilyevich's orders, Bombardov said, again without expression. Nero was a singer and an actor.

I see.

I don't remember anything about the end of May. June, too, was a complete blur, but I do remember July. It was unusually hot. I continued writing the play, sitting there without any clothes on, wrapped only in a sheet. The longer I worked on the play, the harder it became.
[...]
I plucked up courage and, that night, brought the action to a close. The play had 13 scenes.

It reads like Tolstoy, said Rudolfi.

This made me angry.

Which Tolstoy in particular? I asked. There are many Tolstoys. Do you mean Alexei Konstantinovich, the well-know writer, Pyotr Andreyevich, the person who arrested the Tsarevich Alexis abroad, the numismatist Ivan Ivanovich, or Lev Nikolaich?

Where were you educated?

Here I must reveal a little secret. The fact is that I am a graduate of two faculties..

The fact is that, hating my job as a lowly proofreader on the Shipping Gazette, I had written a novel, sitting in my attic rom and working through the night, sometimes right through to dawn.
The idea had come to me one night after waking from a sad dream. I had been dreaming of my native city, of snow, winter time and the civil war...I had dreamt of a raging yet soundless blizzard...

Inima mea te-a gasit.Clipa aceasta zadarnica putem s-o lasam se se inalte in soare ori sa cada in Propontida; avem inaintea noastra vesnicia intristarii

-Fericitule Santabarenos,vorbi el pe cand tumultul se alina si Imparatul se aseza la locul sau;tu iti intelegi mai bine destinul si nu te abati din calea vietii tale

[...]e o fiinta care cunoaste fraul si-si duce cu vrednicie povara

Fericitule Santabarenos!

Ai vreo suferinta, prietine? Te rog, marturiseste-te.
- Domnule, nu am ce marturisi. Eu m-am deprins, de la asinul meu, sa mestec in masele amaraciunea ca pe o hrana obisnuita, asa cum mesteca el spinii. Dar este un suflet care n-a gresit cu nimic in aceasta viata, asa cum nu greseste mireasma acestor roze...

- Domnule, ma mai cunosti? il intreba ea. Cred ca nu te-am mahnit cu nimic.

- Fii linistita si frumoasa, ii zise Egipteanul. Mani ti se alege destinul.

- Spune-mi daca trebuie sa ma bucur, desi sufletul meu simte altceva decat bucurie.

- Imparatia si tihna stau in hotare deosebite, sopti el.

Limba omeneasca, parinte al meu, e prea saraca si poate talmaci numai putine lucruri. Nu se poate spune nici despre alte simturi ale noastre ca sunt prea ascutite. Lumina pe care Dumnezeu o pune in firul de samanta e mai presus decat simturile trupului.

Parinte al meu, raspunse strainul, nu ma judeca gresit si nu ma socoti dusman.

..el era deosebit prin albeata obrazului si prin ochii lui de coloarea cerului rasfrant in apa muntelui, o privire ascutita, tare si statornica, patrunzand dincolo de fata lucrurilor. Pe fruntea lui, intre ochi, gandul cel fara hodina sapase trei linii in chip de triunghi, care intotdeauna stateau inchinate una catra alta. In coama-i mare incepeau sa infloreasca cele dantai fire albe..

What long letters I wrote to her from abroad! Sometimes I had nothing to write to her, and yet I couldn't not write to her. The letter, regardless of the feelings of the moment for her, had become a routine, which I could not resist. But business and exceptional preoccupations prevented me for several weeks from writing to her, as usual, a lot, and therefore I did not write to her at all.

[…]

- Iesi!

Atat. Un singur cuvant […] dar de-un imperativ atat de militar, atat de irezistibil, ca executarea lui deveni automata ca porunca unui hipnotizator.

“- Pentru ce ai facut toate astea?

- Pentru ca veneai de departe, de foarte departe, pentru mine din alta lume, cu o vioara in mana, cu cheia sufletului tau in mana…”

[…] Doamne! de unde atata ura… asa de la inceput… si de ce, de ce?…

- Da-o dracului de viata, dom’locotenent. Daca nu-i mai pune omu nitica frumusata, ce dracu’ sa mai alegi dintr-insa?

In afara de pestii din Nistru, femeile, de asemeni, nu mai lasa pe domnul colonel sa doarma. Adica femeile care trec Nistrul, printr-un sector sau altul, momind pe ofiteri.

- Nu mai admit nimic...sunt informat...toata granita furnica de femei platite de bolsevici. Domnisorii mi le tin doua zile si mai cu seama doua nopti si pe urma mi le fac scapate incoace sau dincolo....

Ma dusei si-n zilele urmatoare dupa umbra trecutului. Locul bucuriei trecatoare mi se paru ca-l regasesc, dar descoperii altul si mai asemanator. Pafnute (cel fara grai), care intelegea, dupa modul cum il opream, gandurile si starea mea sufleteasca, izbucnea la fiecare luminis, care ma intriga, in nechezaturi sarcastice.

Que tu sens bon, ii spuneam sincer, cand voiam sa-i spun cat o iubesc si mi-ar fi foarte greu sa traduc vorba asta in romaneste.
Cred ca ar suna ridicol.

De obicei nu fumez, dar nu sunt obisnuita sa refuz ce mi se da — fiindca nici nu sunt obisnuita sa mi se dea — asa ca tigara dumitale am primit-o. Cred ca nu te-ai suparat.

E de mirare cum zilele in care se intampla ceva definitiv in viata nu au nimic deosebit de celelalte in care nu se intampla nimic. Niciun semn. Nicio prevestire.

Cati ani ai, Odette?

M-ai mai intrebat odata. 18

Esti foarte inteligenta si stii o multime de lucruri.

Sunt virgina. Asta ma ajuta sa fiu inteligenta. Si, pe urma, am trait multa vreme singura. Parintii mei au divortat cand eu aveam 12 ani. Mama e si astazi tanara. Tata e bogat si ambitios. Si ea, si el au continuat sa iubeasca si sa incerce, fiecare de partea lui

Cum se simplifica lucrurile, cand dimineata, pe lac, Stefan se intinde pe fundul barcii lui, lasata in voia apei, cu lopetile libere! Cum se indeparteaza si cad nelinistite de sus, din pensiune, micile drame de acolo, obositoarele eroine!

“Impreuna cu tine nu ma mai tem de nimeni”, imi spuneai si-mi sarutai gura flecara. “Nu ma tem de nimeni, fiindca stii povesti.”

Ce vrea face sufletul omului… E de-ajuns sufletul sa fie mare