Born on May 9 (21), according to other sources - April 27 (May 9), 1872 in St. Petersburg (according to other sources - in Volyn province). Daughter of criminology professor, publisher of the journal “Court Bulletin” A.V. Lokhvitsky, sister of the poetess Mirra (Maria) Lokhvitskaya (“Russian Sappho”). The first ones signed with the pseudonym Teffi humorous stories and the play "The Woman's Question" (1907). The poems with which Lokhvitskaya made her debut in 1901 were published under her maiden name.
The origin of the pseudonym Teffi remains unclear. As indicated by herself, it goes back to the home nickname of the Lokhvitsky servant Stepan (Steffi), but also to the poems of R. Kipling “Taffy was a walesman / Taffy was a thief.” The stories and sketches that appeared behind this signature were so popular in pre-revolutionary Russia that there were even “Taffy” perfumes and candies.
As a regular author of the magazines “Satyricon” and “New Satyricon” (Taffy was published in them from the first issue, published in April 1908, until the ban on this publication in August 1918) and as the author of a two-volume collection Humorous stories(1910), followed by several more collections (Carousel, Smoke without Fire, both 1914, Lifeless Beast, 1916), Teffi gained a reputation as a witty, observant and good-natured writer. It was believed that she was distinguished by a subtle understanding of human weaknesses, kindness and compassion for her hapless characters.
Teffi's favorite genre is a miniature, based on a description of an insignificant comic incident. She prefaced her two-volume work with an epigraph from B. Spinoza’s “Ethics,” which accurately defines the tone of many of her works: “For laughter is joy, and therefore in itself is good.” Brief period revolutionary sentiments, which in 1905 prompted the aspiring Teffi to collaborate in the Bolshevik newspaper " New life", did not leave a noticeable mark on her work. Attempts to write social feuilletons with topical issues, which the editors of the newspaper expected from Teffi, also did not bring significant creative results. Russian word", where it was published starting in 1910. The head of the newspaper, the "king of feuilletons" V. Doroshevich, taking into account the uniqueness of Teffi's talent, noted that "you cannot carry water on an Arabian horse."
At the end of 1918, together with the popular satirical writer A. Averchenko, Teffi left for Kyiv, where they were supposed to make public appearances, and after wandering around the south of Russia (Odessa, Novorossiysk, Yekaterinodar) for a year and a half, she reached Paris through Constantinople. In the book Memoirs (1931), which is not a memoir, but rather an autobiographical story, Teffi recreates the route of her wanderings and writes that she did not give up hope of a quick return to Moscow, although her attitude towards October revolution she determined from the very beginning of events: “Of course, it was not death that I was afraid of. I was afraid of angry mugs with a flashlight pointed straight at my face, of stupid idiotic anger. Cold, hunger, darkness, the sound of rifle butts on the parquet, screams, crying, gunshots and the death of others. I'm so tired of all this. I didn't want this anymore. I couldn't take it anymore."
In the first issue of the newspaper “Last News” (April 27, 1920), the story of Teffi Kefer was published, and the phrase of its hero, the old general, who, looking around the Parisian square in confusion, muttered: “All this is good... but que faire? Fer-to-ke?” became a kind of password for those who found themselves in exile. Published in almost all prominent periodicals of Dispersion (newspapers “Common Deal”, “Vozrozhdenie”, “Rul”, “Segodnya”, magazines “Zveno”, “Modern Notes”, “Firebird”), Teffi published a number of books of stories ( Lynx, 1923, Book June, 1931, About Tenderness, 1938), which showed new facets of her talent, as well as the plays of this period (Moment of Fate, 1937, written for the Russian Theater in Paris, Nothing Like This, 1939, staged by N. Evreinov), and the only attempt at a novel – Adventure Romance (1931).
In Teffi’s prose and drama after emigration, sad, even tragic motives noticeably intensify. “They were afraid of the Bolshevik death - and died here,” says one of her first Parisian miniatures, “Nostalgia” (1920).
