Francis Scott Kay Fitzgerald Tender is the Night. Novel "Tender is the Night"

1925 Rosemary Hoyt, a young but already famous Hollywood actress after her success in the film “Daddy’s Daughter,” comes to the Cote d’Azur with her mother. Summer is not the season, only one of the many hotels is open. On a deserted beach there are two groups of Americans: “white-skinned” and “dark-skinned,” as Rosemary called them to herself. The girl is much prettier than the “dark-skinned” ones - tanned, beautiful, relaxed, they are at the same time impeccably tactful; she willingly accepts the invitation to join them and immediately falls a little childishly in love with Dick Diver, the soul of this company. Dick and his wife Nicole are local residents and have a house in the village of Tarm; Abe and Mary North and Tommy Barban are their guests. Rosemary is fascinated by the ability of these people to live cheerfully and beautifully - they constantly arrange fun and pranks; a kind, powerful force emanates from Dick Diver, forcing people to obey him with unreasoning adoration... Dick is irresistibly charming, he wins hearts with extraordinary attentiveness, captivating courtesy of treatment, and so directly and easily that victory is won before the conquered have time to understand anything. Seventeen-year-old Rosemary sobs on her mother’s breast in the evening: I’m in love with him, and he has such a wonderful wife! However, Rosemary is in love with Nicole too - with the whole company: she has never met such people before. And when the Divers invite her to go with them to Paris to see off the Norths - Abe (he is a composer) returns to America, and Mary heads to Munich to study singing - she readily agrees.

In Paris, during one of the dizzying escalades, Rosemary says to herself: “Well, here I am, wasting my life.” While shopping with Nicole, she becomes familiar with how a very rich woman spends money. Rosemary falls even more in love with Dick, and he barely has the strength to maintain the image of an adult, twice his age, serious man - he is by no means indifferent to the charms of this “girl in bloom”; Half-child, Rosemary does not understand what kind of avalanche she has caused. Meanwhile, Abe North goes on a drinking binge and, instead of leaving for America, in one of the bars he provokes a conflict between American and Parisian blacks among themselves and with the police; Dick gets to sort out this conflict; the showdown ends with the corpse of a black man in Rosemary's room. Dick arranged it so that the reputation of “Daddy’s Girl” remained untarnished - the case was hushed up, there were no reporters, but the Divers left Paris in a hurry. When Rosemary looks into the door of their room, she hears an inhuman howl and sees Nicole's face distorted by madness: she is staring at a blanket smeared with blood. It was then that she realized what Mrs. McKisco had not had time to tell. And Dick, returning with Nicole to the Cote d'Azur, for the first time in six years of marriage feels that for him this is a path from somewhere, and not somewhere.

In the spring of 1917, Doctor of Medicine Richard Diver, having been demobilized, comes to Zurich to complete his education and receive an academic degree. The war passed him by - even then he was too valuable to be used as cannon fodder; On a scholarship from the state of Connecticut, he studied at Oxford, completed a course in America and interned in Vienna with the great Freud himself. In Zurich, he is working on the book “Psychology for a Psychiatrist” and during sleepless nights he dreams of being kind, being sensitive, being brave and smart - and also being loved, if this does not interfere. At twenty-six, he still retained many youthful illusions - the illusion of eternal strength, and eternal health, and the predominance of good principles in a person - however, these were the illusions of an entire people.

Near Zurich, in the psychiatric hospital of Dr. Domler, his friend and colleague Franz Gregorovius works. For three years now, the daughter of an American millionaire, Nicole Warren, has been in this hospital; she lost her mind, becoming her own father's mistress at the age of sixteen. Her treatment program included correspondence with Diver. In three years, Nicole's health has improved so much that she is about to be discharged. Having met her correspondent, Nicole falls in love with him. Dick is in a difficult position: on the one hand, he knows that this feeling was partly provoked for medicinal purposes; on the other hand, he, who “assembled her personality from pieces” like no one else, understands that if this feeling is taken away from her, then there will be emptiness in her soul. And besides, Nicole is very beautiful, and he is not only a doctor, but also a man. Contrary to reason and the advice of Franz and Domler, Dick marries Nicole. He is aware that relapses of the disease are inevitable - he is ready for this. He sees a much bigger problem in Nicole’s wealth - after all, he is not marrying her money (as Nicole’s sister Baby thinks), but rather in spite of it - but this does not stop him either. They love each other, and, despite everything, they are happy.

