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"The kvasok is good, but there's nothing to lay down," Gorkin hurries up, "we'll have a snack, and with God." We will pass Pushkino, we will spend the night in Bratovshchina. How long do you count to the Bratovshchina? "You'll be in time," the peasant burps into the jug. "It's so angry!" I simmer prunes. Let's go to the flowers, to the estate. Stumps are there, no worse than chairs.We walk along the stitch, in a hot, honey perfume. Bees are buzzing. Behind the wattle, red currant lights burn. In the sunny strip under the Christmas tree, where the hives are black with mushrooms, bees glitter. The Anti-Cannon rejoices – it's a single flower! Chamomile, porridge, bells... Gorkin shows: carrot, cupyrniki, sverbika, whitehead. A peasant ruffles the grass with his foot - thicker than porridge! We go into the cold, to the barn, where large stumps are graying. "The French were sitting on them!" - says the man. "And the pine tree, perhaps, has seen the monk himself. Anti-Pushka and Gorkin make a murtsovka: they mash green onions in a cup with a crusher, put sauerkraut, radishes, crumble bread, pour hemp oil and pour kvass. The pungent smell of murtsovka is mixed with the smell of flowers. We eat with chipped spoons, and Fedya gnaws on a cracker. "Well done, why doesn't he slurp?" We said that he was going to become a monk, fasting. Fedya also begins to slurp. "That's a wonderful thing, I see!" Spinjak is good, and in buns and barefoot... And the legs are white. Gorkin says: as it is written in the family, so does the land stand. The peasant sighs: God has a lot of everything. Fedya asks if there are any flatter boots, otherwise they laugh. He goes behind the barn and comes out in trousers, scratching his legs: he must have been stinging with nettles. The peasant says that boots will be found. We drink tea on the grass, in flowers. Bees fall into boiling water - how many of them! The shade is longer from the barn. Domna Panferovna is exhausted, and everyone is dozing off - she doesn't want to pinch even currants. The man says that it's with kvass. "My feet are sleeping with kvass." My old woman went to Moscow to see her daughter, otherwise she would have treated you to the "March" one. In the ice she has been spotted. You said just now that I live richly," the peasant said to Gorkin. "I will not anger God: there is something to chew, something to lie on. My sons live well in St. Petersburg, at the palaces, as they served the guards. I don't eat bread for nothing. And I do not accept pilgrims, but it is forbidden to offend a saint. From the end of time from my parents. Our road is holy, along which the tsars went to the monk. In ancient times, we prepared straw for the tsars, hence the Solomyatkins. We have both the Sbitnevs and the Pirogovs. Maybe it will end with me, but I will keep the law. What self-interest! In winter, there was a snowstorm outside, it was high time to go to the stove, and then the old lady of God brought, knocking on the window with her stick — "Let me spend the night, breadwinners!" A holy deed, from antiquity. Maybe the Lord will pay.He says seriously, stroking his beard all the time. His beard is wide. His face is strict, and his eyes are kind. And so clean, in a white shirt with speckles. Gorkin asks, how is he, the "tsar's brother"? "This is a famous case. Mother Avdotya Gavrilovna Kartsova told me that the house was opposite her, in two tiers. And so it began. How gentlemen from a Frenchman from Moscow ran away to Yaroslavl, here we had a rut.. Here is one tsarist general's wife, like a pryntsess, and break down. Her carriage, then. Opposite the Kartsevs' house, both wheels. Dunyasha was then seventeen years old, and she was already feeding a child. Well, she helped the general's wife get out of the carriage. She immediately fell in love with her, and pestered them while the carriage was being repaired. The painted beauty was Dunyasha from the izbors! And the general's daughter has lost her milk from fears, the child is screaming. Dunyasha and start feeding him, she was young. She was tall, and all her disposition was powerful, she would feed three. The general's wife begged her to come with her, and gave her husband the capital. She grabbed her own and went with the tsar's general's wife. She came back a year later, in a fox coat, and her habits were already noble. My girlfriends were with my mother. I was born in the sixteenth year, and my mother's