Tsar's Gold

Part 1

To the sacred memory of King Alexander I of Yugoslavia the author dedicates the authorOh, you, who remind us of the Lord, do not be silent!Isaiah, ch. 62, p. 6Petrovka, in the midst of work, and my father is at the construction sites all day. The clerk Vasil Vasilich does not spend the night at home, but all in the cooperatives. Gorkin has already served his time - "in retirement" - and he is disturbed only in special cases, when his own eye is required. We have a lot of work, with some kind of "penalty": if you don't finish by the deadline, you can go bankrupt. I asked Gorkin: "What does it mean to burn out?" How they burn out... And there is a real problem with the people: they run home to the meadow, to the village, and the most golden hands. Father is terribly worried, in a hurry, his summer jacket is all wet, the heat has come, the Caucasian woman has rewound all her legs on the buildings, she is not unsaddled from morning to evening. You hear my father shouting: "Pay a penny and a half, just hold back the people!" Here are the poor people... They dressed up, devils, promised not to go to the mowing, and we have penalties of thousands... It's not about money, it's about ourselves. Hit them, fools, in the head... After all, they will get three times more than from their own meadows.. "I drove them in, I tore off my whole throat with them," Vasil Vasilich, who had noticeably lost weight, spreads his hands helplessly, "there's nothing you can do with them, it's been like this for a long time. And they themselves understand, but... Partying for them, as if they were indulging in weed. Like mowing - no rolls can hold it back, they run. When they return, they will lie down, and in the meantime we will hire the rabble. Gorkin says the same thing, and he knows everything: mowing is a matter of the soul, it cannot be otherwise, it has always been like this; Early in the morning, the sun is a little over the sheds, and at the porch there is already a sharaban. His father runs down the stairs, chewing a curl as he goes, jumps on the footboard, and here is Gorkin, he needs something. "What else do you want?.. Father asks anxiously, irritably, "what kind of trouble?" "Everything, thank God, nothing. And here, I want to go to St. Sergius to pray, according to my promise... back and forth.The father hits Chaly with the rein and pulls it towards himself. Roan kicks up and cuts the stone. "You're still... with trifles! So you are in the heat of the moment? if you die, you will wait until the Dormition?.. The father swings the rein, and is about to roll away. "It's not a trifle, to go to the reverend to pray..." says Gorkin reproachfully, begging Chaly's tail entangled in the rein. "I would like to take a warm season. And from the Dormition the cold nights will come, burn... It will be awkward. How many years have I been packing up..." "And I'm keeping you?" Go by car, you'll be done in two days." You know, the time is hot, the business itself, and... How am I here without you? And besides, God forbid, Kosoy gets drunk?.. "The Lord is merciful, He does not get drunk..." It is more pierced by winter. And you can't do all the things, Sergey Ivanitch. And my years are like that, and... "Oh, are you going to die?" "Not to die, not to die, that's God's will, but... As the saying goes, there are pounds of business, and she is a fool! "How?" who?.. Kudy — tudy?.. Father asks with irritation, waving the rein. "We know who. She won't wait, whether it's business or not, but she'll be done with everything.Father looks at Gorkin, at the open gate, which the janitor holds, biting his moustache. "Eccentric..." he says quietly, as if on Chaly, waves his hand to something and rides out into the street.Gorkin walks upset, shouts at me in his heart: "I tell you, leave me alone, for Christ's sake!" He goes under the shed where the carpenters work, throws away the shavings and blocks with his foot and shouts at me again: "Well, why are you bothering me?" He shouts something at the carpenters and goes to his closet. I run to the blind alley to the fence where he has a window, sit down on the cladding outside and ask the same thing: will he take me with him. He is sorting out a chest, under the lid of which there is a picture - "Trinity-Sergius Lavra", burst in the cracks and faded. He understands it and grumbles: "No, you can't hold me back..." I will go to Sergi the Trinity, to the venerable... Leave. All of me and I... and manage without me. And Ondrushka will take care of me, and Stepan will cope... To look at the panels, it's a great thing! And it's my time to go on contracts. The scythe does not get drunk, there is nothing to be afraid of... If he gave me his word, he will keep it out of respect. It's just the right time, it's warm, people are now on all the roads... No, you can't hold me back. "And I... You promised, eh?.. I ask him, and feel bitterly that they won't let me in. "And me, they'll let me in with you, huh?.. He doesn't even look at me, he understands everything. "They'll let you in, they won't let you in..." it's none of my business, and I'll leave anyway. No, don't hold it back... You can't do everything, brother, no... There will be no end to them. Five years since Martyn was buried, I keep getting ready, getting ready... The Queen of Heaven has preserved me," Gorkin points to a dark icon that I know, "I promised to go to the Iverskaya forty times, and even then I did not get it, eighteen moves after me. And then he promised the Monk. At that time, Martyn was begging me to die, at Easter it was just five years ago: "Pray for me, Misha... go to the monk." He never got together himself, he died. And he also promised, for a sin... - And for what sin, tell me... - I beg Gorkin, but he does not listen.He takes out of the chest a shirt, a towel, canvas footcloths, a large tethered bag, a shoulder bag. "I'll take this and take that..." Two shifts, yes... And I'll also take a shirt, a common one, and a communion shirt, and that one for the road, as a reserve. And here, then, I've got crackers," he makes a noise with a sack like sugar, "to drink tea and suck, it's a long road." Here, then, I have tea and sugar..." he thrusts a caviar box with a fish squeezed on the lid into a bag, "and I'll grab a lemon on the go, yes... a knife, a remembrance..." he thrusts in a book with a golden cross embossed on it, which I also know, with painted pictures of how the soul leaves the body and how it walks through the toll-houses, followed by a bright Angel, and below, in red tongues of flame, green unclean spirits with pitchforks, "and this is who to take out the scrolls for, leesterik..." Everything needs to be done in turn. And I'm going to bring a jar of jam to Sanya Yurtsov, he's doing his obedience in leaven, he's getting ready to become a monk at the monk's... From Moscow, I will say, a bow and a gift. I'll take a bagel to the track... My soul breaks, and he talks and talks and puts everything in a bag. What would I say to him?.. "Gorkin... and how did the Queen of Heaven preserve you, tell me?.. He raises his head and says sternly: "What are you squelching about?" Well, she did... I've told you more than once. Here, wipe yourself with a towel... Your tears are cheap. Well, we were demolishing the house on Presnya... Well, I found an old icon in the attic, that one... Well, I came down from the attic, I was standing on the second tier... — let me, I think, I will look at what the Queen of Heaven is, I can't see her face. As soon as he crossed himself, he wanted to rub it with his elbow... I don't remember anything, I was thrown into dust.. I woke up at the very bottom, in the logs, in the boards, everything was twisted... And above my head - a huge beam is stuck! I would be right in the bun.. "That's what it is. And our timid children, then, were calling out to me, I heard: "Pankratych, are you alive?" As he held, so... Clean on the wings lowered. And it didn't scratch anywhere, not a scratch, not a bruise... Think of it! And this wall was shaken wrong - the beams came out of their sockets, their ends rotted... As soon as they gasped, everything was broken, all rolled up. It flew two tiers, with trash... I know that Gorkin wants to put this icon with him in the coffin, so that his soul may be saved. And I know everything in his closet: the picture of the Last Judgment on the wall, with the fiery Gehenna, and "The Journey through the Toll-Houses of St. Theodora", and a copper, cast, very ancient cross with an "Adam's head", terrible... and the pastry-box of Martyn the carpenter, carved with one hatchet. Above the wooden bed, with scorched candles, as they burned bugs, stand on the shelf, to the images, completely gray with dust, swirls from Jerusalem-city and from Athos, brought to him by good people, and vials of sung oil, with poured saints on them. Recently, Gorkin smeared my tooth, and it became much easier. "And you promised me everything about Martyn..." You've got a hatchet hanging over there! What a miracle it was with him, eh? tell me, Gorkin.. Gorkin is no longer strict. He puts down the bag, sits down on my windowsill and lubricates my tears with a hard finger. "Well, why are you upset; and? that I'm leaving... I'm going to a good cause, I can't. When you grow up, you will understand. This is the most spiritual thing to do, to go on pilgrimage. And I'll pray for Martyn, and for you, my dear, I'll take out a scroll, I'll give you a candle, if you were good, the Lord would give them health. Well, where can you compete with me, the road is long, you can't get there... You can go by car, you can get together with your dad. How did I promise you... I didn't promise you. Well, he was joking, maybe..." "You promised, you promised... God will punish you! look, God will punish you.. He laughs, grabs me by the shoulders, wants to tickle me. "Well, what an infusion, self-indulgent you! Well, okay, it's too early to make noise. Maybe the Lord will turn so that we will roll along the path along the pillar road... What do you think! Daddy is good, that's how I know him. Wait a minute, listen: I'll tell you about our Martyn. You can't tell everything... But listen. What he himself told me, and then everything happened before my eyes. And everything is true. "His father took him to Moscow to work..." Gorkin nodded gently, like all our carpenters, Volodimir and Kostroma residents, and I liked it very much, it came out so kindly, "they were carpenters, like me, on our side. We all have the same path, to Sergiev Posad. We went to the monk... There was no trace of cast iron then. Well, let's go in, everything is honorable... We prayed and venerated it, worked for the monk with a hatchet for a week, to the monastery, yes... they went to Chernigovskaya, not far away, where the elder lived — he was saved. Nonche Father Varnava consoles the people there – he basloves, because before him he was also a good clairvoyant. That old man blessed them for a good job and said to the boy, Martyn: "You will be talan from God, just don't trespass!" And he also said to him: "Come to me when."They worked well, successfully, Martyn's talent became great, such a faithful eye, a reliable hand... I have never seen a better carpenter. Well, of course, he was clean in panels, better than me, perhaps. Why, I say better than me, so it's better, don't interrupt. Well, his father died a long time ago, he became the only one among people, an orphan. To us, to your late grandfather, Ivan Ivanitch, the kingdom of heaven, he came to us for a long time afterwards and ordered it, but he went to different places and did not get along. Well, listen. His talent was from God... And he, the dark one..." — it means that he has attached his own: Martyn has learned to drink. Well, he was chased from all places. Well, he came to work with us, I held him back a little, talked to him heartily — we were the same age as him. We talked, and he mentioned the elder to me. I ordered him to visit that elder. And he forgot how many years had passed. Well, he visited, but that old man died for ten years. He was upset, Martyn was upset that he had not been there, that he had not listened to his order. conscience and upset. And from that business he did not go to another elder, but, to tell you frankly, he went to the tavern! And he came back to us in one torn shirt, a shame to look at... barefoot, the hatchet was only with him. That hatchet is blessed by the elder... It's the same one, hanging with me, it's a memory from him, it's denied me. I won't say how he didn't drink it, how it wasn't taken away from him. It was with your grandfather. Ivan Ivanitch wanted not to receive him, but your great-grandmother Ustinya came out with a ladder... she prayed all the time, she was right in faith... and said: "Take a sinner, Vanya, give shelter... the Lord has sent him to us."