-... We only think about what is there now. We are only interested in what comes from there.”
The tone of Teffi's story increasingly combines harsh and reconciled notes. In the writer’s view, the difficult time that her generation is going through still has not changed the eternal law that says that “life itself... laughs as much as it cries”: sometimes it is impossible to distinguish fleeting joys from sorrows that have become familiar.
In a world where many ideals that seemed unconditional until historical catastrophe struck have been compromised or lost, true values for Teffi, childish inexperience and a natural commitment to moral truth remain - this theme prevails in many of the stories that make up the Book of June and the collection On Tenderness - as well as selfless love.
"All about love"(1946) is the title of one of Teffi's last collections, which not only conveys the most whimsical shades of this feeling, but says a lot about Christian love, about the ethics of Orthodoxy, which has endured those severe trials that were destined for her by Russian history of the 20th century. At the end of his creative path- the collection Earthly Rainbow (1952) she did not have time to prepare for publication herself - Teffi completely abandoned sarcasm and satirical intonations, which were quite frequent in her early prose, and in works of the 1920s. Enlightenment and humility before fate, which did not deprive Teffi’s characters of the gift of love, empathy and emotional responsiveness, determine the main note of her latest stories.
Second world war and Teffi survived the occupation without leaving Paris. From time to time she agreed to give a reading of her works to the emigrant public, which became fewer and fewer every year. IN post-war years Teffi was busy with memoirs about her contemporaries - from Kuprin and Balmont to G. Rasputin.
ABOUT eternal love Nadezhda Teffi
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Title: About eternal love
About the book “About Eternal Love” Nadezhda Teffi
Nadezhda Teffi’s wonderful collection of stories “About Eternal Love” introduces the reader to the vision of the theme of love and relationships between the sexes through the eyes of a satirist.
Nadezhda Teffi is a Russian writer who writes on topical issues. Her stories, feuilletons and essays are full of satirical, sharp statements, and at times a cynical look at familiar things.
The story “About Eternal Love,” included in the collection of the same name, demonstrates the difference in the perception of the theme of eternal love in the eyes of a man and a woman. A woman passionately desires romanticism in a relationship, and a man desires carnal pleasures. A woman perceives the concept of eternal love as something immortal and unshakable, for which one can die, and a man perceives it as temporary entertainment. A woman desires spiritual intimacy, but a man runs away from it, considering spiritual connection a trap.
Other works from the collection “On Eternal Love” are imbued with no less a share of realism, a cynical perception of reality and satire, characteristic of the writer’s pen. Her stories are topical and witty, despite the fact that they were written decades ago.
Teffi's hope has always been strong in small things literary forms, she managed to contain voluminous thoughts in a few lines, point out shortcomings, and ridicule them in a gentle form. The reader, getting acquainted with Teffi’s stories, involuntarily thinks about the vicissitudes of fate and the injustice that surrounds humanity and was created by its own hands.
After spending the second half of her life in exile, Nadezhda Teffi began to write less satirical feuilletons, turning to the topic of human relationships. She became bored with making fun of clumsy officials, thieving merchants and prim aristocrats and snobs. The theme of love and loneliness in a foreign land became the basis of her writing.
Teffi's stories are a lightness and grace of storytelling, a lot of psychological details, presented naturally, without embellishment. In the collection “On Eternal Love,” unbridled passions do not boil, but the author reveals many aspects of such a complex and multifaceted concept as love.
For readers who are still unfamiliar with the work of the Russian queen of satire Nadezhda Teffi, we recommend that you read touching, sweet and witty essays about love - so different, sometimes frankly funny and deadly sad, but full of irony and hope.
On our website about books lifeinbooks.net you can download for free or read online book“About Eternal Love” Nadezhda Teffi in epub formats, fb2, txt, rtf, pdf for iPad, iPhone, Android and Kindle. The book will give you a lot of pleasant moments and real pleasure from reading. Buy full version you can from our partner. Also, here you will find last news from literary world, learn the biography of your favorite authors. For beginning writers there is a separate section with useful tips and recommendations, interesting articles, thanks to which you yourself can try your hand at literary crafts.