milk burned from fever... Dunyasha began to feed me with her own, she was in milk. That's what I called her - Mom Dunya. And in the eighteenth year it happened... The governor galloped up with the Cossacks, and in the paper there was an order from the tsar's general's wife - was Dunya Kartsev with milk? And she just gave birth for two weeks. She was rushed straight to Moscow for inspection. And there the tsar's general's wife was waiting. She caressed her, gave her gifts... And then the tsar was Alexander I, and he had a brother Mikołaj Pavlovych. For example, Mikołaj Pavlovych had a son, but I don't know what it was, but you just need to look for a reliable breadwinner throughout the kingdom-state. The tsar's general's wife boasted: I'll get one... Izborov Izborov. So, at what height she was, general! The doctors looked at her in all the articles - they say: it is impossible to demand a better one. And the general's wife rushed her away with her child in a fur-gold carriage with mirrors. with Entimi, on the heels... they rushed like an arrow without respite, like birds, and Cossacks with pikes were all around... In two days they rushed to St. Petersburg to the palace itself. And Dunyasha trembles, praying to God, no matter what happens. The child took her breadwinner ... Well, she secretly fed him, her general's wife secretly hauled her out of some ladder with a screw. First they went to the bathhouse, washed and combed, strangled with perfume, dressed in gold - in silver, in stones, a huge kokoshnik ... As it was shown to the entire royal family - a sabbath, a selection of izbors! Mikołaj Pavlovych himself caressed her cheek and said: "How our Race! feed my Sasha so that he may be healthy." And the Tsarevich shouted, demanding his own: I want milk! How they let him go to the breast... To our, now, Mytishchi-village, coven! You can't tear off what you want. At first she was trembling with fright, but then she got by. Three general's wives looked with six eyes as she fed the child, and the tsar's general's wife was in charge of them. And to kiss – no, no! "And I," she said, "will bend down as if to straighten my chest, and kiss it!" He was like a cherub, all in lace. And the food was selected for her, and the drink was the sweetest. And with her maids - for everything. So she fed us Alexandera Mikolaich, and he made all the peasants sick. Milk, it said its own! It was gifted, of course, the heirs have a lot of trade in Moscow. The Tsarevich will go to the Trinity - he called on her. Once he wanted to drink, it was hot. She is a moment for him! "Father, I'll treat you to some kvass, my girlfriend's is painfully good." And my mother made kvass... — kvass for all kvass! And she sent it to my mother. Mother drove me away, I ran away with a jug across the street, and one general, with tanks, snatched the jug from me. And the prince saw me through the window, and ordered him to let me in with kvass. She told him that I was her nurse, too. And I was a guy, taller than him. I came to him with kvass, he slapped me on the shoulder: "You are a hero!" and laughed: "Brother, are you coming out to me?" He ordered me to be given a ruble of silver, a crosspiece. And the generals drank all over my jug and treated me to cigarettes. What kvass I treated you to! And how could she die, in 1945 it was... A year or so before, he went to his nurse, and she gave him the shoes and cap in which he had been baptized. She had it hidden. And she baptized him, feeling, therefore, her death. They were buried with alcherea, with singers, in vestments-revelations... We have a rich monument, with the golden words: "A body lies buried... of the Moscow province peasant Avdokea Gavrilovna Kartsova... the souls of the righteous shall rest"... I listen, and everything seems like a fairy tale to me.Gorkin wipes his eyes with a handkerchief. It's time to get started. "Like Mytishchi," he says touched, "and on the holy road! Thou hast comforted us. If you carry a brick, come in for a cup of tea.Solomyatkin gives Anyuta and me a bunch of currants each. He gives Fedya old boots, stiff, it hurts to put them on. Fedya says - I will endure. Solomyatkin does not take the treat and orders the bow Vasil Vasilich. He escorts us to the road, points to the house of the tsar's nurse, which is empty now, and praises our cart: no one will make such a thing! Gorkin orders Fedya to write it down – to take out the prosvirka for the repose of the servant of God Eudokea and for the