Part 2

Well, I took it. And she taught Martyn with a ladder for the sake of appearance, as if for punishment. He didn't take it in his mouth for three years. What he receives - he will bring to her, for the image. I have saved a lot. It came up to him to drink again, she did not give him money. As soon as he gets live, he will drink everything. He began to get mad, we locked him up. Otherwise, he could have killed. The axe holds, don't approach. He was afraid that the axe would be stolen from him, his talan would be lost. Once every three years, he had such a disease. If we lock him up, he grinds his teeth as if he is tearing wood chips, it is frightening to look at. The strength was unprecedented... He wore beams alone, he was taller than fathom. We are afraid – well, he will run away with an axe! And grandmother Ustinya would come to him, threaten him with a ladder, say: "Martynushka, give me the hatchet, I'll bury it!" - he obediently fell into her hands, that's how. And he was a widow, childless. Well, he lived and lived, with victories. I got triple! And now listen to him as if it were a sin... It was six years ago. We worked on the Cathedral of Christ the Savior, from large contractors. It's all made of stone, and there was a lot of our work there... platforms there, scaffolding, transfers, carts, that's it... plating, and under the kumpol there was a lot of scaffolding. The Emperor came to see, the alterations were controversial. In seventy, in the third year, in the month of August, it was still warm. Well, all the contractors, on such an occasion, put up artels to show themselves to the sovereign, the Tsar-Liberator, our Alexander Nikolaich. They dressed up in clean clothes, in everything. And we with others, our large artel, such a prominent people... I won't say anything bad, we always had good food, we didn't eat porridge - it fell off. The Tsar looked at all the decoration and was satisfied. He goes out with his escorts, with all the generals and princes. And ours, therefore, Vladimir Ondreitch, Prince Dolgorukov, with them, the Governor-General. The Emperor favored him very much. And our Alexandra Aleksandritch Kozlov, the most ober-polcimeister, a brave one, with a long moustache and tails, a good man, who did not offend anyone in vain, well, who are the bosses at the time of construction, show timid, working people. The Emperor greeted him, nodded, yes... Such a radiance from him, all sorts of medals... "Thank you," he said, "well done." He comes up to us. And Martyn was the first to stand on the edge, tall, in a new pink shirt, with a gray beard, to this day, with such a good face, pious. The Emperor paused, and it must have been our Martyn. A good old man, he said. the most Russian! And Kozlov reported to Prince Dolgorukov: "Can the Emperor prove his eye to His Majesty, which no one has." And he, therefore, knew about Martyn. We worked in the house of the Governor-General, on Tverskaya, against the watchtower, and Martyn proved his secret to the prince. And according to that secret, Martyn's name was as follows: "Martyn, show me the yardstick!" So the prince and tell the Emperor that so, they say, and so, can surprise. Dad was frightened for Martyn, and we were still afraid that he would be fined! And the rumor about him was reported to the sovereign, no joke. Consequently, Martyn is summoned. The Emperor said to him, nothing, affectionately: "Show us your secret." "I can," he said, "Your Imperial Majesty..." And he is not afraid. Well, they gave him a slat. "Please check," he said, "there are no droppings." The generals checked - there was no litter. Well, he put that smooth slat, half a mile wide, on the boards, and took his hatchet. Everyone surrounded him, and the Emperor stood over him... Martyn said: "If only no one interfered with me, did not look at my arm... the Emperor ordered him to spread a little, not to press. Martyn crossed himself, spat on his hands, took a closer look at the slat, did not bother, nothing... And just like that, he shook his span over her, hung himself..." "I put it down, cut it off. "Please," he said, "measure it, Your Majesty." The Emperor even threw up his shoulders. "Wait," says our Martyn. He ran his span over the trim again—once, once, once! — I laid and marked four quarters. They measured it - not a hair's breadth of mistake! "And the tops, he says, I can." And he did. "I can," he said, "up to eight." The Emperor took his yardstick, held it for time... "Take this curiosity to my chambers," he said, "and write it down in my royal book without fail!" Martyn kissed him there, the golden one. Well, then the princes and generals gave him a treble, some treshna, some a quarter... - we feasted. And Martyn put that royal gold under the icon, forever. He didn't drink for a year. And again it came upon him. Well, we took everything away from him, and locked him up. At night, he did escape. He disappeared for a month - he came. I climbed under his images — there was no royal gold, I drank! We began to reproach him: "I have drunk the Tsar's mercy!" He does not remember: he was drunk, of course. I drank and drank. From that time on, he stopped drinking. Let us begin to tease him: "The tsar's golden drank has proved his yardstick!" "I can't drink the cross, so I won't catch a cold against the royal gift!" He remembered what the elder had punished him – don't make a mistake! And it turned out that he had made a mistake. They don't believe him, but he stands his ground. What a sin! Okay. It will take a long time to tell you everything, and another time I will tell you a lot. And then he caught a cold on the yerdani, he was shopping with a German with one, - I'll tell you later. He was ill for three months. On Holy Saturday he whispered to me: "I will die, Misha... the old man has already called me..." "Well, he says, Martynushka, you won't come?" "Give me the royal gold piece," he said, "it's buried with me... And where, I cannot say, the eclipse is in me, and he is intact. Look for it, for Christ's sake, I want to see, to rejoice, to remember." And the words are already confusing, the eclipse is on him. "I," he said, "buried from myself in my soul then... it can't be, it's safe and sound." I told my father, and he went to his room and brought me a gold piece. He ordered Martyn to give him as if he had been found, and did not worry about his death. I gave it to him and said: "I told you rightly, your golden one was found." He kissed the golden one and held it in his hand. They unctioned him, but he didn't even unclench his hand, with his fist, that's how he was baptized with him, with a golden one, I led his hand myself. On the third day of Easter, he died well, honor with honor.They remembered about the gold, began to take it away, but you can't unclench it, no way! They have already turned the chisel, the fingers. And he was just boiling, stuck in the very valley, in the gray, like in wax, the edges were no longer visible. We dug it out, lifted it up... And in his hand, on the very hollow, there was an eagle! So it is cut in, blue, distinct... the royal seal itself. It never melted, did not disperse, as if the seal was attached, natural. So we buried him, the eagle. And that golden daddy ordered to be given a sorokoust, for the commemoration of the soul. Ok... What do you think.. A year later, it happened: we began to re-lay the floors in the bedrooms - and what do you think.. Under his head, where he had an icon... the boards were lifted... On the roll, on black... The same golden one is lying and shining... and?!. The royal one, the newer one! Everyone immediately recognized it. Either he dropped it, how he dragged it from under the icons to drink, he did not remember himself... or he really hid it from himself, lowered it into a crack on the roll... — "He buried it in his soul," he told me then, he was dying... Then he justified himself in front of everyone: he did not make a mistake, that's it! And we were all so happy, we served a pannikhida with the singers for him... it was good, it was so merry, they sang "Christ is Risen", it just happened on Foma's Day. They gave that golden papa ... held, held... "Give him away," he said, "to the church, to the forty mouths! "Let him," he said, "go about the people, and not lie in vain. This," he says, "is golden, happy, not lost!" So I wanted to exchange it, for memory! Yes, I thought - let him go among the people, right... It is a blessing, not an ordinary one. And they gave it away. So now he walks among the people, inaudible. Well, how do you recognize him... You can't know. So he told them. So, then, I will go to the monk, I will fulfill the vow, I will remember Martyn... That's it... and squelched again! Wait a minute, what am I going to tell you... I cry inconsolably. I feel sorry for Martyn that he died... It's such a pity! And that I don't recognize that golden, and that Gorkin is leaving alone... His father arrived—it was early today—shouted cheerfully in the yard: "Old Gorkin!" Father is cheerful, pats Gorkin on the back, whistles and clicks. Did anything joyful happen? And Gorkin cheered up, he kept shaking his head, shaking his beard, and his face was clear and satisfied. Father shouts from the yard to the kitchen: "Everybody to the botvinya, but live!" It's in my bag, sort it out.. And lunch today is special. As soon as they sat down, my father shouted out of the window: "Old Gorka, come with us to eat botvinya!" Well, well, you didn't dine much, and botvinya with white fish is not every day... Yes, lunch today is special: Gorkin is also sitting, putting on a fresh jacket and oiling his head. And it is surprising to him why he was invited: this happens only on major holidays. He asks his father, pulling his beard in embarrassment: "It's a sign of what... Parade for me? "But I liked you!" Father says cheerfully. "I've been in trouble for a long time," laughs Gorkin, "and the landlord says it's a sin to refuse. "Well, eat white fish." Father is unusually cheerful. Perhaps because today, for the first time in so many years, a white, fragrant flower has bloomed on an orange tree, his favorite?I was so happy when, before dinner, my father called me out of the hall, grabbed me under the armpits, brought me to the flower and said: "Well, smell it, nanny!" And the table is cheerful. Around the faience, white, with blue edges, bowls there are plates, and everything is merry on them: a green mound of finely chopped onions, a dark green mound of fragrant dill, a golden mound of crushed orange peel, a white mound of planed horseradish, brown-green with botvinya, a stack of thin circles, with seeds, fresh cucumbers, a bowl of crystal ice, a block of beluga, in grits, protruding hump in streaks, Patches of delicate white fish, juicy and pinkish-pale, films of golden balyk with redness. All this smells in its own way, viscous, fresh and spicy, fills the whole room and merges into that wonderful thing that is called botvinya. Father, with his sturdy cuffs rolled up in large gold cufflinks, stirs everything merrily in a bowl, drinks kvass from a decanter, sizzles foam in bubbles. Heat: botvinya is just right now.Everyone eats merrily, crunches cucumbers, cartilage - khru-khru. Sucking the boots from his mustache, my father keeps smiling at something... Is he smiling at something? "So... Do you think of the monk? He asks Gorkin. "I want to work... I've been going for a long time," Gorkin replies humbly and affectionately, "as you say... if things permit. "Yes, how did you do it just now?.. The father chuckles, "'It's a pood of business, and she's stupid?! You're right, wise man. Eat, brother, botvinya, eat — don't strain, the horses are still strong! So when do you think about the Trinity, on Thursday, or what? On Thursday you go out, and on Saturday you will be in time for the vigil. "We must be in time. Count with Moscow, seventy versts. You can be in time for vespers and not be in a hurry..." says Gorkin, as if they have already decided.My eyes melt as the decanter of kvass expands, the plates expand and spread, and transparent, watery patterns flow at me in waves. My father lifts my chin with his finger and says, "What are you talking about? What the hell? Smell the crust.It hurts me even more. Why are they laughing at me! Gorkin laughs too. I look at him through tears, and he winks, I hear him pushing me in the leg. "Maybe we'll come too," says his father, "it's been a long time since I've been to the Trinity. "Here, a good thing, pray," says Gorkin joyfully. "We're in the car, and he's already there," my father looks at me, squinting, "God bless him, take him with you..." Let him work. To believe or not to believe? "Rest assured, he won't be lost with me..." What a joy he is! Gorkin answers happily, and again it spreads in my eyes. But these are different tears. "Well, let it be so. And I let Antipas go with you... Crooked to help, he will drag himself. If he gets tired, he will sit down. That's right, brother... You can't do all the things. And you need to take a break... To believe or not to believe?.. I know that my father likes to make me happy.Gorkin blinks at me, as if he wants to say, as he did just now: "What did I say! Good daddy, I know him as well!" So that's what they talked about in the yard! And that's why Gorkin became cheerful? And why did this happen?.. I understand something, but not quite. And why does the father keep laughing, shaking his crest and repeating: "You can't do all the things, brother... faithfully! there are poods of business, and she is tuds!". Who is she?.. I understand something, but not quite.