It rained during the day. It's damp in the garden.
We sit on the terrace, watching the lights of Saint-Germain and Virofle shimmer far on the horizon. This distance from here, from our high forest mountain, seems like an ocean, and we can distinguish the lanterns of the pier, the flashes of the lighthouse, the signal lights of ships. The illusion is complete.
Quiet.
Through open doors salon we listen to the last melancholy-passionate chords of “The Dying Swan”, which the radio brought us from some alien country.
And it's quiet again.
We sit in semi-darkness, a red eye rises, the light of a cigar flashes.
– Why are we silent, like Rockefeller digesting his lunch? “We didn’t set a record for living to be a hundred years old,” the baritone said in the semi-darkness.
– Is Rockefeller silent?
– It’s silent for half an hour after breakfast and half an hour after lunch. He began to remain silent at the age of forty. Now he is ninety-three. And he always invites guests to dinner.
- Well, what about them?
- They are also silent.
- What a fool!
- Why?
- Because they hope. If the poor man had decided to remain silent for the sake of digestion, everyone would have decided that it was impossible to make acquaintance with such a fool. And he probably feeds them some kind of hygienic carrot?
- Well, of course. Moreover, he chews each piece at least sixty times.
- Such an impudence!
- Let's talk about something tasty. Petronius, tell us some of your adventures.
The cigar flared up, and the one who was nicknamed Petronius here for his spats and ties that matched his suit, muttered in a lazy voice:
- Well, if you please. About what?
“Something about eternal love,” a female voice said loudly. – Have you ever met eternal love?
- Well, of course. This is the only one I've ever met. All of them were exceptionally eternal.
- Yes you! Really? Tell me at least one case.
- One case? There are so many of them that it is difficult to choose directly.
- And all are eternal?
- All are eternal. Well, for example, I can tell you one little carriage adventure. This was, of course, a long time ago. It is not customary to talk about those that happened recently. So, this happened in prehistoric times, that is, before the war. I was traveling from Kharkov to Moscow. The ride is long and boring, but I am a kind person, fate took pity on me and sent me a pretty companion at the small station. I look - she’s strict, she doesn’t look at me, she’s reading a book, she’s nibbling on candy. Well, we finally got to talking. The lady turned out to be very, indeed, strict. Almost from the first sentence she told me that she loves her husband with eternal love, until the grave, amen.
The cabin was unbearably stuffy, smelling of a hot iron and hot oilcloth. It was impossible to raise the curtain, because the window looked out onto the deck, and so, in the dark, angry and hasty, Platonov shaved and changed his clothes.
“As soon as the ship moves, it will be cooler,” he consoled himself. “It wasn’t any sweeter on the train either.”
Dressed in a light suit and white shoes, and carefully combing his dark hair, thinning at the crown, he went out onto the deck. It was easier to breathe here, but the entire deck was burning from the sun, and not the slightest movement of air was felt, despite the fact that the steamer was already shaking slightly and the gardens and bell towers of the mountainous coast were quietly floating away, slowly turning.
The time was unfavorable for the Volga. End of July. The river was already shallow, the steamboats moved slowly, measuring the depth.
There were unusually few passengers in first class: a huge fat merchant in a cap with his wife, old and quiet, a priest, two disgruntled elderly ladies.
Platonov walked around the ship several times.
“It’s a bit boring!”
Although due to certain circumstances it was very convenient. Most of all he was afraid of meeting people he knew.
“But still, why is it so empty?”
And suddenly, from the premises of the steamship salon, a rollicking chansonnet tune was heard. A hoarse baritone sang to the accompaniment of a rattling piano. Platonov smiled and turned towards these pleasant sounds.