Fearing for Nicole's health, Dick pretends to be a convinced homebody - for six years of marriage they almost never separated. During a prolonged relapse that occurred after the birth of their second child, daughter Topsy, Dick learned to separate the sick Nicole from the healthy Nicole and, accordingly, during such periods feel only like a doctor, leaving aside the fact that he is also a husband.

Before his eyes and with his hands, the personality of “Nicole is healthy” was formed and turned out to be very bright and strong, so much so that he is increasingly irritated by her attacks, from which she does not give herself the trouble to restrain herself, being already quite capable. He’s not the only one who thinks Nicole is using her illness to maintain power over those around her.

Dick is trying with all his might to maintain some financial independence, but this is becoming more and more difficult for him: it is not easy to resist the flow of things and money that floods him - Nicole also sees this as a lever of her power. They are being driven further and further away from the simple conditions on which their union was once concluded... The duality of Dick's position - husband and doctor - destroys his personality: he cannot always distinguish the distance required by the doctor in relation to the patient from the chill in his heart in relation to his wife , with whom he is one flesh and blood...

Rosemary's appearance made him realize all this. Nevertheless, outwardly the life of the Divers does not change.

Christmas 1926 Divers meet in the Swiss Alps; Franz Gregorovius visits them. He invites Dick to jointly buy a clinic so that Dick, the author of many recognized works on psychiatry, would spend several months a year there, which would give him material for new books, and he would take over the clinical work. And of course, “why can a European turn to an American if not for money?” start-up capital is required to purchase a clinic. Dick agrees, allowing himself to be convinced by Baby, who mainly manages the Warrens’ money and considers this enterprise profitable, that staying at the clinic in a new capacity will benefit Nicole’s health. “There I wouldn’t have to worry about her at all,” says Baby.

This didn't happen. A year and a half of monotonous, measured life on Lake Zug, where there is nowhere to escape from each other, provokes a severe relapse: having staged a scene of causeless jealousy, Nicole, with an insane laugh, almost derails the car in which not only she and Dick were sitting, but also the children. Unable to live from attack to attack any longer, Dick, entrusting Nicole to the care of Franz and the nurse, leaves to take a break from her, from himself... supposedly to Berlin for a congress of psychiatrists. There he receives a telegram about his father's death and goes to America for the funeral. On the way back, Dick stops by in Rome with the secret thought of seeing Rosemary, who is filming her next film there. Their meeting took place; what once began in Paris has found its completion, but Rosemary’s love cannot save him - he no longer has the strength for a new love. “I'm like the Black Death. Now I only bring misfortune to people,” Dick says bitterly.

After parting with Rosemary, he becomes monstrously drunk; From the police station, having been terribly beaten, Baby, who ended up in Rome, rescues him - she is almost pleased that Dick is no longer blameless in relation to their family.

Dick drinks more and more, and more and more often his charm, ability to understand everything and forgive everything betrays him. He was almost unaffected by the readiness with which Franz accepted his decision to quit the case and leave the clinic - Franz himself already wanted to offer him this, because the reputation of the clinic was not benefited by the constant smell of alcohol emanating from Dr. Diver.

What is new for Nicole is that now she cannot shift her problems onto him; she has to learn to take responsibility for herself. And when this happened, Dick disgusted her, like a living reminder of the years of darkness. They become strangers to each other.