Dues

And in the courtyard, and even in the whole street, it is known that we are going to St. Sergius, on foot. Everyone is jealous, they say: "Oh, and I would follow you, but there is no one to leave Moscow to!" Ours will go by car, but this is not the same at all. Gorkin said so: "Eka, what a trick, about the car..." And you work for the saint, for the soul! And from the car - what will you see? And we will go from forest to forest, along paths, through meadows, through villages, and we will see everything. If you want to rest, you sit down. And all around are all the baptized people, walking and coming. And now the strawberries are the same, all kinds of flowers, birds sing to you... - you can't compare it with a car. He sits on oats in the stable, fiddling with his boot. He shows his heel, how well he stuffed it. "I'll go in boots, as my foot is wont to do," he says cheerfully, and he keeps admiring the boot, as he has done so well. "Others put on bast shoes there, otherwise chuni for softness... And this is the only harm for the leg, who is unaccustomed. Whoever wears what, go in it. Well, who wears bast shoes, well... he is not good in boots, he will fill his leg. And the one in boots — go in boots. And Pankratych is coming in boots, and I will go in boots, and you go in boots, in the most common ones. And you can put on new shoes there, you will flaunt there. What kind of respect did daddy do to you... The curve lets go with us! After all, you'll get there. It was Gorkin who tried everything for you... - let us go with us, we'll see, it hurts to go hunting with us. So he let him go. It's too painful, you're a cooperative guy... And what can you see from the car! "It's not cunning, it's about the car!" I repeat with pride, and my legs ring. "And a pleaser to work, isn't it?" "How can you do it!" How he worked... also, they say, he was a carpenter, he built churches. Of course, he is pleased. He puts "all the harness" in a bag: two shirts - common and ceremonial, brand new footcloths, that's it. I asked him: "Are you going to die?" Do you have a shabby shirt? "Why should I die what I wanted!" he says, laughing. "I'm only in my seventh decade and eight. What are you talking about? "Oh... Gorkin has a shabby shirt, and he takes it on the road. You never know... God is in the belly... How is that?.. "Oh... that's what you're getting at, what a clever one," Anti-Cannon laughs at me. "Yes, in life and death only the Lord God is willing," they say. And I'll have something to bury myself in. I also have a good shirt, I will wear it at the Trinity, for communion, the Lord will bring me. And when someone dies, only the Lord can know. The other day you reprimanded me for a fable-Krylov... like an oak over there was broken in a thunderstorm, but the straw was fine.. "Not a straw, but a 'Cane' called!" "It's all the same. A reed, a straw... It can be the same with every person. I tell him "The Dragonfly and the Ant" quickly, and jump up. Suddenly he said: "Don't dance too much, you'll dance something else..." Well, they'll change their minds?.. It was on purpose to frighten him. You can't be very happy, I know: I wouldn't have to cry! But it seems that he is also afraid that they will change their minds. In the morning he said to Gorkin: "I wish I could get out as soon as possible, there would be no delay." And my legs are so itchy, I can't wait. There would have been no rain?.. Anti-cannon says it shouldn't rain — the flies walk merrily, they don't crowd into the stables, and this morning there was a lot of dew in the garden. And the chickens do not rob, and Bushui does not lie on his back and does not rub himself to the rain from fleas. And everyone says that the weather is now settled, it's time to go. I climb into the stall, to Crooked, crawl under her belly, and she only snorts: she is used to it. I asked her with a sighted eye if she was glad that she would go with us to the monk. She lifts her ear, slaps her wet lips, which already have gray hair, and snorts softly, "she's glad, then." It smells like chewed warm oats, milky oats—it smells so sweet! She sniffs me, grabs my hair with her lips - she plays like this. In her black-mirrored eye I see a small me, the latticed window of the stall and the dove behind me. I sing her a poem I have recently learned: "Well, drag yourself, sivka, by arable land, tithes... the beautiful dawn in the sky lit up..." I sing and pat her lips – well, drag yourself, sivka.. And he himself is already far from here. We walk along meadows, fields, paths, forests... and many baptized people. "The beautiful dawn in the sky has lit up, the sun is coming out of the big forest..."Well, drag yourself, sivka! "What an entertainer you are," says Anti-Cannon, "an entertainer.. We won't be bored going with you. "Gorkin says—" "We'll sing all sorts of prayers!" "It's customary to sing prayers..." A conpanist, right? And the monk will be glad that Krivaya is with us, eh?" He will be pleased, eh?.. "Nothing. He also managed the horses. He was happy with the bear, the bear came to him... He brought him a crust of bread. He will come, stand aside under the Christmas tree... And he waits — feed him! He will feed you. So the rat comes to me, he is not afraid. I taught Vasya too, he doesn't touch him. I'll put it in the oats, and whistle for her. She would come out from under the floor, and he would only stick out his ears, he would become all stiff, trembling, but nothing. And the rat too, gets up on its paws, sniffs. And he will go to collect oats. Gorkin calls: "Hurry, daddy is under the barn, let's choose a cart!" Under the shed, where the sleigh is stacked and all sorts of carts are parked, my father and Gorkin choose what to give us. He advises a light tarantassik, but Gorkin insists that it is much calmer in the cart, you can lie down, and braid the gazebo from the sun, bump into birch trees, and point out a very light cart - "like a feather!" "That's what suits us. We'll lay hay, cover it with whatever kind of cloth - right for you. And it's easier for Crooked, she will roll like peas after her.I know this cart well. It is smaller than others and is all in patterns. And the beds, and the underflows, and the front, and the back - everything is cut with fine carvings: suns, wheels, Christmas trees, stars and various intricate things. She went with her grandfather somewhere beyond Voronezh, where the Cossacks were - she carried red goods. Father says she is old. And he feels sorry for something. Gorkin holds on to the cart and says that nothing will be done to it: it has stood up and is all in good working order, only it will wet the wheels. You can't even see the years on it, and it's better than a new one. "Won't it fall apart?" Father asks and shakes it, takes the cart under the back. "You'll go loudly. "It's true that it's ringing, it's a bit dry. And the Anti-Cannon also praises: the birch, it is arrogant, you want to throw it from the mountain. And Crooked will be a pleasure, and the tarantas will starve. "Well, I don't know," my father says doubtfully, "I haven't gone for a long time. They say that the "fox" is strong, does not move in the nests, like a soldered one. A fox is very strange. I want to see the "fox", and I am shown a round, like a shaft, pole that fastens the front with the back. But why a fox? They say that the crooked, forest, cunning thing in the cart often deceives, breaks.Father agrees, but orders to call Brovkin, to inspect.The wheelwright Brovkin comes, from our own yard. He is always gloomy, as if from a dream, with shaggy eyebrows. His father calls him "the dissatisfied man." "Come, disgruntled man, look around the cart, I want to let them go to the Trinity." It seems to me that he is dissatisfied with her. He walks for a long time, and we stand. He begins to stagger by the beds, by the wheels, raises the rear like a feather, and throws angrily, with a swing. And again he is dissatisfied with something. Then suddenly he hits the lubok with his fist, until it dusts. Silently he tears off the front, angrily wheezes: "Let it go!" - and overturns it onto the body. He hits the butt in the ass, squats down and listens: how is the blow? He spits and winces. I hear as if - mmdamm.. - and the rear is already without wheels. The wheelman smoothed the axles, knocked on the sawn-off shotguns, looked at them with his fist and suddenly hit the "fox". My heart is pounding - it will break! He jumps on the "fox" and crushes it. But the "fox" does not give a creak. Still, I'm afraid I'll ruin the cart. And everyone is afraid, standing and silent. He puts it on the front again, smoothes the beds and hoots. Then he takes out a tube, puts shag into it, does not even look, but keeps looking at the cart. He lights a cigarette for a long time, and it seems to me that he is looking through a match. He takes a long drag, blows green smoke, makes his hands a samovar and shakes his head sadly.Father asks, squinting: "Well, how is it, a dissatisfied man, eh? Bad, or what?- Gorkin asks, and his voice is dubious. "Oh, what do you think?" Nothing, cart... The wheelman suddenly slapped around the bed, as if he was angry with the cart, and waved his hand with a pipe at us: "And where was it made?!.. If you want to go to Kiev, go beyond Kiev, and it will not be demolished forever - that's all I tell you! It's so well-coordinated, eh.. What does it mean that it is done conscientiously... and? There were masters... Is it a cart, eh?.. He looks at me with something, "it's not a cart, but... A children's toy! And the whole conversation.So everyone beamed. He punished him - how can he change the kingpin? No, it is not worth it, it lives like this. He even climbed into the shafts and rolled out a cart on himself. Well, just a feather! "It's a pity to drive one," he says, not frowning. "Look, you've been wise! For one thread, maybe three weeks... And the cleanliness, but what an evenness, eh! I know it's made in Tver... gingerbread is baked there, drawn. And where is the arc? Everyone looks at the arc: everything is so drawn! The wheelman turns it this way and that, strokes and it with his fingernail, runs his knuckles over it, and it seems to me that the arc is ringing - ringing with scars. "Lace!" Only to ride young, to flaunt. The picture is written.. They ask to join us - it will be more fun to go, but Gorkin tells everyone that no one has been ordered to go, and there is nothing to have fun here, they are not going to the fair. In order not to offend us, he said: "You don't like us, let's go quietly, with the boy, and for four days, maybe we'll stretch out, it's better not to mess with us." He is a handsome, heroic guy, curly and ruddy. And most importantly, he is pious and consonant, sings smoothly on the kliros, and his karactor is flax. It's calmer on the road with him. The road is long, all through forests. It's not scary to walk, there are a lot of people, and sometimes you are late, you are late... and after Rokhmanov there will be ravines, bridges, blind hauls - so many times they cut off the carts. And there is a ravine under the Trinity of Murderers, a merchant was recently stabbed there. The monk will protect me, of course... And God protects the safe.Also with us is Domna Panferovna, from the baths. She is very large, "raw" - that's what Gorkin calls - you can get along with her, but she is a pious and thorough woman. It's nice to talk to her, I went everywhere. Her eyes are stern, her lip is drooping, and there is a bag of fat around her neck. But she is very kind. When I was taken to the women's baths, she cut my nails and treated me to a soaked apple. I know that there is no such name as Domna Panferovna, but I should say Domna Parfyonovna, but I could not pronounce it in any way, and everyone liked it so much that everyone began to call it Panferovna. And my father even sang "Pan-fe-rovna!" She was very fat, quite Pan-ferovna. She will go with us, and look after me, after all, a woman's eye. She is a bonesetter, she can fix her stomach, she shakes her legs somehow. Her granddaughter will go with her, a quiet girl named Anyuta, just like a doll, who only flaps her eyes and is silent, and her cheeks are rosy-white. Domna Panferovna calls her for these cheeks - "you are my lingonberry little white and fresh".Voronin the baker also asked for it, but he has a "weakness", he drinks, and he is a good man, he has three bakeries, it is a pity to offend a person, but to take him - you will get drunk. We sent Vasil Vasilich to him to pray to Nikola-na-Ugreshi, we had work there, but Voronin did not want to listen. It was good that his brother came and detained him, and they