"The Enchanted Wanderer" is one of the best works of the original Russian writer N. S. Leskov. The author himself considered the work a story, although literary critics tend to call it a story. Be that as it may, his main merit is the special image of Ivan Severyanych Flyagin, incomparable to any of the heroes of Russian literature, a man with a truly Russian soul, whom Leskov skillfully portrayed.

"The Enchanted Wanderer": a summary of chapter 1

The story begins with a message that a group of random fellow travelers were heading along Lake Ladoga to Valaam. On the way we stopped at Korela, which, according to one of the passengers, could become perfect place for the life of exiles. A conversation began that a seminarian had somehow been exiled to Korela, and soon he hanged himself. So they moved on to the question of suicides, and a man who had not been noticed before stood up for the disgraced deacon.

Middle-aged (by appearance he could have been given for fifty), huge, swarthy-skinned, with leaden hair, he looked more like a Russian hero. Meanwhile, the cassock, wide monastic belt and high cap indicated that this passenger could be a novice or a tonsured monk. This is how N. Leskov introduces his hero to the reader.

"The Enchanted Wanderer", summary which you are reading, continues with the story of a Chernorian about a man who received permission to pray for suicides. It was a drunkard priest, whom the Eminent Bishop deprived of his place. At first, the punished monk wanted to take his own life, but then he thought that then his sinful soul would not find peace. And he began to mourn and pray fervently. Vladyka somehow dreamed of the holy father Sergius, asking for mercy for that same priest. After a while, the Eminence again saw a strange dream. With a roar, the knights galloped in it and prayed: “Let him go! He's praying for us!" Waking up, the lord realized who the warriors were, and sent the priest to his former place.

When the Chernorian finished the story, the listeners turned to him with questions: who is he himself? It turned out that in the old days the passenger was in military service. He was a coneser and knew how to deftly tame horses. He was in captivity and in general suffered a lot in his lifetime. And he went to the monks, since the parental promise should have been fulfilled - such was the conversation and its summary.

The Enchanted Wanderer - Chapter 1 was the beginning of a big and interesting history- told the audience about his life from its very beginning.

Count's life

Ivan Severyanych Flyagin, or Golovan, was born into a family of courtyards in the Oryol province. The mother died after giving birth. There remains a legend that she did not have children for a long time and, in case of mercy, promised the baby to God. His father served as a coachman for the count, because the boy learned the art of handling horses from childhood. In the eleventh year he was already appointed a postilion. That's when this story happened. One day, the count's six, where Ivan was sitting, caught up with the cart, which did not give way in any way. A man was lying on the hay, and the hero decided to teach him a lesson: he hit him along the back with a whip. The horses rushed off at a gallop, and the monk riding on the wagon fell, got tangled in the reins, which is why he died. At night, he appeared to Flyagin and said that he was promised to God and, if he goes against fate, he will die many times, but he will not die.

Soon the first trouble happened. During the descent, the brake burst, and ahead - the abyss. Ivan rushed to the drawbar, and the horses stopped. And then flew down. Waking up, he found out that he was saved by a miracle - he fell on a block and rolled down to the bottom on it. The horses crashed, but the count escaped - Leskov ends this story. The enchanted wanderer - the summary of chapter 2 confirms this - began the difficult life path predicted by the monk.

Count Flyagin did not serve long. He started pigeons and noticed that the cat was carrying chicks. Caught in snares and chopped off the tail. It turned out that it was the hostess Zozinka. They flogged him and forced him to beat stones on his knees. Ivan could not stand it and wanted to hang himself. But the gypsies saved him and called him to him - this ends chapter 3.

in babysitters

Not long was the hero in the robbers. The gypsy forced his horses to steal, then sold them, and gave Ivan only a ruble. On that they parted, Leskov notes.

The enchanted wanderer - the chapter-by-chapter content will tell a lot more unusual about the hero - decided to get a job and ran into a gentleman. He asked who he was, and after listening, he concluded: if he took pity on the chicks, then he will look after the baby that the runaway wife left. So Flyagin began to look after the girl. She had grown up when a new trouble happened. One day, Ivan, having planted a child in the sand - so he treated her legs - dozed off, and when he woke up, he saw a strange woman holding the girl to her. She began to ask to give her daughter. The nanny did not agree to this, but every day he began to bring the child to his mother. One day her boyfriend came too. They began to fight, when suddenly the master appeared. Unexpectedly, Golovan decided to give the child to his mother and ran away with them himself. Yes, but he could not forgive himself for fighting with an officer, and soon left. A brief summary will tell about his new adventures.

Leskov, "The Enchanted Wanderer": acquaintance with Dzhangar

The hero went out into the steppe, where the fair unfolded. I noticed that a lot of people were standing in a circle, and some Tatar was sitting in the center. It was Khan Dzhangar, to whom the entire steppe from the Urals to the Volga was subordinate. There was bargaining for a beautiful mare. The neighbor told Flyagin that this always happens. The khan will sell the horses, and save the best for the last day. And then there will be a serious bargaining. Indeed, two Tatars entered into an argument. At first they gave money, then they promised the khan their daughters, and finally they began to undress. “Now the fight will go,” the neighbor explained. The Tatars sat down one against the other, took whips and began to whip each other on their bare backs. And Flyagin kept asking what the secrets of such a struggle were. When one of the Tatars fell, and the other threw a dressing gown over the horse, laid his belly on it and left, the hero got bored again. However, the neighbor noted that, for sure, Dzhangar had something else in store, and the hero perked up - Leskov sums up. The enchanted wanderer - the summary of the next chapter will confirm this - decided: if something else like this happens, he himself will take part in the competition.

The neighbor was not mistaken: the khan brought out a colt that could not be described. I decided to bargain for him and the officer to whom Ivan gave the master's daughter. He just didn't have much money. Flyagin persuaded him to bargain, saying that he would fight the Tatar himself. As a result, he flogged the enemy to death and won the horse, which he gave to the officer. True, then he had to flee to Ryn-Sands: the nomads were nothing, but the Russians wanted to judge him.

Life of the Tatars

A summary of the ten-year captivity continues. The enchanted wanderer, according to chapters 6, 7, has undergone a lot. Once at the Tatars, he tried to run, but they caught him and bristled him: they cut the skin on his heels, stuffed chopped horsehair into the wound and sewed it up. Ivan admitted that when he got to his feet for the first time after the operation, he screamed and cried in pain. Then he learned to walk on his ankles. The Tatars gave him two "Natashas": first the wife of a Tatar he had killed, and then a thirteen-year-old girl who often amused Ivan. They bore him children, but since the Tatars were not baptized, he did not consider them his own. Flyagin himself was engaged in the treatment of horses and people. I missed my homeland very much and did not stop praying.

After a while, another khan took him to him, where he met with the monks sent to Ryn-Sands to establish Christianity. And although they refused to help him, Flyagin remembered them kindly: the missionaries from the Tatars accepted death for their beliefs.

Help came unexpectedly - from the Indians, who came to the steppe to buy horses and turn the Tatars against the Russians. They began to frighten the population with their god, who allegedly sends fire. In fact, loud noises were heard at night, and sparks fell from the sky. While the Tatars scattered across the steppe and prayed to their god, Ivan saw that it was a simple firework, and decided to use it for liberation. First of all, he drove the Busurman into the river and baptized him, and then he forced him to pray. And he also found earth in boxes that corroded the skin, pretended to be sick and burned his heels for two weeks until all the stubble with pus came out. Having recovered, he caught fear in the Tatars, ordered them not to leave the yurts for three days, and he himself gave a tear. I walked for several days until I saw Russian people. Thus, he underwent many trials in captivity, as the summary shows, the enchanted wanderer. According to these chapters, one can judge that Ivan Severyanych is a brave, resolute person, devoted to his country and faith.

Homecoming

Chapter 9 ends with how Flyagin was arrested for lack of a passport and taken to the Oryol province. The countess had already died, and her husband ordered the former courtyard to be whipped and sent to the priest for confession. However, Father Ilya refused to partake of the hero because he lived with the Tatars. They gave Ivan a passport and drove him out of the yard.

Description of the further adventures of the hero, who now felt complete freedom, continues the story of Leskov.

The enchanted wanderer, a brief summary, the analysis of whose actions aroused the curiosity of the listeners more and more, ended up at a fair where they changed and sold horses. It so happened that he saved the peasant from deception: the gypsy wanted to take away his good horse. Since then, it has become a tradition: Ivan chose a good horse for a simple person, and he gave him a magarych as a reward. That's what he lived.

Soon the fame of Golovan spread far, and one prince began to ask him to teach him his wisdom. Flyagin is not a greedy person, therefore he gave advice that he himself used. However, the prince showed his complete unsuitability in this matter and called the hero to his conesers. They lived peacefully and respected each other. Sometimes, however, Ivan made exits - he gave money to the prince, warned him about absence and reveled. But one day he decided to put an end to this matter. And it so happened that the last exit was the most terrible.

The action of magnetism: content

The enchanted wanderer - according to chapters 8-9 it turned out that he fell under the power of a good connoisseur of human psychology - said that the prince had a wonderful mare. And then one day they went separately to the fair. Suddenly, Ivan receives an order: to bring the owner Dido, his beloved horse. The hero was very upset, but since there was no opportunity to transfer the money he received for the fair to the prince, he decided to postpone his exit. And went to the tavern to drink tea. There he found an amazing scene: a man promised to eat glass for a glass of wine. And he did it. Flyagin took pity on the sufferer and decided to treat him. During the conversation, a new acquaintance said that he was engaged in magnetism and could save a person from his weaknesses. Ivan did not want to drink the first glass needed for the job, but he poured the third one himself. The only thing that calmed him down was that he drinks for treatment - he noted, talking about the conversation that took place to the audience and passing on its summary, the enchanted wanderer. Chapter 11 ends with taking them out of the inn just before closing.

And then some incomprehensible things happened: faces were seen running across the road, and a gentleman acquaintance either slandered something not in Russian, then drove his hands over his head, then fed him sugar ... In the end they ended up in some house, in where the candles burned and the sounds of music were heard.

Acquaintance with the Pear

A lot of people gathered in a large room, among which he saw Flyagin and acquaintances. And in the center stood a beautiful gypsy. Having finished singing the song, she went in a circle, giving the guests a glass. And they drank champagne and put gold and banknotes on a tray and received a kiss as a reward. She wanted to pass by the hero, but the gypsy called out to her, noting that they welcome any guest. Ivan drank and took out a hundred rubles, for which he was immediately rewarded and taken to the front row. And so the whole evening. And at the end of it, when everyone just started throwing gold and money, he started dancing and threw all five thousand from behind the bosom under the beauty’s feet. But I definitely stopped drinking from that day on. Here, as Leskov notes, an enchanted wanderer got into such an incredible story. The summary of Chapter 11 and the description of the evening at the Gypsies revealed to the listeners a new side of the character of the Chernorizet - a naive, kind, open person.

The gypsies brought Ivan to the prince. He wanted to punish him first, but since he himself lost all the money today, he forgave him. And then the hero had a fever, and he woke up only a few days later. First of all, he went to the prince to work off the debt, but found out that his master himself was fascinated by the gypsy and is now ready for anything for her. And then he brought the girl, saying that he had mortgaged the estate and retired. The pear began to sing, but burst into tears, which stirred up the soul of the prince. He began to sob, and the gypsy suddenly calmed down and began to comfort him.

Killing Pear

At first, the prince lived well with the gypsy, but as a changeable person, he soon lost interest in the girl. It also tormented the fact that he remained a beggar because of her. The prince began to appear less and less at home. Flyagin, meanwhile, became attached to Grusha and fell in love with her like his own. And so the girl began to ask Golovan to find out if anyone was with the prince. This began another tragic story, which Leskov describes in detail in the last chapters.

“The Enchanted Wanderer”, the summary of which you are reading, continues with a description of the meeting of the prince with ex-lover and the mother of his daughter, Evgenia Semyonovna. It was to her that Ivan Severyanych went after a conversation with Grusha. She said that the prince was going to buy a factory in the city and that today he should call in to see his daughter. Soon the bell rang, and the hero was about to leave. But the nanny, who saw Ivan as an interlocutor, offered to hide in the dressing room and listen to the conversation. So Flyagin became aware that the prince wanted Yevgenya Semyonovna to mortgage the house he had bought for his daughter and lend him money. On them he will buy a factory, collect, thanks to Golovan, orders and improve things. And the bored Pear can be married off to Ivan Severyanych - this is how the prince ended the conversation (here is a summary of it).

Leskov - "The Enchanted Wanderer" confirms by chapters that Flyagin was really destined to die many times, but not to die - again puts the hero before a choice. Although Ivan Severyanych was very attached to the gypsy, he could not marry her: he knew how much the prince's girl loved. And he also understood that she, with her proud character, was unlikely to come to terms with such a decision. Therefore, having made orders for the owner, he immediately went to visit Grusha. However, in the prince's house he found only large reconstructions - the girl was not there. The first thought that came to mind frightened him, but the hero nevertheless went in search, which was crowned with success. It turned out that the prince settled the girl in a new place, and he himself decided to marry. By deceit, Grusha managed to escape - she certainly wanted to see Ivan Severyanych. And now, at a meeting, she admitted that there is no urine to live like this, and she considers suicide a terrible sin. After these words, she gave Golovan a knife and asked him to stab him in the heart. The flask had no choice but to push the girl into the river, and she drowned. So sadly ended this page in the life of a Chernorizet.

In military service

Having committed, albeit forced, but murder, Ivan Severyanych wanted to be away from these places. On the road I met weeping peasants: they escorted their son to the soldiers. Flyagin named himself after him and went to the Caucasus, where he served for more than fifteen years. He also accomplished a feat: he swam across the river under Tatar bullets and prepared a bridge for the crossing. Such was the service for which the enchanted wanderer received the St.

Chapter by chapter, the analysis helps to consistently recreate the image of a powerful, honest, disinterested person, true to his ideals. After the service, he will still be an actor and stand up for the girl. And then, nevertheless, he will fulfill the promise given to God by his mother, and settle in a monastery. But here, too, troubles do not leave him: either the imps are naughty and embarrassed, or Peter the Apostle will appear. And now the Chernorian is heading to Solovki, where he wants to bow to Saints Savvaty and Zosima.

The main character's story was made so long and interesting - the most important parts of it are included in the summary - Leskov. "The Enchanted Wanderer" chapter by chapter, sequentially, introduced the reader to the life of one of the remarkable Russian people - Ivan Severyanych Flyagin. By the way, his adventures are unlikely to end with this, since after Solovki the hero plans to return to the service again.

Nikolay Leskov

The Enchanted Wanderer

Chapter first

We sailed along Lake Ladoga from the island of Konevets to Valaam, and on the way we stopped by ship's need at the pier near Korela. Here, many of us were curious to go ashore and rode peppy Chukhon horses to a deserted town. Then the captain prepared to go on, and we set sail again.

After visiting Korela, it is quite natural that the conversation turned to this poor, albeit extremely old Russian village, sadder than which it is difficult to invent anything. Everyone on the ship shared this opinion, and one of the passengers, a man prone to philosophical generalizations and political playfulness, remarked that he could not understand why it was customary to send people uncomfortable in St. Petersburg somewhere to more or less remote places, why, of course, there is a loss to the treasury for their transportation, while right there, near the capital, there is such an excellent place on the Ladoga coast as Korela, where any freethinking and freethinking cannot resist the apathy of the population and the terrible boredom of oppressive, stingy nature.

I am sure, - said this traveler, - that in the present case, routine is certainly to blame, or in extreme cases, perhaps, the lack of underlying information.

Someone who often travels here answered this, saying that some exiles lived here at different times, but only all of them did not seem to endure for long.

One young seminarian was sent here as a deacon for rudeness (I could not even understand this kind of reference). So, having arrived here, he put up a lot of courage and kept hoping to raise some kind of judgment; and then, as soon as he drank, he drank so much that he completely went crazy and sent such a request that it would be better to order him as soon as possible "to be shot or given to the soldiers, but for being unable to hang."

What was the resolution to this?

M... n... I don't know, right; only he still did not wait for this resolution: he hanged himself without permission.

And he did a great job,” replied the philosopher.

Wonderful? - asked the narrator, obviously a merchant, and, moreover, a respectable and religious man.

But what? at least died, and ends in the water.

How are the ends in the water, sir? And in the next world, what will happen to him? Suicides, because they will suffer for a century. No one can even pray for them.

The philosopher smiled venomously, but did not answer, but on the other hand, a new opponent came up against him and against the merchant, who unexpectedly stood up for the sexton, who had committed the death penalty on himself without the permission of his superiors.

It was a new passenger who sat down from Konevets not noticeably for any of us. Until now, Od had been silent, and no one had paid any attention to him, but now everyone looked at him, and, probably, everyone was amazed at how he could still remain unnoticed. He was a man of enormous stature, with a swarthy, open face and thick, wavy, lead-coloured hair: his gray cast so strangely. He was dressed in a novice cassock with a wide monastic belt belt and a high black cloth cap. He was a novice or a tonsured monk - it was impossible to guess, because the monks of the Ladoga Islands, not only when traveling, but also on the islands themselves, do not always wear kamilavkas, and in rural simplicity they confine themselves to caps. This new companion of ours, who later turned out to be extremely interesting person, in appearance one could give with a little over fifty years; but he was in the full sense of the word a hero, and, moreover, a typical, simple-hearted, kind Russian hero, reminiscent of grandfather Ilya Muromets in the beautiful picture of Vereshchagin and in the poem of Count A. K. Tolstoy. It seemed that he would not walk in duckweed, but would sit on a “chubar” and ride in bast shoes through the forest and lazily sniff how “dark forest smells of resin and strawberries.”

But, with all this good innocence, it didn’t take much observation to see in him a man who had seen a lot and, as they say, “experienced”. He carried himself boldly, self-confidently, although without unpleasant swagger, and spoke in a pleasant bass with habit.

It all means nothing,” he began, lazily and softly letting out word by word from under his thick, upward, twisted gray mustache, like a hussar. - I, what are you saying about the other world for suicides, that they seem to never forgive, I do not accept. And that there is no one to pray for them is also nothing, because there is such a person who can very easily correct their entire situation in the easiest manner.

He was asked: who is this person who knows and corrects the cases of suicides after their death?

But someone, - answered the hero-Chernorizet, - there is a priest in the Moscow diocese in one village - a grieving drunkard who was almost cut off - so he wields them.

How do you know?

And pardon me, sir, I’m not the only one who knows this, but everyone in the Moscow district knows about it, because this matter went through the most eminent Metropolitan Filaret.

There was a short pause, and someone said that all this is rather doubtful.

The Chernorizian was not in the least offended by this remark and answered:

Yes, sir, at first glance it is so, sir, it is doubtful, sir. And why is it surprising that it seems doubtful to us, when even His Eminence themselves did not believe this for a long time, and then, having received proof of this, they saw that it was impossible not to believe this, and believed it?

Passengers pestered the monk with a request to tell this wonderful story, and he did not refuse this and began the following:

They narrate in such a way that, as if once, one dean writes to His Eminence Vladyka, that, as if, he says, so and so, this terrible drunkard, he drinks wine and is not good for the parish. And it, this report, on one essence was fair. Vladyko was ordered to send this priest to them in Moscow. They looked at him and see that this priest is really a zapivashka, and decided that there was no place for him. The popik was upset and even stopped drinking, and he is still killing himself and mourning: “What, he thinks, have I brought myself to, and what should I do now, if not lay hands on myself? This alone, he says, is the only thing left for me: then, at least, the lord will take pity on my unfortunate family and will give the bridegroom's daughters to take my place and feed my family. That's good: so he decided to end himself urgently and determined the day for that, but only as he was a man of a good soul, he thought: “It's good; if I die, let's say I die, but I'm not a beast: I'm not without a soul - where will my soul go then? And he began to grieve even more from this hour. Well, it’s good: he mourns and mourns, but Vladyka decided that he should be without a place for his drunkenness, and one day, after a meal, they lay down on the sofa with a book to rest and fell asleep. Well, it’s good: they fell asleep or just dozed off, when they suddenly see that the doors to their cell are opening. They called out, "Who's there?" - because they thought that the servant had come to report to them about someone; en, instead of a servant, they look - an old man enters, kind, kind, and his lord now learned that this is St. Sergius.