The divers return to Tarm, where they meet Tommy Barban - he fought in several wars, changed; and the new Nicole looks at him with new eyes, knowing that he has always loved her. Rosemary also finds herself on the Cote d'Azur. Influenced by memories of his first meeting with her five years ago, Dick tries to organize something similar to past escapades, and Nicole, with cruel clarity, intensified by jealousy, sees how he has aged and changed. Everything around has also changed - this place has become a fashionable resort, the beach, which Dick once cleared with a rake every morning, is filled with people like the “pale-faces” of that time, Mary North (now Countess Minghetti) does not want to recognize the Divers... Dick leaves this beach like a deposed king, who lost his kingdom.

Nicole, celebrating her final recovery, becomes Tommy Barban's mistress and then marries him, while Dick returns to America. He practices in small towns, never staying anywhere for long, and letters from him come less and less often.

Francis Scott Kay Fitzgerald

The night is tender

Translation by E. Kalashnikova

Book one.

In one pleasant corner of the French Riviera, halfway from Marseille to the Italian border, stands a large pink hotel. Palm trees obligingly shade its facade, bursting with heat, in front of which lies a strip of dazzlingly bright beach. In recent years, many socialites and other celebrities have chosen this place as a summer resort; but about ten years ago, life here almost came to a standstill from April, when the permanent English clientele migrated north. Now there are many modern buildings crowded around Gosse’s Hotel des Etrangers, but at the beginning of our story only a dozen old villas stood white like withered water lilies in the bushes of pine trees that stretch for five miles, all the way to Cannes.

The hotel and the ocher prayer mat of the beach in front of it were one. Early in the morning, the rising sun threw into the sea the distant streets of Cannes, the pinkish and creamy walls of ancient fortifications, the purple peaks of the Alps, beyond which was Italy, and all this lay free, crushing and swaying when ripples appeared from the swaying of the seaweed near the shallows. At eight o'clock a man in a blue bathrobe appeared on the beach; Having taken off his robe, he took a long time to gather his courage, groaned, groaned, wetted certain parts of his person with water that had not yet warmed up, and finally decided to take a plunge for exactly a minute. After he left, the beach remained empty for about an hour. A merchant ship crawled along the horizon to the west; dishwashers shouted to each other in the hotel courtyard; The dew was drying on the trees. Another hour, and the air was filled with car horns from the highway that wound through the low Moorish mountains that separate the coast from Provence, from real France.

A mile north, where the pines give way to dusty poplars, there is a railroad stop, and from this stop, one June morning in 1925, a small open car was carrying two women, a mother and daughter, to the Goss Hotel. The mother's face was still beautiful with that faded beauty that was about to disappear under a network of crimson veins; the look was calm, but at the same time lively and attentive. However, everyone would hasten to turn their eyes to her daughter, bewitched by the pinkness of her palms, her cheeks, as if illuminated from within, as happens to a child flushed after an evening swim.

The sloping forehead gently curved upward, and the hair that framed it suddenly scattered in waves, curls, and curls of an ash-golden hue.

The eyes were large, bright, clear, they shone moistly, the blush was natural - it was just under the skin that the blood was pulsating, pumped by the beats of a young, strong heart. She was all trembling, it seemed, on the last edge of childhood: almost eighteen - already almost blossoming, but still in the morning dew.

When the sea below turned blue, merging with the sky into one hot strip, the mother said:

“For some reason I don’t think we’ll like it here.”

“I think it’s generally time to go home,” the daughter responded.

They spoke without irritation, but it was felt that they were not particularly drawn to anywhere and they were languishing because of this - especially since they still didn’t want to go anywhere. They were prompted to seek entertainment not by the need to spur tired nerves, but by the greed of schoolchildren who, having successfully completed the year, believe that they deserve a fun vacation.

“We’ll stay for three days, and then go home.” I will immediately order a cabin by telegraph.

Negotiations for a hotel room were led by the daughter; She spoke French fluently, but there was something memorized in the very perfection of her speech.