went to Vorobyovka, to Krynkin, to look at Moscow. We had already returned from the Trinity, and they were all watching. The Lord took it.They come to us to give candles and oil to the saint and ask him to take out the scrolls, some with the Trinity on their heads, some with the saint. Everything must be recorded, how much was received from whom and for what. Gorkin's head is shaking, and I help him. We put holy money, with notes, in a bag. There are those who order ten scrolls, different ones for a hryvnia, and even for a quarter. We alone," Gorkin estimated on the accounts, "will have to take out more than a hundred swivels, both relatives and friends, otherwise they may be offended: they will say that the Trinity had them, but they did not bring "mercy." The blacksmith came to inspect whether all the horseshoes were in order and how the hooves were. The cart is ready, the wheels and axles are greased, and it seems to smell like a road. Gorkin orders to screw the punches to the beds, be careful as you are, - we'll stick branches in case, hang a gazebo - to shelter from the sun or from the rain. A sack of oats is laid, softly stuffed with hay, covered with a rug - right for you to bed! They sewed a bag for me, on a towel, like everyone else. And we'll carve a walnut staff on the road: Let's go falconers, there are hazelnuts there... — everyone will choose for himself. The Lord willing, tomorrow we will leave early, we would like to walk through Moscow to the sun, in the cold. If only the Lord would give me good weather tomorrow!I am told to go to bed, but the sun has not yet set. What if they leave without me? They say, "Sleep, don't talk, you'll go." That's why Crooked is coming. I think so. They say: Gorkin has been asleep for a long time and Domna Panferovna is snoring, listen. Domna Panferovna is asleep, covered with cover, completely like a mountain. Tonight he is spending the night with us: so as not to be late and not to detain him. Anyuta sits quietly on the chest, tells me that she can't sleep, she keeps thinking about how we'll go. Absolutely, like me, he cannot. I want to scare her, tell her about the robbers under the bridge. I speak to her in a whisper. She looks frighteningly with round eyes and presses against the wall. I said - it's okay, Fedya is coming with us, he'll kill all the robbers. Anyuta crosses herself at me and whispers: "The will of God." If something is written in someone's family, so it will be. If you need to stab - they will slaughter, and Fedya will not help. Ask your grandmother, she knows everything. In our village, an old man was stabbed to death, two rubles were taken away. You can't go against fate. Ask your grandmother... Her whispering makes me frightened, and Domna Panferovna snores as if she had already been stabbed. And it is already beginning to get dark. "Don't be afraid," whispered Anyuta, looking around, for some reason she clasped her cheeks with her hands and flapped her eyes, as if she were afraid, "pray to the Great Martyr Barbara." Grandmother says, "Then nothing will happen." Like this: "Holy Great Martyr Barbara, deliver me from vain death, from the hour of the night"... from something else?.. Ask your grandmother, she's everything..." "And Gorkin," I said, "knows more than your grandmother! We need to speak in a different way... It is necessary to "overwhelm and slander, and circumstances... deliver and save on the way, and over the bed, and on... Gorkin knows everything! "And my grandmother is a bone-setter, and she rules her stomachs, and she was in all sorts of monasteries..." Gorkin is a clever old man, that's true... And grandmother says... My grandmother has an incense from Jerusalem with a bone... from the relics... I want to argue, but I remember that now it is a sin – the soul must be cleansed, since we go to the monk. I go to my room, I see a solitaire ball, crystal, with multi-colored threads inside... and it suddenly occurs to me to surprise Anyuta. I run to her on tiptoe. She is still sitting with her legs crossed on the chest. I ask her why she doesn't sleep. She takes me by the hand and whispers: "I'm afraid... I fight robbers..." I show her a crystal ball and tell her that it is a magical and even holy ball... You keep it in your pocket - and nothing will happen! She looks at me to see if I am telling the truth, and her eyes seem to be begging. I give her the balloon and whisper that no one has such a balloon, only I have. She hides it in a pocket.I can't sleep. In the yard they walk and talk. The voice of his father and Gorkin is heard. My father said: "I'll see you off tomorrow myself, I have to go on business early!" I lay and thought, thought, thought... — about the road, about forests and ravines, about bridges... Somewhere far, far away is a saint who is now waiting for us. I keep thinking, thinking, and seeing... and something in me is singing, as if something in me is singing, in my head, so light and pink, like the sun, when it is not in the sky, but it is about to come out. I see forests, forests and a big light above them, and everything is singing, singing in my head... Beautiful dawn... In the sky beyond... ... From the big le... Sa... The sun... Goes... Like a father singing?.. Roosters crow. The windows are white in the curtains. They are shouting in the yard. Gorkin orders: "It's time to pawn..." Fedya is here?.. The hour is easy for us, and in the cold we will move, Lord, bless us... Father shouts, I know, from the window of the porch: "It's time to wake the pilgrim too!" Is the samovar ready?I'm so happy that tears come to my eyes. Dawn, "and let's go now!" And the wonderful, so joyful and bright, with which I fell asleep yesterday, which sang in my sleep with me, now shines outside the windows — Beauty of the Zo-rkaIn the sky beyond the mountain... ... From the big le... The sun comes out...

Moscow

The chill of dawn blows from the window. The morning is so quiet that you can hear pigeons running on the roof and Bushui shaking herself from sleep. I lie there for a minute, stretching; I listened to the cockerels singing, Gorkin's voice from the yard, as if he were somewhere in the room: "I would like to pull up the weights, Anti-Cannon..." Yes, I wish I had an armful of hay! "You can pull it up a little. The Lord gave the weather..." "All right, it'll be hot. What a dew, the porch is all wet. Bagels, Fedya, took it?.. It's good with tea. "Eat, Michal Pankratych, just thrown out of the oven." And it seems to smell like bagels. Everything is at the porch, behind the house. And Crooked with a cart there, clinking horseshoes on the stones. I run to the window to shout that I am now. A joyful chill blows, dawn. Behind Barminikhin's garden, the sky is fiery as if on fire. The sun is not yet visible, but it is already shining somewhere. The roofs of the sheds are covered with pale fiery spots, as it happens in winter from the stove. The pink pole of the birdhouse begins to turn red and golden, and a twig has already caught fire above it. And here are the sheds that are golden. On the crest of the barn, doves sparkle with their wings, the glass under them flashes: it is the sun looking. Air... Anti-Cannon runs with an armful of hay, slams the stable with his foot. He wore black boots with tar — and they were always red — a large yellow cap and a sagging jacket made of canvas, Vasil Vasilich, "for the heat"; A rope dangles from his pocket. "I wouldn't forget the tar.. Gorkin calls out solicitously, "a drinking bowl, a bag... Nothing seemed to have been forgotten. A cup of tea - and with God. Behind Krestovskaya, at Brekhunov's, we'll get drunk properly, without haste, in the garden.And I'm ready. I am wearing a straw cap with a lacquered visor; a severe shirt, with cockerels on the sleeves and collar; Common boots, to make it easier for the leg, I will put on new ones there. Over there... If you remember, it will take your breath away. And joyful, and... I don't know what. Everything is different there, not like in the world..." - Gorkin said, - the churches are always open, the air is like clouds, incense... and everyone sings: "And out of the dungeon my soul!" We drink tea in the hall, father and I. Only four have crowed. The doors to the dining room are closed so as not to wake her up. Father is also going somewhere: he is wearing riding boots and a jacket. He drinks crimson tea from a faceted glass, counts something in a book, kisses me absentmindedly and waves sternly when I want to say that our samovar has become pink. And the front one became pink, completely different! "You'll be in time, you can't kick your feet." Smear caviar on a ball.And everyone counts: "Seven thousand trees... yes, from a new grove... well, twenty thousand trees..." A crest sways over his forehead, as if he thinks too. I gulp down hot tea, and the clock knocks and knocks. Why is there pink steam over the samovar, and the tablecloth, and the wallpaper?.. The dark hunchbacked icon of the Passion of Christ has become as if new, a crucifix is visible on it. That's why this happens... Outside the window, you can reach it with your hand, there is a pink brick wall, and on it there is a strip from the sun: that's why there is a light in the hall. Never before. I said to my father: "The sun has peeped into us!" He looked absently out of the window, and then his face brightened. "Oh... Yes, yes. He looked into the alley to us, looked and thought about something. "Yes... seven or eight days a year in total and will look here into our crack. Your grandfather used to wait for the long days to come... I always drank tea here with the sun, as you and I do now. And he showed it to me. I was little, I forgot. And now I'll tell you. And so everything goes," he says thoughtfully. "So pray for your grandfather." It is already dimming, only the icon is glowing. He looks above his head and sings his beloved without words — "To Thy Cross... we worship, Lords"... In this gliding light, in the sad melody, in the grandfather who has gone somewhere, who saw the same thing that I see now, he feels a vague thought that everything is going away... the father will also depart, like this accidental light. I bend my head, follow the gliding light... I see the sky from the crack, its blue strip between the wall and the house... And I am flooded with joy. "Well, refueled?" - says the father. "Remember, listen to Gorkin. He has a bag with change, he will give you for the poor. And we, God willing, will catch up with you at the Trinity.He baptizes me, puts me on his neck and runs down the stairs. The curve glitters as if it were waxed; The arch, and the harness, and the cart, brand new, a toy, shines. Gorkin is in a canvas undergarment, in a May cap on the side, with a sack, ruddy, cheerful, beard like silver. The anti-cannon is at Krivaya Street, with reins. Fedya is in the city style, in patent leather boots, as if he is going to mass; on his side is a bag with a tin kettle tied up. On the porch sits Domna Panferovna, in a handkerchief, with a drooping neck, so red - apparently she is very hot. She wears a gray talma robe, with hangings, and soft slippers; on her lap she wears a heavy carpet bag and a white pot-bellied umbrella. Anyuta looks out from under the handkerchief with a doll. I ask if I took a crystal ball. She looks at her grandmother and is silent, and she feels in her pocket. "The material has been handed over, deliver it completely!" My father says, putting me on the hay. "Rest easy, we won't scatter it," Gorkin answered, took off his cap and crossed himself. "Well, we have a good hour, and you are happy to stay, not to miss us. Forgive me, a sinner, in what I have been rude... He bows to his father, Maryushka the cook, the carpenters who have gathered for work, the furriers who slept in the cart in the yard, crawling out from under the patchwork quilt, scraping their heads, and the quiet courtyard at this hour. They say in different voices: "Good hour to you", "Bow to the saint for us". I'm sorry for something. Father squints, says: "I'll steal another thing with you!" - "A well-known prosecutor's office," Gorkin laughs, says goodbye to his father by the hand. They kiss. I jump off the cart. "Let him show off a little, and then we'll plant him," says Gorkin. "So it's like this: don't let the move go, me. Let's go slowly, as praying mantises walk, and we won't die. And you, Domna Panferovna, keep the style. "Don't be embarrassed yourself, father, and I'll swing like a cat." Trifonitch runs out of the hallway, barefoot, almost overslept to say good-bye, and thrusts a parcel for Sanya, granddaughter, as a novice at the Trinity. And they will