Lord and say:

“Is it you, Holy Father Sergius?”

And the servant replies:

"I, the servant of God Philaret".

The Lord is asked:

“What does your purity want from my unworthiness?”

And Saint Sergius answers:

"I want mercy."

“To whom will you command to reveal it?”

And the saint named the priest who was deprived of his place for drunkenness, and he himself retired; and the lord woke up and thought: “What is this to be considered: is it a simple dream, or a dream, or a spiritual vision?” And they began to meditate, and, like a man of mind eminent in the whole world, they find that this is a simple dream, because is it sufficient that St. Sergius, a fasting and guardian of a good, strict life, interceded for a weak priest, who creates life with negligence. Well, sir, well: His Eminence judged thus and left the whole matter to its natural course, as it had been begun, while they themselves spent their time as they should, and went back to sleep at the proper hour. But as soon as they fell asleep again, like a vision again, and such that the great spirit of the lord plunged into even greater confusion. Can you imagine: a roar ... such a terrible roar that nothing can express it ... They gallop ... they have no number, how many knights ... rush, all in green attire, armor and feathers, and horses that are lions, black, and in front of them is a proud stratopedarch in the same attire, and wherever he waves the dark banner, everyone jumps there, and on the banner there are snakes. Vladyka does not know what this train is for, and this proud man commands: “Torment,” he says, “them: now there is no prayer book for them,” and galloped past; and behind this stratopedarch his warriors, and behind them, like a flock of skinny spring geese, boring shadows stretched, and everyone nods sadly and pitifully to the lord, and all quietly moan through weeping: “Let him go! He is the only one who prays for us. Vladyka, how deigned to get up, now they are sending for a drunken priest and asking: how and for whom does he pray? And the priest, due to spiritual poverty, was completely at a loss before the saint and said: “I, Vladyka, do it as it should be.” And by force his eminence achieved that he obeyed: “I’m guilty,” he says, “of one thing, that he himself, having weakness of soul and thinking from despair that better life deprive myself, I am always on the holy proskomedia for those who died without repentance and lay hands on myself, I pray ... ”Well, then the lord realized that behind the shadows in front of him in the seat, like skinny geese, they swam, and did not want to please those demons that ahead of them they hurried with destruction, and blessed the priest: "Go - deigned to say - and do not sin against that, but for whom you prayed - pray," - and again they sent him to his place. So he, such a person, can always be useful to such people that they cannot endure life of struggle, because he will not back down from the audacity of his calling and everything will bother the creator for them, and he will have to forgive them.

"The Enchanted Wanderer - 01"

We sailed along Lake Ladoga from the island of Konevets to Valaam, and on the way we stopped by ship's need at the pier near Korela. Here, many of us were curious to go ashore and rode peppy Chukhon horses to a deserted town. Then the captain prepared to go on, and we set sail again.

After visiting Korela, it is quite natural that the conversation turned to this poor, albeit extremely old Russian village, sadder than which it is difficult to invent anything. Everyone on the ship shared this opinion, and one of the passengers, a man prone to philosophical generalizations and political playfulness, remarked that he could not understand why it was customary to send people who were inconvenient in St. Petersburg somewhere to more or less remote places, why, of course, there is a loss to the treasury for their transportation, while right there, near the capital, there is such an excellent place on the Ladoga coast as Korela, where any freethinking and freethinking cannot resist the apathy of the population and the terrible boredom of oppressive, stingy nature.

I am sure, - said this traveler, - that in the present case, routine is certainly to blame, or in extreme cases, perhaps, the lack of underlying information.

Someone who often travels here answered this, saying that some exiles lived here at different times, but only all of them did not seem to endure for long.

One young seminarian was sent here as a deacon for rudeness (I could not even understand this kind of reference). So, having arrived here, he put up a lot of courage and kept hoping to raise some kind of judgment; and then, as soon as he drank, he drank so much that he completely lost his mind and sent such a request that it would be better to order him as soon as possible "to be shot or handed over to the soldiers, but for being unable to hang."

What was the resolution to this?

M... n... I don't know, right; only he still did not wait for this resolution: he hanged himself without permission.

And he did a great job,” replied the philosopher.

Wonderful? - asked the narrator, obviously a merchant, and, moreover, a respectable and religious man.

But what? at least died, and ends in the water.

How are the ends in the water, sir? And in the next world, what will happen to him? Suicides, because they will suffer for a century. No one can even pray for them.

The philosopher smiled venomously, but did not answer, but on the other hand, a new opponent came up against him and against the merchant, who unexpectedly stood up for the sexton, who had committed the death penalty on himself without the permission of his superiors.

It was a new passenger who sat down from Konevets not noticeably for any of us. Until now he was silent, and no one paid any attention to him, but now everyone looked at him, and, probably, everyone was surprised how he could still remain unnoticed. He was a man of enormous stature, with a swarthy, open face and thick, wavy, lead-coloured hair: his gray cast so strangely. He was dressed in a novice cassock with a wide monastic belt belt and a high black cloth cap. Whether he was a novice or a tonsured monk - it was impossible to guess, because the monks of the Ladoga Islands, not only when traveling, but also on the islands themselves, do not always wear kamilavkas, and in rural simplicity they confine themselves to caps. This new companion of ours, who later turned out to be an extremely interesting person, looked like he was in his early fifties; but he was in the full sense of the word a hero, and, moreover, a typical, simple-hearted, kind Russian hero, reminiscent of grandfather Ilya Muromets in the beautiful picture of Vereshchagin and in the poem of Count A.K. Tolstoy. It seemed that he would not have walked in duckweed, but would have sat on a "chubar" and rode in bast shoes through the forest and lazily sniffed how "dark forest smells of resin and strawberries."

But, with all this good innocence, it did not take much observation to see in him a man who had seen a lot and, as they say, "experienced." He carried himself boldly, self-confidently, although without unpleasant swagger, and spoke in a pleasant bass with habit.

It all means nothing,” he began, lazily and softly letting out word by word from under his thick, upward, twisted gray mustache, like a hussar. “I don’t accept what you say about the other world for suicides, that they will never say goodbye. And that there is no one to pray for them is also nothing, because there is such a person who can very easily correct their entire situation in the easiest manner.

He was asked: who is this person who knows and corrects the cases of suicides after their death?

But someone, - answered the hero-Chernorizet, - there is a priest in the Moscow diocese in one village - a grieving drunkard who was almost cut off - so he wields them.

How do you know?

And pardon me, sir, I’m not the only one who knows this, but everyone in the Moscow district knows about it, because this matter went through the most eminent Metropolitan Philaret (* 3).

There was a short pause, and someone said that all this is rather doubtful.

The Chernorizian was not in the least offended by this remark and answered:

Yes, sir, at first glance it is so, sir, it is doubtful, sir. And why is it surprising that it seems doubtful to us, when even His Eminence themselves did not believe this for a long time, and then, having received proof of this, they saw that it was impossible not to believe in the atom, and believed it?

Passengers pestered the monk with a request to tell this wonderful story, and he did not refuse this and began the following:

They narrate in such a way that it is as if one dean writes to His Eminence Vladyka, that, as if, he says so and so, this priest is a terrible drunkard, he drinks wine and is not good for the parish. And it, this report, on one essence was fair. Vladyko was ordered to send this priest to them in Moscow. They looked at him and see that this priest is really a zapivashka, and decided that there was no place for him. The popik was upset and even stopped drinking, and he is still killing himself and mourning: “What, he thinks, I have brought myself to, and what should I do now, if not to lay hands on myself? This, he says, is all that remains for me: then, at least the lord will take pity on my unfortunate family and will give the bridegroom's daughters to take my place and feed my family. That's good: so he decided to end himself urgently and determined the day for that, but as soon as he was a man of a good soul, he thought: souls, where will my soul go then?" And he began to grieve even more from this hour. Well, it’s good: he mourns and mourns, but Vladyka decided that he should be without a place for his drunkenness, and one day, after a meal, they lay down on the sofa with a book to rest and fell asleep. OK then:

they fell asleep, or so they just dozed off, when they suddenly see that the doors to their cell are opening. They called out: "Who's there?" - because they thought that the servant had come to report to them about someone; an, instead of a servant, they look - an old man enters, kind, kind, and his lord now learned that this is St. Sergius (* 4).

Lord and say:

"Is it you, Holy Father Sergius?"

And the servant replies:

"I, the servant of God Filaret."

The Lord is asked:

"What does your purity want from my unworthiness?"

And Saint Sergius answers:

"I want mercy."

"To whom will you command to reveal it?"

And the saint named the priest who was deprived of his place for drunkenness, and he himself retired; and the lord woke up and thought: "What is this to be considered: is it a simple dream, or a dream, or a spiritual vision?" And they began to meditate, and, like a man of mind eminent in the whole world, they find that this is a simple dream, because is it sufficient that St. Sergius, a fasting and guardian of a good, strict life, interceded for a weak priest, who creates life with negligence. Well, sir, well: His Eminence judged thus and left the whole matter to its natural course, as it had been begun, while they themselves spent their time as they should, and went back to sleep at the proper hour. But as soon as they fell asleep again, like a vision again, and such that the great spirit of the lord plunged into even greater confusion. Can you imagine the roar...

such a terrible roar that nothing can express it ... They jump ...

they have no number, how many knights ... rush, all in green attire, armor and feathers, and horses that are lions, black, and in front of them is a proud stratopedarch (* 5)

in the same attire, and wherever he waves a dark banner, everyone jumps there, and on the banner of snakes. Vladyka does not know what this train is for, and this prideful one commands: “Torment,” he says, “them: now there is no prayer book for them,” and galloped past; and behind this stratopedarch are his warriors, and behind them, like a flock of skinny spring geese, boring shadows stretched, and everyone nods sadly and pitifully to the lord, and all quietly moan through weeping: "Let him go! - he alone prays for us." Vladyka, how deigned to get up, now they are sending for a drunken priest and asking: how and for whom does he pray? And the priest, due to spiritual poverty, was completely at a loss before the saint and said: “I, Vladyka, do it as it should be.” And by force his eminence achieved that he confessed: “I’m guilty,” he says, “of one thing, that he himself, having weakness of soul and thinking out of despair that it’s better to take his own life, I am always on the holy proskomedia for those who died without repentance and hands on myself I’m praying…” Well, then Vladyka realized that behind the shadows in front of him in the vision, like skinny geese, they swam, and did not want to please those demons that were in a hurry with destruction in front of them, and blessed the priest: “Go, - deigned to say, “And don’t sin for that, but for whom you prayed, pray,” and again they sent him to his place. So he, such a person, can always be useful to such people that they cannot endure life of struggle, because he will not back down from the audacity of his calling and everything will bother the creator for them, and he will have to forgive them.

Why "_should_"?

But because "crowd"; after all, this was commanded from him himself, so after all, this will not change, sir.

And tell me, please, besides this Moscow priest, does no one pray for suicides?

But I don’t know, really, how can you report on this? It is not necessary, they say, to ask God for them, because they are self-governing, and by the way, maybe others, not understanding this, and pray for them. On the Trinity, not that on the day of the spirits (* 6), however, it seems that even everyone is allowed to pray for them. Then such special prayers are read. Miraculous prayers, sensitive;

seems to always listen to them.

I don't know. This should be asked of someone from the well-read: they, I think, should know; Yes, I didn't need to talk about it.

And in the ministry, have you noticed that these prayers are ever repeated?

No, sir, I didn't notice; and you, however, do not rely on my words in this, because I rarely go to the service.

Why is this?

My studies do not allow me.

Are you a hieromonk or hierodeacon?

No, I'm still just in the cassock.

Still, does that already mean you are a monk?

N... yes, sir; in general it is so revered.

The hero-Chernorizet was not in the least offended by this remark, but only thought a little and answered:

Yes, you can, and, they say, there have been such cases; but I'm already old:

I have been living for fifty-third years, and military service is not a wonder for me either.

Have you served in the military?

Served, sir.

Well, are you from the Unders, or what? the merchant asked him again.

No, not from unders.

So who is it: a soldier, or a watchman, or a shaving brush - whose cart?

No, they didn't; but only I am a real military man, I have been in regimental affairs almost from childhood.

So cantonist? (*7) - angry, the merchant sought.

Again, no.

So the dust will sort you out, who are you?

I am a _coneser_.

What-o-o taco-o-e?

I am a coneser, sir, or, as it is more common to put it, I am an expert in horses and was with the repairmen to guide them.

That's how!

Yes, sir, I took away more than one thousand horses and set off. I weaned such animals, such as, for example, there are those that rear up and rush backwards with all their spirit and now they can break the chest of a rider with a saddle pommel, but not one of them could do this with me.

How did you appease them?

I ... I am very simple, because I received a special talent for this from my nature. I’ll jump up, now, it happened, I won’t let the horse come to its senses, with its left hand with all its strength behind the ear and to the side, and with the right fist between the ears on the head, and I’ll grit my teeth terribly at her, so she even has a different brain from her forehead in the nostrils, along with blood, it will appear, - it will pacify.

Well, and then?

Then you get off, stroke it, let yourself admire her in the eyes, so that she has a good imagination in her memory, and then you sit down again and go.

And the horse then quietly goes?

She will go quietly, because the horse is smart, she feels what kind of person treats her and what he thinks about her. For example, every horse loved and felt me ​​in this reasoning. In Moscow, in the arena, there was one horse, completely out of the hands of all riders and studied, layman, such a manner that there is a rider behind the knees. Just like the devil, he grabs with his teeth, so the whole kneecap will come out. Many people died from it. Then in

The Englishman Rarey (* 8) came to Moscow - he was called the "mad pacifier", - so she, this vile horse, even almost ate him, but she nevertheless brought him to shame; but he only survived from her because, they say, he had a steel kneecap, so that although she ate him by the leg, she could not bite through and threw it off; otherwise he would die; and I sent it the right way.

Please tell us how did you do it?

With God's help, sir, because, I repeat to you, I have a gift for this.

Mr. Raray, this so-called "mad tamer", and others who took on this horse, kept all the art against his spitefulness in the occasions in order to prevent him from turning his head either on one side or the other: and I am a completely opposite means of that invented; I, as soon as the Englishman Raray refused this horse, I say: "Nothing," I say,

this is the most empty, because this horse is nothing more than a demon possessed.

An Englishman cannot comprehend this, but I will comprehend and help. "The authorities agreed. Then I say:" Take him out of the Drogomilovsky outpost!

Brought out. Good with; we led him on the reins into the hollow to Fili, where in the summer the gentlemen live in dachas. I see: here the place is spacious and comfortable, and let's act. I sat on him, on this cannibal, without a shirt, barefoot, in only trousers and a cap, and on his naked body he had a banded belt from the holy brave prince Vsevolod-Gabriel (* 9) from Novgorod, whom I greatly respected for his youth and in believed him; and on that girdle his inscription is woven: "_I will not give up my honor to anyone_". In my hands, however, I did not have any special instrument, except in one - a strong Tatar whip with a lead head, in the end it was no more than two pounds, and in the other - a simple ant (* 10) pot with batter. Well, sir, I sat down, and four people put reins in that horse’s muzzle. different sides they drag him so that he does not throw a tooth at one of them. And he, the demon, seeing that we are up in arms against him, and neighs, and squeals, and sweats, and is all cowardly with anger, he wants to devour me. I see this and tell the grooms: "Drag," I say, "quickly, get the bridle off him, the bastard." Those ears do not believe that I give them such an order, and their eyes bulged. I say: "Why are you standing there! Or don't you hear? What I order you - you must do it now!" And they answer: "What are you, Ivan

Severyanych (in the world Ivan Severyanych, Mr. Flyagin, my name was): how, -

they say, “Is it possible that you order the bridle to be removed?” I began to get angry with them, because I watched and felt in my legs how the horse was furious with rage, and I crushed it well in the knees, and I shouted to them: “Take it off!” They were another word; but here I was already completely furious and how I would grind my teeth - they now pulled off the bridle in an instant, and they themselves, whoever they see, rushed to run, and at that very moment I was the first thing he did not expect, fuck the pot about forehead:

he broke the pot, and the dough flowed into his eyes and nostrils. He was frightened, thinking: "What is this?" But I rather grabbed the cap from my head in my left hand and directly rubbed the horse’s eyes even more dough with it, and snapped it on the side with a whip ... He went ahead, and I rub his cap with a cap over his eyes to completely cloud his eyesight , and with a whip on the other side ... Yes, and he went, and he went to soar. I don’t let him breathe or look through, I smear the dough all over his muzzle with my cap, I blind him, I tremble with teeth gnashing, scare him, and on the sides on both sides with a whip so that he understands that this is not a joke ... He understood this and did not begin to persist in one place, but began to carry me. He carried me, dear, wore me, and I flogged him and flogged him, so that the harder he wears, the more zealously I try for him with a whip, and, finally, both of us began to get tired of this work: my shoulder hurts and my arm does not rise, and, I see, he has already stopped squinting and stuck his tongue out of his mouth. Well, here I see that he asks for pardon, quickly got off of him, rubbed his eyes, took him by the tuft and said: "Stop, dog meat, dog food!" but as soon as I pull him down, he fell on his knees before me, and from that time on he became such a modest man that it was better not to demand: he would sit down and ride, but he soon died.

Exhausted though?

Izdoh-with; he was a very proud creature, he humbled himself by his behavior, but apparently he could not overcome his character. And Mr. Rarey then, having heard about this, invited me to his service.

Well, did you serve him?

From what?

Yes, how can I tell you! The first thing is that I was a coneser and more accustomed to this part - for a choice, and not for departure, and he needed only one furious pacification, and the second, that this, as I believe, was one insidious trick on his part .

What is it?

He wanted to take a secret from me.

Would you sell to him?

Yes, I would sell.

So what was the matter?

So... he must have been afraid of me himself.

Tell me, please, what is this story?

There was no special story, but only he says: "Tell me, brother, your secret - I will give you big money and take it to my cones." But since I could never deceive anyone, I answer: "What is the secret? - this is stupidity." But he takes everything from an English, scientific point of view and did not believe it; says: “Well, if you don’t want to open it like that, in your form, then let’s drink rum with you.” After that, we drank a lot of rum together with him, to the point that he flushed and said as best he could: "Well, now, they say, open what you did with the horse?" And I answer: "That's what ..." - yes, he looked at him as scarily as possible and gritted his teeth, but as he didn’t have a pot of dough with him at that time, he took it and, for example, waved a glass at him, and he suddenly, seeing how he dived - and went down under the table, and then how he shuffled to the door, and he was like that, and there was nowhere to look for him.

So we haven't seen him since.

Is that why you didn't join him?

Therefore, s. And what should I do when since then he was even afraid to meet me? And I would really like to see him then, because I liked him very much, while we competed with him on rum, but, it’s true, you can’t avoid your path, and you had to follow another calling.

What do you consider to be your calling?

But I really don’t know how to tell you ... After all, I happened a lot, I happened to be on horses, and under horses, and I was a prisoner, and fought, and I myself beat people, and they maimed me, so maybe not everyone would have endured.

When did you go to the monastery?

This is recently, sir, just a few years after my whole past life.

Did you also feel called to it?

M... n... n... I don't know how to explain it... however, one must assume that he had, sir.