The steamship salon was empty... Only at the piano, decorated with a bouquet of colored feather grass, sat a stocky young man in a blue cotton shirt. He sat on a stool sideways, lowering his left knee to the floor, like a coachman on a bench, and, with his elbows dashingly apart, also somehow like a coachman (as if he was driving a troika), he struck the keys.
“You have to be a little touchy,
A little strict,
And he's ready!
He shook his mighty mane of poorly combed blond hair.
"And to concessions
The doves will go
And trawl-la-la-la, And trawl-la."
He noticed Platonov and jumped up.
Allow me to introduce myself, Okulov, a cholera medical student.
Oh yes,” Platonov realized. - There are so few passengers. Cholera.
What the hell is cholera? They get too drunk - well, they get sick. I've been on and off for several flights and have not yet identified a single case.
The student Okulov’s face was healthy, red, darker than his hair, and the expression on it was that of a person who is preparing to punch someone in the face: his mouth is open, his nostrils are flared, his eyes are bulging. It’s as if nature recorded this penultimate moment and let the student continue throughout his life.
Yes, my dear,” said the student. - Patented skinny. Not a single lady. And when he sits down, he’s such a freak that you get seasick in still water. Well, are you traveling for pleasure? It wasn't worth it. The river is rubbish. It's hot, it stinks. There is swearing on the piers. Captain - God knows what; He must be a drunkard, because he doesn’t drink vodka at the table. His wife is a girl - they have been married for four months. I tried it with her, like she was worth it. Stupid, my forehead is cracking. She decided to teach me. “From those who rejoice and chatter idly” and “benefit the people.” Just think - mother-commander! If you please see, from Vyatka - with requests and emotional bends. He spat and threw it away. But, you know this tune! Pretty:
"From my flowers
Wonderful aroma...”
They sing in all the cafes.
He quickly turned around, sat down on the radio, shook his hair and drove off:
"Alas, mother,
Oh, what is it..."
“What a medic!” - thought Platonov and went to wander around the deck.
By lunchtime the passengers crawled out. The same mastodon merchant with his wife, boring old women, a priest, two other merchant people and a person with long, streaky hair, dirty laundry, in copper pince-nez, with newspapers in his protruding pockets.
We dined on the deck, each at our own table. The captain also came, gray, puffy, gloomy, in a worn canvas jacket. With him is a girl of about fourteen, sleek, with a curled braid, in a chintz dress.
Platonov was already finishing his traditional botvina when a doctor approached his table and shouted to the footman:
My device is here!
Please please! - Platonov invited him, - I’m very glad.
The medic sat down. I asked for vodka and herring.
Pa-arshaya river! - he started the conversation. - “Volga, Volga, in the spring with a lot of water you don’t flood the fields like that...” Not like that. A Russian intellectual always teaches something. The Volga, you see, doesn’t flood like that. He knows better how to flood.
Excuse me,” Platonov interjected, “you seem to be confusing something.” However, I don’t really remember.
“I don’t even remember,” the student agreed good-naturedly. -Have you seen our fool?
What fool?
Yes to the mother commander. Here he is sitting with the captain. He doesn't look here on purpose. I am outraged by my “cafe-chant nature.”
How? - Platonov was surprised. - This girl? But she is no more than fifteen years old.
No, a little more. Seventeen or something. Is he any good? I told her: “It’s the same as marrying a badger. How did the priest agree to marry you?” Ha ha! Badger with a booger! So what do you think? I'm offended! What a fool!
The evening was quiet and pink. The colored lanterns on the buoys lit up, and the steamer magically, sleepily glided between them. The passengers scattered early to their cabins, only on the lower deck the closely loaded sawmills and carpenters were still busy and the Tatar whining his mosquito song.
On the bow, a white light shawl moved in the breeze and attracted Platonov.
The small figure of Kapiton’s wife clung to the side and did not move.
Are you dreaming? - asked Platonov.
She shuddered and turned around in fear.