visit with their grandmother in the fall, they say... The merchant, they say, cannot be left, it's time for the working day. "Well, Lord, bless... The cart rattles and rings, the hay jumps in it. Everyone pours out of the gate. Ratnikov, on the contrary, has a wide cart on the sidewalk under the windows, and hot carpets of bread are lowered into it along a tray; There is a bread spirit all over the street. Gorkin tells Fedya to grab three or four sweets in the window, and we'll refuel with tea at Krestovskaya. We walk slowly, in the cold. The street is bright and empty; The wipers sweep the pavement, the dust is golden over them. The sieves are riding on shivers: they are carrying the first berry from Vorobyovka to the Swamp - sweet Russian strawberries: the spirit is all over the street. Gorkin calls out: "How much are strawberries?" They answer: "For money! Come to the Swamp, let's say!" Gorkin is not offended: "You know, the Vorobyovites... At the market, Fedya catches up with us, puts a corner of warm "sweet" on the hay, in a piece of paper. At the pool, Crooked is thirsty. On the porch of the booth, the same gray as the pool, in the middle of the market, a barefoot old man in a pink shirt holds a burning splinter over a samovar. Could it be Gavrilov, the butoshnik! But Gavrilov always had medals, in blue trousers with a saber, with a black, stiff mustache, strict. And here was an old man, like Gorkin, in a simple shirt, with a gray moustache, and his trousers were calico, shaking, his legs were thin and veined, and he was putting down a samovar like all simple people. And his name is not Gavrilov, but Maksimych.While Antipushka is drinking, we are talking to Maksimych. He praises us that we are going to the Trinity-Sergius – "it's a good thing", he says, puts a flaming splinter into the samovar and tells us to wait a little – he will bring out a penny for candles. Gorkin waves: "Oh, let's do it!" - but Maksimych waves it off: "No, this is a special article" - and brings out two nickels. For one – to put the monk, and the other... "It turns out that on the eve ... for the repose of the soul of the warrior Maximus." Gorkin asked: "Have you ever found out?" Maksimych looked at the samovar, scratched his eye and said sadly: "Ober was passing by the other day, he called me with his finger. remembers me. He said: "Don't get your hopes up, Gavrilov, unfortunately... all the ministers have shaken up all the papers - and there is no trace!" In the month of August it will be two years. And they were waiting with the old woman. He went as a hunter. And what a place it was, the City Part... the very Rows, Ilyinka... Gorkin regrets it, says: "I put my stomach down... you need to pray." "You can't turn it back," Maksimych said into the smoke, over the samovar.And I was afraid of him before.I heard my father shouting, Kavkazka galloping at us: "Pilgrims, stop! Ah, Gorka... How I need your eye, brother! I sell groves at the Vasilchikovs, in Koralov... There are twenty plots. I don't want to be fooled! "Those times," says Gorkin in confusion, "they would have said it just now.. How can it be now... Our roads are different?.. "Crawl, I'll get by." Don't you whimper? He asked me and galloped to Krymok, to the left. "Well, I didn't tell you just now!" Gorkin throws up his hands. "I galloped to Zvenigorod. Well, hot.. I ask why now Gavrilov has a gray mustache and he is different. "It's too early, I didn't show off. Otherwise he will be brave again. Yakimanka is completely empty, bright from houses and the sun. Here are the most salesmen, from Ilyinka. The janitors, with their legs outstretched, lie on the gate benches, the plaques on them are burning. The windows at the top are open, it is quiet behind them. "Domna Panferovna, are you alive?.. "Alive... don't limp yourself," Domna Panferovna responds with shortness of breath. Next to her, like a sparrow, is Anyuta with a bundle from which a curl is looking. I am in the hay, jumping, singing to myself. There are peddlers from the Swamp, carrying young green onions, red, first, currants, green aglitsky gooseberries - for jam. The chapel of St. Nicholas the Wonderworker, near the Stone Bridge, has already opened, we go in to venerate, put in a penny. Gorkin gives it to me from my bag. There are pennies and pennies. This is always the case on pilgrimage – alms are given by those who ask. On the bridge, Krivaya rests, wants to look at the Kremlin, great-grandmother Ustinya taught him so. The Moskva River is covered with a pink fog, on which fishermen in boats raise and lower their fishing rods, as if they are driving a crayfish's mustache. To the left is the golden, light, morning church of the Savior, in a dazzling golden dome: the sun beats directly into it. To the right is the high Kremlin, pink, white and golden, young lit up in the morning. The cart rolls sonorously from the bridge, Anticannon runs on the reins. Domna Panferovna, under an umbrella, as if flying through the air, overtook Fedya. The curve rushes, as if on a race, downhill, plays with its tail. Slowly pull uphill. And here is the Borovitsky Gate.Gorkin leads through the Kremlin.The oak gates in the tower are always open - day and night. A cart thunders under the arches, and here it is, the sacred Kremlin, bright and quiet, all in the air. No one is guarding him. Eagles on the towers are watching. A quiet palace, all pink, with reflections from the windows, from the sun. On the right is a cliff, in the lattice, crosses of an ancient church, domes, battlements of the Kremlin walls, Moscow and the distance. There, across the river, is Zamoskvorechye, where we are from. It's morning in the fog. The candles above it flicker - white bell towers with crosses. A rare good news is heard. And here are the cathedrals.They stand heavily with ancient white walls, with narrow windows, in domes. Puffy domes are swirling. Behind them is blue. As if it were not domes: golden clouds are standing there, swirling. The crosses on them are smoldering with dark and smoky gold. Cathedrals do not have doors, but doors. People under them are midges. They sit in heaps, here and there, on the slabs of the Cathedral Square. What are you, my cart... and that I myself! Swifts are ringing sharply, rushing in the domes, flashing. "Pilgrims," Gorkin points out, "sleep here, under the cathedrals, from all over Russia. They drink tea, change their shoes... Ok. Assumption, Annunciation, Arkhangelsk... Oh, and our good councils... Mental!.. The cart taps as if in emptiness, knocking peas in the walls. "Oh, Ivan the Great... what!.. So great... It hurts to throw your head back. He is silent.Past the old cannons, past the motley fence with the soldier who has embraced his gun and is looking, a ringing cart rolls down, under the turret. "And this is the Nikolsky Gate," Gorkin points out. "Make the sign of the cross, Nikola - to help the travelers. Turn, Anti-Cannon, to the Queen of Heaven... Iberian is open, candles are flickering. On the slippery iron porch, clear from how many feet, there were quiet pilgrims, in heaps, with knapsacks, with loud tin kettles and sacks, with sticks and sticks, with slices of bread. They pray, and chew, and doze. On a blue dome with golden stars, an iron dome with a sword, the Archangel is holding a high cross. We light candles, fall on our knees before the Lady, kiss the robe. A dark, familiar face looks over us mournfully — sees the whole soul. Gorkin said so: "Pray, and she sees her whole soul." He leads me to the candlestick, opens his mouth wide and swallows something from a spoon. I see a silver pot with a spoon in it on a chain. Isn't it sweet kutia, which is given in Khotkovo? Gorkin told me. He lifts me under the armpits, tells me to open my mouth wider. I want to spit it out, and I'm afraid. "Swallow, swallow, fool... holy oil..." he whispers. And everyone takes oil. Domna Panferovna takes three spoons, as if she were drinking tea with jam, sucks on the spoon, licks her lips and smacks. And Anyuta is like a grandmother. "I would, wouldn't he?" Domna Panferovna says to me and takes up the spoon, "it's better not to hurt your tummy, eh?" Molennoe, pure, Athonite, and?.. I don't want any more. And Gorkin warns: "A lot is not good for the road, Domna Panferovna... We pass Nikolskaya, in the cold. The benches had not yet been unlocked, with bluish shutters and bars. From the desolate, darkish alleys, we are drawn with coolness, smells of raisins and mint gingerbread: there are warehouses with all sorts of things. In the blue turret is the Great Martyr Panteleimon. Go in and take oil. We stretch for a long, long time - and that's it, Moscow. Anyuta asks for a cart, twists her legs, but Domna Panferovna does not say: "Take it up and go on foot!" We go along Meshchanskaya Street - all the gardens, gardens. Pilgrims are moving, reaching out to meet us. There are Muscovites, like us; And more distant, from the villages: brown, armyaki-sermyaga, onuchi, bast shoes, skirts, plaid skirts, shawls, ponevas, rustling and slapping of feet. Bedside tables - wooden, grass by the pavement; Shops - with dried roach, with teapots, with bast shoes, with kvass and green onions, with smoked herrings on the door, with fat "Astrakhanka" in tubs. Fedya rinses in brine, pulls an important one, by a nickel, and sniffs - not of a spiritual rank? Gorkin quacks: good! He is fasting, he is not allowed. Here are the yellow houses of the outpost, behind them is the distance. "Look at what... Ryazan! Gorkin points to the mantis. "And the ears in the back are Smolensk. And then Tambovka, legs with sledgehammers... Will you give it up, mother? "Distant ones, father... We are from Ryazan, styapny..." the old woman sings. "Moscow himself?" Is your granddaughter a good boy? What a good cap... With her comes a beautiful young woman, just like a girl, in a patterned shirt, in a red armband, looking at the ground. The beads on her are amber, she pulls them. "Your beauty?" Gorkin asks about the girl, but she doesn't look. "My granddaughter... She's sick with us," the old woman says pitifully and adjusts the beads on the beauty. "He's been silent and silent, for a year now..." The first one fell asleep, he was a boy. So we go to the saint. The carriage at the Taba is elegant, painfully good, taking away... The cart stumbles on the sidewall, rolls well, dusts. The houses are dirtier, lower, farther from the pavement. Black forges are knocking, there is a smell of carbon coal. "Goodbye, Moscow!" Gorkin crosses himself at the outpost. "Here we are behind Krestovskaya, the pilgrimage itself begins. Turn, Anti-Pushka, under the rowan trees, to Brekhunov... We'll have a snack and a cup of tea. And his kindergarten is pleasant. Ours, Rostov... He has all sorts of sentences in the tavern, it is well described... We slide down under the mountain ashes. I read on the blue sign: "Tavern "Otrada" with Mytishchi water Brekhunov and the Garden". "They bring him from the keys. Such water... You'll get drunk! And he is a sincere person. "And I'm not going to eat herring, Mikhail Pankratych," said Fedya, "I want to eat it too." Where is it?.. "It's a good thing, come on. A nickel was ruined in vain... You're rich. Give to the passer-by whom... Where to! "That's right.. Fedya says happily and thrusts himself into the hands of an old man with a knapsack who is trudging to Moscow.The old man crosses himself against Fedya, at the herring, and at all of us. "Oh... Christ save you, son... ah... save you..." he drawls barely audibly, he is so weak, "ah... Herring... Christ save you... son..." "How the Lord arranges! Gorkin shouts. Fedya even blushes, and the old man keeps feeling the herring. He is surrounded by praying mantises. "We'll drink for an hour, I suppose." You'd better unscrew the curve, Anti-Cannon... We'll bring him into the yard. Stand here for a while, I'll tell the owner. It smells like road, dust. Forests are visible. The sun is already baking, the sky is bluish-smoky. There, far beyond him, there is a joyful thing that I do not know, the monk. Churches are always open, and everyone is singing. Lord, how wonderful.. "Bring in, Anti-Cannon!" Gorkin shouted, already from the yard.Behind him was the owner, in a white shirt, with a crimson belt under his belly, fat, cheerful, red-haired. He praises our cart, me, Crooked, takes me off the cart, carries me through the slurry in the groove and wheezes hotly in my ear: "They respected Brekhunov, they looked in! And I'll sing you a poem, all my guests know... Brekhunov invites everyone to "Otrada"Everyone - you want to be old, you want to be young.Get everything as a rewardTea with Mytishchi water!