Why are you saying this... as if you're not sure?

Yes, because how can I say for sure when I can’t even embrace all my vast elapsed vitality?

Why is this?

Because, sir, I did a lot of things not even of my own free will.

And whose is it?

By parental promise.

And what happened to you but the parental promise?

All my life I have been dying, and I could never die.

Like so?

Exactly so.

Tell us, please, your life.

Why, then, if I remember, then, if you please, I can tell, but I cannot do otherwise, sir, as from the very beginning.

Do me a favor. This will be all the more interesting.

Well, I don’t know, sir, whether it will be of any interest, but if you please listen.

The former koneser Ivan Severyanych, Mr. Flyagin, began his story like this:

I was born into a serf and come from the household of Count K.

(*11) from the Oryol province. Now these estates have become blurred under the young masters, but under the old count they were very significant. In the village of G., where the count himself deigned to live, there was a huge, great domino, an outbuilding for arrivals, a theater, a special bowling gallery, a kennel, live bears sat on a pole, gardens, they sang their singing concerts, their actors presented all sorts of scenes;

they had their own weaving shops, and kept all their craftsmanship; but most attention was paid to the stud farm. Special people were assigned to every business, but the stable part was still in special attention, and all the same, just as in military service the cantonist came from a soldier in the old days to fight, so our coachman went from a coachman to ride, from a groom - stables to follow the horses, and from the fodder peasant -

a feeder to carry food from the threshing floor to the workers (* 12). My parent was a coachman

Severyan, and although he was not one of the very first coachmen, because we had a large number of them, nevertheless, he ruled with six and on the royal passage once in the seventh issue was also an old blue banknote

(*13) complained. From my parent I was left in the youngest orphanage and I don’t remember her, because I was her _prayer son_, which means that she, having no children for a long time, begged me from God for everything and how she begged, so immediately, giving birth to me, and died because I was born with an unusually large head, so that's why my name was not Ivan

Flyagin, but simply _Golovan_. Living with my father in the coachman's yard, I spent my whole life in the stable, and then I comprehended the secret of knowledge in the animal and, one might say, fell in love with the horse, because when I was still small on all fours I crawled between the horses' legs, and they did not mutilate me, and grew up, and completely confessed to them. We had a separate factory, stables - separately, and we, stable people, did not touch the factory, but received ready-made pupils from there and trained them. Every coachman with a postilion had sixes with us, and that was all. different varieties: Vyatkas, Kazankas, Kalmyks, Bityutsky, Don

All these were from drive horses that were bought at fairs, otherwise, of course, there were more of our own, factory ones, but it’s not worth talking about these, because factory horses are meek and have neither a strong character nor a cheerful fantasy, but these savages They were terrible animals. The count used to buy them in whole shoals, like the whole herd, cheaply, eight rubles, ten rubles a head, well, as soon as we bring them home, now we begin to school them. They are terribly opposed. Half even used to die, but they are not amenable to education: they stand in the yard - everyone marvels and even shy away from the walls, and everyone only squints at the sky, like birds. Even an Indian will take pity, looking at another, because you see that he would seem to be warm-hearted like that, and fly away, but he has no wings ... And at first neither drink nor eat oats or water from a trough will not, and so everything dries up, dries up, until it is completely exhausted and dies. Sometimes this waste is more than half of what we buy, and especially from the Kyrgyz. Terribly they love the steppe will. Well, on the other hand, those who frill and stay alive, of those, too, a considerable number, having learned, will have to cripple, because there is only one remedy for their savagery - severity, but on the other hand, those who endure all this education and science, so such selection comes out of these that never with no factory horse can be compared with them in riding virtue.

My parent, Severyan Ivanych, ruled the Kirghiz six, and when I grew up, they put me in the same six as a postilion to him. The horses were cruel, not like the current cavalry ones, which they take for officers. We called these officer kofishenkas, because there is no pleasure in riding them, since officers can even sit on them, and they were just a beast, an asp and a basilisk, all together: these muzzles are dressed; what they cost, or a grin, or a knife, or a mane ... well, that is, just to say, horror! Tired they never knew; not only eighty, but even one hundred and fifteen versts from the village to Orel or back home in the same manner, it happened to them that they could not do it without rest. As they scatter, just look so that they don’t fly by. And at that time, when I sat on the postillion seat, I was still only eleven years old, and my voice was real, such as, according to the decency of that time, it was required for noble postilions: the most shrill, sonorous and so long that I could do it " dddi-di-i-i-ttt-s-o-o "start and ring like that for half an hour; but in my body I was not yet powerful, so that I could not freely endure long journeys on horseback, and they still sat me on a horse, that is, on a saddle and girths, they wrapped everything with belts and made it so that it was impossible to fall. It will smash to death, and not even once you will succumb and lose your feelings, but you still ride in your position, and again, tired of dangling, you will come to your senses. The position is not easy; along the way, it happened several times that such changes occur, then you get weaker, then you improve, and at home they will completely remove you from the saddle, put them down and start giving horseradish a sniff; well, then I got used to it, and it all happened for nothing; still, it used to be that you were driving and still striving to pull out some peasant you met with a whip on the shirt. This postillion mischief is already known. This is how we once again go with the count to visit. The weather is beautiful in summer, and the count is sitting with the dog in an open carriage, the father rules fours, and I blow in front, and the road turns off the highway here, and there is a special turn of fifteen miles to the monastery, which is called P ... deserts (* 14 ). The monks made this path so that it would be more tempting to go to them: supernaturally, there; on the state road, evil spirits and willows, only clumsy rods stick out; but the monks’ path to the desert is clean, all marked out and cleaned, and overgrown with planted birches along the edges, and from those birches there is such greenery and spirit, and in the distance the field view is extensive ... In a word, it’s so good that it would be like this when all this I cried out, and, of course, it is impossible to scream without a way, so I hold on, I gallop; but only suddenly, on the third or fourth verst, before reaching the monastery, it began to bend like that under the scissors, and suddenly I saw a small dot ahead of me. .. something is crawling along the road like a hedgehog. I

rejoiced at this occasion and sang with all his might "dddd-and-and-and-t-t-t-s-o-o", and it all sounded from a mile away, and flared up so much that as soon as we began to catch up with a double wagon, at whom I shouted, I began to rise in the stirrups and see that the man was lying on the hay on the wagon, and as the sun warmed him, no doubt, pleasantly on the fresh wind, he, fearing nothing, was sleeping soundly, so sweetly stretched out with his back up and even spread his arms apart, as if hugging him. I see that he won’t turn any more, I took him aside, and, having caught up with him, standing on the stirrups, for the first time then he gritted his teeth and like a log with all his might along his back with a whip. His horses will pick him up with a cart downhill, and he will immediately take off, an old sort of, like this, like me, none, in a novice cap, and his face is somehow as pitiful as that of an old woman, but all frightened, and tears flow , and well, curl in the hay, like a gudgeon in a pan, but suddenly he didn’t make out, probably, waking up, where the edge was, but somersault from the wagon under the wheel and in the dust crawled ... he wrapped his legs in the reins ... Me, and my father, and the count himself, at first thought it was funny, how he tumbled, and then I see that the horses below, by the bridge, have hooked the wheel on a gouge and have become, but he does not rise and turn ... We drove closer, I look , he is all gray, covered in dust, and even his nose does not appear on his face, but only a crack, and blood comes out of it ... The count ordered to stop, got off, looked and said: "Killed." They threatened to flog me at home for this and ordered me to go to the monastery as soon as possible. From there they sent people to the bridge, and the count talked with the abbot there, and in the fall a whole convoy went from us there as gifts with oats, and with flour, and with dried crucian carp, and my father with a whip in the monastery behind the barn pulled through my pants, but really they didn’t flog, because, according to my position, now I had to sit on horseback again. That was the end of the matter, but on the same night this monk, whom I spotted, came to me in a vision, and again, like a woman, weeps. I

"What do you want from me? Go away!"

And he answers:

"You, - he says, - decided me without repentance of life."

“Well, there’s not much left,” I answer. “What am I to do with you now?

“It’s over,” he says, “it’s really true, and I’m very grateful to you for this, and now I’ve come from your own mother to tell you that you know that you are her _prayed_ son?”

“Well,” I say, “I heard about it, grandmother Fedosya told me about it more than once.”

“Do you know,” he says, “you also that you are the promised son?”

"How it is?"

"And so, - he says, - that you are promised to God."

"Who promised me to him?"

"Your mother."

“Well, let it be,” I say, “she herself will come and tell me about it, otherwise you, perhaps, invented it.”

“No, I didn’t invent it,” she says, “but she can’t come.”

“So,” he says, “because what we have here is not what you have on earth:

not everyone here talks and not everyone walks, and whoever is gifted with something does it.

And if you want, - he says, - then I will give you a sign as a witness.

"I want, - I answer, - but what is the sign?"

“But,” he says, “it’s a sign for you that you will die many times and you will never die until your real death comes, and then you will remember your mother’s promise for you and go to blacks.”

"Wonderful," I answer, "I agree and expect."

He disappeared, and I woke up and forgot about all this and do not expect that all these deaths are now in a row and will begin. But only after a while we went with the count and the countess to Voronezh, to the newly-appeared relics

(* 15) they took the little clubfoot countess there for healing, and they stopped in the Yelets district, in the village of Krutoy, to feed the horses, and again I fell asleep under the deck, and I see that the nun whom I decided comes again and says:

"Listen, Golovanka, I'm sorry for you, ask the gentlemen to the monastery soon

They'll let you in."

I answer:

"For what reason?"

And he says:

"Well, look how much evil you will suffer otherwise."

I think it's okay; you need to croak something when I killed you, and with that I got up, harnessed the horses with my father, and we leave, and the mountain here is twisting and twisting, and on the side there is a cliff in which then who knows what people died. Count and says:

"Look, Golovan, be careful."

And I was good at it, and even though the reins from the drawbars, which need to be lowered, are in the hands of the coachman, I knew how to help my father a lot. His drawbars were strong and stubborn: they could lower them so that they just sat down on the ground with their tail, but one of them, a scoundrel, was with astronomy - as soon as you pull him hard, he now pulls his head up and knows where his dust contemplates. These astronomers are in the root - there are none worse, and especially in the drawbar they are the most dangerous, always watch the postillion horse with such habit, because the astronomer himself does not see how he pokes his feet, and who knows where he gets. I knew all this, of course, from my astronomer and always helped my father: I used to hold my saddle and assistant on my left elbow with reins and put them in such a way that they fall with their drawbar tails in the very muzzle, and their drawbar is between the croups, and I myself always have a whip at the ready, the astronomer is in front of my eyes, and I just see that he has already climbed very high into the sky, I will snore him, and he will now lower his face, and we will go perfectly. So this time too:

we lower the carriage, and I turn around, you know, in front of the drawbar and whip of the astronomer I calm down, when I suddenly see that he doesn’t feel either my father’s reins or my whip, his whole mouth is bloody from the bit and his eyes are turned out, and I myself suddenly hear, from behind something creaked, and bang, and the whole crew immediately poked their heads in ...

The brake has blown! I shout to my father: "Hold it! Hold it!" And he himself yells: "Hold!

hold on!" And why hold on, when the whole six rush like lepers and see nothing themselves, and suddenly something chirped before my eyes, and I saw that my father and the goat were flying away ... the reins broke ... And in front of that a terrible abyss ... I don’t know if I felt sorry for the masters or myself, but only I, seeing imminent death, rushed from the saddle straight to the drawbar and hung at the end ... I don’t know again how much weight I had then, but only because it weighs very heavily on the edge, and I choked the drawbars so much that they wheezed and ... I look, my advanced ones are already gone, as they were cut off, and I hang over the abyss itself, and the crew stands and rested against the indigenous, whom I drawl suppressed.

It was only then that I came to my senses and came to fear, and my hands were torn off, and I flew and I don’t remember anything anymore. I also woke up, I don’t know how long after, and I see that I’m in some kind of hut and a healthy man says to me:

"Well, are you really alive, little one?"

I answer:

"Must be alive."

"Do you remember," he says, "what happened to you?"

I began to remember and remembered how the horses carried us and I rushed to the end of the drawbar and hung over the pit; What happened next, I don't know.

And the man smiles:

“Yes, and where, - he says, - do you know this. There, into the abyss, and your advanced horses didn’t fly alive - they were hurt, and it’s like some invisible force saved you: as if you fell on a clay block, fell, so on down, as if on a sleigh, and rolled down. We thought you were completely dead, but we looked - you were breathing, only the air was exhausted. Well, now, - he says, - if you can, get up, hurry to the saint: the count left money for you, if you die, bury, and if you live, bring him to Voronezh.

I went, but all the way I didn’t say anything, but listened to how this peasant who was carrying me was playing the “lady” on the harmony.

As soon as we arrived in Voronezh, the count called me to the rooms and said to the countess:

“Here,” he says, “we, countess, owe this boy the salvation of our lives.”

The countess only shook her head, and the count said:

"Ask me, Golovan, whatever you want - I'll do everything for you."

I say:

"I don't know what to ask!"

And he says:

"Well, what do you want?"

And I thought and thought and said:

"Harmony".

The count laughed and said:

"Well, you really are a fool, but, by the way, it goes without saying, I myself, when the time comes, I will remember about you, and he will buy the harmony right away," he says.

The footman went to the shops and brings me harmony to the stable.

"Here," he says, "play."

I took it and began to play, but I only see that I can’t do anything, and now I left it, and then the wanderers stole it from me the next day from under the shed.

I should have taken advantage of this opportunity of the count's grace, and at the same time, as the monk advised, to ask for a monastery; and I myself, I don’t know why, begged for harmony for myself, and thereby denied the very first calling, and therefore went from one guard to another, enduring more and more, but don’t bend anywhere until everything predicted to me by a monk in a vision in a real worldly fulfillment justified my lack of confidence.

I had no time, by this benevolence of my gentlemen, to return home with them on new horses, of which we again collected six in Voronezh, when I happened to get crested pigeons in my stable on a shelf -

dove and dove. The dove had a clay feather, and the little dove was white and so red-legged, very pretty! .. I liked them very much:

especially, it happened when a dove cooed at night, it was so pleasant to listen to, but during the day they fly between horses and sit in a manger, peck food and kiss themselves with themselves ... It is comforting to look at all this for a young child.

And after this kissing, their children went; they brought out one pair, and these grow again, and they kissed and kissed, and again they sat on the testicles and brought out more ... These are small pigeons, as if in wool, but there is no feather, and yellow, as there are nucleoli on the grass, which they are called "cat's prosvirki", and besides, the noses are worse, like those of Circassian princes, hefty ... I began to look at them, these pigeons, and, so as not to crush them, I took one by the nose and looked, looked at him and stared at what he was gentle, and his dove beats everything from me. I had fun with him - I tease him with this dove;

and then, as soon as he began to put the birdie back into the nest, and he no longer breathes.

Such an annoyance; I warmed him in handfuls and breathed on him, I wanted to revive everything; no, it's gone and it's full! I got angry, took it and threw it out the window. That is OK; the other remained in the nest, but this dead one, out of nowhere, some white cat ran past, and picked it up, and rushed off. And I also noticed her, this cat, that she was all white, and on her forehead, like a hat, there was a black spot. Well, yes, I think to myself, dust with her - let her eat the dead. But only at night I sleep and suddenly I hear, on a shelf above my bed, a dove beats angrily with someone. I jumped up and looked, and the night was moonlit, and I could see that it was again the same white kitty already another, my living pigeon was dragging.

"Well, - I think, - no, why, they say, do it like that?" - yes, in pursuit of her, and threw his boot, but only missed it, - so she carried away my dove and, probably, ate it somewhere. My doves were orphaned, but they didn’t get bored for long and began to kiss again, and again they had a park of children ready, and that damned cat was right there again ... Famously knows how she watched all this, but I only look, once she is among In broad daylight the little dove was dragging again, and so deftly that I had nothing to throw after her.

But on the other hand, I decided to let her through and set up such a snare in the window that as soon as she showed her face at night, then she was slammed, and she sits and stings, meows. I took it out of the snare now, stuck it with its muzzle and front paws into the top, into the boot so that it would not scratch, and took the hind legs together with the tail into my left hand, into a mitten, and took the whip off the wall with my right, and went to her study on your bed. Whips, I think, I threw her a hundred and a half, and then with all my might, to the point that she even stopped beating.

Then I took it out of my boot and thought: is it dead or not dead? Sem, I think, to try, is she alive or not? and I put her on the threshold, and cut off her tail with a hatchet: she was “muffling” like that, she shuddered all over and twisted about ten times, and she ran.

"Well, - I think, - now you probably won't go here another time to see my pigeons"; and to make it even more terrible for her, so in the morning I took her tail, which I had cut off, with a nail from the outside over my window and was very pleased with it. But just like that, after an hour or no more than two, I see the countess maid, who has never been in the stable with us, runs in, and holds an umbrella over her in her hand, and she herself shouts:

"Aha, aha! that's who! that's who!"

I say:

"What?"

"It's you," he says, "that you mutilated Zozinka? Confess: it's you who has her ponytail nailed over the window?"

I say:

"Well, what is the importance of having a ponytail pinned up?"

"But how are you, - he says, - is it dared?"

"And she, they say, how dare my pigeons eat?"

"Well, your pigeons are important!"

"Yes, and the cat, they say, is also a little lady."

You know, at an age I began to quarrel.

"What, - I say, - such a cat is such a thing."

And that dragonfly:

“How dare you say that: don’t you know that this is my cat and the Countess herself caressed it,” - yes, with this hand, grab my cheek, and I, like myself, too, from childhood, was quick at hand, without thinking for a long time, grabbed a dirty broom from the door, and with a broom around her waist ...

My God, what's up! They took me to the office of the German steward to judge, and he reasoned that I should be whipped as cruelly as possible and then out of the stable and into the English garden for the path with a hammer to beat pebbles ...

They tore me off terribly cruelly, I couldn’t even get up, and they took me to my father on a matting, but that wouldn’t matter to me, but the last condemnation, to kneel and beat pebbles ... this has already tormented me to the point that I thought - I thought about how to help myself, and decided to end my life. I saved up a strong sugar rope for myself, begged it from the footman, and went in the evening to bathe, and from there to the aspen forest for the gooseberry, knelt down, prayed for all the Christians, tied that rope to the bough, baited the noose and stuck my head in it. It remains to jump, and the whole thing would not have been long ... I would have performed all this freely from my character, but I just swung and jumped off the bough and hung, as, I see, I’m already lying on the ground, and in front of me stands a gypsy with with a knife and laughs - white, very white teeth, and so at night the middle of the black muzzle sparkles.

"What is it, - he says, - you, a laborer, are you doing?"

"And you, they say, what's up to me for the need?"

"Or, - sticks, - you live badly?"

"It can be seen, - I say, - not sugar."

"So than hang yourself with your own hand, let's go," he says, "it's better to live with us, maybe you'll hang otherwise."

"And who are you and how do you live? You must be thieves, aren't you?"

"Thieves," he says, "we are both thieves and swindlers."

"Yes; you see," I say, "but on occasion, they say, you probably cut people, too?"

"It happens," he says, "and we act."

I thought, thought, what to do here: at home tomorrow and the day after tomorrow everything is the same again, stand on the path on your knees and tyup and tyup hit pebbles with a hammer, and from this handicraft, growths have already gone on my knees and there was one hearing in my ears, how everyone mocks me that the enemy German condemned me for a cat's tail to litter a whole mountain of stone. Everyone laughs. "And also,

They say that you call yourself a savior: you saved the life of the gentlemen. "It's just that my patience ran out, and, having guessed all this, that if you don't strangle yourself, then again you have to return, I waved my hand, wept and went to the robbers.