health of Anthropus. Solomyatkin thanks and wishes us a good hour.The sun is beginning to sink, but it is still burning. Dark forests moved closer to the road with frequent spruce growth. It glows with resinous heat. Along the dead hot paths, pilgrims are moving - the same ones. Gorkin limps, says that kvass sits on his feet, and for some reason shakes his foot. In the clearing, in the fir trees, he squats down and says anxiously: "Is there something wrong with my leg?" His leg is blue, his veins are swollen. He collapses and sighs heavily. We stand pitifully over him. The anti-gun says - no other way, we need to put him in the cart. Gorkin waves it off - even if he crawls, but he will get there, as promised. The anti-cannon says that we should bleed him, we will find a grandmother in Pushkin or a horse driver. Gorkin groans: "The Lord does not vouchsafe ... for my sin!" he threw his head on the needles, he must be hot. And from the spruce forest - as from the stove. And he kept moaning: "For the kwa-as... He promised to work on crackers, but he wanted murtsovka, for mammon... the Lord punished with kvass... Domna Panferovna shouted: "Your blood is closed, I can see it in your vein!" What kind of grandmother is there... I'm going to bleed him now.. And he begins to plane the vein with his fingernail and knead. Gorkin moans, and she shouts at him: "Oh?.. brave, and here Panferovna came in handy! Never mind, I'll pick you up right away, just give yourself!" Gorkin groans: "Cyrulnik... Ivan Zakharych... I used it without a cut... leeches, Domnushka, put on it..." "Well, go to your cirulnik, 'without a cut'.. Listen to me... I'm going to drain your black blood now, bad blood... otherwise the vein will burst.. Gorkin still did not give in, groaned: "Oh, wait... I will weaken, I will not reach it... I will not give up anything, I will weaken... Domna Panferovna waves a knife at him and shouts that she will never die, and she knows this business - she will only chick once! Gorkin crossed himself, looked at me and asked: "With holy oil..." rub it from a bottle, from Panteleimon... Erast Erastych himself rubbed without a cut... And this is our doctor. Domna Panferovna shouted: "Well, it's not my fault if you die!" - she took the bottle and began to rub it against her vein. I fall down to Gorkin and start crying. He stroked me and said: "And the Lord... the will of the Lord... Pray for me, killer whale.I try to pray, and I see how Domna Panferovna rubs and shaves with her fingernail, covered in sweat. She shouts at Fedya, who keeps crossing himself on the Christmas tree: "You, prayer... you have paws... Fedya rubs with all his might, as if he were turning bagels. Gorkin moans and whispers: "Uh-uh... let go a little... uh... much easier... Once upon a time... as if she had fallen into place... it's like oil... works... Pantelemon... father... What does he do... We are all happy. We looked - the leg turned red. Domna Panferovna said: "The blood has gone back to its place... They pull off the bags and prop up the leg. I run into the Christmas trees and cry and cry, already from joy. I looked, and Anyuta was in the fir trees, roaring and whispering: "The old man will die..." we will not reach the Trinity... we will not see it.. I shouted to her that Gorkin was already moving his fingers and that his leg was red, real. I ran to Gorkin, and tears were flowing, I could not calm down. He stroked me and said, "Scared, dear?.. God willing, nothing... I'm ashamed, as if that's why I'm crying that we won't get there?.. Someone puts a kopeck on Gorkin; someone advises: "His face, his face, it would be better to cover his face..." Gorkin takes the kopeck, kisses it and whispers: "The Lord's mite... vouchsafed the Lord to receive... I will tell you to put it in the coffin with me.. They whisper and cross themselves: "He asks for a coffin..." my darling can smell it... The anti-cannon spits, waves at them: "Why are you croaking, burying a living person?!" Gorkin crosses himself and begins to rise. They hum and gasp: "Look, the old man has risen.. Gorkin is already sitting, propping up his fists behind him, and he has cheered up. "It burns a little, but there is no such pain... and I wield my fingers," he says, and I am happy to see his thumb bowing. "I'll rest a little and let's go." We can't reach Bratovshchina, we'll spend the night in Pushkin. "Get on the cart, Gorkin.. What has happened now – sighs in which pain, anxiously searching for a