When they settled in the large, bright rooms on the ground floor, the girl walked up to the glass door through which the sun was shining, and, crossing the threshold, found herself on the stone veranda that surrounded the building. She had the posture of a ballerina; she carried her body lightly and straight, with each step not sagging down, but as if stretching upward. Her shadow, very short under the sheer rays, lay at her feet; She backed away for a moment - the hot light hurt her eyes. Fifty yards away the Mediterranean Sea splashed, gradually giving up its blue to the merciless sun; right next to the balustrade, a faded Buick was baking in the driveway.

Everything around seemed to freeze, only busy life went on on the beach. Three English nannies, deep in gossip, monotonous as lamentations, knitted socks and sweaters in a Victorian pattern, fashionable in the forties, in the sixties, in the eighties; Closer to the water, about a dozen men and women sat under large umbrellas, and a dozen of their offspring were chasing schools of unafraid fish in the shallow water or lying on the sand, exposing their naked bodies, glossy with coconut oil, to the sun.

Rosemary had barely reached the beach when a boy of about twelve rushed past her and crashed into the water with a gleeful whoop. Under the crossfire of searching glances, she shed her robe and followed suit. After swimming a few yards, she felt herself touching the bottom, stood up and walked, pushing her hips against the resistance of the water. Having reached the place where she was shoulder-deep, she looked back; a bald man in shorts and with a monocle, sticking out his hairy chest and retracting his navel, which was cheekily peeking out of his shorts, looked attentively at her from the shore. Having met her return gaze, the man dropped his monocle, which immediately disappeared into the curly thickets on his chest, and poured himself a glass of something from a flask.

Rosemary lowered her face into the water and swam at a fast crawl towards the raft. The water grabbed her, lovingly hid her from the heat, seeping into her hair, getting into all the folds of her body. Rosemary basked in it, floundered, spinning in place. Finally, out of breath from this fuss, she reached the raft, but some darkly tanned woman with very white teeth met her with a curious look, and Rosemary, suddenly aware of her own whitish nakedness, turned over on her back, and the waves carried her to the shore. As soon as she came out of the water, a hairy man with a flask immediately spoke to her.

“It was difficult to determine his nationality, but he spoke English, with a slight drawl in the Oxford manner. “Just yesterday they devoured two sailors from the flotilla that is stationed in Golfe-Juan.”

Francis Scott Fitzgerald

The night is tender

Book one

The sloping forehead gently curved upward, and the hair that framed it suddenly scattered in waves, curls, and curls of an ash-golden hue.

The eyes were large, bright, clear, shone moistly, the blush was natural - it was the blood pulsating just under the skin, pumped by the beats of a young, strong heart. She was all trembling, it seemed, on the last edge of childhood: almost eighteen - already almost blossoming, but still in the morning dew.

When the sea below turned blue, merging with the sky into one hot strip, the mother said:

Somehow I think we won't like it here.

“In my opinion, it’s generally time to go home,” the daughter responded.

We'll stay for three days and then go home. I will immediately order a cabin by telegraph.

Negotiations for a hotel room were led by the daughter; She spoke French fluently, but there was something memorized in the very perfection of her speech.

Keep in mind that you cannot swim further than the raft - there may be sharks there. - His nationality was difficult to determine, but he spoke English, slightly drawing out his words in the Oxford manner. - Just yesterday they devoured two sailors from the flotilla that is stationed in Golfe-Juan.

My God! - Rosemary exclaimed.

They hunt for scum, they know that there is always something to profit from around the flotilla.

With glassy eyes to prove that he had only spoken out of a desire to warn her, he took two tiny steps back and poured himself another glass.

Pleasantly embarrassed by the rush of general attention she felt during this conversation, Rosemary looked around for a seat. Apparently, each family considered as its own the piece of beach around the umbrella under which it sat; in addition, remarks and jokes flew from umbrella to umbrella, from time to time someone would get up and go over to the neighbors - in a word, the spirit of a closed community reigned here, into which it would be indelicate. A little further, where the shore was strewn with pebbles and scraps of dried seaweed, Rosemary noticed a group of people with skin still untouched by a tan, like her own. Instead of huge beach umbrellas, they took refuge under ordinary umbrellas and looked like newbies on this shore. Rosemary found a free place in the middle between the dark-skinned and light-skinned, spread her robe on the sand and lay down.