Then this cunning gypsy did not let me come to my senses and said:

“For me,” he says, “to believe you that you won’t go back, you have to take a couple of horses out of the master’s stable now, but take such, the best horses, so that we can ride them far until morning.”

I twirled: passion, how I did not want to steal; however, apparently, having called yourself a load, you will climb into the body; and I, knowing all the passages and exits to the stables, without difficulty led a couple of dashing horses beyond the threshing floor, which were completely tired and unaware, and the gypsy, even before now, took out wolf teeth from his pocket on a string and hung them on both horses around the neck, and the gypsy and I sat on them and drove off. The horses, sensing the wolf's bone on themselves, rushed so much that it is impossible to say, and by morning we stood on them a hundred miles under the city

Karachev. Then we immediately sold these horses to some janitor, took the money and came to one river and began to share. We took three hundred rubles for the horses, of course, in that time, for a bank note (*16), but the gypsy gives me only one silver ruble and says:

"Here's your share."

I found it embarrassing.

“How,” I say, “I stole those horses and could have suffered more than you, but why is my share so small?”

"Because, - answers, - that such has grown".

“This,” I say, “is nonsense: why do you take so much for yourself?”

“And again,” he says, “because I am a master, and you are still a student.”

"What, - I say, - a student, - you are all lying!" Yes, and we went with him word for word, and both of us quarreled. And finally I say:

And he answers:

"And leave me alone, brother, for Christ's sake, because you are without a passport, you will still be confused with you."

So we parted, and I was about to go to the assessor to declare that I was a runaway, but I only told this story of mine to his clerk, and he said to me:

"You're a fool, a fool: what do you want to show up for; do you have ten roubles?"

“No,” I say, “I have one ruble, but I don’t have ten rubles.”

"Well, maybe there's something else, maybe a silver cross around your neck, or that's what you have in your ear: an earring?"

"Yes, - I say, - this is an earring."

"Silver?"

"Silver, and, they say, I also have a silver cross from Mitrophany (*17)."

“Well, throw them off,” he says, “quickly, and give them to me, I’ll write you a vacation look, and go to Nikolaev, you need a lot of people there, and the passion that tramps run there from us.”

I gave him a ruble, a cross and an earring, and he wrote me a look and attached the assessor's seal and said:

“Here, you should get an increase for the seal, because I take it from everyone, but I only already regret your poverty and don’t want my hands to be not perfect. Go,” he says, “and who else needs to come to me send."

“Okay,” I think, “the merciful one is good: he took off the cross from his neck, and even regrets it.” I did not send anyone to him, but everything just went in the name of Christ without a penny of copper.

I come to this city and went to the market to get hired. Very little came out of the hired people - only three people, and also all must be exactly like me, half-tramps, and many people ran out to hire, and they are all like hot cakes and tear us, one to himself, and this to his side. I was attacked by a gentleman, huge, enormous, bigger than me, and straight away shoved everyone away from me and grabbed me by both hands and dragged me after him: he leads me, and he himself pushes the others in all directions with his fists and scolds vilely, and at the very tears in the eyes. He brought me to a little house, hastily knocked together out of God knows what, and said:

"Tell the truth: are you a fugitive?"

I say:

"A thief," he says, "or a murderer, or just a tramp?"

I answer:

"Why are you asking this?"

"And to know better what position you are suitable for."

I told everything why I ran away, and he suddenly rushed to kiss me and said:

“That’s what I need, that’s what I need! You,” he says, “it’s true, if you felt sorry for the pigeons, then you can go out my child: I’ll take you as a nanny.”

I was horrified.

"How, - I say, - in a nanny? I'm not at all related to this circumstance."

“No, this is nothing,” he says, “nothing: I see that you can be a nanny; otherwise I’m in trouble, because my wife and the repairman ran away from here out of anguish and left me a baby daughter, and I have no time and nothing to feed her.” so you feed her to me, and I'll pay you two rubles a month.

“Excuse me,” I answer, “it’s not about two rubles, but how can I cope in this position?”

"It's nothing," he says, "you're a Russian person, aren't you? A Russian person can handle everything."

"Yes, well, they say, even though I'm Russian, but I'm a man, and I'm not gifted with what it takes to bring up a baby."

“And I,” he says, “on this account, I will buy a goat from a Jew to help you: you milk it and bring up my daughter with that milk.”

I thought and said:

"Of course, they say, why not raise a child with a goat, but only everything would be, -

I say, “I think it’s better for you to have a woman for this position.”

“No, you tell me about women, please,” he answers, “don’t tell me: it’s because of them that all the stories come up here, and there’s nowhere to take them from, and if you don’t agree to nurse my child, then I’ll call the Cossacks and I'll order you to be tied up to the police, and from there they'll send you by mail. Now choose what's better for you: again, in your count's garden, crack stones on the path, or educate my child?

I thought: no, I won’t go back, and agreed to stay in the nannies. AT

On the same day we bought a white goat with a kid from a Jew. I slaughtered the goat, and my master and I ate it in noodles, and I milked the goat and began to feed the child with her milk. The child was small and so filthy, miserable:

everything squeaks. My master, his father, was an official from the Poles and never, a scoundrel, never sat at home, but always ran around his comrades to play cards, and I was alone with this little girl of mine, and I began to get used to her terribly, because boredom for me was intolerable here, and I had nothing to do with it, I practiced everything. Then I’ll put the child in the trough and wash it thoroughly, and if somewhere on the skin the powder blooms, I’ll sprinkle it with flour now;

either I comb her little head, or I shake her on my knees, or if I get very bored at home, I put it in my bosom and go to the estuary to rinse the linen - and the goat got used to us, it used to come for us to walk too. So I lived until the new summer, and my child grew up and began to stand on his hind legs, but I notice that her legs are moving like a wheel. I was about to point this out to the gentleman, but he respected nothing and only said:

"I," he says, "is what caused it here? Take it to the doctor, show it: let him see it."

I carried it, and the doctor says:

"This is an English disease, we must plant it in the sand."

And so I began to perform: I chose a place on the bank of the estuary where there is sand, and like a fine warm day, I will take both the goat and the girl and go there with them. I’ll rake the warm sand with my hands and bury the girl there waist-deep and give her sticks to play and pebbles, and our goat walks around us, nibbling grass, and I sit, sit, clasping my legs with my hands, and fall asleep and sleep.

The three of us spent whole days in this manner alone, and it was best for me out of boredom, because boredom, I repeat again, was terrible, and especially for me here in the spring, when I began to bury the girl in the sand, and to sleep over the estuary, different people went senseless dreams. As soon as I fall asleep, and the estuary roars, and from the steppe the warm wind carries me, as if with it something magical floats on me, and a terrible dream attacks: I see some kind of steppes, horses, and it’s like someone is calling me and beckons somewhere: I hear, even the name shouts: "Ivan! Ivan! Go, brother Ivan!" You will start up, you will shudder and spit: pah, there is no abyss on you, why did you cry out to me! look around: melancholy; the goat has already gone far, wandering, nibbling the grass, and the child is buried in the sand, but nothing else ... Wow, how boring! deserts, the sun and the estuary, and again you will fall asleep, and it, this current with the wind, again climbs into the soul and shouts: "Ivan! let's go, brother Ivan!" You will even swear, you will say: "Yes, show yourself, take you famously, who are you that you call me that?" And

So once I got embittered and I sit and stare halfway across the estuary, and then, like a light cloud, it rises and floats, and right at me, I think: whoa, where are you, good, still soak! But suddenly I see: it is above me that monk with a woman's face is standing, whom I had long ago, a former postilion, spotted with a whip. I say:

"Wait! go away!" And he calls so affectionately: "Let's go, Ivan, brother, let's go! You still have a lot to endure, and then you will achieve." I scolded him in a dream and said: "Where will I go with you and what else will I achieve." And he suddenly became a cloud again and showed me through himself and I don’t know what:

the steppe, people so wild, Saracens, as they happen in fairy tales in Eruslan and in Bova Korolevich; in big shaggy hats and with arrows, on terrible wild horses. And with this, what I see, I heard both laughter, and neighing, and wild laughter, and then suddenly a whirlwind ... the sand swept up in a cloud, and there is nothing, only somewhere a bell is softly ringing, and all, like a scarlet dawn, drenched in a large a white monastery is shown on the top, and winged angels with golden spears walk along the walls, and around the sea, and as an angel strikes a shield with a spear, so now around the whole monastery the sea will stir and splash, and from the abyss terrible voices will cry: "Holy!"

"Well, - I think, - again this about monasticism went to me!" - and I woke up with annoyance and in surprise I see that over my young lady someone is kneeling on the sand, of the most gentle kind, and the river overflows with a river, cries.

I looked at it for a long time, because I kept thinking: does this vision last for me, but then I see that it does not disappear, I got up and came up: I see -

the lady dug my girl out of the sand, and grabbed her in her arms, and kisses, and cries.

I ask her:

"What do you want?"

And she rushed to me and pressed the child to her chest, and she whispered:

"This is my child, this is my daughter, this is my daughter!"

I say:

"Well, what's wrong with that?"

"Give it back," he says, "to me."

“Why did you take it,” I say, “that I will give it to you?”

“Don’t you,” she cries, “don’t feel sorry for her? You see how she cuddles up to me.”

"Shut up, they say, she's a stupid child - she also huddles up to me, but I won't give her away."

"Because, they say, she is entrusted to me for observance - the goat goes with us, and I have to bring the child to the father."

She, this mistress, began to cry and wring her hands.

“Well, well,” he says, “well, if you don’t want to give the child to me, then at least don’t tell,” he says, “to my husband, but to your master that you saw me, and come here again tomorrow for this same a place with a child so that I can caress him more.

"This, they say, is another matter - I promise this and will fulfill it."

And sure enough, I didn’t say anything about her to my master, but in the morning I took the goat and the child and went back to the estuary, and the lady was already waiting. She kept sitting in the dimple, but when she saw us, she jumped out, and runs, and cries, and laughs, and in both hands she sticks toys to the child, and even hung a goat on our bell on a red cloth, and me a pipe, and a pouch of tobacco, and a comb.

"Smoke," he says, "please, this pipe, and I'll babysit the child."

And in this manner we went on a date over the estuary: the lady is all with the child, and I sleep, and sometimes she will start telling me what she is ...

she was forced to marry my master in her place ... by an evil stepmother and that ... this husband of hers is not that ... she says, she could not love in any way.

And that one... that one... another one, a repairman... something... he loves this one and complains that against his will, he says, I am... devoted to him. Because my husband, as himself, says, you know, a sloppy life, and this one with these ... well, how are they? he regrets, but only again, he says, with all this I still can’t be happy, because I feel sorry for this child too.

And now, he says, we have come here with him and are standing here in the apartment of one of his comrades, but I live under great fear that my husband will not find out, and we will soon leave, and I will again suffer about the child.

"Well, what, they say, to do: if you, having despised the law and religion, changed your rite, then you must suffer."

But she would begin to cry, and from one day to the next she began to cry more and more pitifully, and she bothered me with complaints, and suddenly, for no reason at all, she began to promise me all the money. And finally she came to say goodbye for the last time and said:

“Listen, Ivan (she already knew my name), listen,” she says, “what I’ll tell you: today,” she says, “he will come here to us.”

I'm asking:

"Who is that?"

She answers:

"Renovator".

I say:

"Well, what is my reason?"

And she tells that he had won so much money at cards at night and said that he wanted to give me a thousand rubles for her pleasure so that I, that is, give her her daughter.

"Well, this," I say, "will never happen."

“Why, Ivan?

“Well, they say, it’s a pity or not a pity, but only I didn’t sell myself either for big money or for small ones, and I won’t sell it, and therefore let all the thousands of repairmen remain with him, and your daughter with me.”

She cry and I say:

"You better not cry because I don't care."

She says:

"You are heartless, you are stone."

And I answer:

“Absolutely, they say, I’m not made of stone, but the same as everyone else, bone and sinew, and I’m a man of office and faithful: I undertook to keep the child, and take care of him.”

She convinces me that after all, judge, she says, and my own child will be better off!

"Again," I reply, "it's none of my business."

"Really," she cries, "do I really have to part with my child again?"

"But what," I say, "if you, having despised law and religion..."

But I just didn’t finish what I wanted to say, as I see, a light lancer is coming towards us across the steppe. Then the regimental regiments still walked as they should, with a force, in a real military uniform, not like the current ones, like clerks. This lancer-repairer is walking, so portly, with his hands on his hips, and his greatcoat is wide open ... he may not have any strength in him, but forcefully ... I look at this guest and think: “I wish I could be fine with bored to play with him." And

I decided that if he spoke a word to me, I would certainly be rude to him as badly as possible, and maybe, they say, we are here, God willing, we will fight for our own pleasure. This, I am delighted, will be wonderful, and what my mistress babbles to me at this time and babbles with tears, I no longer listen, but only want to play.

Only, having decided to get some kind of fun for myself, I think: how should I tease this officer so that he starts attacking me? and I sat down, took a comb out of my pocket and started scratching myself with it; and the officer goes right up to that mistress of his.

She told him - ta-ta-ta, ta-ta: everything means that I won’t give her a child.

And he strokes her head and says:

"It's nothing, darling, nothing: I'll find a remedy against him now.

Money, - he says, - we will spread it, his eyes will run wide; and if this remedy does not work, then we will simply take the child away from him, ”and with this very word he comes up to me and gives me a bunch of banknotes, and he himself says:

“Here,” he says, “here is exactly a thousand rubles, give us the child, and take the money and go wherever you want.”

And I’m deliberately ignorant, I don’t answer him soon: first I got up quietly;

then he hung the comb on his belt, cleared his throat, and then said:

"No, - I say, - this is your remedy, your honor, it will not work,"

And he took it himself, tore the papers out of his hands, spat on them and threw them away, I say:

"Tubo, - drank, fetch, pick up!"

He was upset, blushed all over, but at me; but to me, you yourself can see my complexion, - why should I cope with a uniformed officer for a long time: I shoved him so lightly, he is ready: he flew and lifted his spurs up, and the saber bent to the side. I just stamped, I stepped on this saber with his foot and I say:

“Here you are,” I say, “and I will crush your courage under my foot.”

But even though he’s bad in strength, he was a brave officer: he sees that he can’t take away his saber from me, so he untied it and with fists rushes at me with a greyhound ... Of course, and in this way he does nothing from me but bodily grief for himself I didn’t get it, but I liked how proud and noble his character was: I don’t take his money, and he didn’t pick it up either.

As we stopped fighting, I shout:

"Take it, your Excellency, pick up your money, it's good for runs!"

What do you think: after all, he did not raise, but runs straight and grabs the child;

but, of course, he takes the child by the hand, and I immediately grab the other and say:

"Well, pull it: which half will come off more."

He is screaming:

"Scoundrel, scoundrel, monster!" - and with this he spat in my face and threw the child, and only this mistress is carried away, and she screams plaintively in despair and, forcibly drawn, although she follows him, she stretches out her eyes and hands here to me and to the child ... and here I see and feel how she, as if alive, is torn in half, half to him, half to the child ... And at that very moment, from the city, suddenly I see my master, with whom I serve, and already in the hands of a gun , and he still shoots from that pistol and shouts:

"Hold them, Ivan! Hold them!"

"Well, - I think to myself, - so I'll keep them for you! Let them love!" - yes, I caught up with the lady with the lancer, I give them a child and say:

"Here you this shot! Only now me, - I say, -

take me away, otherwise he will hand me over to justice, because I have a lawless passport.

She says:

"Let's go away, my dear Ivan, let's go away, we'll live with us."

So we galloped off and the girl, my pupil, was taken away with us, and to that my master a goat, and money, and my passport remained.

All the way I, with my new gentlemen, all on the goats on the tarantass, going all the way to Penza, sat and thought: did I do it well that I beat the officer? after all, he took the oath, and defends the fatherland in a war with a saber, and the sovereign himself, according to his rank, perhaps says “you”, and I, a fool, offended him so much! .. And then I’ll change my mind, I’ll start thinking differently: where now fate will determine me; and then there was a fair in Penza, and the uhlan says to me:

"Listen, Ivan, I think you know that I can't keep you with me."

I say:

"Why not?"

“Because,” he answers, “I am an employee, and you don’t have any passport.”

"No, I had," I say, "a passport, only a fake one."

“Well, you see,” he replies, “but now you don’t even have that. Here’s two hundred rubles of money for the road and go wherever you want with God.”

And to me, I confess, I was horrified by how reluctant I was to go anywhere from them, because I loved that child; but there is nothing to do, I say:

“Well, goodbye,” I say, “I humbly thank you for your awards, but just one more thing.”

"What," he asks, "is this?"

"And then, - I answer, - that I am to blame for you, that I fought with you and was rude."

He laughed and says:

"Well, what is it, God bless you, you are a good man."

“No, sir, this,” I answer, “you never know what is good, it’s impossible like that, because it can remain on my conscience: you are the defender of the fatherland, and perhaps the sovereign himself said“ you ”to you.

“This,” he answers, “is true: when they give us a rank, they write on paper:

“Well, excuse me,” I say, “I can’t take this any further ...”

"And what, - he says, - now to do with it. That you are stronger than me and beat me, you can't take it back."

“You can’t take it out,” I say, “but at least, to ease my conscience, as you please, but if you please, hit me yourself some time.”

And took both cheeks before him puffed out.

"Yes, for what? - he says, - for what am I going to beat you?"

"Yes," I answer, "for my conscience, so that I, not without punishment, offended my sovereign officer."

He laughed, and I again puffed out my cheeks as full as possible and stood again.

He's asking:

"Why are you pouting, why are you grimacing?"

And I say:

“It’s me, like a soldier, prepared according to the article: if you please,” I say, “

hit me from both sides," and again puffed out his cheeks; and suddenly, instead of hitting me, he jumped up and kissed me and said:

"That's enough, for Christ's sake, Ivan, that's enough: I will never hit you for anything in the world, but just leave as soon as possible while Masha and her daughter are not at home, otherwise they will cry for you very much."

"Ah! that, they say, is another matter; why upset them?"

And although I didn’t want to leave, there was nothing to do: so I left quickly, without saying goodbye, and went out the gate, and stood, and I think:

"Where will I go now?" And really, how much time has passed since I ran away from the masters and wander, and I still can’t warm the place under me anywhere ... “Sabbat,” I think, “I’ll go to the police and declare myself, but

I think - again now it’s awkward that I now have money, and the police will take it all away: let me spend at least something of it, at least I’ll drink tea with pretzels in a tavern for my pleasure. "And so I went to the fair I went to the tavern, asked for tea with pretzels, and drank for a long time, and then I saw that it was impossible to continue any longer, and went to walk around.

All wagons are the same, but one is motley, motley, and around it many different gentlemen are engaged, trying out riding horses. Different - both civilians, and the military, and the landowners who came to the fair, all stand, smoke pipes, and in the middle of them, on a motley felt mat, a long, sedate Tatar, thin as a pole, in a piece dressing gown and in a gold skullcap, sits. I look around and, seeing one person who was drinking tea with me in a tavern, I ask him: what kind of important Tatar is he that he sits alone with everyone? And that person answers me:

"Something you," he says, "do not know him: this is Khan Dzhangar."

"What, they say, is Khan Dzhangar?"

And he says:

“Khan Dzhangar,” he says, “is the first steppe horse breeder, his herds go from the Volga itself to the Urals to all the Ryn-sands, and he himself, this Khan Dzhangar, is like a king in the steppe.”

"Isn't," I say, "this steppe not under us?"

“No, she,” she answers, “is under us, but only we can’t get her in any way, because there, up to the Caspian Sea, there are either salt marshes, or only grass and birds curl in the sky, and the official has absolutely nothing to take there, for this reason, - he says, - Khan Dzhangar reigns there, and he has it there, in

The ryn-sands, they say, have their own shihs, and shih-ass, and little-ass, and mothers, and Asias, and derbyshes, and lancers, and he punishes them all, as he needs, and they are happy to obey him.

