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  .., 2026.



Wilkie Collins  

Woman in White   



First period  



Clement's Inn art teacher Walter Hartright tells the story     -,  



Chapter I  I

This is a story about what a woman can endure and what a man can achieve.    ,         .

If the machinery of justice had scrutinized every suspicion with rigor and impartiality and conducted the judicial investigation with only moderate gold-plating, the events described in these pages would probably have received wide publicity during the trial.               ,    , ,    , ,        .

But in some cases the law still remains the hired servant of a well-fed purse, and so this story will be told here for the first time.               ,        . Just as the judge could have heard it, so the reader will now hear it.        ,   . Not a single essential circumstance relating to the discovery of this case, from its beginning to its end, will be told here on the basis of hearsay.      ,     ,      ,       .

Whenever Walter Hartright, who writes these lines, is nearest to the events in question, he will relate them himself.   ,   ,   ,      ,    ,     . When he is not involved in them, he will give way to those who are personally acquainted with the circumstances of the case and who will continue his work with equal accuracy and truthfulness.       ,     ,                .

So this story will be written by several people - just as several witnesses appear in a trial; ,              ; the goal in both cases is the same:     : to present the truth as accurately and thoroughly as possible and to trace the course of events as a whole, allowing the living witnesses of this story to tell it one by one.            ,          .

Let's first hear from drawing teacher Walter Hartright, twenty-eight years old.      ,   .



Chapter II  II

It was the last day of July.    .

The long, hot summer was drawing to an end, and we, tired of wandering along the London pavements, began to think of cool clouds over the countryside and autumn winds on the coast.      ,  ,     ,              . As for myself, the passing summer left me in a bad mood, in poor health, and, to tell the truth, almost without money.             ,     ,   ,   . During the year I had managed my earnings less carefully than usual, and only one option remained for me:         ,  ,      : to spend the autumn at my mother's cottage in Hampstead or in my own room in London.               .

I remember the evening was still and cloudy, the London air was stifling, the city noise was dying down. ,     ,    ,   . The heart of the great city and mine seemed to beat in unison, more and more faintly, dying away with the sunset.     , ,       ,    . I tore myself away from the book over which I had been dreaming more than reading, and left the house to go out of town to breathe in the cool of the evening.    ,    ,   ,    ,       . It was one of the two evenings that I usually spent each week with my mother and sister.      ,          . So I headed towards Hampstead.     .

It is necessary to mention here that my father died several years before the events I am describing, and that of the five children, only my sister Sarah and I remained alive.     ,          ,   ,             . My father was a drawing teacher, like me.    ,   . Hard-working and diligent, he succeeded in his work.   ,    . Concerned about the future of his family, which had no other means of support except his earnings, immediately after his marriage he insured his life for a much larger sum than is usually done.     ,      ,   ,           ,    . Thanks to his selfless care, my mother and sister were able to live after his death without wanting for anything.             ,     . My father's lessons were passed on to me by inheritance, and the future did not frighten me.        ,     .

The calm glow of sunset still illuminated the tops of the hills, and London below had already sunk into the dark abyss of a gloomy night, when I approached the gate of my mother's cottage.                 ,       . Before I had time to ring the bell, the door swung open, and instead of a servant, my friend, Professor Pesca, an Italian, appeared on the threshold.    ,   ,        ,  , . He rushed to meet me, deafeningly shouting something resembling an English greeting.    ,       . The professor himself deserves the honor of being introduced to you, and besides, it must be done in view of what will happen next.         ,         . By chance, it was with him that the mysterious family story that will be told on these pages began.          ,       .

I met Professor Pesca in one of the wealthy houses where he was giving lessons in his native language, and I was giving lessons in drawing.          ,       ,    . All I knew about his past was that he had once taught at the University of Padua, had been forced to leave Italy "because of politics" (what this meant, he never explained to anyone), and now for many years had been a respected teacher of foreign languages in London.      ,  -     ,     -  (  ,     ),             .

Without being a dwarf in the true sense of the word, for he was very well proportioned, Pesca was, in my opinion, the smallest man I have ever seen, not on the stage, but in life.        ,      ,  , -,   ,   -    ,   . He differed from other mortals not only in his appearance, but also in his harmless eccentricity.         ,    . The main aim of his life was the desire to turn into a real Englishman, in order to thereby show gratitude to the country where he found refuge and livelihood.          ,      ,        . Out of respect for our nation, he always carried an umbrella with him and walked around in a top hat and gaiters.     ,            . In addition, he considered it his duty not only to look English, but also to adhere to all the original English customs and amusements.  ,        ,         . Believing that we are distinguished by a special love of sports, this little man sincerely and naively indulged in all our national sports amusements, firmly convinced that they can be mastered by one effort of will, just as he adapted to the gaiters and cylinder. ,       ,           ,  ,       ,   ,       .