Oh! I thought it was this one again...
Did you think this doctor? A? Truly a vulgar fellow.
Then she turned her tender thin face to him with huge eyes, the color of which was already difficult to distinguish.
Platonov spoke in a serious tone that inspired confidence. He condemned the doctor very harshly for his chansonettes. He even expressed surprise that he could be interested in such vulgarities when fate gave him full opportunity to serve the holy cause of helping suffering humanity.
The little captain turned to him entirely, like a flower to the sun, and even opened her mouth.
The moon emerged, very young, not yet shining brightly, but hanging in the sky just like a decoration. The river splashed a little. The forests of the mountainous shore were darkening.
Platonov didn’t want to go into a stuffy cabin, and in order to keep that sweet, slightly white night face near him, he kept talking, talking about the most lofty topics, sometimes even ashamed of himself: “What a bunch of nonsense!”
The dawn was already turning pink when, sleepy and spiritually touched, he went to bed.
The next day was that most fateful twenty-third of July, when Vera Petrovna was supposed to board the ship - just for a few hours, for one night.
Regarding this meeting, thought up in the spring, he had already received a dozen letters and telegrams. It was necessary to coordinate his business trip to Saratov with her non-business trip to visit friends on the estate. It seemed like a wonderful poetic meeting that no one would ever know about. Vera Petrovna's husband was busy building a distillery and could not see it through. Things went swimmingly.
Nadezhda Teffi
About eternal love
It rained during the day. It's damp in the garden.
We sit on the terrace, watching the lights of Saint-Germain and Virofle shimmer far on the horizon. This distance from here, from our high forest mountain, seems like an ocean, and we can distinguish the lanterns of the pier, the flashes of the lighthouse, the signal lights of ships. The illusion is complete.
Through the open doors of the salon we listen to the last melancholy-passionate chords of “The Dying Swan”, which the radio brought us from some alien country.
And it's quiet again.
We sit in semi-darkness, a red eye rises, the light of a cigar flashes.
– Why are we silent, like Rockefeller digesting his lunch? “We didn’t set a record for living to be a hundred years old,” the baritone said in the semi-darkness.
– Is Rockefeller silent?
– It’s silent for half an hour after breakfast and half an hour after lunch. He began to remain silent at the age of forty. Now he is ninety-three. And he always invites guests to dinner.
- Well, what about them?
- They are also silent.
- What a fool!
- Why?
- Because they hope. If the poor man had decided to remain silent for the sake of digestion, everyone would have decided that it was impossible to make acquaintance with such a fool. And he probably feeds them some kind of hygienic carrot?
- Well, of course. Moreover, he chews each piece at least sixty times.
- Such an impudence!
- Let's talk about something tasty. Petronius, tell us some of your adventures.
The cigar flared up, and the one who was nicknamed Petronius here for his spats and ties that matched his suit, muttered in a lazy voice:
- Well, if you please. About what?
“Something about eternal love,” a female voice said loudly. – Have you ever met eternal love?
- Well, of course. This is the only one I've ever met. All of them were exceptionally eternal.
- Yes you! Really? Tell me at least one case.
- One case? There are so many of them that it is difficult to choose directly.
- And all are eternal?
- All are eternal. Well, for example, I can tell you one little carriage adventure. This was, of course, a long time ago. It is not customary to talk about those that happened recently. So, this happened in prehistoric times, that is, before the war. I was traveling from Kharkov to Moscow. The ride is long and boring, but I am a kind person, fate took pity on me and sent me a pretty companion at the small station. I look - she’s strict, she doesn’t look at me, she’s reading a book, she’s nibbling on candy. Well, we finally got to talking. The lady turned out to be very, indeed, strict. Almost from the first sentence she told me that she loves her husband with eternal love, until the grave, amen.
Well, I think this is a good sign. Imagine that you meet a tiger in the jungle. You wavered and doubted your hunting skills and your abilities. And suddenly the tiger tucked its tail, climbed behind a bush and closed its eyes. So he chickened out. Clear. So, this love to the grave was the bush behind which my lady immediately hid.