I listen to these words, and I myself see that at that very time one Tatar brought a small white filly in front of this khan and began to mutter something; and he stood up, took a whip on a long whip and stood directly against the mare's head and stretched the whip to her forehead and stands. But after all, how, I will report to you, is the robber worth it? just a magnificent statue, which you have to look at yourself, and now you can see from it that he is all inside the horse peeping. And as I myself have been observant in this part since childhood, I can see that this mare herself sees in him an expert, and she herself holds herself at attention in front of him: look at me and admire! And in such a way he, this sedate Tatar, looked, looked at this mare and did not go around her, as our officers do, that out of fussiness everyone around the horse was mooing, and he looked from one point and suddenly lowered the whip, and he himself kept his fingers silently kissed on the hand: they say, antique! and again on the felt mat, crossing his legs, he sat down, and the mare now upshit, snorted and began to play.

The gentlemen who were standing here went to haggle over it: one gives a hundred rubles, and the other one and a half hundred, and so on, raising the price against each other more and more. The mare was, for sure, marvelous, not big in height, in the likeness of an Arabian, but slender, her head was small, her eye was full, apple-shaped, her ears were watchful; the barrel is the most sonorous, airy, the back is like an arrow, and the legs are light, chiseled, the most carried away. As an amateur of such beauty, I can’t take my eyes off this mare. And Khan Dzhangar sees that disgrace has come to everyone from her and the gentlemen fill her with the price, like catechumens, nodded to the grimy Tatar, and he, like jumping on her, on the swan, and well, drive her, - he sits, you know, in his own way, in the Tatar way, he hugs her with her knees, and she takes wings under him and it’s like a bird flies and doesn’t stir, but as he bends down to her little crest and hoots at her, so she, together with the sand, in one whirlwind and burns. "Oh, you snake! - I think to myself, - oh you, little bustard of the steppe, aspid! where could such a thing have been born?" And I feel that my soul rushed to her, to this horse, my dear passion. He drove her Tatar back, she puffed in both nostrils at once, puffed out and threw off all her tiredness and no longer breathes or sniffs. "Oh you, - I think, - dear; oh you, dear!" It seems that if a Tatar had asked me for her, not only my soul, but my father and mother, and he would not have regretted them, -

but where was it even to think about getting such a flyer, when there was an unknown price between the gentlemen and the repairmen, but it was still all right, when suddenly, then the bargaining was not over and no one got it, as we see , from behind Sura, from Seliksa, a greyhound rider drives on a black horse, and he himself waves a wide hat, and flew up, jumped off, threw his horse and straight to that white mare, and again stood in her heads, like the first statue, and says:

"My mare".

The khan replies:

"How not yours: the gentlemen give me five hundred coins for it."

And that horseman, a kind of huge and pot-bellied Tatar, his muzzle was tanned and all peeled off, as if the skin had been torn off, and his eyes were small, like slits, and yells at once:

"I give a hundred coins more than anyone!"

The gentlemen got into a frenzy, they promise even more, and the dry Khan Dzhangar sits and smacks his lips, and from Sura, on the other hand, a Tatar rider drives on a maned horse, on a game, and this one is again all thin, yellow, in which the bones are kept, and even more mischievous that the first one arrived. This one jumped off his horse, and stuck like a nail in front of a white mare, and says:

"I answer everyone: I want mine to be a mare!"

I ask my neighbor: what is the matter with them here. And he answers:

“This,” he says, “it depends on a very big Khan of Dzhangarov’s conception. He,” he says, “not once, but almost every fair here, brings such a thing that, before all his ordinary horses, which he brings here, he will sell, and then on the last day, Mikhor knows where, how from behind his bosom he will take out such a horse or two that the cones do not know what they are doing, and he, the cunning Tatar, looks at it and amuses himself, and gets money for it. knowing that everyone is already expecting this last from him, and so it happened now: everyone thought that the khan would not leave, and he, for sure, would leave at night, and now look what a mare he brought out ... "

"Wonderful," I say, "what a horse!"

“It’s truly a miracle, they say, he drove her to the fair in the middle of the jamb, and drove her so that no one could see her behind other horses, and no one knew about her, besides these Tatars that they had arrived, and even by that he showed that his mare is not for sale, but cherished, but at night he excommunicated her from others and drove her to the forest near Mordovian Ishim and grazed her in a clearing with a special shepherd, and now he suddenly let her out and began to sell, and you look what is here because of her there will be miracles and what will he, the dog, take for it, and if you want, let's hit the mortgage, who will get it?

"And what, they say, is this: why should we fight?"

“And because of this,” he answers, “that there is a passion that will start now: and all the gentlemen will certainly go crazy, and one of these two Asians will take a horse.”

"Why," I ask, "are they very rich, perhaps?"

“And the rich,” he replies, “and the mischievous hunters: they drive their big shoals and won’t give way to a good, cherished horse in life. Everyone knows them: this belly, that the whole muzzle is flaky, this is called Baksha

Otuchev, and the skinny one that only bones walk, Chepkun Yemgurcheev, are both evil hunters, and just look what they will do for fun.

I fell silent and looked: the gentlemen who were bargaining for the mare had already retreated from her and were only looking, and those two Tatars were pushing each other away and everyone was clapping Khan Dzhangar’s hands, while they themselves were holding on to the mare and everyone was shaking and screaming; one shouts:

"I give for her, in addition to coins, five more heads" (meaning five horses), -

and another cries out:

"You lie to your faces, I give ten."

Bakshey Otuchev shouts:

"I give fifteen heads."

And Chepkun Emgurcheev:

"Twenty".

"Twenty five".

And Chepkun:

"Thirty".

And neither one nor the other seems to have more... Chepkun shouted thirty, but Bakshey also gives only thirty, but no more; but Chepkun also promises a saddle in addition, and Bakshay a saddle and a dressing gown, and Chepkun throws off his dressing gown, they have nothing more to overcome each other with. Chepkun shouted: “Listen to me, Khan Dzhangar: I will come home, I will bring my daughter to you,” and Bakshey also promises a daughter, and there is nothing more to overpower each other. Then all of a sudden all the Tatars, who were maturing here, yelled, roared in their own way; they are separated so that they do not bring each other to ruin, they are harassed, Chepkun and

Baksheya, in different directions, poking them in the sides, persuading them.

I ask my neighbor

"Tell me, please, what is it with them now?"

“But you see,” he says, “these princes who separate them, they

It’s a pity for Chepkun and Bakshey that they bargained a lot, so they separate them so that they come to their senses and somehow concede the mare to each other in honor.

"How," I ask, "is it possible for them to concede it to each other when both of them like it so much? This cannot be."

“Why,” he answers, “the Asians are a reasonable and sedate people: they will judge that why it is useless to lose the estate, and Khan Dzhangar will be given as much as he asks, and whoever takes a horse, they will let them go against the general consent.”

I'm curious:

“What, they say, is this what it means: “against”.

And he answers me:

"There is nothing to ask, look, you must see it, but it is now beginning."

I look and see that both Bakshey Otuchev and Chepkun Yemgurcheev both seemed to be quiet, and they are breaking out from those of their Tatar peacekeepers and both rushed to each other, ran up and beat on the hands.

"Sgoda!" - say, got along.

And he answers the same:

"Sgoda: hit it off!"

And both at once took off their robes, and beshmets, and chevyaks, took off their cotton shirts, and remained from some wide striped porticos, and plop one against the other, sat down on the ground, like kurokhtans (* 18) of the steppe, and sit.

For the first time, I have seen such a marvel, and I look, what will happen next? And they gave each other their left hands and hold them tightly, spread their legs and with them they ran into each other's footprints and shouted:

"Give it!"

I don’t foresee what they demand to “give” to themselves, but those Tatars from the bunch answer:

"Now, baby, now."

And then an old, sedate Tatar came out of this bunch, and he holds two healthy whips in his hands and leveled them in his hands and shows the whole audience and

Chepkun and Bakshay: "Look," he says, "both pieces are even."

"Smooth," shout the Tatar, "we all see that they are nobly made, the lashes are even! Let them sit down and begin."

And Bakshey and Chepkun are torn, grabbing for whips.

The sedate Tatar said to them: “Wait,” and he himself gave them these whips: one to Chepkun, and the other to Bakshey, and clapped his hands quietly, one, two, and three ... And as soon as he clapped on the third, with all Chepkun's strength with a whip over his shoulder on his bare back, and Chepkun in the same manner in response to him. Yes, and they went to regale one another in this way: they look into each other's eyes, their legs rest against the legs with footprints and their left hands firmly press, and they flog with their right with whips ... Wow, how they notably flogged! One draws well, and the other is even better. The eyes of both of them even gouged out and the left hands froze, but neither one nor the other does not give up.

I ask my friend:

"What is it, they say, with them, therefore, it seems like the gentlemen are going to a duel, or something?"

"Yes, - he answers, - also such a duel, only this, - he says, - not about honor, but in order not to be spent."

"And what, - I say, - can they flog each other for a long time?"

"And how much they want," he says, "and how much strength they will have."

And they are all whipping, and among the people there is a dispute over them: some say: "Chepkun

Bakshey will beat Bakshey, "- while others argue: "Bakshey Chepkun will be killed," - and whoever wants to, they keep a bet - those for Chepkun, and those for Bakshey, who rely on whom more. they will look at their backs, and by some signs they will understand who is more reliable, and they are holding him for that.

"Ah, quit, my two-kopeck piece is gone: Chepkun Bakshey will bring down."

And I say:

"For some reason, to know? Still, they say, nothing can be approved: both are still sitting exactly."

And he answers me:

"They are sitting," he says, "they are both still exactly, but they have more than one habit."

"Well, - I say, - in my opinion, Bakshey lashes even brighter."

“But that,” he answers, “is bad. No, my two-kopeck piece was gone for him:

Chepkun will lock him up."

“What is this,” I think, “such a curiosity: how is it incomprehensible, this acquaintance of mine, reasons?

And I became, you know, very curious, and I pester this acquaintance.

"Tell me," I say, "dear man, why are you now afraid of Bakshey?"

And he says:

"What a stupid suburban you are! look," he says, "what kind of back Bakshey has."

I look: nothing, a kind of good back, courageous, big and plump, like a pillow.

“Do you see,” he says, “how he beats?”

I look, and I also see that he hits furiously, he even stuck out his eyes on his forehead, and as soon as he hits him, he immediately cuts him to blood.

"Well, now figure out how he acts inside?"

"What, they say, is inside?" - I see one thing, that he sits straight, and his whole mouth is open, and the air takes a lot of air into himself.

And my friend says:

“This is what is bad: the back is large, the whole blow falls spaciously on it;

beats hard, out of breath, and breathes into his open mouth, he will burn everything inside with air.

"Well," I ask, "then Chepkun is more reliable?"

“Certainly,” he replies, “more reliable: you see, he is all dry, the bones are held in one skin, and his back is warped like a shovel, it will never fall on it all over the blow, but only in small places, and he himself, look, how Baksheya slipped watering, not chafing, but with a habit, and the whip does not immediately snip off, but under it gives the skin to swell.

Baksheya is all swollen and turned blue like a cauldron, but there is no blood, and now all the pain is in his body, and on Chepkun’s thin back, the skin, like on a roasted pig, is cracking, breaking through, and because of this, all his pain will come down with blood, and he is Baksheya constipation. Do you understand it now?"

“Now,” I say, “I understand, and for sure, here I immediately understood all this Asian practice and became very interested in it: how in this case should I act more usefully?”

“And most importantly,” my acquaintance points out, “note,” he says, “

how this accursed Chepkun keeps time with his muzzle; you see: he will whip and endure the answer himself and slap his eyes proportionately - this is easier than staring at the eyes, as Bakshey stares, and Chepkun clenched his teeth and bit his lips, this is also easier, because through this isolation there is no excessive burning inside him.

I took all these curious signs of his into my mind and peered into

Chepkun and Bakshey, and it all became clear to me myself that Bakshey would certainly fall down, because his eyes were already completely dumbfounded and his lips gathered together with a string and opened his whole grin ... and every time it was weaker, but suddenly the brakka back and released Chepkunov's left hand, but he still moves his right hand, as if he is beating, but already without memory, completely in a swoon. Well, that friend of mine says: "Sabbat: my two-kopeck piece is gone." Then everyone and the Tatars started talking, congratulating Chepkun, shouting:

"Ay, head Chepkun Yemgurcheev, ah, smart head - he completely crossed Bakshey, sit down - now your mare."

And Khan Dzhangar himself got up from his felt mat and walks about, while he slaps his lips and also says:

"Yours, yours, Chepkun, mare: sit down, drive, rest on her."

Chepkun got up: blood streams down his back, but does not give any sign of illness, put his dressing gown and beshmet on the mare's back, and he threw himself on her belly and rode in such a manner, and again I became bored.

“So,” I think, “it’s all over already, and it’s going to get into my head again about my position,” and I fear how I didn’t want to think about it.

But only, thank you, my friend of mine says to me:

"Wait, don't go, there's bound to be something else."

I say:

"What else to be? It's all over."

“No,” he says, “it’s not over, you look,” he says, “how Khan Dzhangar burns his pipe.

Well, I think to myself: "Oh, if something else happens in this very kind, then it would be only for someone to pawn for me, but I won't let it go!"

And what are you willing to believe? Everything turned out exactly as I wanted: Khan Dzhangar fires his pipe, and another Tatar girl drives at him from the chischoba, and this one is not on such a mare as Chepkun from the world

Baksheya took, and a karak foal, which cannot be described. If you have ever seen how a bird corncrake runs along the boundary in the bread, -

in our opinion, in Oryol, the dergach is called: he spreads his wings, and his butt is not like other birds, does not spread through the air, but hangs down and puts his legs down, as if he does not need them - the real thing, it turns out, as if he rides through the air. So this new horse, like this bird, seemed to be rushing not by its own strength.

Truly, I will not lie, I will say that he did not even fly, but only the land behind him was added from behind. I have never seen such ease and did not know how to value this horse, what treasures, and to whom to doom it, to what prince, and even more so I never thought that this horse would become mine.

How did he become yours? - Surprised listeners interrupted the narrator.

So, my friend, by all rights mine, but only for one minute, and in what manner, if you please, listen about it, if you like. The gentlemen, as usual, began to bargain for this horse, and my repairman, to whom I gave the child, also intervened, and a Tatar took up against them, as if their equal.

Sawakirei, a kind of short man, small, but strong, twisted, his head is shaved, as if chiseled, and round, like a strong young cat, and his face is red like carrots, and he is all like a vegetable garden, what a healthy and fresh one.

He shouts: “What,” he says, “there’s nothing to lose in an empty pocket, put someone who wants money by the hand, how much the khan asks, and let’s flog with me, who will get the horse?”

Of course, this did not suit the gentlemen, and they are now moving away from it;

and where can they fight with this Tatar, he, filthy, would have killed them all. And then my repairman didn’t even have a lot of money, because he

Penza again lost at cards, but I see he wants a horse. So I pulled him by the sleeve from behind, and I said: so and so, they say, you don’t need to promise too much, but what the khan demands, then give, and I and Savakirey will sit down to compete in the world. He did not want to, but I begged, I say:

"Do such a favor: I want to."

Well, they did.

You and this Tatar ... well, flogged each other?

Yes, sir, they also flogged the world in this manner, and I got the foal.

So you defeated the Tatar?

He won, sir, not without difficulty, but he overpowered him.

It must have been a terrible pain.

Mmm ... how can I tell you ... Yes, at first there is, sir; and even very sensitive, especially because without a habit, and he, this Sawakirei, also had the knack for beating the swelling, so as not to bleed, but I took my cunning skill against this subtle art of his: as he lashes me, I myself am under I’ll support the turf with my whip, and I’ve adjusted myself so that now I’ll tear off my own skin, and in this manner I’ve secured myself, and I myself ruined this Savakirei.

How screwed up, really completely to death?

Yes, sir, through his stubbornness and through politics, he allowed himself so stupidly that he was no more in the world, - the narrator answered good-naturedly and impassively, and, seeing that the listeners were all looking at him, if not with horror, then with mute bewilderment , as if he felt the need to supplement his story with an explanation.

You see, - he continued, - it came not from me, but from him, because he was considered the first batyr in all the Ryn-Sands and through this ambition he would not give in to me for anything, he wanted to nobly endure, so that shame through himself on the Asian You can’t put down the nation, but he was stumped, poor fellow, and couldn’t stand against me, probably because I took a penny in my mouth. It helps terribly, and I gnawed it all so as not to feel pain, but for the distraction of thoughts in my mind I counted the blows, so nothing to me.

And how many hits did you count? - interrupted the narrator.

But I probably can’t say this, sir, I remember that I counted to two hundred to eighty and two, and then suddenly I shook like a faint, I lost my way for a minute and let it go like that, without counting, but only Sawakirei was immediately the last He swung at me once, but he couldn’t hit me anymore, he himself, like a doll, fell forward on me: they looked, and he was dead ... Pah, you such a fool! what have you endured? I almost went to prison for him.

Tatarva - they are nothing: well, he killed and killed: there were such conditions, because he could detect me, but his own, our Russians, even annoyingly do not understand this, and got angry. I say:

"Well, what's the matter with you? What do you need?"

"How," they say, "you killed an Asian?"

"Well, what, they say, is such that I killed him? After all, this is a matter of love. And

Wouldn't it be better if he spotted me?"

- "He," they say, "could detect you, and nothing to him, because he is a non-believer, and you," they say, "should be judged by Christianity. Let's go,"

they say to the police.

Well, I think to myself: "All right, brothers, judge the winds in the field"; and as, in my opinion, the police, there is nothing more harmful than them, then I now sniff for one Tatar, and for another. I whisper to them:

"Save, princes: they themselves saw it all in a fair fight ..."

They huddled up, and went to shove me for each other, and hid.

I mean, let me... how did they hide you?

I completely ran with them in their steppes.

Even in the steppe!

Yes, sir, to the very Ryn-sands.

And how long did you spend there?

For ten whole years: twenty-three years old they brought me to Ryn-Sands, in the thirty-fourth year I ran away from there back.

Well, did you like living in the steppe or not?

No with; what is there to like? boring and nothing else; but it was impossible to leave earlier.

Why did the Tatars keep you in a pit or guard you?

No, sir, they are kind, they didn’t allow this ignominy with me to put me in a pit or in stocks, but they simply say: “You are to us, Ivan, be a friend; we,” they say, “love you very much, and you are with us live in the steppe and be a useful person - heal our horses and help the women.

And did you heal?

Treated; So I was their doctor, and they themselves, and all the cattle, and horses, and sheep, most of all, their wives, Tatars, used.

Do you know how to heal?

How would you say it... But what's the trick in that? Whatever hurts - I’ll give sabura ladies or galangal root (* 19), and it will pass, but they had a lot of sabura - in Saratov, one Tatar found a whole bag and brought it, but before me they didn’t know what to define it for.

And did you get along with them?

No, sir, he constantly strove back.

And was there really no way to get away from them?

No, why, if my legs had remained as they were, I probably would have gone back to my fatherland long ago.

What happened to your feet?

I was bristled after the first time.

How is it? .. Excuse me, please, we do not quite understand what it means that you were bristled?

This is their most common means: if they love someone and want to keep him, and he yearns or tries to run away, then they will do with him so that he does not leave. So it is with me, after I once tried to leave, but lost my way, they caught me and said: “You know, Ivan, you,” they say,

Be a friend of us, and so that you don’t leave us again, we’d better chop your heels and shove a little bristle there ”; well, they spoiled my legs in this manner, so that I crawled all the time on all fours.