I myself have seen him more than once risk his limbs blindly on the cricket field or on a fox hunt.    ,             . And then one day I happened to witness him risk his life just as blindly on the sea at Brighton beach.       ,             .

We met there by chance and went swimming together.        . If we had been engaged in some purely English sport, I would, of course, have taken the precaution of keeping a careful eye on Pesca, but since foreigners usually feel as comfortable in the water as we English do, it did not occur to me that the art of swimming was one of those athletic exercises which the professor considered it possible to master at once - by intuition.     -   ,   , ,     ,            ,   , ,     ,        ,         . We swam away from the shore, but soon I noticed that my friend had fallen behind.    ,    ,    . I turned around.  . To my horror and surprise, between me and the shore I saw only two white hands flashing above the water and instantly disappearing.     ,          ,      . When I dived after him, the poor little professor lay curled up in a hollow at the bottom and looked even tinier than ever before.     ,    ,   ,        ,  - . I pulled him to the surface, the fresh air brought him back to life, and with my help he reached cabins.     ,      ,        . Along with life, his delightful delusion about swimming returned to him.           . As soon as his teeth stopped chattering and he was able to utter a few words, he smiled vaguely and declared that, in all likelihood, it was a cramp.           ,     , ,   ,   . When he finally came to his senses and joined me on the beach, his southern temperament instantly got the better of his artificial English reserve.            ,          . In the most enthusiastic terms, Pesca swore to me his eternal gratitude, assuring me that he would not rest until he had repaid me with a favor that I, in turn, would remember for the rest of my days.          , ,   ,     ,  ,   ,     .

I did my best to stop his flow of outpourings and turn the whole thing into a joke.   ,  ,          . It seemed to me that I managed to cool his exaggerated feeling of gratitude somewhat.  ,         .

I did not think then, nor did I think later, at the end of our joyful vacation, that, passionately wanting to thank me, he would soon seize the first opportunity to do me a favor that would direct my whole life along a new path and change me beyond recognition.    ,     ,     , ,    ,         ,              .

But it happened.   .

If I had not dived for Professor Pesca when he was lying on the seabed, then, in all likelihood, I would never have become a participant in the events described here;        ,      , ,   ,       ,  ; I would never have heard the name of the woman who took possession of all the thoughts of my soul, who became the goal of all my aspirations, the guiding star that now illuminates my path in life.       ,     ,     ,  ,     .



Chapter III  III

From the expression on Pesky's face as he rushed to meet me that evening, I immediately realized that something out of the ordinary had happened.    ,      ,   ,       . Asking him for an immediate explanation was useless.       . I could only assume, as he cheerfully dragged me into the rooms, that, knowing my habits, he had come to the cottage to meet me and tell me some extremely pleasant news.    ,       , ,   ,      ,      -   .

We burst into the living room in the most impolite and noisy manner.         . Mother was sitting at the open window, laughing and fanning herself.       ,  . Pesca was one of her favorites;      ; she forgave him all his eccentricities.      . Dear Mother!  ! From the moment she learned of his gratitude and devotion to her son, she accepted the little professor into her heart and treated his incomprehensible foreign antics with imperturbable calm, without trying to unravel their meaning.   ,          ,                 ,     . My sister Sarah, despite her youth, was more reserved.   ,    ,   . She paid tribute to Pesca's wonderful spiritual qualities, but did not accept him entirely, as my mother did.       ,     ,   . From her point of view, he constantly violated the boundaries of what was permitted and thereby greatly shocked her.    ,          . She was always surprised by her mother's indulgence towards the eccentric little foreigner.         . It must be said that, according to my observations not only of my sister, but also of others, we, the younger generation, are far from being as warm-hearted and spontaneous as our elders.  , ,       ,    , ,  ,      ,   . I often see how old people rejoice like children, anticipating some innocent pleasure, while their grandchildren treat it with complete indifference.    ,   - ,  -  ,          . I find that people of the older generation were in their time more genuine children than we are.  ,           ,  . Perhaps in recent decades education has made such progress that we are now overly educated?  ,       ,      ?

Without daring to say it, I must say that in the company of Professor Pesky, my mother seemed much younger than my sister.    ,   ,            . And so it was this time:     : while my mother laughed heartily at our boyish intrusion into the living room, Sarah was anxiously picking up the shards of the cup the professor had knocked over onto the floor when he rushed headlong to open the door for me.              ,     ,    ,       .