faint look, frightened faces, Fedya crossing himself on Christmas trees, a penny on his chest... – everything lay in me with acute anguish, anxiety. And these words — "departing... it would be better for him to cover his face..." I hold his hand tightly. He asked me: "Well, why are you trembling, eh? I felt sorry for me, eh?.. And his dry, hot hand presses mine.The sun is not high above the forest, the heat subsides. There's Pushkino. We must cross the Ucha and go up: Gorkin wants to spend the night with an old man he knows, on the other side of the village. Fedya supports him and limps himself - his boots have crumpled his leg. We cross the Ucha on the resin bridge. The ravine is fresh, smells of tar, warm water and fish. Above it is still warm, it draws with dry heating, spruce, spicy. The flock has entered the village, herds of sheep are running around, there is gold dust. The huts are crimson golden. The women call affectionately: "Tea, tired, dear, spend the night..." we'll lay fresh hay, no bug, no flies.. Spend the night, right?.. An old man I know, who used to work for us, meets us with a samovar. We are no longer up to tea. Fedya and Anti-Pushka arrange Crooked under the canopy and go to the barn for hay. Domna Panferovna and Anyuta lie down on the summer half, and Gorkin needs to be warmer. It is hot in the hut: bread was baked today. The old man said: "Lie down on the floor, on the hayloft. I have a rich bed, but trouble... The bug is strong, you can't fight back. And then it will be like in paradise for you.He brings a bottle of stewed ants and advises you to rub, and stronger, the leg. Domna Panferovna diligently rubs it, then wraps it in a damp towel and wraps it tightly with felt. It smells pungent from ants, even tears the eyes. Gorkin thanks: "Thank you, Domnushka, you are our caretaker. She says affectionately: "Well, what... We are all boiling water.The old man warms up the lamp, creeps. He said: "Me too, it locks the blood. Only ants save myself. Tomorrow, look, and you won't be lame.They talk about all sorts of things for a long time. It is still light outside the windows, from the dawn. Flies are rustling on the ceiling, black and black from them.I wake up from burning pain, my body is burning. Do flies bite? In the greenish light from the lamp I see Gorkin: he is on his knees, in a pink shirt, and praying. I cried and said to him: "Gorkin... the flies bite me, it hurts..." "Sleep, killer whale," he answers in a whisper, "like flies, they have been sleeping for a long time. "No, they bite!" "Not flies... These must be the bugs that bite. The hut is winter. From the ceiling, in no way, they fall, nothing can be done. And you sleep for yourself - and it's okay, you will sleep. Oh, to take them to Panferovna, eh?" You don't want to... Well, sleep, with the Lord.But I can't sleep. And he keeps praying. "You don't sleep, everyone..." Well, come to me, I'll cover you with a slap. If you warm up, you will fall asleep. I'll cover it with the head, the bugs won't get close. Are you scared for me just now, eh? And my leg is completely lighter, it warmed up from the ants. Well... Do bugs bite? — No, I don't. The legs only bite. "And you squeeze up, they won't come up." Ah, Lord... forgive me, a sinner...," he yawns. He presses me to him, whispers some kind of prayer. "Gorkin," I ask in a whisper, "what sins do you have?" Sin, you said... when your leg swelled?.. "It's my sin... There is one sin," he whispers to me under the covers, "everyone knows it, and according to the law he has served, and... I want to talk to Father Varnava in my heart, to relieve myself. He was tried in court, and he was in the monastery for two months in repentance. Well, I'll tell you. You are a child, your pure darling... Well, we worked at a construction site, seven years soon. Grisha was under my arm, about fifteen years old, a good one. His father entrusted him to me, to bring him out to the people. And he, to tell you, was afraid of heights. And what a carpenter who is afraid of heights! I taught him: walk more boldly, don't be afraid! Once he carried the plank to the second tier, and stood there. "I'm afraid," he said, "uncle, I'll fall. And I began to frighten him: "What kind of fool will you be, a carpenter, afraid of such a height? climb up!" Three arshins and an inch of all and height were there. Yes, he hit the bricks, broke his leg. Yes, the main thing is to hit the bricks with your chest... He began to spit blood, a year