Tell me, please, how do they do this terrible operation?

It’s very simple, sir: they threw me to the ground about ten people and said: “You shout, Ivan, shout louder when we start cutting: it will be easier for you then,” and they sat on top of me, and one such expert from them in one minute told me on the soles he cut the skin and stuffed it with chopped horse's mane, and again with this dressing he wrapped the skin and sewed it up with string. After that, they here, as if, kept my hands tied for a while - they were all afraid that I would not harm my wounds and bring out the bristle with pus; but when the skin healed, they let go: “Now,” they say, “hello, Ivan, now you’re completely our friend and you won’t get away from here anywhere.”

I had only just got to my feet, and the brak was again on the ground: that chopped hair, which had grown under the skin at the heels, pricked into living meat so mortally painful that not only it was impossible to take a step, but even to stand on my feet there was no means. I didn’t cry for a long time, but then I even began to cry out loud.

"What is it, - I say, - you and me, damned Asians, arranged? You would rather kill me, asps, than to be such a cripple for a whole century that I can't step."

And they say:

"Nothing, Ivan, nothing that you are offended by an empty business."

"What, - I say, - is this an empty thing, so to spoil a person, and even so as not to be offended?"

“And you,” they say, “get used to it, don’t step directly on the traces, but go straight on the bones.”

"Ugh, you scoundrels!" - I think to myself and turned away from them and did not begin to speak, and only decided in my head that it would be better to die already, and not, they say, according to your advice, walk on my ankles; but then he lay down, lay down, - the boredom of death overcame him, and he began to adapt himself and, little by little, went to hobble on his ankles. But only they didn’t laugh at me because of this, but they also said:

"That's good, and good, Ivan, you're walking."

What a misfortune, and how did you set off to leave and got caught again?

Yes, impossible, sir; the steppe is flat, there are no roads, and one wants to eat... He walked for three days, became weaker than a fox, caught some bird with his hands and ate it raw, and there again hunger, and no water... How to go? fell, and they found me and took me and bristled.

One of the listeners remarked about this bristling, that it must have been embarrassing to walk on your ankles.

At first it was even very bad, - answered Ivan Severyanych, - and even then, even though I contrived, it’s impossible to go through a lot. But only then they, this Tatar, I will not lie, since then they have been well saddened by me.

“Now,” they say, “it’s hard for you, Ivan, to be yourself, it’s embarrassing for you to bring water or anything else for yourself. Take it,” they say, “

brother, Natasha is now for yourself - we will give you a good Natasha, choose which one you want.

I say:

"Why should I choose them: they all have one use. Let's do whatever."

Well, they married me now without a dispute.

How! married you to a Tatar?

Yes, of course, in Tatar. First, on one, that same Savakirei wife, whom I crossed, only she, this Tatar, turned out to be completely not to my taste: some good and everything seemed to be very afraid of me and did not amuse me in the least. She missed her husband, or something came to her heart. Well, so they noticed that I began to be burdened with it, and now they brought me another one, this little girl was no more than thirteen years old ... They told me:

"Take, Ivan, this Natasha, this one will be more comforting."

And what: this one was definitely more comforting for you? - Ivan's listeners asked

Severyanych.

Yes, - he answered, - this one turned out to be more inconsolable, only sometimes, it happened, it amuses, and sometimes it annoys me that it indulges.

How did she indulge?

But different ... As she used to, she likes; on his knees, it used to jump up;

or you sleep, and she will scoop up a skullcap from her head with her foot and throw it anywhere, while she herself laughs. You start threatening her, and she laughs, bursts into laughter, yes, like a mermaid, she starts running, but I can’t catch up with her on all fours -

slap, and laugh yourself.

And you there, in the steppe, shaved your head and wore a skullcap?

What is it for? right, wanted to please your wives?

No with; more for neatness, because there are no baths there.

So you had two wives at the same time?

Yes, sir, there are two in this steppe; and then from another khan, from Agashimola, who stole me from Otuchev, they gave me two more.

Excuse me, - one of the listeners asked again, - how could you have been stolen?

Trick-sir. After all, I fled from Penza with the Tatar Chepkun Yemgurcheev and lived in the Emgurcheev horde for five years in a row, and then all the princes, and lancers, and shih-zads, and little-zads, came to him for joy, and there was Khan Dzhangyar and Bakshey

Who is Chepkun s?

Yes, the same one.

How could it be... Wasn't Bakshey angry with Chepkun?

For what?

For the fact that he flogged him like that and took his horse away from him?

No, sir, they never get angry with each other for this: whoever kills someone by a love agreement, he gets it, and nothing more; but only khan

Dzhangar, for sure, once reprimanded me ... “Eh,” he says, “Ivan, eh, your stupid head, Ivan, why did you and Savakirey sit down for the Russian prince, I,” he says, “was about to laugh like myself the prince will take off his shirt."

"Never, - I answer him, - you would not wait for this."

“Because our princes,” I say, “weak-hearted and not courageous, and their strength is the most insignificant.”

He understood.

“I am like that,” he says, “and I saw that of them,” he says, “there are no real hunters, but everything is only if they want to get something, so for money.”

"This, they say, is true: they can't do anything without money." Well, and Agashimola, he was from a distant horde, somewhere above the Caspian Sea his shoals went, he loved to be treated very much and called me to use his khansha and promised many heads of cattle for that to Emgurchey. He took me to him and let me go: I took sabura and galangal root with me and went with him. And as Agashimola took me, and the guide aside with all the koch, they galloped aside for eight days.

And you were riding?

Riding, sir.

What about your legs?

But what is it?

Yes, the chopped hair that you had in your heels, didn’t it bother you?

Nothing; this is well adapted to them: they bristle someone with their hair, it’s impossible for him to walk well, but on a horse such a bristly man sits even better than usual, because he, a quick walker, always gets used to holding his legs with a wheel and the horse, like a hoop, will wrap them around like a hoop , that for no reason down with him and not bring down.

He died again and more cruelly.

But didn't they die?

No, he didn't die.

Do me a favor, tell me: what did you endure next at Agashimola.

Please.

Just as Agashimolov the Tatar was driven with me to the camp, so the guide went to another, to a new place and did not let me out.

"What, - they say, - you live there, Ivan, with the Emgurcheevs, - Emgurchey thief, you live with us, we will gladly respect you and give you good Natashas.

There you only had two Natashas, ​​and we will give you more."

I refused.

"Why," I say, "do I need more of them? I don't need them anymore."

“No,” they say, “you don’t understand, more Natasha is better: they are more for you

They give birth to Kolek, everyone will scream at you like a father.

“Well,” I say, “is it easy for me to educate the Tatar children. If there was someone to baptize them and take communion, it would be another matter, but what is: no matter how much I multiply them, they will all be yours, and not Orthodox, and even And they will deceive the peasants as they grow up. So he took two wives again, but did not accept any more, because if there are a lot of women, even though they are Tatars, they quarrel, filthy, and they must be constantly taught.

Well, sir, did you love these new wives of yours?

Did you love these new wives of yours?

Love? .. Yes, that is, you mean it? nothing, the one that I received from Agashimola was helpful to me, so I didn’t ... feel sorry for her.

And that girl, who used to be so young, you had in your wives? did you like her better?

Nothing; I felt sorry for her too.

And you probably missed her when you were stolen from one horde to another?

Not; didn't get bored.

But you didn’t have children from those first wives, did you?

How, sir, they were: Savakireeva's wife gave birth to two Koleks and Natasha, but this little one, at the age of five, gave birth to six pieces, because she brought two Koleks at once in a pair.

Let me ask you, however, why do you call them that?

"Kolkami" and "Natashki"?

And this is in Tatar. They have everything if an adult Russian person - so

Ivan_, and the woman is _Natasha_, and they call the boys _Kolka_, so my wives, although they were Tatars, but for me they were all considered Russians and

They called Natashas, ​​and the boys were Kolkas. However, all this, of course, is only superficial, because they were without all the sacraments of the Church, and I did not consider them to be my children.

How could they not be considered their own? why is it so?

What about your parental feelings?

What is it-s?

But really, you didn’t love these children in the least and never caressed them?

But how to caress them? Of course, if it happened when you were sitting alone, and someone ran up, well, nothing, you would move your hand over his head, stroke him and say to him: "Go to your mother," - but this rarely happened, because I was not up to them.

And why is it not up to them: did you have a lot to do?

No with; nothing to do, but he yearned: he really wanted to go home to Russia.

So you are not accustomed to the steppes even at the age of ten?

No, sir, I want to go home ... longing was becoming. Especially in the evenings, or even when the weather is good in the middle of the day, it’s hot, it’s quiet in the camp, all the Tatars fall into the tents from the heat and sleep, and I raise a shelf near my tent and look at the steppes ... in one direction and in the other - everything is the same ... Sultry look, cruel; space - no edge; herbs, rampage; the feather grass is white, fluffy, like a silver sea, agitated, and the breeze carries the smell: it smells of sheep, and the sun douses, burns, and the steppe, as if life is painful, no end is foreseen anywhere, and here there is no depth of melancholy of the bottom ... You see yourself you know where, and all of a sudden a monastery or a temple appears in front of you, and you remember the baptized land and cry.

Ivan Severyanych stopped, sighed heavily at the recollection, and continued:

Or it was even worse on the salt marshes just above the Caspian Sea: the sun is glowing, baking, and the salt marsh is shining, and the sea is shining ... Stupidity from this shine is even worse than from feather grass, and then you don’t know where you are, in what parts of the world to number, that is, you are alive or dead and in a hopeless hell you are tormented for your sins. Where the steppe is more feathery, it is still more joyful; there, at least on the ridges, in some places, sage sometimes turns gray or small wormwood and thyme are full of whiteness, but here it’s all just brilliance ... There, somewhere, fire will burn on the grass, - the vanity will rise: bustards fly, bustards, steppe waders, and hunting will start on them. We ride these tudaks, or in the local way, drokhvs, on horseback and pinpoint them with long whips; and there, look, you yourself have to run away from the fire with your horses ... All this entertainment. And then the strawberries will plant again on the old pallet; different birds will fly at her, more and more such a trifle, and chirping will go in the air ... And then somewhere else you will meet a bush:

meadowsweet, wild peach or chiliznik ... (* 20) And when at sunrise the fog sets with dew, as if it smells of coolness, and smells come from the plant ...

It is, of course, boring for all this, but it is still possible to endure, but God forbid anyone to stay on the salt marsh for a long time. The horse there at one time is satisfied: he licks the salt and drinks a lot from it and gets fat, but the man there

Doom. There is not even any living creatures, only, as for laughter, there is one small bird, a red-mouthed bird, like our swallow, the most unremarkable, but only sponges have a kind of red rim. Why she flies to these sea shores - I don’t know, but how to sit down here all the time there is nothing for her, then she will fall on the salt marsh, lie down on her slug (* 21) and, you see, again grabbed and flew again, and you are deprived of this , for there are no wings, and you are here again, and there is no death for you, no life, no repentance, but you will die, as they will put you in salt with a ram, and lie corned beef until the end of the world. And even more nauseating than this in the winter on a tube; the snow is small, it will only cover the grass a little and lube -

Tatars then all sit in yurts over the fire, smoke ... And here, out of boredom, they also often fight among themselves. Then you will go out and there is nothing to look at: the horses will frown and walk curled up, so thin that only their tails and manes flutter. They drag their feet with force and rake the snow paste with their hooves and gnaw at the frozen grass, and that is what they feed on - this is called tyubenki ...

Unbearable. Only dissipation, that if they notice that a horse is very weak and cannot tubenkot - it does not break through the snow with a hoof and does not reach a frozen root with a tooth, then they now prick it in the throat with a knife and remove the skin, and eat the meat. Roasted, however, meat: sweet, still kind of like a cow's udder, but tough; of need, of course, eat, but he himself is sick. At

I, thank you, one wife knew how to smoke horse ribs: she would take a horse rib as it is, with meat on both sides, but stick it into the large intestine and smoke it over the hearth. It's still nothing, you can eat it more similarly, because it, at least, smells like ham, but it still tastes nasty. And then you gnaw on such disgusting things and suddenly think: oh, and now at home in our village for the holiday of ducks, they say, they pinch geese, slaughter pigs, boil cabbage soup with a neck, fatty, fat ones, and Father Ilya, our priest, is kind - good old man, now he will soon go to praise Christ, and the clerks, priests and clerks go with him, and with the seminarians, and everyone is tipsy, but Father Ilya himself cannot drink much: in the master's house the butler will bring him a glass; in the office, too, the steward with a nanny will send him a drink, Father Ilya will become limp and crawl to our household, just a little dragging his legs drunk: in the first hut from the edge he will somehow suck a glass, but there he can’t take it anymore and everything is under a riza in a bottle merges. So it’s all family with him, even in the discussion of food, if he sees something tastier from the edible, he asks: “Give it to me,” he says, “in a piece of newsprint, I’ll wrap it with me.” They usually say to him: "No, they say, father, we have newsprint," - he does not get angry, but he will take it so simply and without wrapping his popadeyka will hand it over, and then he will go on just as peacefully. Ah, sir, how all this memorable life from childhood will go on being remembered, and will attack the soul, and will suddenly oppress the liver, that where you are disappearing, you are excommunicated from all this happiness, and have not been in the spirit for so many years, and you live unmarried, and you will die inveterate, and longing will seize you, and ... wait until night, crawl out slowly behind the headquarters, so that neither your wife, nor children, and no one from the filthy ones would see you, and you will start to pray ... and you pray ... you pray so much that even the snow of the indus will melt under the knees, and where tears fell, you will see grass in the morning.

The narrator fell silent and bowed his head. Nobody bothered him; everyone seemed to be imbued with respect for the holy sorrow of his last memories; but a minute passed, and Ivan Severyanych himself sighed, as if he waved his hand; took off his monastic cap from his head and, crossing himself, said:

And it's over, thank God!

We gave him a little rest and dared to ask new questions about how he, our enchanted hero, straightened his heels spoiled by a hair cut and by what means he escaped from the Tatar steppe from his Natasha and

Kolek and ended up in a monastery?

Ivan Severyanych satisfied this curiosity with complete frankness, which he was obviously not at all capable of changing.

Valuing consistency in the development of the story that interests us

Ivan Severyanovich, we asked him first of all to tell us by what extraordinary means he got rid of his bristles and escaped captivity?

He told the following story about it:

I was completely desperate to ever return home and see my fatherland. The thought of this seemed impossible even to me, and even in me the very melancholy began to die away. I live like an insensitive statue, and nothing more; and sometimes I think that here, they say, at our house in the church, this same father Ilya, who asks for all the newspaper paper, used to pray at the service "for floating and traveling, suffering and _captive_", and I used to listen to this Everyone thinks: why? is there a war now to pray for the prisoners? But now I understand why they pray like that, but I don’t understand why all these prayers are of no use to me, and, to put it mildly, I don’t disbelieve, but I’m embarrassed, and I didn’t pray myself.

"Well, - I think - to pray when nothing comes of it."

And meanwhile, suddenly one day I hear, I hear: the Tatars are confused about something.

I say:

"What?"

“Nothing,” they say, “two mullahs came from your side, they have a guard sheet from the white king and go far to establish their faith.”

I rushed, I say:

"Where are they?"

They showed me to one yurt, and I went where they showed me. I come and see: there have gathered a lot of shi-zads and little-zads, and mothers, and derbyshes, and everyone, with legs crossed, is sitting on felt mats, and in the middle of them are two unfamiliar people, dressed albeit in a travel way, but it is clear that spiritual ranks; both stand in the midst of this rabble and teach the Tatars the word of God.

When I saw them, I rejoiced that I saw Russians, and my heart fluttered, and I fell at their feet and sobbed. They, too, rejoiced at this bow of mine, and both exclaimed:

"But what? What! You see! You see? how grace works, now it has already touched one of you, and he is turning from Mohammed."

And the Tatars answer that this, they say, does not work: this is your Ivan, he is one of yours, from Russians, only he lives here in captivity with us.

The missionaries became very dissatisfied with this. They don't believe that I'm Russian, and I butted in myself:

“No,” I say, “I’m definitely Russian! Fathers,” I say, “spiritual!

have mercy, help me out of here! I have been languishing in captivity here for the eleventh year now, and you see how mutilated I am, I can’t walk.”

However, they did not respect my words in the least and turned away and let's continue our work again: everyone preaches.

I think: “Well, why complain about this: they are official people, and maybe it’s embarrassing for them to treat me differently under the Tatars,” and left, and chose such an hour that they were alone at a special headquarters, and rushed to them and with all frankness I told them everything that I am undergoing the most cruel fate, and I ask them:

"Parrot," I say, "their benefactor fathers, with our father the white king: tell them that he does not order the Asians to forcibly keep his subjects in captivity, or, even better, give them a ransom for me, and I will go to serve you. I, - I say, - are tenacious here, their Tatar language I learned very well and I can be a useful person to you."

And they answer:

“What,” they say, “son: we don’t have a ransom, and they say, we are not allowed to frighten the infidels, because people are crafty and unfaithful, and we respect politeness with them from politics.”

"So what, - I say, - therefore, because of this policy, I have to disappear here for a whole century?"

"But what," they say, "it doesn't matter, son, where to disappear, and you pray: God has a lot of mercy, maybe he will save you."

"I, they say, prayed, but already my strength is gone and I put aside my hope."

"And you," they say, "do not despair, because this is a great sin!"

“Yes, I,” I say, “do not despair, but only ... how can you do that ... it’s very insulting to me that you are Russians and countrymen, and you don’t want to help me in anything.”

“No,” they answer, “you, child, don’t interfere with this, we are in Christ, but in

In Christ there is neither Greek nor Jew: our countrymen are all obedient. We are all equal, all are equal."

"All?" - I say.

“Yes,” they answer, “that’s all, this is our teaching from the Apostle Paul. Where we come, we don’t quarrel ... it doesn’t befit us. But you remember that you are a Christian, and therefore we have nothing to bother about you, your soul, even without us, the gates to paradise are already open, and these will be in darkness if we do not join them, so we must bother for them " .

And show me the book.

"Well," they say, "you see how many people we have here in this register, it's all of us who have joined so many people to our faith!"

I didn’t talk to them anymore and didn’t see them anymore, except for one, and then by chance: one of my little sons drove in for a while and said:

"We have a man lying on the lake, tyatka."

I went to look: I see that the stockings were torn off from the knees on the legs, and the gloves were removed from the arms to the elbows, the Tatars skillfully do this: they outline and pull, so the skin will be removed, and the head of this man is lying on the sidelines, and a cross is carved on his forehead.

"Oh, - I think, - you didn't want to plead for me, countryman, and I condemned you, but you were honored and received the crown of suffering. Forgive me now for the sake of Christ!"

And I took him, crossed him, folded his head with his body, bowed to the ground, and buried him, and "Holy God" sang over him - but where his other comrade went, I don’t know; but only, too, it’s true, he ended up in the same way that he accepted the crown, because after us, along the horde, the Tatars had a lot of icons, the very ones that were with these missionaries.

Do these missionaries even go there, in Ryn-sands?

Why, sir, they go about, but only to no avail, without any use.

From what?

They don't know how to contact. An Asian must be brought to faith with fear, so that he trembles with fright, and they preach a peaceful God to them. At first, this is not good at all, because the Asiatic will never respect a meek god without a threat and will beat the preachers.

And most importantly, it must be assumed that when going to Asians, you do not need to have money and jewelry with you.

No need, sir, but anyway, they still won’t believe that someone came and didn’t bring anything with him; they will think that they have buried it somewhere in the steppe, and they will torture, and torture.

Here are the robbers!