At first she only caught the vague hum of voices, heard the creaking of footsteps bending around her prostrate body, and by the flickering of shadows she guessed when someone, passing, momentarily blocked the sun. Some curious dog breathed warm, rapid breath on her neck; the hot sun was already raw on the skin, and a quiet, tired “ohhhh” of the receding waves sounded in my ear. Little by little, she began to distinguish individual voices and even listened to a whole story about how someone, contemptuously called “that guy North,” yesterday kidnapped a waiter in a Cannes cafe in order to saw him in two. The narrator was a gray-haired person in evening dress; She apparently did not have time to change clothes after the previous evening: her hair was decorated with a tiara, and a withered flower hung sadly from her shoulder. Seized with an unconscious antipathy towards her and her companions, Rosemary turned her back on them.

On the other hand, very nearby, a young woman was lying under an umbrella, writing something out of a book open on the sand. She pulled the straps of her bathing suit off her shoulders, and her bare back glistened in the sun; a string of matte pearls set off an even orange-brown tan. There was something tough and at the same time helpless in the beautiful face. Her eyes slid indifferently over Rosemary. A slender man in a jockey's cap and red striped panties sat nearby; then the white-toothed woman whom Rosemary noticed on the raft; she immediately saw Rosemary and, apparently, recognized her. Even further away, a man in blue shorts, with a long face and a lion's mane exposed to the sun, was engaged in an animated conversation with a young man of clearly Roman origin in black shorts; While talking, they sorted through the sand, pulling out pieces of dried algae. Almost all of them were apparently Americans, but something distinguished them from the Americans she had recently met.

A little later it became clear to her that the man in the jockey's cap was performing some kind of comic scene in front of his company; He raked the sand with an important air and at the same time said something, apparently very funny and in no way compatible with the imperturbably serious expression of his face.

It got to the point where every phrase, almost every word, began to cause an outburst of cheerful laughter. Even those who, like Rosemary, were too far away, pointed their ears with antennas, trying to catch the words that did not reach them, and the only person on the entire beach who remained indifferent to what was happening was a young woman with pearls around her neck. She, perhaps out of possessive modesty, only bent lower over her notes after each outburst of merriment.

And you are a great swimmer.

Rosemary protested.

No, except for jokes. My last name is Campion. There is a lady here who saw you last week in Sorrento and says she knows who you are and would really like to meet you.

Rosemary, hiding her annoyance, looked around and saw that all the fair-skinned people were looking at her expectantly. She reluctantly got up and went to them.

Mrs. Abrams... Mrs. McKisco... Mr. McKisco... Mr. Dumphrey...

“And we know who you are,” said the lady in evening dress. - You are Rosemary Hoyt, I immediately recognized you in Sorrento and asked the receptionist, and we are all delighted with you and your film and would like to know why you are not in America and are not starring in some other equally wonderful film.

They moved fussily, making room for her. The lady who recognized her, despite her surname, was not Jewish. She belonged to the breed of those “old ladies” who, thanks to excellent digestion and complete mental deafness, remain preserved for two generations to come.

We wanted to warn you to be careful with the sun,” the lady continued to chirp, “it’s easy to get burned on the first day, and you need to take care of your skin, but here everything is so zierlich-manirlich, on this beach, that we were afraid, what if you be offended.

We thought maybe you were part of the conspiracy too,” Mrs. McKisco said. She was a devastatingly assertive young lady with a pretty face and pewter eyes. “You can’t tell who’s participating and who’s not.” My husband talked very kindly for an hour with one gentleman, but it turned out that he was one of the main participants, almost the second person.

In a conspiracy? - Rosemary asked in bewilderment. - Is there some kind of conspiracy?