later he died. That's my sin. I send my father and mother his five for a month, and they give my father a red one. They live well. And they forgave me, they themselves asked for me in court. Well, church repentance came out to me, otherwise the court itself forgave me. And repentance for conscience, so. And everything in me is languishing. As soon as I hear someone called Grisha, my heart will grow cold. As if I killed him myself... And? Well, what does your darling smell, eh?.. He asks kindly and presses me harder. I hug him and barely whisper: "No, you didn't... Gorkin, dear... you wished him well... I snuggle up to him and cry, cry. Whether he was tired from the excitement of the day, or whether he felt sorry for Gorkin – I don't know. Will God not forgive him and he will not go to paradise, where the souls of the righteous rest? He lights a cinder, wipes my tears with his shirt, gives me water. "Sleep, with the Lord, it's early to get up tomorrow." Do you want me to take it to Antipushka, for hay? I don't want to go to Anticannon.It's turning white in the hut; Roosters call out. The horn is playing, the cows are mooing, the whip is snapping hard. Under the window, Anti-Cannon says: "It's time to put a samovar too." Gorkin sleeps on his back, breathing calmly. On his yellowish chest, through his open shirt, one can see how a copper, darkened cross rises and falls from breathing. I quietly get up and go to the window, on which flies are buzzing. The anti-cannon washes the Curve and rubs it with a cloth, as in Moscow. On this side and on our side, the early pilgrims are already wandering, in the cold. So quietly that even through the closed window you can hear the slapping and rustling of their bast shoes. In the greenish sky there are thin snow stripes of morning clouds. Before my eyes, they begin to turn pink and golden, and disappear. The old man, not seeing me, knocks on the window with his finger and shouts hoarsely: "Hey, Pankratych, get up!" "He'll get cold at dawn. . . ." Oh, look, it's going to be hot again.I'm starting to feel sleepy. I want to lie down some longer, I turn around and see Gorkin sitting under the patchwork quilt and smiling as always. "Oh, you early bird," he says cheerfully. "And my leg has become quite good. Well, open the window.I open it, and a red spark of the sun from behind the hut opposite hits my eyes.

At the Cross

Part 1

The thatched roofs and birches are pink-golden, and the pink chickens are walking, and a pinkish cloud is rolling along the road behind the cart. The early sun seems festive, as if on a bright day. A man with a pitchfork was walking, roaring: "Oh, throw the merchant on the roof?" - he wanted to stab me. The anti-cannon does not give: "We can't go to the reverend." The peasant said: "Ahhh "So... you go to the monk... I like the peasant, and the clay washstand on the porch, which hit me on the forehead when I washed, and the manured yard, and the smell, and the wheel of the well, and everything that is here. I think - it would be nice to live here a little.We are waiting for Gorkin, they rub his leg. His leg is quite good, not a bruise, but Domna Panferovna wants to drive the blood further, otherwise she will return. Right - a miracle with his leg. On Shrovetide, too, my leg hurt, they sent for a doctor, and leeches sucked black blood, and for more than a week I fell through. And here – the Lord looked at me for the sake of the holy road, as if it had been taken away by a hand. In thanksgiving, Gorkin only drank boiling water with a cracker, and postponed the tea until the end of the season, if the Lord willing. And we also refused, out of respect: it was somehow embarrassing to drink. And what teas now! We need to get ready, the holy places will go. We will pass the Bratovshchina - five versts, half the way to the Trinity. And behind Talitsy there are caves where the robbers kept the camp, and then the place was enlightened. And there is Khotkovo, the parents of the monk are there, under a bushel. And there is Mount Poklonnaya, called "at the Cross". On a clear day, the Trinity can be seen from there: a bell tower stands above the forests, like a pink Easter candle, and on it there is a light – a cross. And Anti-Cannon says - we must be patient, what kind of tea is there. In the Egyptian desert – Fedya said – the elders never drink water, but only lick dewdrops. And he has a brick under his arm. Maybe a holy fool, suffering for the flesh. The peasant says that all