The Pilgrimage Garden

We are on the holy road, and now we are different, pilgrims. And everything seems special to me. The sky is like in holy pictures, a wonderful blue color, so joyful. A soft, dusty road, with grass on the sides, is not an ordinary road, but a holy one: it is called Trinity. And people are so affectionate, they all remember the Lord: "May the Lord lead you to the saint", "Send you, Lord!" – as if we were all relatives. And even the tavern is called "Joy".We unharness the Curve and put it in the shadows. The huge, curly-haired Brekhunov orders the janitor to throw her fresh hay — they have just mowed down on the estate — leads us somewhere through the manure and says so piously: "Come to the pilgrimage garden..." Rinse Moscow in front of the holy path, as they say.It smells quite rustic - hay, manure, tar. Pigs are grunting in the barn, geese are cackling, as if they are meeting us. Brekhunov kicks the gander away with his foot so that he does not peck at me, and gently explains to me that these are geese, the most stupid bird, and this is a cockerel, and there are barrels of sugar, and they drink sugar and tea, and is surprised: "What are you, you even know geese!" "I kick them out in the morning, and by night it's crowded..." for a troika, with boiling water! From your line! So tell dad: he was, they say, at Prokop Brekhunov's, drank tea and saw geese. And for the forest, they say, Brekhunov cannot go to Pokrov in any way... and by Easter, maybe the Lord will help. Anyuta whispered to me in fright: "Grandmother says that all innkeepers are real robbers... They will stab those who spend the night!" He takes me by the head, asks: "Have you seen Moscow?" and raises me above my head. I know this joke, I like it, only his fingers are stiff. He turns me around and says: "I would like to have such a boy!" Domna Panferovna does not tell her to despair, she can say something to her wife. Brekhunov said that Elder Varnava had it, and he did not give me hope: "Why, he says, do you need an heiress?" And who will I hand over the whole car to? And he, as if jokingly: "There is a lot of this stuff without yours!" - so, tavern business. "He doesn't like it, then," says Gorkin, "otherwise he would have prayed. "Do people need to drink tea?" I said: "Baslov, father, I'm opening a tavern on Razguliai." And again he was all doubtful: "Do you want to go wild?" And the henchman walked me around for three thousand! In a trifle — and that he foresaw.Gorkin says that for a saint there are no trifles, they condescend to everything.We drink tea in the pilgrimage garden. The garden is without grass, trampled, elderberry pavilions are set up like bushes, and pilgrims drink tea in them. All the people are urban, not poor. And all ask one another, affectionately: "Will you please go to the monk?" — and they themselves joyfully say that they too will go to the monk, if the Lord wills. As if everyone here is relatives. Peddlers are walking around with holy goods - with crosses, with icons, with holy pictures and books about "lives". Gorkin does not order us to buy crosses and icons: we will buy them there, sprinkled from the holy relics, it is better to go to the monastery. In the monastery, at the Trinity-Sergius, for three days they feed all the poor pilgrims for free, no matter how many you come. Fedya buys a book in pink paper for a Semite, "The Life of St. Sergius," and we will count on the way so that we know everything. A nun walks in shod shoes, bows to everyone at the waist - asks for a poor monastery. Everyone puts it on a black book with a cross as much as possible. "And how pious and good everything is, it's a pleasure to look at!" Gorkin says happily. "And it will be even better on the way." And in the Lavra... And there is nothing to say. From Moscow - as if they escaped from hell.White floorers run around with kettles that look like large eggs: one with boiling water, the other, smaller, with tea leaves. It's called a couple. Brekhunov orders to brew for us a special one that smells like roses. He said to us: "To whom - these are the ones, and for you - Mr. Botkin! For some it is steamed, but for you it is a master! And he says a rhyme:A Russian loves tea with a biteAnd boiling water is cooler! "And if it's in a pious way, then like this: 'A nun sings, and there are a hundred cups in him?' A samovar! And here we go again... "The nose is black, white-potbellied, the tail curled back?" And there it is, a teapot! I can do all sorts of riddles. And then the monks love pious things... "Let's pray to the Lord, we'll wash our sins with tea!" And that's what they say. "That doesn't suit us, Prokop Antonych," says Gorkin, "they've heard enough of this stuff in Moscow. "Moscow will teach everything. Look, it bites so clean, eh! Brekhunov is amazed at me, "and he's not afraid of boiling water!" Gorkin refuses. At the Trinity, God willing, we will have our way out, in the "pancake houses", in the ravine, we will taste everything - mushrooms, and crucian carp, and custard porridges, and pancakes, that's it... And now, on the holy road, it is forbidden to please mammon. And then we sin with bagels and soft ones, and then we'll go on crackers, except that we'll sip lenten at the night.Brekhunov praises how correct we are, we keep our faith well: "It's comforting to look at you, how you keep splendor. And here, like worms, spinning in the abyss, we have forgotten the holidays. A wanderer passed on the oily tree over there... Maybe you've heard... Simeonushka the wanderer? "How can I not hear," says Gorkin, "our neighbor was a coachman in Ordynka who served as a coachman for the Red Keeper Puzakov, and then, for five years, he went on a pilgrimage, by grace. So what is he?.. "I was angry at everything. His wife shot him in the street, took him to the tavern to warm up, there was a roster, and on him felt boots were thin and soaked. I saw the counter... Shrovetide, of course, after drinking people, there is a mess at the counter, of course, they knock on the scales how... And the conversation is not spiritual, of course... First of all, he swept away with a stick on the scales. We calmed him down, put him under the icons, tea, pancakes, that's it... He began to cry over the pancakes. One pancake and chewed it all. Then ke-ek on the kettle with his fist.. "Ah," he shouted, "tea and sugar, and we're rolling down the mountain!" He shook his staff and went. He reached the stone pillar to the outpost and sat for three days, the butoshnik had already accepted him, because there was a crowd of people, there was no passage. "I," he said, "am warmer at the pillar than on your stove!" He goes away and says: "I have these things to do... Poor pilgrims, in brown grays and paws, come up to us, cross themselves at us and ask for a pinch of tea for tea, at least wet. Gorkin gives pinches and sugar, but a whole bunch of them are collected, and everyone asks. We shrug it off, wondering where there is enough for everyone. Brekhunov ran up and began to shout: how did they get in? drive them to the neck! Sexual ones chase mantises away with napkins. They crawled somewhere through a hole in the fence and trampled strawberries in the garden. I see how he gave one old man a sex in the hump. Gorkin sighs: "Lord, what a sin!" Brekhunov shouts: "Spoil them, they won't let a real pilgrim move!" Gorkin burst out: "We're throwing pieces, and over there..." And at the end of the world, the Lord will be the first to call them. They won't be dragged there... And the Anti-Cannon says that they will. Domna Panferovna shames the policeman that he drags his mother, a fool. And he has his own: the master orders us. And everyone in the gazebos began to say that you can't do this with an old person, then put a stronger fence! Brekhunov justifies himself by saying that they will crawl through the ground... That you feel good, you drink and go, and you just overpower him.. "I put a patchwork for them, I give them all the tea I have drunk, at least pour boiling water, and only for all three coins!" They whine more than fifty dollars a day, and there are those that you can't drive away from the counter, they throw nickels. Not everyone, of course, is righteous..." "If I were a tsar," says Fedya, "I would order taverns to be built along all the pilgrimage roads, and everyone would be free of charge... poor people, and tea, and a piece of bread... Gorkin praises him - he did not go to his father: he made three houses on bagels, and Fedya is going to the monastery, and he is wooing a rich bride. Fedya blushes and does not look, but Domna Panferovna says that Alexei was the son of God, the king's son, and he went to the kennel from the wedding. Anti-Cannon crosses himself into an elder and says joyfully: "How good, Lord.. What saints there are, and we at least know about them, and that is a great joy.Neighbors in the gazebo say that there is one such in Taganka, the son of a rich flour farmer... he took a fur coat, a hat and felt boots from the janitor for Epiphany - and disappeared! But on the very day of Elena's mother, Tsar Kostinkin, on the 21st day of May, a letter came from Mount Athos: "Here I am, forever and ever, amen." It is as if the martyr sent three thousand to the monastery.Everyone praises, and everyone is so happy that there are ascetics even now. And Brekhunov says that if we really say, then there is nothing better than a life of worship. He has been in this matter for a long time and sees how many pious people there are – the soul will not rejoice! Fedya has long been drunk and reads us the "Life", singing, as if in church. Domna Panferovna sits with her mouth open, barely breathing, she has drunk up to her heart. Anyuta kept pestering her, asking: "Grandma, please don't die - look... And it was bad with her at Shrovetide, when she also got drunk with us and ate a lot of pancakes. She rubs her heart all the time, says: this tea is so strong. Gorkin says: if you sweat, it will relieve you, but tea is rare. He and Anti-Cannon keep banging the lid on the kettle, demanding more boiling water. They took off their jacket and undershirt, Anti-Cannon's bald head was leaking, the shirt on his shoulders was wet. And Gorkin kept wiping himself with a towel, but they drank and drank. I kept asking: when shall we go? And Gorkin only says: let us get drunk. They sit opposite each other, silently, holding saucers on their fingers, blowing off the vapor and sipping live boiling water. The anti-cannon will look into the elder and sigh: "Them, good-oh!" And Gorkin will also look into the elderberry and say: "What is better!" Brekhunov calls Domna Panferovna to talk to his wife. And they still do not tip over the cups and do not put sugar on the bottoms. Gorkin finally says: "Sabbath.. Oh, knock again, the last one?" Gorkin knocks again and tells Fedya to take me to show me the tavern, how well it is described.We are walking from the kindergarten through the back door, and a boy flies down the stairs to meet us with a broken kettle and rubs the back of his head. There is blood on his ear. Brekhunov stands upstairs with a napkin and shouts in a terrible voice: "I'll tear my head off!" "And some other bad words. He sees us and shouts: "You can't fight with them without a fight... all the kettles have been broken, scoundrels!" and clicks a napkin. "Have you seen the trick?" He asks me. "As soon as I snap and take, I'll tear out the meat with the tip!" And that's what I was taught. If they click on the ear, they will pull out the hair with blood! There is nothing to show on... I'm scared. Fedya said, "Mikhail Pankratych tells him to show the tavern, as it is described." Brekhunov takes me by the hand and leads me into a large room, into the blue smoke. It's very noisy here, different people drink tea at the tables. Brekhunov brings me to the counter, behind which all the teapots on the shelves are like porcelain eggs, and says: "That's what boys there are!" She sits behind the counter and drinks tea with lenten pies. There was Domna Panferovna, drinking tea with jam, and many girls were sitting on boxes, large and smaller, all blond, with blue combs on their heads, and each had a pie in their fist. Brekhunov puts me on the counter by the pies and repeats: "That's what they are!" I am ashamed, everyone looks at me, and I am wearing dusty boots, and here are pies and girls. The woman looks kindly and as if sadly, strokes my hand and fingers, asks how old I am, if I know the Lord's Prayer, sits me on her lap and gives me a spoonful of jam. All the girls look at me as if I were a miracle. Brekhunov drums his fingers and also looks. The woman asks him if I can give me a pie. He says - you can definitely do it! "And he also orders to give raisins and mint gingerbread." She pours my pockets