Yes, sir; so it was with me with one Jew: the old Jew came from nowhere and also spoke about faith. A good man, and, apparently, zealous for his faith, and all in such rags that all his flesh is visible, but he began to talk about faith, so even, it seems, he would never stop listening to him.

At first I started arguing with him, what, they say, is your faith when you don’t have saints, but he says: there are, and he began to read from the Talmud what kind of saints they have ... very interesting, but that Talmud, says, wrote Rabbi Jovoz ben Levi, who was such a scholar that sinful people could not look at him; as they looked, now everyone was dying, through which God called him in front of himself and said: “Hey you, learned rabbi, Iovoz ben Levi! It’s good that you are such a scientist, but only it’s not good that through you all my fluids can die "But not for that, he says, I overtook them with Moses across the steppe and across the sea. Get out of your fatherland for this and live where no one could see you." And Rabbi Levi, as he went, hit himself all the way to the place where Paradise was, and buried himself there in the sand up to the very neck, and remained in the sand for thirteen years, and although he was buried up to the neck, he prepared himself a lamb every Sabbath which was baked with fire descending from heaven. And if a mosquito or a fly landed on his nose to drink his blood, then they, too, were now being devoured by heavenly fire ... The Asians really liked this about the learned rabbi, and they listened to this Jew for a long time, and then proceeded to him and began to interrogate him :

where did he bury his money on his way to them? Father Zhidovin swore that he had no money, that God had sent him without anything, with only wisdom, well, however, they did not believe him, but raked up the coals where the fire was burning, spread a horse skin on the hot ashes, put it on it and began to shake. Tell them yes say: where is the money? And how they see that he is all blackened and does not give a voice:

“Stop,” they say, “let’s bury him up to his neck in the sand: maybe he’s getting over it.”

And they buried it, but, however, the Zhidovin was so buried and died, and his head turned black from the sand for a long time, but her children began to get scared, so they cut it down and threw it into a dry well.

Here you go and preach to them!

Yes, sir; very difficult, but this Jew still had money.

There were; then the wolves and jackals began to disturb him, and they dragged everything out of the sand bit by bit, and finally got to the shoes. Here the boots stirred up, and seven coins rolled out of the sole. We found them later.

Well, how did you get away from them?

Miraculously saved.

Who did this miracle to save you?

Who is this Talafa: is he also a Tatar?

No with; he is of a different breed, Indian, and not even a simple Indian, but their god, descending to earth.

Persuaded by the audience, Ivan Severyanych Flyagin told the following about this new act of his everyday drama comedy.

After the Tatars got rid of our misaners, almost a year passed again, and again it was winter, and we drove the shoals to the side to the south, to the Caspian Sea, and then suddenly one day before evening they drove two people to us, if only they could be for count people. Who knows what they are and where and what kind and rank. They didn’t even have any real language, neither Russian nor Tatar, but they spoke a word in our language, a word in Tatar, and then between themselves in God knows what. Both are not old, one is black, with a large beard, in a dressing gown, as if he looks like a Tatar, but only his dressing gown is not colorful, but all red, and on his head there is a sharp Persian hat; and the other is red-haired, also in a dressing gown, but sort of geeky: he had some kind of drawers with him, and now he has a little time, that no one is looking at him, he will take off his dressing gown and remain in nothing but pants and a jacket, and these trousers and jacket are sewn in such a way as in Russia some Germans have factories. And he used to turn something in these boxes and sort through them, but what did he have there? - famously knows him. They said that they came from Khiva to buy horses and they want to make war with someone at home, but they don’t say with whom, but only all the Tatars are being suppressed against the Russians. I hear, this red-haired one, - he doesn’t know how to talk much, but he only pronounces like in Russian “nat-shawl-nick” and spit; but they didn’t have money with them, because they, the Asians, know that if you come to the steppe with money, then you won’t leave with your head on your shoulders, but they beckoned our Tatars to send them schools of horses to their river, to Daria, overtake and make a calculation there. Tatarva scattered their thoughts here and there and do not know: to agree to this or not? They think, they think, as if they are digging for gold, but, apparently, they are afraid of something.

And they then persuaded them with honor, and then they also began to scare them.

“Drive away,” they say, “otherwise it may be bad for you: we have the god Talaf, and he sent his fire with us. God forbid, how angry.”

The Tatars do not know that god and doubt what he can do to them in the steppe in winter with his fire - nothing. But this black-bearded man, who came from Khiva, in a red robe, says that if, he says, you are in doubt, then

Talafah will show his strength to you this very night, only you, he says, if you see or hear anything, do not jump out, otherwise he will burn you. Of course, all this, in the midst of the boredom of the steppe, winter, is terribly interesting, and all of us, although a little bit afraid of this horror, are glad to see: what will come of this Indian god; what is it, what miracle will it manifest itself?

My wives and children climbed under the stakes [under the wagons] early and we are waiting ... Everything is dark and quiet, as on any night, only suddenly, like in the first dream, I hear that something is like a blizzard in the steppe hissed and popped, and through my sleep it seemed to me as if sparks were falling from heaven.

I grabbed, I looked, and my wives tossed and turned, and the guys began to cry.

I say:

"Chick! Plug their throats so they suck and don't cry."

They zasmoktal, and it became quiet again, and in the dark steppe suddenly the fire hissed upwards again ... hissed and burst again ...

"Well, - I think, - however, it is clear that Talaf is not a joke!"

And a little later he hissed again, but in a completely different manner - like a bird of fire, fluttered out with a tail, also with a fiery one, and the fire was unusually red, like blood, but it bursts, suddenly everything turns yellow and then turns blue.

In the camp, I hear how everything died. Of course, no one can not hear this, a sort of shooting at everything, which means they are timid and lie under their sheepskin coats. All you can hear is that the earth will suddenly tremble, shake, and become again. This, you can understand, the horses shied away and all crowded together, but once it was heard how these Khivyaks or Indians ran somewhere, and now again the fire started like a snake across the steppe ... The horses seemed to sing at that, and they rushed. .. Tatarva forgot fear, everyone jumped up, shook their heads, yelled: "Alla! Alla!" - yes, in pursuit, but those Khivyaks disappeared, and there is no trace of them, only they left one box of their own as a keepsake ... That's how all our batyrs were driven away for a herd, and in the camp there were only women and old men left, me and looked at this box: what is there? I see that there are different lands in it, and drugs, and paper pipes: once I began to look at one of this pipes close to the fire, and as it slams, it almost burned out all my eyes with fire, and flew up, and there ... bbbahhh, stars scattered ... "Hey, - I think to myself, - yes, this must not be a god, but just fireworks, as they let them in in our public garden," - yes, again, like a babakhna from another pipe, and I look, the Tatars, who are old people here they were left, and they already fell down and lay face down, where someone fell down and only jerked their legs ... At first I was frightened myself, but then when I saw that they were jerking like that, I suddenly came to a completely different position and, since I got into full , for the first time, as I grit my teeth, and, well, say some unfamiliar words aloud to them. I scream as loud as possible

"Parle-bien-komsa-wider-mir-ferfluhtur-min-adyu-musyu!"

Yes, he also fired a pipe with a turner ... Well, here they are already, having seen how the turner walks with fire, they all died ... The fire went out, and they all lie, and only no, no one will raise his head, and again now face down, and he only nods his finger, calling me to him. I came up and said:

"Well, what? Confess what to you, damned: death or the stomach?" Because I see that they are already afraid of me passion.

"Forgive me," they say, "Ivan, don't give me death, but give me life."

And in another place, too, others nod in this manner and ask for all forgiveness and belly.

I see that my cause has begun to play well: it’s true, I have already suffered for all my sins, and I ask:

"Blessed Mother, Nikolai Ugodnik, my swans, my dears, help me, benefactors!"

And the Tatars myself strictly ask:

"In what and to what end should I forgive you and favor you with my stomach?"

"Sorry," they say, "that we didn't believe in your god."

"Aha, - I think, - there it is, how I frightened them," - but I say: "Well, no, brothers, you are lying, I will never forgive you for being opposed to religion!" Yes, he himself again creaked with his teeth, and even unsealed the pipe.

This one came out with a willow... Terrible fire and crackling.

I shout at the Tatars:

"Well: one more minute, and I will destroy you all if you do not want to believe in my god."

"Do not destroy, - they answer, - we all agree to approach your god."

I stopped burning fireworks and christened them in the river.

Right there, at this very time, and baptized?

At this very moment, Yes, and what was there to pass the time for a long time? It is necessary that they could not change their minds. He soaked them on the heads with water over the hole, read "in the name of the father and son", and put the crosses that remained from the misaners around their necks, and ordered them to honor that murdered misaner as a martyr and pray for him, and showed them the grave.

And did they pray?

We prayed.

After all, they didn’t know any Christian prayers, tea, or did you learn them?

Not; I had no time to teach them, because I saw that it was time for me to run away, and ordered them: pray, they say, as they prayed before, in the old way, but don’t dare to call Alla, but remember Jesus Christ instead. And so they accepted this confession.

Well, then how did you run away from these new Christians with your crippled legs and how did you get cured?

And then I found caustic earth in those fireworks; such that you just put it to the body, now it is terribly burning the body. I put it on and pretended that I was sick, and to myself, lying under a felt mat, poisoned my heels with this causticity and in two weeks I poisoned it so much that all the flesh on my legs festered and all that stubble that the Tatars gave me ten fell asleep years ago, came out with pus. I got over it as soon as possible, but I don’t show it, but I pretend that I got even worse, and I punished the women and old people so that they all prayed for me as hard as possible, because, they say, I’m dying. And I put a kind of penance post on them, and for three days I didn’t order them to go outside the yurts, and for even more warning, I set off the biggest fireworks and left ...

But they didn't catch up with you?

Not; and where they had to catch up: I posted them so much and frightened them that they probably stayed very happy and didn’t show their noses from the yurts for three days, and after that, even though they looked out, it was already far to look for me. My legs, as I pulled down the bristles from them, dried up, they became so light that as soon as I ran, I ran across the entire steppe.

And all on foot?

And then how, sir, there is not a passing road there, there is no one to meet, but if you meet, you will not be happy with whom you will find. On the fourth day, a Chuvash appeared to me, one was driving five horses, saying: "Get on horseback."

I got scared and didn't go.

Why were you afraid of him?

Yes, he somehow seemed unfaithful to me, and besides, it was impossible to make out what religion he was, and without this it was scary on the steppe. And he, stupid, shouts:

"Sit down, - he shouts, - have fun, two of us will go."

I say:

"And who are you: maybe you don't have a god?"

“How,” he says, “no: it’s the Tatar who doesn’t have a side, he eats a mare, but I have a side.”

"Who," I say, "is your god?"

"And with me," he says, "everything is sideways: the sun is sideways, and the month is sideways, and the stars are sideways ... everything is sideways. How can I not have sideways?"

"Everything! .. um ... everything, they say, you have a god, and Jesus Christ," I say, "therefore, you don't have a god?"

“No,” he says, “and he is a side, and the Mother of God is a side, and Nikolach is a side ...”

"What," I say, "Nikolach?"

"And that one for the winter, one for the summer lives."

I praised him that he respects the Russian Nicholas the Wonderworker.

“Always,” I say, “honor him, because he is Russian,” and already he completely approved of his faith and completely wanted to go with him, but he, thanks, blabbed and showed himself.

“Well,” he says, “I’ll read Nikolach: I don’t even bow to him for the winter, but for the summer I give him two kopecks so that he can take good care of the cows, yes! And I don’t rely on him alone, so Keremeti (* 22 ) I donate a bull.

I got angry.

“How,” I say, “you dare not hope for Nicholas the Wonderworker, and he, the Russian, is only two kopecks, and his Mordovian Keremeti is a rotten whole bull! Go away,” I say, “I don’t want to be with you ... I don’t I’ll go if you don’t respect Nicholas the Wonderworker so much.”

And I didn’t go: I walked with all my might, I didn’t have time to come to my senses, I see that by the evening of the third day the water was envious and people. I lay down in the grass for fear and looked out: what kind of people are these? Because I’m afraid that I won’t fall into even worse captivity again, but I see that these people are cooking food ... I must be thinking, Christians ... Creep even closer: I look, they are crossing themselves and drinking vodka, -

Well, that means Russians!.. Then I jumped out of the grass and showed up. This, it turned out, was a gang of fish: they were catching fish. They kindly received me, as fellow countrymen should, and say:

"Drink vodka!"

I answer:

"I, my brothers, from her. With the Tatars are tenacious, I have completely lost the habit."

"Well, nothing, - they say, - here is its own nation, you'll get used to it again: drink!"

I poured myself a glass and I think:

"Come on, God bless, for your return!" - and drank, and the gangsters pester, good guys.

"Drink more! - they say, - look at how you got tired without her."

I allowed one more and became very frank: I told them everything:

where I came from and where and how I stayed. All night long, sitting by the fire, I told them and drank vodka, and everything was so joyful to me that I was again in Holy Russia, but only in the morning that way, the fire began to go out and almost everyone who listened fell asleep, and one of them, a gang comrade, says to me:

"Do you have a passport?"

I say:

"No, no."

"And if," he says, "it's mute, then you will have a prison here."

"Well, I," I say, "I won't leave you; but I suppose you can live here without a passport?"

And he answers:

"We can live without a passport," he says, "but we can't die."

I say:

"Why is that?"

"But how, - he says, - will the priest write you down if you are without a passport?"

"So how, they say, should I be in such a case?"

"Into the water," he says, "then we will throw you on fish food."

"Without a pop?"

"No pop."

I, being lightly drunk, was terribly frightened of this and began to cry and complain, and the fisherman laughs.

“I,” he says, “was joking with you: die boldly, we will bury you in your native land.”

But I am already very upset and say:

“It’s a good joke, they say. If you start joking with me like that, I won’t live to see another spring.”

And as soon as this last comrade fell asleep, I quickly got up and went away, and came to Astrakhan, earned a ruble on day labor, and from that hour drank so hard that I don’t remember how I found myself in another city, and I’m already sitting in prison, and from there I was sent on a shipment to my province. They brought me to our city, whipped me by the police and delivered me to their estate. The countess, who ordered me to be whipped by the cat's tail, has already died, and one count remained, but he also became very old, and became devout, and left horse hunting. They reported to him that I had come, he remembered me and ordered me to be whipped at home again and that I go to the priest, to Father Ilya, in the spirit. Well, they flogged me in the old fashioned way, in a discharge hut, and I come to Father Ilya, and he began to confess me and for three years did not allow me to receive communion ...

I say:

"How is it, father, I was ... for so many years without communion ... I waited ..."

"Well, you never know, - he says, - what; you were waiting, but why are you, - he says, -

he kept Tatars with him instead of wives ... Do you know, - he says, - that I still graciously do that I only excommunicate you from communion, and if you were to be taken as it should be, according to the rule of the holy father, to correct, then all burn clothes, but only you, - he says, - do not be afraid of this, because this is now not allowed under the police law.

"Well, - I think - to do: I'll stay at least like this, without communion, I'll live at home, I'll rest after captivity," - but the count did not want this. Would like to say:

“I,” they say, “do not want to endure near me someone who has been excommunicated from communion.”

And they ordered the steward to whip me again with an announcement for a general example and then let me go to rent. And so it happened: this time they flogged me in a new way, on the porch, in front of the office, in front of all the people, and gave me a passport.

It was gratifying that I felt myself here, after so many years a completely free man, with legal papers, and I went. I had no definite intentions, but God sent practice to my lot.

Which one?

Yes, again, all according to the same, according to the horse part. I started from the smallest insignificance, without a penny, and soon I reached a very sufficient position and could have disposed of even better if not for one object.

What is it, if you may ask?

Possession, a big tan from various spirits and passions, and another unsimilar thing.

What is this unsimilar thing holding you back?

Magnetism-s.

How! magnetism?!

Yes, sir, magnetic influence from one person.

How did you feel her influence over you?

Someone else's will acted in me, and I fulfilled someone else's fate.

This is where your own death came to you, after which you found that you should fulfill your mother's promise, and went to the monastery?

No, sir, it came later, and before that I had many other different adventures before I received a real conviction.

Can you tell these adventures too?

Why, sir; with great pleasure.

So please.

Nikolai Leskov - The Enchanted Wanderer - 01, read text

See also Nikolai Leskov - Prose (stories, poems, novels ...):

Enchanted Wanderer - 02
10 - Having taken my passport, I went without any intention about myself, and came to ...

Peacock
Story I was a participant in a slight violation of the strict monastic...

In this article, we will consider the story that Leskov created, analyze it, and describe a summary. "The Enchanted Wanderer" is a genre-complex work. It uses motifs from the biographies of saints, as well as epics. This story rethinks the plot construction of the so-called adventure novels, common in literature in the 18th century.

The Enchanted Wanderer begins with the following events. On Lake Ladoga, on the way to Valaam, several travelers meet on the ship. One of them, looking like a typical hero, dressed in a novice's cassock, says that he has the gift to tame horses. This man died all his life, but he could not die. The former coneser, at the request of travelers, tells about his life.

Acquaintance with the main character of the story

His name is Flyagin Ivan Severyanych. He comes from a household of people belonging to Count K., who lived in the Oryol province. Since childhood, Ivan Severyanych loved horses and "for the sake of laughter" once scored a monk on a cart. At night, he comes to him and reproaches that Flyagin killed him without repentance, says that he is the "promised son" of God, and also gives a prophecy that Ivan Severyanych will die many times, but will not die until " true death" will not come, and Flyagin will go to Chernetsy. Ivan Severyanych saves the owner from death in the abyss and receives his mercy. But then he cuts off the tail of the owner's cat, which was dragging pigeons from him, and as a punishment Flyagin is flogged, and then they are sent to beat stones with a hammer in an English garden. This tormented him, and he wants to commit suicide. The rope prepared for death is cut off by the gypsies, with whom Flyagin, taking the horses, leaves the count. He breaks up with his companion and gets a vacation look by selling a silver cross to an official.

Babysitting for a master

We continue to tell you about the story, describe its summary. "The Enchanted Wanderer" Leskov tells about the following further events. Ivan Severyanych is hired as a nanny to the daughter of a gentleman. Here he is very bored, he leads a goat and a girl to the river bank, and he sleeps over the estuary, where one day he meets the mother of the child, a lady who begs him to give the girl away. But Flyagin is relentless. He even fights with the lancer officer, the current husband of this woman. But when Ivan Severyanych sees the approach of the angry owner, he gives the mother of the child and decides to run away with them. Ivan Severyanych, without a passport, the officer sends away, and he goes to the steppe, where the Tatars drive horses.

Tatars

The story "The Enchanted Wanderer" continues. Khan Dzhankar sells his horses, and the Tatars fight for them and set prices. They whip each other to get horses. It was such a competition. When one handsome horse is put up for sale, Ivan Severyanych does not hold back and traps the Tatar to death, speaking for the repairman. He is taken to the police for murder, but he escapes. To main character did not run away from the Tatars, Ivan Severyanych's legs "bristle". Now he can only move by crawling, he serves as their doctor, dreaming of returning to his homeland. He has several wives and children, whom he regrets, but admits that he could not love them, since they are not baptized.

Russian missionaries

The actions of the story develop further, and we describe their summary. "The Enchanted Wanderer" continues the following events. Flyagin is already despairing of returning home, but then Russian missionaries come to the steppe. They preach, but refuse to pay the ransom for Ivan Severyanych, claiming that everyone is equal before God, including the enchanted wanderer.

These heroes suffered losses in their missionary work. After a while, one of the preachers is killed, and Flyagin, according to Orthodox custom, buries him. The Tatars bring two people from Khiva who want to buy horses for the war. They demonstrate, in the hope of intimidating the sellers, the power of Talafy, their fiery god, but Flyagin discovers a box with fireworks in these people, introduces himself to them as Talafy, converts the Tatars to Christianity and cures his legs, finding "caustic earth" in the boxes.