Well, if he's afraid, he needs to act carefully.
“Yes, I say, madam, I believe and bow.” And why, tell me, should we live if we don’t believe in eternal love? And what horror is inconstancy in love! Today you have an affair with one, tomorrow with another, not to mention that it is immoral, but downright unpleasant. So much trouble and trouble. You will confuse that name - but they are all touchy, these “objects of love.” If you accidentally call Manechka Sonechka, the story will begin in such a way that you will not be happy with life. The name Sophia is definitely worse than Marya. Otherwise, you mix up the addresses and thank some fool for the raptures of love whom you haven’t seen for two months, and the “new girl” receives a letter that says in restrained tones that, unfortunately, the past cannot be returned. And in general, all this is terrible, although I, they say, know, of course, about all this only by hearsay, since I myself am only capable of eternal love, and eternal love has not yet turned up.
My lady is listening, she even opened her mouth. What a lovely lady. She became completely tamed, even began to say “you and I”:
- You and I understand, we believe...
Well, I, of course, “you and I,” but all in the most respectful tones, eyes downcast, quiet tenderness in my voice - in a word, “I’m working as number six.”
By twelve o'clock I had already moved to number eight and suggested we have breakfast together.
At breakfast we became quite friendly. Although there was one problem - she talked a lot about her husband, all “my Kolya, my Kolya,” and there was no way to turn her away from this topic. I, of course, hinted in every possible way that he was unworthy of her, but I didn’t dare to press too hard, because this always causes protests, and protests were not in my favor.
By the way, about her hand - I already kissed her hand quite freely, as much as I wanted, and in any way I wanted.
And now we are approaching Tula, and suddenly it dawns on me:
- Listen, dear! Let's get out quickly and stay until the next train! I beg you! Quicker!
She was confused.
– What are we going to do here?
– How – what to do? – I shout, completely in a fit of inspiration. - Let's go to Tolstoy's grave. Yes Yes! The sacred duty of every cultured person.
- Hey, porter!
She became even more confused.
- So, you say... a cultural duty... of a sacred person...
And she herself drags a cardboard from the shelf.
As soon as we had time to jump out, the train started moving.
- What about Kolya? After all, he will come out to meet you.
“And Kolya,” I say, “we will send a telegram that you will arrive on the night train.”
- What if he...
- Well, there is something to talk about! He should also thank you for such a beautiful gesture. Visit the grave of the great elder during the days of general unbelief and the overthrow of the pillars.
He sat his lady down in the buffet and went to hire a cab. I asked the porter to arrange for some better reckless driver, so that it would be a pleasant ride.
The porter grinned.
“We understand,” he says. - You can enjoy it.
And so, the beast, I was so pleased that I even gasped: a troika with bells, just like on Maslenitsa. Well, so much the better. Go. We passed Kozlova Zaseka, I said to the driver:
- Maybe it’s better to tie up your bells? It’s somehow awkward with such ringing. After all, we are going to the grave.
But he doesn’t even listen.
“This,” he says, “is ignored by us.” There is no prohibition and no punishment; those who can do so can do so.
We looked at the grave and read the inscriptions of fans on the fence:
“There were Tolya and Mura”, “There were Sashka-Kanashka and Abrasha from Rostov”, “I love Marya Sergeevna Abinosova. Evgeniy Lukin", "M. D. and K.V. defeated the mug Kuzma Vostrukhin.”
Well different drawings- a heart pierced by an arrow, a face with horns, monograms. In a word, they honored the grave of the great writer.
We looked, walked around and rushed back.
It was still a long time before the train; we couldn’t sit at the station. We went to a restaurant, I asked a separate office: “Well, why, I say, should we show ourselves? We will also meet acquaintances, some underdeveloped vulgarities who do not understand the cultural needs of the spirit.”