Darling, how do we know? - Mrs. Abrams said with a convulsive laugh, characteristic of many fat women. - In any case, we are not participating. We are a gallery.

Mr. Dumphrey, a fair-haired young man of feminine appearance, interjected:

“Mama Abrams doesn’t care about any conspiracy,” to which Campion shook his monocle at him and said:

But, but, Royal, there is no need to slander.

Rosemary shifted uneasily, regretting that her mother was not around. She did not like these people, especially when she involuntarily compared them with an interesting company at the other end of the beach. Her mother had a modest but unerring social tact that allowed her to quickly and skillfully get out of difficult situations. And Rosemary very easily found herself in such situations, which was due to the chaotic mixture of French upbringing with American democracy superimposed later - especially since she became a celebrity only six months ago.

Mr. McKisco, a lean gentleman of about thirty, with red hair and freckles, clearly did not like the mention of a “conspiracy.” He sat facing the sea and looked at the waves, but then, throwing a quick glance at his wife, he turned to Rosemary and angrily asked her:

How long have you arrived?

Today only.

He must have considered that this had already given the conversation a different direction, and with a glance he urged the others to continue in the same spirit.

Thinking of staying here all summer? - Mrs. McKisco asked innocently. - If so, you will probably see how the conspiracy ends.

For God's sake, Violet, enough of this! - her husband soared. - Find yourself, for God's sake, another topic!

Mrs. McKisco leaned toward Mrs. Abrams and said in a loud whisper:

He's got nerves.

“I don’t have any nerves,” Mr. McKisco growled. - That's right, none.

He was clearly fuming - brown paint spread across his face, mixing all the expressions available to this face into some kind of vague mess. Vaguely feeling this, he stood up and went into the water. His wife caught up with him halfway, and Rosemary, taking advantage of the opportunity, followed them.

After taking a few steps, Mr. McKisco took a noisy breath, began to swim, and desperately pounded the water with his outstretched arms, which, apparently, was supposed to simulate crawl swimming. Very soon he ran out of air, got to his feet and looked around, clearly surprised that he was still in sight of the shore.

I have trouble breathing. I don't know how to breathe correctly. - He looked questioningly at Rosemary.

The exhalation is done under water,” Rosemary explained. - And on every fourth count, you raise your head and take a breath.

Everything else is nothing to me, just breathing. Shall we swim to the raft?

On the raft, swaying rhythmically from the movement of the waves, lay a man with a lion's mane. As soon as Mrs. McKisco grabbed the edge of the deck, the raft suddenly tilted and pushed her hard on the shoulder, but the man with the lion's mane jumped up and helped her onto it.

I was afraid that you might get hit on the head.

His voice sounded uncertain and even timid; Rosemary was surprised by the unusually sad expression of his face, cheekbones like an Indian, with a long upper lip and huge, deeply sunken eyes the color of dark gold. He spoke his words from one side of his mouth, as if he hoped that they would reach Mrs. McKisco in some roundabout way and that this would moderate their force. A minute later he jumped into the water, and his long body, motionless, stretched out on the wave, walked towards the shore.

Characters from Francis Scott Fitzgerald's novel Tender is the Night

The twenties and thirties of the 20th century marked an increased interest of intellectuals in research in the field of psychiatry, then still a very young science. “Tender is the Night” is a novel on this topic.

Rosemary Hoyt, a young actress, meets a married couple and falls in love with the married man, seeing in him not just charm, but her ideal. At the beginning of the novel, Dick Diver gives the impression of a man who has no trouble gaining the favor of anyone. You could call him "Lucky Dick." Beauty, intelligence, health, academic success, rare insight, kindness. He is a psychiatrist. And an excellent psychologist. Easily finding the way to the heart of any person, able to accurately determine the strengths and weaknesses of his friends, give the right compliment, and smooth out any conflict. Everyone is delighted with his ability to turn life into a holiday. Not only Rosemary is in love with Dick, he can connect his life with anyone, his success with women is so great. But Diver gives the impression of a monogamous man, a man who has found his other half. And this is his wife – Nicole. Not so sociable, shy, but a fabulously beautiful woman.