full and wants to kiss me, but I don't give in, I'm ashamed.Brekhunov carries me over their heads, over the tables, in the steamy, smoky air, shows me the canaries and how well they are painted. I see swans on the water, and on the shore the gentlemen are drinking tea and standing like white poles, flooring with napkins. Then a road is drawn, and along it, in fir trees, pilgrims in lapsticks are walking, and good bears are sitting on the stumps and looking good like that. I ask – are these holy bears, from the monk? He says, "The saints are obligatory, from the Trinity, and the sinner will definitely be bitten to death." Only the monk was not touched. And he shows me the most important thing - "Mytishchi water". This is a large green mountain, in fir trees, and bears are also sitting at the top, and copper taps are screwed into the mountain, such as are found in baths, and from them the "Mytishchi water" gushes in blue arcs into large samovars, even with foam. Then he shows a huge copper cube with boiling water, from where it is poured into teapots. He takes me to a dirty counter where there are pickles and hot white meat on the board, and there are a lot of green scales on the tray. In front of the counter, disheveled people, dirty and barefoot, angrily spit on the floor and scratch their legs. Brekhunov whispered to me: "And these are drunkards... God punished them.Drunkards knock with nickels and shout bad words. I was frightened, but then I heard Gorkin's gentle voice: "It's time to go, let's harness it." He saw what we were looking at, and said in a stern voice: "That's not good, Prokop Antonych. He angrily pulls me and almost shouts: "Come on, there's no need to watch people lose themselves... Let's go!" Gorkin is upset about something. He angrily tied up the bag, shouted at Fedya and Domna Panferovna: "You can't let them go without you... assistants... I would like to tear off a ruble for nonsense, it will be for you!". Domna Panferovna grabbed the bag, shouted to Anyuta: "Well, why did you open your mouth, let's go!" - she shouted to Gorkin: "I was delivered, without you we won't find the way, how come!". — and runs with an umbrella, in a robe. Behind her is a frightened Anyuta with a bundle. Gorkin shouts after him: "What a scalded ... I'll take it easier!" Gorkin's face is red, his hands are trembling. He threw three nickels on the table, moved them to Brekhunov, and the latter pushed them aside and kept saying: "Why is that?.. Out of respect, I, as you are my guests... Are you crazy?!" Gorkin shouts, already beside himself: "We are not guests... "guests"! One disgrace! sinned with the box... We go on pilgrimage, and they show us drunkards! We don't need treats.. And I'm a fool, I'm drunk... Brekhunov says through clenched teeth: "As you like," and knocks his nickels on the table. His face is angry. We go to the fence, and he catches up: "And you have become quarrelsome, old man! And for what?! And the jester is with you, if so!Something rings, and I see nickels flying into the fence. Gorkin suddenly stops, looks as if he has woken up. And he said anxiously: "How is that... Unseemly. I'm going, and so... got angry. You can't move away like that... How so?.. He looks around in confusion, tugging at his beard, chewing his lips. "Prokop Antonitch," he said, "don't be offended, forgive me, in a good way. Guilty, I don't know what suddenly?.. I will commune at the Trinity... Don't remember on me, I'm in the heat of the moment, I've drunk a lot of tea, with tea... Your tea is so angry.. He collects nickels and quickly puts them in his pocket. Brekhunov says that his tea is the best, for the respected, and a person can always offend a person. "Sometimes, my heart boils. The tea is good for me, and we're here... They are still talking, already peacefully, and say goodbye by hand. Gorkin keeps repeating: "And indeed, I have become quarrelsome, I have overreacted..." Brekhunov himself opened the gate for us, said, frowning: "I would go with you to breathe the holy air, but here... He has grown attached to the manure, he has to live!" - and spits into the slurry in the ditch. "Will you take the prosvirka for us?" He shouts after him. "Lord, how can I not take it out! Gorkin shouts and takes off his cap. "And I'll take it out, and pray..." forgive us, O Lord! We walk for a long time through the settlement, with gardens and vegetable gardens. There are ponds; The chimneys are smoking in the factories. Soon it will be freer: there will be fields, paths in the meadows, forests. We walked for a long time, silent. The curve is weaving with a step. Gorkin said: "But it was all a temptation for us... He is all this! Lord, have mercy... He takes off his cap and crosses himself to the white church, to the right. And we are all baptized. I know who he is.Ahead, by the road, Domna Panferovna and Anyuta are sitting on the grass. Anyuta is poking at the bundle – is she crying? Gorkin shouts to them from afar: "Well, what's the matter... Come, with the Lord! in a good way, in a good way..." They get up and silently follow us. We all feel somehow uncomfortable. Anti-Cannon smacks Crooked, sighs. Both Gorkin and Domna Panferovna sigh. And all around is fun, bright, green. Pilgrims wander along the main road and along the paths. Gorkin says that it is the ninth half, we should have followed Rostokin, approaching Mytishchi, and we exchanged the sacred for tea - he is to blame for everything. It's down there, by the river, in the birch trees. Let's come closer. Gorkin says that you can bet that the Vasilyevskys are singers, from Polyanka. Fedya even recognizes Lomshakov, the octave roar, and Gorkin recognizes both Batyrin's basses and Kostikov's tenor. They sing gloriously in the birch trees. But it's not good to disturb him, or you'll embarrass him. We stand and listen to how we hear from the ravine: ... i-ko kadi-lo pre-ed To-o-bo-o-o-o-u-u-u... Why, I'm here... nie... my hand.. It floats as if from the ground to the sky. We listen for a long time, and others are with us. They say it is heavenly singing. Finished. Gorkin says quietly: "They are the ones who go on pilgrimage, every summer they go in threes. You see, the knots on the staffs... They took off their jackets, it was hot. Well, we'll see each other there. And how good, my soul is leaving! Our Lomshachok recovered in the hospital, so on pilgrimage.Anyuta whispers - they have snacks there on papers and a bottle. Gorkin laughs: "Those eyes are sharp! Maybe they will have a snack and a little drink, but how they sing! The Lord will forgive them for this." Gorkin tells Fedya to have a more heartfelt poem than he would have begun. Fedya hesitantly begins: "My feet..." Gorkin supports in a weak, trembling voice: "... Send ... according to Thy word..." We sing louder and louder, and other worshippers sing as well. Domna Panferovna, Anyuta, I and Antipushka sing along more and more joyfully, more and more sincerely: And let me not possess ... Everything... bezza-ko-ni-i-e... We sing and sing, to the step. And it becomes light and calm in the soul. It seems to me that Crooked is listening, and she feels as good as we do," wagging her tail from the gnats. A cart gently tugs on the tracks. The sun is baking, I'm dozing off..." "Get into the cart and take a nap..." He got up early! Gorkin tells me. "And you, Onyuta, sit down." Get enough sleep before Mytishchi.The cart is rocking - stupid, stupid... Stupid, stupid... I'm lying on my back, on the hay, looking up at the sky. It is so clean, blue, deep. Bright, blinds with radiant light. I look, look... — I fly into the blue depths. Someone is singing softly, cradling him. Anyuta is?..... u-goo-goo... goo-goo... goo-goo... On the earth... On Lu-gu... Or a cart knocks... or — in a dream I dream?..

On the Holy Road

They shake me with a bang, terrible voices shout: "Whoa.. tpru!".. And I heard, as if in a dream, "Off like that.. It was she who recognized the Yauza, she wants to drink. "Isn't that Yauza?" "The most Yauza, only she's clean here. I don't understand anything. "Get up, dear... You slept like that! I recognize Gorkin's gentle voice. "Your cheeks are burned..." It's worse to see the heat, bake it in the head. Get up, we are already approaching Mytishchi, the Lord said.Everything in my mouth has shrunk, as if sand has been sprinkled, and there is such languor in my body - all the bones are singing. Mytishchi?.. And I remember the joyful thing: water is running from the mountain! I recognize Anyuta's voice: "What a pilgrim it is, grandmother..." And now I begin to understand: we are going to the monk, and now it is summer, the sun, all kinds of flowers, herbs... And I'm in the cart. I see a heap of grass near my eye, I hear a sluggish and warm smell, like on Trinity Day in church, and a caressing chill refreshes my face: blades of grass fall on me, and through them everything is green. It's so good that I pretend to be asleep and see, squinting, how Gorkin sprinkles grass on me and his beard laughs. "Wait a minute, we'll sprinkle him..." Onyuta, give me some nettles.. I see nuts drooping from the heat, stuck above me from the sun, and behind them is a blinding shine. The sun is right overhead, scorching. Right next to my face there were large white daisies in the grass, blue bells, and — such joy! – strawberry leaves with berry germs. I jump up in the cart, grab the grass and start rubbing my face.And now I see everything.Fun, green, wonderful! And meadows, and fields, and forests. He is still far from here, gloomy, dark. They call it pine forests. In these forests there is a pleaser, and there are bears. Nearby, the village is graying, as if trembling in the air. This happens in the heat, from steam. A white bell tower, as if made of snow, with a shining golden cross, shines and trembles above it. This is Mytishchi. The air is thick, hot, completely honey, with flowers warmed in the meadows. We are standing on a meadow, by the river. It is all in a prickly shine of silver, and it seems to me: crosses play and sparkle on the streams. I shouted: "Crosses, crosses on the water.. And everyone said to the river: "And really... The river seems holy to me. Pilgrims lie by the water, cross themselves, drink handfuls from the river, wet dry crusts. There are more and more poor people: in gray shoes, in caftans, there are even fur coats with patches," the heat captured them on the road, "in bast shoes and in chunyas, there are also completely barefoot ones. They rewind onuchi, clean themselves, sleep in burdocks near the bridge, fasten their feet with nettles so that they go walking. On the bridge the wretches sit with wooden cups and lament: "Benefactors... Dear sirs, give me the holy alms... to the wretched and legless... parents-relatives... for the sake of the saint, for the sake of the body, for the salvation of the soul... Anyuta says that she saw a terrible wretch, who raked and crawled on the skin with irons, without legs at all, when I slept. And we saw blind men singing. I am bitter that I did not see it, but Gorkin consoles me – we will see everything at the Trinity, from all over Rosei they are crawling there. On a low cart, on plank rollers, a boy lies under a piece of wood, he can't do it with his hand or foot. An old woman and a girl from under the Eagle are driving him. Gorkin puts a nickel on the wood and asks the old woman to show her - to complain about her soul. The old woman tells the girl to pick up the cloth. The flies rise with a roar and sit down again to suck at the eyes. The sick smell is terrible. A girl drives flies with a branch. I am frightened, but Gorkin tells me to watch. "Don't turn away from grief... It's a sin in my legs, I would run away, but I want to look. The guy's face is bony, like a dead man's, all black, cloudy eyes festering. He keeps squinting and blinking, trying to drive the flies away, but the flies do not fly away. She moans softly and whispers with parched lips: "Dunka... help..." The girl wipes his mouth with a wet cloth on which flies have dried. His hands are thin, lying like whips. In one there is a wooden cross made of splinters. I look at the cross, and for some reason I want to cry. There are pennies on the guy's canvas shirt. Fedya puts a hryvnia on his chest and crosses himself. The guy looks at Fedya pitifully, as if he thinks how healthy and handsome Fedya is, but he can't even use his hand. Fedya also looks pitiful, feeling sorry for the guy. The old woman tells such a pitiful story, shakes her head and pokes her black bony fist in her eyes, down which tears run: "Such a dashing misfortune is with us... Hay, the breadwinner, carried and slept on a cart... He fell from the cart on the slaughterhouse, and from that it was stricken, the breadwinner... For the third year, everything