Return to hometown

Ivan Severyanych meets a Chuvash in the steppe, but he does not agree to go with him, since at the same time he honors both Nicholas the Wonderworker and the Mordovian Keremeti. Russians meet on the way, they drink vodka and make the sign of the cross, but they drive away Ivan Severyanych, who has no passport. The wanderer in Astrakhan ends up in prison, from which he is finally delivered to his hometown. In it, Father Ilya excommunicates the protagonist from communion for three years, but the count, who has become devout, releases him "for quitrent".

Flyagin is arranged to serve in the horse section. The fame of a sorcerer goes about him among the people, and everyone wants to know the secret of Ivan Severyanych. Among the curious and one prince, who took him to the post of koneser to himself. Flyagin buys horses for him, but sometimes he has "drunken exits". Before this happens, he gives the prince all the money for safekeeping. When he sells Dido (a beautiful horse), Ivan Severyanych is very sad, makes a "way out", but keeps the money with him this time. In church, he prays and goes to a tavern, where he meets a man who claims that he began to drink voluntarily, so that it would be easier for others. This man puts a spell on Ivan Severyanych to free him from drunkenness and at the same time makes him drunk.

Meeting with Grushenka

The story "The Enchanted Wanderer" continues chapter by chapter with the following events. At night, Flyagin ends up in another tavern, where he spends all his money on Grushenka, a gypsy singer. The protagonist, having obeyed the prince, finds out that he gave fifty thousand for this girl and brought her to the house, but soon he got tired of Grusha, besides, the money ran out.

Ivan Severyanych in the city overhears a conversation that took place between the prince and Evgenia Semyonovna, his former mistress, from which he learns that the owner intends to marry, and wants to marry Grushenka, who sincerely fell in love with the prince, to Flyagin. Returning home, he does not find the girl, who is secretly taken to the forest by the prince. But Grusha runs away from the guards and asks Flyagin to drown her. Ivan Severyanych fulfills the request, and he pretends to be the son of a peasant in search of an early death.

Further adventures

Having given all his savings to the monastery, he goes to war, wanting to die. But he does not succeed, he only differs in the service, becomes an officer, and with the Order of St. George Flyagin is dismissed. After that, Ivan Severyanych gets a job at the address desk as an "informer", but the service does not go well, and he decides to become an artist. Here he stands up for the noblewoman, beats the artist and goes to the monastery.

monastic life

Monastic life, according to Flyagin, does not burden him. And here he is with horses. Ivan Severyanych does not consider himself worthy of taking senior tonsure, therefore he lives in obedience. He fights demons diligently. Once Flyagin kills one of them with an ax, but the demon turns out to be a cow. For the whole summer, he is once planted for another "battle" in the cellar, where he opens the gift of prophecy. How does Leskov end the story? The Enchanted Wanderer ends as follows. The traveler admits that he is waiting for an imminent death, as the spirit inspires him to go to war, and he wants to die for the people.

Brief analysis

Leskov wrote The Enchanted Wanderer in 1873. At the beginning of life, the hero appears as " natural man", which is exhausted under the burden of vital energy. Natural force makes Flyagin related to the heroes of epics Vasily Buslaev and Ilya Muromets. This character has deep roots in Russian history and life. For a long time, the heroic strength of Ivan Severyanych slumbers in him. He lives outside the concepts of good and evil , shows carelessness, impudence, fraught with dramatic consequences that the enchanted wanderer experiences in the future.

An analysis of the development of his character shows that he is undergoing significant transformations. The inborn artistry inherent in this person gradually leads him to more high level life. Flagin's inherent sense of beauty is enriched by a sense of affection. The hero, who had previously been carried away only by the beauty of horses, discovers another beauty - a woman, a human soul, talent. The enchanted wanderer experiences its meaning with all his being. This new beauty fully reveals his soul. The death of the Pear makes him essentially a different person, all of whose actions are subject to moral impulse. Increasingly, the enchanted wanderer hears the voice of conscience, the analysis of which leads him to the idea of ​​the need to atone for his sins, to serve the country and people.

At the end, the main character is obsessed with the idea of ​​self-sacrifice in the name of the Fatherland. The image of this "hero" is a generalized one, comprehending the present and future of the Russian people. This is the main theme of this piece. The enchanted wanderer is a baby hero, a collective image of a people who are just entering the historical stage, but already have an inexhaustible supply of internal strength necessary for development.

Very briefly, the Travelers meet a monk who tells how many adventures, torments and trials he endured before he ended up in a monastery.

Chapter first

Traveling on Lake Ladoga on a steamboat, travelers, among whom was the narrator, visited the village of Korela. When the journey continued, the companions began to discuss this ancient, but very poor Russian town.

One of the interlocutors, inclined towards philosophy, noted that "uncomfortable people" should be sent not to Siberia, but to Korela - it would be cheaper for the state. Another said that the deacon who lived here in exile did not endure the apathy and boredom reigning in Korel for long - he hanged himself. The philosopher believed that the deacon did the right thing - “he died, and ends in the water,” but his opponent, a religious man, thought that suicides are tormented in the next world, because no one prays for them here.

Unexpectedly, a new passenger, a silent, powerful, gray-haired man of about fifty in the clothes of a novice, stood up for the suicidal sexton.

He was a hero in the full sense of the word, and, moreover, a typical, simple-hearted, kind Russian hero, reminiscent of grandfather Ilya Muromets in a beautiful picture by Vereshchagin.

He spoke about a priest from the Moscow diocese who prays for suicides and by this "corrects their situation" in hell. Because of drunkenness, Patriarch Filaret wanted to cut the priest, but the Monk Sergius himself stood up for him, twice appearing to the bishop in a dream.

Then the passengers began to ask the Chernoriz hero about his life, and found out that he served in the army as a coneser - he chose and tamed army horses, to which he had a special approach. From everything it was clear that the Chernorizet had lived a long and turbulent life. The passengers begged him to tell about himself.

Chapters two - five

Ivan Severyanych Flyagin was born a serf on the estate of a wealthy count from the Oryol province. The count bred horses, and Ivan's father served as a coachman with him. Ivan's mother did not have children for a long time, and the woman begged the child from God, and she herself died in childbirth. The boy was born with a huge head, so the servants called him Golovan.

Ivan spent his early childhood in the stable and fell in love with horses. At the age of eleven, he was placed as a postilion on the six, which was ruled by his father. Ivan had to shout, driving people out of the way. He whipped the gaping ones with a whip.

One day, Ivan and his father were taking the count past the monastery for a visit. The boy whipped the monk who had fallen asleep in the wagon with a whip. He was frightened, fell from the cart, the horses carried, and the monk was crushed by the wheels. At night, a monk killed by him appeared to Ivan, said that Ivan's mother not only begged him, but also promised God, and ordered him to go to the monastery.

You will die many times and you will never die until your real death comes, and then you will remember your mother’s promise for you and go to blacks.

Ivan did not attach any importance to the words of the dead monk, but soon his “first death” happened. On the way to Voronezh, the count's team, together with the crew, almost fell into a deep abyss. Ivan managed to stop the horses, and he himself fell under a cliff, but miraculously survived.

For saving his life, the count decided to reward Ivan. Instead of asking for a monastery, the boy wanted an accordion, which he never learned to play.

Soon Ivan got himself a pair of pigeons, from them chicks went, which the cat got into the habit of carrying. Ivan caught the cat, whipped it, cut off its tail and nailed it over his window. The cat belonged to the Countess's beloved maid. The girl ran to Ivan to swear, he hit her with a “broom on the waist”, for which he was flogged in the stable and exiled to crush stone for garden paths.

Ivan crushed the stone for so long that "the growths went on his knees." He was tired of enduring ridicule - they say, they condemned him for a cat's tail - and Ivan decided to hang himself in the nearest aspen forest. As soon as he hung in a noose, a gypsy who came from nowhere cut the rope and invited Ivan to go with him to the thieves. He agreed.

To prevent Ivan from getting off the hook, the gypsy forced him to steal horses from the count's stables. The horses were sold dearly, but Ivan received only a silver ruble, quarreled with the gypsy and decided to surrender to the authorities. He got to the cunning clerk. For a ruble and a silver pectoral cross, he gave Ivan a pass and advised him to go to Nikolaev, where there was a lot of work.

In Nikolaev, Ivan got to the Pole master. His wife fled with the military, leaving her infant daughter, whom Ivan had to nurse and feed with goat's milk. For a year, Ivan became attached to the child. Once he noticed that the girl's legs "go like a wheel." The doctor said that it was an “English disease” and advised him to bury the child in warm sand.

Ivan began to carry the pupil to the shore of the estuary. There he again dreamed of a monk, called him somewhere, showed him a large white monastery, steppes, "wild people" and said affectionately: "You still have a lot to endure, and then you will achieve." Waking up, Ivan saw an unfamiliar lady kissing his pupil. The lady turned out to be the girl's mother. Ivan did not allow to take the child, but he allowed them to meet at the estuary secretly from the master.

The lady said that her stepmother forced her to marry. She did not love her first husband, but she loves her current one, because he is very affectionate with her. When the time came for the lady to leave, she offered Ivan a lot of money for the girl, but he refused, because he was a “official and faithful” person.

Then the lady's roommate, a lancer, appeared. Ivan immediately wanted to fight him and spat on the money that he gave. “Nothing but bodily distress” for himself, the lancer did not receive, but he did not raise money, and Ivan really liked this nobility. The lancer tried to pick up the child, Ivan at first did not give it, and then he saw how the mother was reaching out to him, and took pity. At that moment, a Pole master appeared with a pistol, and Ivan had to leave with the lady and the lancer, leaving his "lawless" passport with the Pole.

In Penza, the lancer said that he, a military man, could not keep a runaway serf, gave Ivan money and let him go. Ivan decided to turn himself in to the police, but first he went into a tavern, drank tea with pretzels, after which he wandered onto the banks of the Sura. There, Khan Dzhangar, "the first steppe horse breeder" and king, sold marvelous horses. For one mare, two rich Tatars decided to fight.

They look into each other's eyes, their feet rest against their feet with footprints and their left hands press tightly, and they flog with their right hands with whips ...

The acquaintance with whom Ivan drank tea explained to him all the subtleties of the Tatar struggle, and the twenty-three-year-old hero wanted to participate.

Chapters six - nine

The uhlan intervened in the dispute over the next horse. Ivan instead entered into battle with the Tatar and whipped him to death with a whip. After that, the Russians wanted to put Ivan in prison, but the Tatars took pity on him and took him to the steppe.

Ivan lived in the steppe for ten years, was with the Tatars as a doctor - he treated horses and people. Missing his homeland, he wanted to leave, but the Tatars caught him and “buffed” him: they cut the skin on his feet, stuffed chopped horsehair into it and sewed it up. When everything healed, Ivan could not walk normally - the stubble was so prickly, he had to learn to walk "spread", on his ankles, and stay in the steppe.

For several years, Ivan lived in the same horde, where he had his own yurt, two wives, and children. Then the neighboring khan asked to treat his wife and left the doctor at home. There Ivan received two more wives. Ivan did not feel paternal feelings for his numerous children, since they were "unbaptized and not smeared with the world." For ten years he had not got used to the steppes and was very homesick.

Sultry appearance, cruel; space - no edge; <...> and the sun pours down, burns, and the steppe, as if life is painful, no end is foreseen anywhere, and here there is no bottom to the depth of anguish ...

Ivan often remembered the house, festive feasts without the disgusting horse meat, father Ilya. At night, he quietly went to the steppe and prayed for a long time.

Over time, Ivan despaired of returning to his homeland and even stopped praying - “so what ... to pray when nothing comes of it.” One day two priests showed up in the steppes - they came to convert the Tatars to Christianity. Ivan asked the priests to rescue him, but they refused to interfere in the affairs of the Tatars. Some time later, Ivan found one priest dead and buried him in a Christian way, while the other disappeared without a trace.

A year later, two appeared in the horde in turbans and bright robes. They came from Khiva to buy horses and turn the Tatars against the Russians. So that the Tatars would not rob them and kill them, they began to frighten the people with the fiery god Talaf, who gave them his fire.

One night, strangers staged a fiery light show. The horses got scared and fled, and the adult Tatars rushed to catch them. Women, old people and children remained in the camp. Then Ivan got out of the yurt and realized that the strangers were frightening people with ordinary fireworks. Ivan found a large supply of fireworks, began to launch them, and so frightened the wild Tatars that they agreed to be baptized.

In the same place, Ivan also found "caustic earth", which "scorches the body terribly." He put it on his heels and pretended to be sick. In a few days, the feet corroded, and the stubble sewn into them came out along with pus. When the legs healed, Ivan "for even more warning, let the biggest fireworks go and left."

Three days later, Ivan went to the Caspian Sea, and from there he got to Astrakhan, earned a ruble and drank heavily. He woke up in prison, from where he was sent to his native estate. Father Ilya refused to confess and give communion to Ivan, because he lived with the Tatars in sin. The count, who became devout after the death of his wife, did not want to endure a man excommunicated from communion, flogged Ivan twice, gave his passport and let him go.

Chapters ten - fourteen

Ivan left his native estate and ended up at a fair, where he saw a gypsy trying to sell a worthless horse to a peasant. Being offended by the gypsies, Ivan helped the peasant. From that day on, he began to go to fairs, "lead the poor people" and gradually became a thunderstorm for all gypsies and horse traders.

One prince from the military asked Ivan to reveal the secret by which he chooses horses. Ivan began to teach the prince how to distinguish a good horse, but he could not master the science and called him to serve as a koneser.

For three years Ivan lived with the prince "as a friend and helper", choosing horses for the army. Sometimes the prince lost and asked Ivan to recoup the state money, but he did not give it. The prince was angry at first, and then thanked Ivan for his loyalty. Going on a spree, Ivan gave money to the prince for preservation.

One day the prince went to the fair and soon ordered a mare to be sent there, which Ivan liked very much. From chagrin, he wanted to drink it, but there was no one to leave the state money. For several days, Ivan "was tormented" until he prayed at an early mass. After that, he felt better, and Ivan went to a tavern to drink tea, where he met a beggar "from the noble." He begged the public for vodka and, for fun, ate it with a glass glass.

Ivan took pity on him, gave him a decanter of vodka and advised him to stop drinking. The beggar replied that his Christian feelings did not allow him to stop drinking.

And what do you think if I give up this habit of drinking, and someone picks it up and takes it: will he be happy about it or not?

The beggar showed Ivan his gift for instantly sobering up, which he explained by natural magnetism, and promised to remove his "drunken passion" from him. The beggar forced Ivan to drink glass after glass, making passes over each glass with his hands.

So Ivan was “treated” until the evening, all the time remaining in his right mind and checking whether the state money was intact in his bosom. In the end, the drinking companions quarreled: the beggar considered love a sacred feeling, and Ivan insisted that all this was nothing. They were kicked out of the tavern, and the beggar led Ivan to a "living room" full of gypsies.

In this house, Ivan was fascinated by the singer, the beautiful gypsy Grusha, and he threw all the government money at her feet.

Chapter fifteen - eighteen

Having sobered up, Ivan learned that his magnetizer had died of drunkenness, while he himself remained magnetized and had not taken vodka in his mouth since. He confessed to the prince that he had squandered the treasury on a gypsy, after which he had a delirium tremens.

Having recovered, Ivan learned that his prince had pledged all his property in order to redeem the beautiful Pear from the camp.

A woman is worth everything in the world, because she will inflict such an ulcer that for the whole kingdom you will not be cured of her, and she alone can heal from her in one minute.

Pear quickly fell in love with the prince, and he, having received what he wanted, began to be burdened by an uneducated gypsy and stopped noticing her beauty. Ivan became friends with Grusha and felt sorry for her very much.

When the gypsy became pregnant, the prince began to annoy his poverty. He started one business after another, but all his "projects" brought only losses. Soon, the jealous Grusha suspected that the prince had a mistress, and sent Ivan to the city to find out.

Ivan went to the prince's former mistress, the "secretary's daughter" Evgenia Semyonovna, from whom he had a child, and became an unwitting witness to their conversation. The prince wanted to borrow money from Evgenia Semyonovna, rent a cloth factory, pass for a manufacturer and marry a rich heiress. He was going to marry Grusha to Ivan.

The woman who still loved the prince mortgaged the house he had donated, and soon the prince got married to the leader's daughter. Returning from the fair, where he bought samples of fabrics "from Asians" and took orders, Ivan found that the prince's house was renovated and ready for the wedding, and Pears were nowhere to be found.

Ivan decided that the prince killed the gypsy and buried it in the forest. He began to look for her body and one day he came across a living Pear by the river. She said that the prince locked her in a forest house under the protection of three hefty girls, but she ran away from them. Ivan offered the gypsy woman to live together as a sister and brother, but she refused.

The pear was afraid that she would not stand it, and would destroy an innocent soul - the prince's bride, and made Ivan swear a terrible oath that he would kill her, threatening that he would become "the most shameful woman." Unable to stand it, Ivan threw the gypsy off the cliff into the river.

Chapters nineteen - twenty

Ivan ran away and wandered for a long time, until Pear, who appeared in the form of a girl with wings, showed him the way. On this path, Ivan met two old men, from whom their only son was taken as a soldier, and agreed to serve in his place. The old people sent Ivan new documents, and he became Peter Serdyukov.

Once in the army, Ivan asked to go to the Caucasus in order to “die for the faith rather,” and served there for more than fifteen years. One day, Ivan's detachment was pursuing Caucasians who had gone beyond the Koisu River. Several soldiers died trying to build a bridge across the river, and then Ivan volunteered, deciding that this was the best case, "to end his life." While he was sailing across the river, Grusha protected him in the form of a “lady at about sixteen years old”, protected him from death with her wings, and Ivan came ashore unharmed. After he told the colonel about his life, he sent a paper to find out if the gypsy Grusha was really killed. He was told that there was no murder, and Ivan Severyanych Flyagin died in the house of the Serdyukov peasants.

The colonel decided that Ivan's mind was clouded from danger and icy water, promoted him to an officer, dismissed him and gave a letter "to one big person in Petersburg." In St. Petersburg, Ivan was placed as a “reference officer” at the address desk, but his career did not go well, because he got the letter “fita”, for which there were very few surnames, and there was almost no income from such work.

They did not take Ivan, a noble officer, as a coachman, and he went as an artist in a street booth to portray a demon. There Ivan stood up for a young actress, and he was kicked out. He had nowhere to go, he went to a monastery and soon fell in love with the local way of life, similar to the army. Ivan became the father of Ishmael, and they assigned him to the horses.

Travelers began to ask if Ivan was suffering "from a demon", and he said that he was tempted by a demon pretending to be the beautiful Pear. One elder taught Ivan to drive away the demon with prayer, kneeling down.

A person's knees ‹…› the first tool: as you fall on them, the soul now flutters up…

By prayer and fasting, Ivan coped with the demon, but soon small imps began to bother him. Because of them, Ivan accidentally killed a monastery cow, mistaking her for a devil at night. For this and other sins, the father hegumen locked Ivan in the cellar for the whole summer and ordered him to grind salt.

In the cellar, Ivan read a lot of newspapers, began to prophesy, and prophesied an imminent war. The abbot transferred him to an empty hut, where Ivan lived all winter. The doctor called to him could not understand whether the prophet Ivan or a madman, and advised him to let him "go for a run."

Ivan ended up on the ship, making his way on a pilgrimage. He firmly believed in a future war and was going to join the army in order to "die for the people." Having told all this, the enchanted wanderer fell into thought, and the passengers did not dare to question him anymore, because he told about his past, and the future remains "in the hand of the one who hides his fate from the smart and reasonable and only occasionally reveals them to babies."