The love triangle - Dick-Nicole-Rosemary - is only the superficial semantic layer of the novel. Nicole has schizophrenia. Dick plays the role of her family doctor and nanny. It may seem that he is tired of having to entertain her and prevent attacks of illness. And he reached out to a mentally healthy creature. For him, Rosemary is an outlet. He responds with pleasure to light flirting, but does not truly fall in love with this girl.

It is difficult to remain indifferent to such an integral, clear, kind, harmonious being as Rosemary Hoyt seems to be. Her soul seems infantilely pure; it seems that even a hint of dirt cannot seep into it. People can resurrect their feelings of youth, be filled with the same inner light again, and achieve a state of peace and inner balance.

Nicole Diver makes an ambivalent impression. As Fitzgerald writes: “... if you look closely at her face, a strange impression arose - as if this face was intended to be strong and significant, with large Rodin-like sculpting of features, with that brightness of colors and expression that inevitably gives rise to the idea of a temperamental, strong-willed character; but during finishing, the sculptor’s chisel whittled it down to ordinary beauty - so much so that just a little more - and it would have become irreparably banal.”

The illness prevents Nicole's nature from opening up and expressing itself. Because of her, she behaves insecurely, is in the shadow of her charming husband, and seems to be a person who finds support in him. And as she recovers, she should gradually emerge from this shadow and gain independence.

If we take into account the idea that the writer should show the behavior of the characters, leaving the readers to draw their own conclusions about his character, then Fitzgerald can be reproached with the desire to present these conclusions “on a silver platter”: this character is like this, that character is like that. Nicole's strength doesn't show up in any way for me personally. This is the author's opinion about her. Even if it's a genius. Recognized classic of world literature. One description of the heroine's face and look is clearly not enough for this. And even at times – a confident, harsh tone. This is clearly not enough.

Nicole was seduced by her father. And the unusually beautiful girl began to expect only the worst from men with horror. Especially from those who seemed the most kind and courteous. After all, her father was also like this for many years, and she trusted him infinitely. The shock of what happened resulted in fear of men. And the obsession with being stalked. She plunged into an illusory world in which she began to live, hiding from the reality that frightened her.

A chance meeting with Dick influenced her. He was kind, but didn't pay much attention to her. Dick was never intrusive, did not seek to conquer any woman. He himself was the subject of adoration and worship. And it was Dick's polite indifference that had a positive effect on Nicole. She felt that there was no need to fear him. He doesn't need anything from her. He will easily turn around and leave.

This gave her back a healthy trust in the world and in people. Schizophrenia has always been considered an incurable disease. She has made clear progress in treatment, her health has become good, and her condition has stabilized. But the professionals understood perfectly well that this was only for a while, and relapses were inevitable.

Schizophrenia is a splitting of consciousness. And how serious this is can be judged from Nicole’s letters to Dick when she was considered ill: “They say you’re a doctor too, but you’re a cat, so that’s a different matter. My head hurts a lot, so don’t be angry, why am I just walking here with a white cat, this will explain everything to you.” There are no cats in the hospital - these are the patient’s fantasies.

Dick Diver in his youth believed that he was too lucky in life, everything was going too smoothly. Everyone is fascinated by him, he is the center of human attraction. Subconsciously (maybe consciously) he feels a lack of serious problems and trials. He believes that this can give him something as a person and as a professional. And after much hesitation, he decides to sacrifice himself. Become the husband of a patient from a psychiatric clinic.

He was influenced by Nicole's beauty, her temperament, and touched by the power of her love. If she were an ordinary girl, the situation would have been perceived by others as romantic. He would appear in his own eyes as a savior. But... Nicole is also fabulously rich. She is a member of one of the most powerful families in America. And this changes the meaning of what is happening. Dick was ashamed of being looked at as a gigolo. A doctor who was bought for a rich heiress.