I dont know what would have happened, Walter, if you had been late, said Mother.    ,   , ,    ,   . Pesca was almost out of his mind with impatience, and I with curiosity.          ,     . The Professor came with wonderful news  it concerns you.         . But he mercilessly refused to say a word about it until his friend Walter arrived.          ,      .

What a shame  now the tea set is ruined!       ! Sarah muttered to herself, sadly looking at the shards.      ,   .

At this time Pesca, in blissful ignorance of the harm he had done, was rolling a large chair from the corner to the middle of the room, in order to appear before us in all the majesty of a public orator.                  ,         . Turning the chair with its back to us, he climbed onto it and excitedly addressed the assembly, which consisted of only three listeners, from this improvised pulpit.     ,             ,     .

So, my good, dear ones, Pesca began (he always said my good, dear ones when he wanted to say my worthy friends), listen to me!  ,  , ,    (    , ,      ),   ! The hour has struck, and I will tell you my news  I can finally speak.  ,          .

Listen, listen, said mother approvingly.  , ,    .

Mom, Sarah whispered, hes going to break our best chair!  ,   ,       !

I will return to the past to appeal from there to the noblest of mortals, Pesca continued, pointing fiercely at me from behind the back of the chair.     ,       ,   ,     -  . Who found me dead at the bottom of the sea (due to a cramp), who pulled me up?          (- ),    ? And what did I say when I returned to my life and clothes?    ,        ?

Much more than was required, I replied very angrily, for when he touched on this subject, the slightest encouragement brought forth streams of tears from the professor.   ,  ,     , ,     ,       .

I said, insisted Pesca, that my life belongs to my friend Walter until the end of my days and that I will not rest until I find an opportunity to do something for Walter.   ,   ,                 ,        . And I could not find peace until today.         . Today, cried the little professor, an irrepressible happiness fills me from head to toe and pours over the edge! ,    ,             ! I swear on my honor:  : something has finally been done, and I only have one word left to say:   ,       : right, everything is fine! ,  !

It should be noted that Pesca was proud of his (in his opinion) truly English speech, appearance and way of life.  ,     (  )   ,    . Having picked up a few commonly used words that were incomprehensible to him, he generously scattered them wherever he could and strung one on top of the other in delight at their sound.    ,  ,                .

Among the fashionable London houses where I teach my native language, the professor continued hurriedly, without giving himself a break, there is one in the highest degree fashionable, in Portland Square.     ,      ,    ,    ,       ,   . Do you know where it is?  ,  ? Yes, yes, of course, of course. , , , . In a beautiful house, my dears, lives a beautiful family:   ,  ,   : a mother - fat and beautiful, three daughters - fat and beautiful, two sons - fat and beautiful, and a father - the fattest and most handsome of them all.     ,      ,      ,         . He is a powerful merchant and rolls in gold.       . Once a handsome man, but now he has a bald head and two chins, and he is no longer a handsome man. - ,        ,     . But to the point!   ! I teach the daughters the language of the divine Dante.      . And, God have mercy on me, there are no words to express how difficult the divine Dante is for these three pretty heads! ,   ,  ,  ,         ! But that's okay, everything matures in time - the more difficult, the more lessons, and the better for me.   ,       ,   ,     . Right! ! But to the point!   ! Imagine that today I am studying with three young ladies as usual.  ,         . The four of us are in Dante's hell - on the seventh circle.          . But that's not the point:     : all circles are the same for fat and beautiful young ladies.        . However, on the seventh circle my students are stuck, and I, in order to get them out, quote, explain and almost burst, turning purple from fruitless efforts, when the creak of boots is heard in the corridor and the Golden Pope enters, a mighty merchant with a bald head and two chins.       ,  ,   , ,     ,    ,          ,       . And you, probably, have already said to yourself:  , ,    : "Thunder from heaven!  ! Pesca will never finish!    !" 

We all said in unison that we were very interested.   ,    . The professor continued:  :

