Short Fiction by Vladimir Korolenko (ready player one ebook TXT) 📕
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Vladimir Korolenko was a Ukrainian author and humanitarian. His short stories and novellas draw both on the myths and traditions of his birthplace, and his experiences of Siberia as a political exile due to his outspoken criticism of both the Tsars and the Bolsheviks. His first short story was published in 1879, and over the next decade he received many plaudits from critics and other authors, including Chekhov, though he also received some criticism for perceived uneven quality. He continued writing short stories for the rest of his career, but thought of himself more as a journalist and human rights advocate.
Korolenko’s work focuses on the lives and experiences of poor and down-on-their-luck people; this collection includes stories about life on the road (“A Saghálinian” and “Birds of Heaven”), life in the forest (“Makar’s Dream” and “The Murmuring Forest”), religious experience (“The Old Bell-Ringer,” “The Day of Atonement” and “On the Volva”) and many more. Collected here are all of the available public domain translations into English of Korolenko’s short stories and novels, in chronological order of their translated publication. They were translated by Aline Delano, Sergius Stepniak, William Westall, Thomas Seltzer, Marian Fell, Clarence Manning and The Russian Review.
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- Author: Vladimir Korolenko
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“The whole situation seemed to me so disgraceful and hopeless that I began to think of moving and simply getting away from the whole thing. … I couldn’t sleep. … Again I began to walk around the garden. Once I found Yelena in it. … She was lying on that same bench where I sat that spring morning. … It was fall now. … Everything was dying and growing bare. … Autumn, you know, is a terrible cynic. The wind breaks off the leaves and laughs. They were lying on the muddy, damp earth. And a woman was lying on the damp bench with her face down and crying. Yes, she was crying bitterly. … Later I found out why: the arrangement of M. Budnikov was absolutely impersonal. When she heard this proposition she merely clasped her hands: ‘Let the earth swallow me up, let me dry up like a chip.’ … And so on. … ‘You’d better bury me alive with Gavrilo Stepanich.’ … And Gavrilo Stepanich didn’t spend the night at home. That former pure happiness had perished and she didn’t know what to do. A ticket … two lines … friends from the church, Budnikov, Rogov. She was stupid and obedient and afraid that something would be done against her will. …
“I walked up to her … wanted to comfort her. When I touched her and felt her body tremble beneath my touch … it seemed to me such a stupid performance that I trembled, as if from impotent pity. …
“I went away. … I forgot the whole thing and wanted to drop it and leave. If M. Budnikov passed … let him pass. … If Rogov was engaged in dirty business, let him! If stupid Yelena wanted a drunken husband, let her have one. … What did I care? What difference did it make who got the ticket with the two lines, to whom those stupid lines gave rights? … Everything was incomplete, accidental, disconnected, senseless and disgusting. …”
IXPavel Semenovich stopped and looked out of the window as if he had forgotten the story. …
“Well, how did it end?” asked our new companion cautiously.
“End?” The narrator woke up. “Of course, everything on the earth ends some way. This ended stupidly and simply. One night … my bell rang. Sharply, anxiously, nervously. … I jumped up in fright, put on my slippers … went out on the steps … there was no one there. But it occurred to me that Rogov was around the corner. I thought he must have been passing drunk and ugly and wanted to annoy me by coming at this time. … He remembered that I was asleep and he, Vanichka Rogov, my favorite pupil, was drunk on the street and wanted to inform me of it. I closed the door, went back to bed, and fell asleep. The bell rang again. I didn’t get up. Let him ring. … It rang again and again. … No, this must be something else. I put on my overcoat. … Opened the door. There stood the night watchman. His beard was covered with frost. ‘Please,’ he said.
“ ‘Where do you want me to go, brother?’ I asked.
“ ‘To Semen Nikolayevich, M. Budnikov. … They’ve had … trouble. …’
“Without understanding anything, I dressed mechanically and went. A clear cold night, and late. … There were lights in the windows of M. Budnikov, whistles along the street. … What a stir for night. … I went up the steps and entered. The first thing that caught my eye was the face of Semen Nikolayevich, M. Budnikov. … Absolutely different, not at all like what he was before. He was lying on his pillow and looking somewhere into space. … That was so strange. … I stopped at the door and thought: ‘What’s this? I used to know him but he’s suddenly changed. … This isn’t the man who came once a month and drank two glasses of tea. Who worried over Yelena’s divorce, but it’s someone with other thoughts. He lay immovable, important, but he didn’t look at us or anyone, and he seemed so different. … He was afraid of no one and judged everyone; himself, that is, the old Semen Nikolayevich, and Gavrilo, Yelena, Rogov, and … yes, me too. … I suddenly understood. …
“Then I saw Gavrilo. By the window, in a corner, grieved but quiet. … As I suddenly understood, I walked up to him and said:
“ ‘Did you do this?’
“ ‘Of course, Pavel Semenovich, I did.’
“ ‘Why?’
“ ‘I don’t know, Pavel Semenovich. …’
“Then the doctor attracted my attention. He told me that there was no help. … People kept walking and driving up, coming in, sitting down, and writing statements. … It seemed so strange that the young prosecutor, such a careful and reliable man, should give orders not to let Gavrilo and Yelena go and to hold some sort of an investigation. … I remember his smile when I asked him the reason for it. … I’ll admit it was a strange question but I thought that this procedure was unnecessary. … When they started to take Gavrilo and Yelena away I involuntarily got up and asked if they were going to take me. … I later heard rumors that something was wrong with me. That was false. My head was never so clear. … The prosecutor was surprised. ‘If I may give you advice, you need to drink some water and go to bed.’ ‘But Yelena?’ I asked; ‘why her?’ ‘We will hope,’ he answered, ‘that everything will turn out in a way that’s best for her, but now … at the first inquiry … it is my painful duty.’ … I still thought he was acting wrongly. …
“The two were taken away. I went back to my rooms and sat down on the steps. It was cold. … A clear, autumn, quiet night with a clear, white frost. … The stars were sparkling and whispering in the sky. They had such a special expression and meaning. … You could hear their mysterious whisper, though you couldn’t make out what they
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