The relationship with Dick gave Nicole something that she was deprived of when communicating with other men. They harassed her, she felt like an involuntary victim, this evoked associations with her father. Dick was more likely to yield to her own pressure; she loved him more than he loved her. And, thanks to the healing power of this psychological situation, she managed to recreate herself anew. The attacks occurred less and less frequently. Nicole, having lived with her husband for more than ten years, felt that now she no longer needed him as a support. She can cope without him.

The character of Dick in his youth was remarkable for the extent to which he valued his ability to arouse universal sympathy. It was his weakness to indulge his vanity. He used his knowledge of the human psyche “in practice,” so to speak. Playing a psychological game - making a variety of people fall in love with you. And this fascinated him so much that it became a more important activity than scientific research. Dick gave the impression of a human being generously endowed by nature, who can waste himself in vanity. He tried his best not to seem selfish, but he himself doubted: is this so? Or he is simply flattered by falling in love, and he enjoys accepting it.

Schizophrenia is considered an incurable disease. Nicole recovers in the novel. Is it the merit of herself, Dick, of their mutual love? Or did it just happen that several factors coincided?

In the last years of his marriage, Dick was so clearly burdened by his position, as a person and a researcher, having lost all interest in this whole situation, that he decided... was it really his cunning plan, or did Nicole herself end this marriage? She, having decided on adultery and divorce, had the feeling that she had been outwitted. Dick began to move away from her and demonstrate his indifference. Stopped entertaining her. I quarreled with all my friends. He only irritated Nicole. And more and more. She wanted to believe that she herself had already outgrown this situation, and that she no longer needed him. The author writes: “And Dick waited until she was out of sight, and, leaning forward, put his head on the parapet. The patient recovered. Doctor Diver has been given his freedom."

Dick's or the author's idea that his wife's gigantic inheritance is to blame for the protagonist's depression does not seem convincing to me. “And yet he was bought as a gigolo, and somehow he allowed his entire arsenal to be hidden in Warren’s safes,” the novel says. Although, elsewhere in the novel, Fitzgerald himself emphasizes that the older sister Nicole did not at all seek to become related to Dick, and did not want to agree to their marriage. And this was when the future groom himself believed that Miss Warren was making such plans.

Dick was burdened by their financial inequality, but no one forced him to use this money. Another thing is that a person gets the opportunity to relax, live for his own pleasure, this becomes a habit, and painstaking everyday work is no longer attractive.

He was generally attracted to freedom, and was burdened by the fact that he had to “belong” to someone. Nicole clung to him too much and didn’t let him breathe. But he received this freedom when he could no longer enjoy it. Nicole has recovered. And he himself was destroyed.

At the end of the book, Dick, who has quarreled with many of his old friends, begins to play the role of his former self for the sake of laughter. Flatters, says compliments. And his friend Mary immediately responds, looking at him with admiration.

Dick knew and felt people too well, they are so easy to please, they buy into the rudest flattery. He simply lost the desire to play everyone's good friend, he became bored and sick. The ardent love for his wife has passed. But the feeling that he and Nicole are welded together, she is his destiny and the other half, his pain and his cross, remains. Despite the divorce and the beginning of a new life for the recovered patient, it seems that the connection between them cannot be completely broken. And something from the previous feeling, while they are alive, cannot disappear, fade and dissolve in the depths of memory.

Dick’s thoughts on exploring the boundaries of healthy and sick consciousness are very revealing: “She is too thin, fragile mentally - a product of degeneration. Perhaps, in time, she will be able to find peace in some mystical faith. And let others go to explore the borders, with a mixture of healthy peasant blood, with wide hips and thick ankles, who will accept and digest any tests of body and spirit as simply as bread and salt.
“... Not for you,” he almost said out loud. “This food is not for you.”

He thinks about one of his patients. But this is personal. My own bitter experience. Perhaps this is the story of a man who overestimated his strength.