 The Golden Pope has a letter in his hands.       . Having apologized for disturbing our hellish researches with everyday trifles, he turns to the three young ladies and begins, like all Englishmen, with a huge "O." ,        ,       ,    ,   λ. "Oh, my daughters," says the mighty merchant, "I have received a letter from my friend Mr. ..." I have forgotten the name, but it does not matter, we will return to it later.   ,    ,           ,   ,     . Yes, yes, everything is correct, good! , ,  , ! So, dad says: ,  : "I have received a letter from my friend Mr. so-and-so, he asks me to recommend a drawing teacher to him, to his estate."        -,        ,   . I swear on my honor!  ! When I heard these words, I was ready to throw myself on his neck, if I could reach it, to press him to my heart!     ,        ,      ,     ! But I only jumped up in my chair.      . I was burning with the desire to speak out, but bit his tongue and let dad finish.    ,       . Perhaps you know, says this big rich man, waving the letter, perhaps you know, my dears, some drawing teacher whom I could recommend?  ,  ,     ,  ,   ,  ,  , -  ,     ? The three young ladies looked at each other and answered (of course, beginning with the invariable Oh!       (,    !): ): Oh no, dad, but Mr. Pesca Hearing my name, I could no longer restrain myself - the thought of you, my dears, rushes into my head, I jump up as if stung, turn to the mighty merchant and say, like a typical Englishman:  , ,       ,          ,  ,    ,    ,      ,   : Oh, dear sir, I know such a man!   ,    ! The best and foremost drawing teacher in the world!       ! Recommend him today, and tomorrow send him there with all his guts.   ,        . (Another purely English (    !) - "Wait," says Dad, "is he English or a foreigner?" )  ,   ,     ? - "English to the core," I answer.      ,   . "A decent man?"  ? - says Dad.    . "Sir!" ! - I say (for this last question outraged me, and I stopped treating him simply).     (     ,       ). - Sir!   ! The immortal flame of genius burns in the breast of this Englishman, and most importantly, it burned in the breast of his father."        ,  ,       . - "Nonsense," says this Golden Barbarian Pope, "to hell with his genius, Mr. Pesca.   ,     -,    ,   ,  . We, in our country, do not need genius unless it goes hand in hand with decency, and when they are together - we are glad, very glad! ,   ,   ,        ,       ,  ! Can your friend provide recommendations?      ? "I waved his hand carelessly.     . Recommendations?! ?!, I say.    . Good God, of course.    ,  . Piles of recommendations!  ! Hundreds of folders full of them, if you like.  ,  ,  . One or two will be enough, says the phlegmatic rich man.      ,    . Let him send them to me with his address.         . And wait, Mr. Pesca.  ,  . Before you go to your friend, Ill give you something for him.       ,    -  . Money!   ! I exclaim indignantly.      . No money until my true Englishman earns it!    ,       ! Money?   ? Daddy is surprised.    . Whos talking about money?      ? I mean the note of conditions work.        . Continue your lesson, and I will copy them from my friends letter.   ,        . And so the owner of goods and money takes up pen, paper and ink, and I again plunge into Dantes Hell with my young ladies.         ,   ,          . Ten minutes later the note is finished, and dads boots, creaking, retreat down the corridor.     ,   , ,   . From that moment, I swear on my honor, I forgot about everything.   ,  ,    . The amazing thought that at last my dream has come true and I can serve my friend intoxicates me!  ,           ,  ! How I pulled three young ladies out of hell, how I gave the following lessons, how I swallowed dinner - I know no more about all this than a lunar dweller.       ,    ,           ,   . It is enough for me that I am here with a note from a powerful merchant - generous as life itself, fiery as fire!    ,         ,   , ,  ! I am happy royally!   -! Ha-ha-ha! --! Okay, okay, everything is right-okay! , ,  -!

And the professor, frantically waving the envelope over his head, ended the stormy flow of his eloquence with a piercing parody of the English hurray.  ,     ,          .

As soon as he fell silent, his mother, with shining eyes and blushing, jumped up from her seat.   ,     ,  ,   . She affectionately grabbed the little professor by the hands.       .

Dear Pesca, she said, I never doubted that you sincerely loved Walter, but now I am more convinced of it than ever!   ,   ,     ,     ,         -!

We are very grateful to Professor Pesca for our Walter, added Sarah.         ,   .

With these words she rose, as if intending to approach the chair in her turn, but seeing that Pesca was covering my mother's hands with passionate kisses, she frowned and sat down again.     ,   ,   ,   , , ,        ,      . "If this familiar little man behaves this way with my mother, how will he behave with me?           ,        ?" People's faces sometimes reflect their innermost thoughts - undoubtedly Sarah was thinking exactly this way when she sat down.              ,  .

Although I was sincerely touched by Pesca's desire to do me a favor, I was not very pleased with the prospect of such a job.           ,       . When the professor left my mother's hands alone, I thanked him warmly and asked permission to read the note from his esteemed patron.        ,            .

Pesca handed it to me, waving his arms solemnly.    ,   .

Read it!  ! he exclaimed, assuming a majestic pose.    ,   . I assure you, my friend, that the letter of the Golden Pope speaks for itself in a language like the sound of a trumpet!     ,  ,         ,   !

The conditions were, at any rate, stated clearly, frankly and very understandably.   ,   , ,    .




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   ,     (https://www.litres.ru/book/uilki-kollinz-34091329/zhenshchina-v-belom-anglo-russkaia-bilingva-74567364/)  .

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