has been drying and drying. And he was a good one, white and ruddy... We look at Fedya and the guy. For two months they have been driving, I myself asked the saint, I saw it in a dream. It would be possible to sell the calf, the Lord be with her, but you have to work. "And he sees everything in his dreams," says the old woman pitifully, "he keeps saying, 'I keep running on my feet and throwing hay on the cart!' Gorkin, in consolation, says that it is given by faith, but the Lord has no end to mercy. He asks what the name is: he will take the prosvirka for health. "Mikhail's name," the old woman says happily. "We call him Misha." "It turns out that she is my namesake. Well, Misha, pray — you will get up! Gorkin said in a peculiar way, shouting as if he knew the boy was going to get up. for sure, he says, he will get back on his feet... Gorkin brushes them aside and sternly says that God only knows, and we, sinners, only need to believe and pray. But they follow him relentlessly and listen and wait to see if he will say anything else to them: "Such and such an affectionate old man, he knows everything!" Fedya drags a bucket from the river and gives Crooked a drink. She sucks for a long time - she does not tear herself away, and the gadflies bite into her, right in the eye - only blinks - sucks. You can see how her sides swell and the veins on them shudder. I screamed and saw blood on my neck: "Blood is coming out of her, the vein has burst.. In a scarlet stream, thick, blood spreads on Crooked's neck. The anti-cannon wipes it off with a lobe and gets angry: "Oh, what a, you bastard.. Over there and more... Look how the horse was bled by the Wodishka... And she drinks and drinks, but does not smell.. They say it's all right, it's good in such heat, the horse is painfully well-fed, "it's sweet for them." And Krivaya keeps drinking and drinking, asking for another bucket. The anti-cannon says that she hasn't drunk like this for a long time, so it's good water here, then. And we all drink, also from a bucket. The water is spring, sweet: the Yauza will be born here, from the springs, from under the hills. And Gorkin praises it: it's just clean from the nails, it recalls rust, even with bubbles – that's right, it hits through the iron. And in Moscow, the Yauza is black and smelly, you can't approach it, that's why it's called Yauza-Gryauza! And he begins to tell loudly, as if he reads from the sacred, and all the pilgrims listen. And the carters from the bridge listened - the bales were being taken to the factory and stopped. — So it is with man. The child will be born clean, good, Andel darling. And then it will get dirty, black and smelly, to the point of stench. God has everything good, everything new and clean, like those planed boards... And we'll ruin ourselves! Every soul, well... Like a flower of the field, perfumed. Well, of course, she feels that she has become filthy - and she is sick. So she will be drawn to the spiritual bath, to the verbal bath, as it is written in the Scriptures: "To the water bath, to the verbal bath"! That is why we go to the monk – to wash ourselves, to clean ourselves, to get rid of the dirt and stench... Everyone sighs and says: "You are right, father... Oh, that's right! And Gorkin still speaks of the sacred, and it seems to me that he is considered a priest: in a white Cossack coat he is as if in a cassock — and I am so pleased with it. They asked and asked: "Talk about something else, father..." It's good and reasonable to listen to you.. On the shore, on the sidelines, two people were sitting, in calico shirts, drinking from a bottle and snacking on green onions. They, I know, are bad people. When we looked at the guy, they shouted: "He'll have enough vodka in the evening for your nickels..." He will heal immediately, cut the mosquito... There are many of them here!Gorkin spat on them and shouted that it was not good to be so hospitable, there was human grief here. And they were all laughing. And when he spoke from the sacred, about the soul, they began to mock again: "Lie, lie, gray-haired rat! Clean it, your soul, with a brick with vodka, it will shine cleaner than your bald head! And the carters shouted from the bridge: "Whip them, devils! Such the other day they cut off two bales of goods.. And they laugh. Gorkin reproaches them that it is impossible to puff up one's soul. And Fedya even stood up for Gorkin - and he is always very modest. Gorkin calls him - "you are a red maiden!" And he even began to reproach: "It's not good! do not lead to sin.. And they told him: "Be silent, monk! in tight pants.. One divine old man, with long hair, wets his feet in the river and tells what ulcers he had on his legs, worms had gnawed to the bone, and he had washed his feet here with a prayer, and everything was tightened, only welts. We look at his brown legs: that's right, only welts. "And beforehand I was wet from the font at the Trinity, and then I got it. If you are at the monk's, drink from the Golden Cross with a prayer. And you, mother, wash your sick son from under the Cross, with faith! He says to the old woman, who is also listening. — the monk was digging that storehouse where the Assumption Cathedral was, — and knocked out a stream, under the sky! After that, she was covered with a cross. So she gnawed that cross, pimpled at all ends — a miracle miracle.We all joyfully cross ourselves, and those scumbags shout: "They are fooling! This is the water supply, we can see everything, the sers... And we all threaten them and wave our staffs: "Don't be foolish! do not shake your faith, you who are shaking.. And Gorkin said - even though it is a distribution pipeline, it goes through the cross... and water supply from God! And one of the scumbags finished the bottle, gurgled into it from the river and on us - a splash from the neck, crosswise! "Here's my sprinkle for you!" heal from me a nickel from the snout.. So everyone gasped. Gorkin shouted: "Anathema to you, scumbags.. And all the pilgrims raised their staffs. And then Fedya, off with his jacket, spat in his fists and gasped at both of them into the river, his heels flashed. And they surfaced up to their chests and gave us all sorts of words.. Anyuta hid in burdocks, and I was frightened, and the carters on the bridge shouted: "Kunai them, kunai!Fedya, as he was, in patent leather boots, - go to them in the river and let them pull and dip them by the hair. And we all watched and crossed ourselves. Gorkin begs him: "Fedya, don't drown me..." Accept!.. And he shouted with tears that he could not allow God to blaspheme, and he dipped them all and knocked them on the head. Then they began to pray to let their souls go to repentance. And all the pilgrims began to beat the water with their staffs for joy, and one old woman fell into the river, and they caught her by the sack and pulled her out. And Fedya jumped out of the water, all pale, and into burdocks. I looked - he pulled off his boots and trousers and went out in pink pantaloons. And everyone praised him. And those, the scumbags, got out into the meadow and began to threaten that now they would call their friends, the residents of Mytishchi, and kill us all with knives. Then the carters rushed after them, caught up with them in the meadow and began to whip them. And when they finished, they approached Gorkin and said: "We've steamed them, they'll remember them." It would be better to bore them with a sparrow, than to screw the cart.. Gorkin waved his hands, began to say that he was not vouchsafed, but the simplest carpenter and sinner. But they did not believe him and said: "It is you who are hiding for simplicity, and we know." Fedya carries the boots by the ears, stops at the sick lad, puts the boots at his feet and says: "Let him carry them for me when he is healed." The old woman cries and crosses herself at Fedya, lamenting. They became dusty, and Fedya was no longer the same, as if he had been offended, punished — they put the refectory on him: "I will bless Elder Barnabas, as he says. Otherwise, maybe I'll go to remote places, to the Valaam elders... He turns into a ditch by the road and calls to Anyuta and me: "Look, dear... We run up to him, and he gives us a sprig of strawberries, red, pink and still unripe - greenish-white. We shake them quietly, admire how they rustle, as if ringing, we can't get enough of it, and it's a pity to eat it. How extraordinary they smell! Fedya rustles on the grass, barefoot, and collects everything, collects and gives it to us. We already have puquetki, of all colors, the berries are trembling so much... It smells so sweet, fresh – it smells of joyful pilgrimage, of pines, of resin... And to this day I remember those joyful berries, in the sun, fragrant lights, alive. Fedya runs, throws his heels up, just like us. He shouts cheerfully to Gorkin: "Mikhail Pankratych... A gift! the first strawberry of God.. And he begins to dress everyone, a branch at a time, as if he is handing out candles in a church. Anti-Cannon takes a twig, rejoices, smells the berries and says kindly to Fedya: "Oh, what a sincere person you are... simplicity you. Such a person is bad in the world, any fool will deceive you. Apparently, this is how you are destined, to become a monk, to pray to God for us. Gorkin is not happy about something, and we are all sad, as if Fedya has left us. On the way, manure is lying around: they take it to the fields, to steam. The haze is turning blue in the village. Anyuta shouted: "Mothers... The samovars are golden on the street, like bedside tables.. Far away in the village, on the sides of the road, in front of every house, there are samovars in the sun, playing with glitter, and the smoke is blue above each. And far away you can see - on both sides - blue columns of smoke. "Well, how can I not drink tea.. Gorkin says cheerfully, "they receive me too ceremonially. The samovars stand like soldiers. Domna Panferovna, what do you say? Let's have a drink, eh?.. And let's not be angry. "You're our head... And it's time to have a snack... It smells like pies?.. "It's time to have some tea and a snack," says Anti-Cannon. "Ah, the grace of the Lord... the Lord sent a day.. And the women come out to meet them, calling in sweet voices: "Have some tea, my dear..." Landed and tea?.. "And in my garden, in a raspberry tree.. "Dear ones, to me, to me.. I drank this summer year... And the currant is ripe for you, and... "Drink from my tinned food, sudariki. . . ." I have honey and a warm loaf of bread, just took it out of the oven.. And more, and more women, and old women, and girls, and staid men. One peasant says confidently, as if we had already ordered: "In my barn, you will have a rest, after drinking..." The heat will subside. Kvass on ice, cucumbers, cabbage, there is everything for the Lenten business. We'll set up tea for the meadow, on the estate, for apekitu... You will suffocate from the spirit! Wrap it up without talking. "The house is good, and the man is nice... and there is kvassok, which is better...," Gorkin says cheerfully. "Aren't you going to be Solomyatkin, as if you were giving us a brick?" "How can it not be Solomyatkin! The peasant shouts. "Everything is true for centuries, Solomyatkin. I know Vasil Vasilich, and I recognize you. Well, wrap it up without talking. "How the Lord leads! Gorkin shouts as well. "He's a good man, and his kvass is housekeeping. Look at the garden, pinch the currants," Anyuta and I said, "he will allow it." How can I not remember you... The Tsar's kinsmen! Where we got to, just opposite Kartsovikha, the house is two-tiered, everything is intact..." "That's right, it's akin to Alexander Mikolaevich," he laughs, "brothers, it turns out. "How, brothers?!" Anti-Cannon says in surprise: I don't believe it, and everyone doesn't believe it. "That's it, brothers! Bring the horse in without talking.The peasant throws open the gate, from where the dung spirit pours out. And mixed with it is honey, from the backs of the village, from the hot meadows, and spiritually bitter, as if from the samovars, from the ardent pine cones. "Oh, it's good in the village.. Anti-Cannon sighs, sipping the warm dung spirit. "I wish I could live and live. While they unharness the Curve and put it under the branches in the shade, we lie on the cool ant grass and look at the sky, on which rare clouds have fallen asleep. We are silent, tired. He begins to feel sleepy... "Come on, kvaska, let's make Moscow happy.. The peasant shouts above us, and we can hear the smell of kvass.In the peasant's hand is a misted stone jug, red; in the other, a wooden ladle. "Mother, the dead woman, gave the prince to drink with this leaven. The kvass foams in the ladle, the bubbles hiss sweetly, and everything seems like a fairy tale to me.

On the Holy Road