sorts of people pass here, there are saints, they come across. One in the tavern took off his shoes, showed himself - he walks on terrible nails, for suffering, his feet are covered in blood. Well, they gave him out of piety, and he robbed the innkeeper, the nights. The anti-cannon says about Fedya: "He is also saving, he has stuffed his legs - and does not take off his shoes." The anti-cannon picked up a cap from it, and there was a briar in the cap, tight! And scratched on his forehead. Fedya was ashamed and began to say that he had put it for the aromas and forgotten. And he did it on purpose. Yesterday he told us how the saint prayed on thorns not to sleep. The peasant said: "Oh, how insensitive!" I put a twig under the cap and pressed it until it hurt. Anyuta tries it too. The peasant laughs and says: "Let's go carry the manure, your bodies will suffer!" The rye is tall, you can't see anything behind it. Fedya puts me on his shoulders, and behind the light green surface I see a blue forest, far away... — it seems impossible to reach. Rye spreads in waves, pours — it hurts the eyes from the shine. The blue forests are swaying, the lark is murmuring, I want to sleep. Through the sticky eyelashes I see - the blue forests are fogging, the field is pouring and shimmering, Anyuta is jumping there... Gorkin shouted: "Put it in the cart, completely boiled... The bugs did not let me sleep!". It smells of grass, rocks, rustles on the wheels rye, whips Crooked with its tail, whips on the front - thigh, thigh... I am floating on a wavy field, towards the blue forests, somewhere. "Turn to the cross, under the birch!" A bright meadow, covered with daisies. Pilgrims sit in a bunch, eating sieve. Under an old birch tree there is a cross. A big road, white. In the hot sun, carts creak, yellow barrels are carried, with a crunch, like sugar. Men lie facing the sky on barrels, spreading their legs. The sun burns with fire. The creak-crunch makes it feel even hotter. It floats, my neck is all wet. Flies hang motionless above our heads, in the birch. Fedya drinks me from a kettle. The tin has warmed up, the water is tasteless. They say, "Be patient a little, soon there will be a holy well, the water there will be cold like ice," behind Talitsa, in a ravine. Anyuta jumped up to me, with terrible eyes, whispering: "A man was stabbed, by God!" I shouted to Gorkin. He is sitting at the cross, taking off his shoes, looking at his foot. I shouted - why did they stab a man?! And Anyuta shouted: "A scrupulous man was stabbed!" Gorkin said: "Why are you shouting, you fool?.. No one was stabbed, and this is a cross... Maybe someone died. There are always crosses on the roads, where there was some kind of death.Anyuta crosses herself and shouts that it is true, a man has been stabbed to death - a scrupulous one! "Grandmother knows... People came to the shop to drink kvass! A scrupulous man was stabbed to death... By God.. Gorkin is angry. What kind of scrupulous? Have you gone mad from the heat? Anti-Pushka and Fedya pester her, and she is all her own: they stabbed the scrupulous! Domna Panferovna came up, barely breathing, all wet. He says that they went to a shop in Bratovshchina to drink kvass, the whole soul was exhausted, there was nothing to breathe... And then a passer-by said that they had stabbed a scrupulous man, they were walking around with boxes, with crosses, needles, buttons... There will be a village ahead. Kashcheevka, a remote place... As if yesterday a boy was slaughtered, lying in the bushes, and flies surrounded everything... Such passion.. "Read every day and someone will be stabbed," he said. Beware..." "Oh, that's what," Gorkin says quietly and crosses himself. — The Kingdom of Heaven to him.Everyone is afraid. Pilgrims crowded, gasped, looked there, forward. They say that now all the places are dangerous, the mosses will go, the ravines ... - it's better not to go alone. And this Kashcheevka is already famous, thieves. And then someone was killed, there was a cross – oh, Lord! And behind Talitsy is now a cross.. A little more muffled where there is a cross.I want to be closer to Gorkin. I sat down under the cross, Anyuta huddled up to me, looked into my eyes. He whispers: "And we will be slaughtered like a scrupulous..." The cross is completely rotten, speckled with yellow mold. No one knows what happened here. The birch, perhaps, has seen it, but it will not tell. Fedya said, "Let's sing a prayer for the repose." And he starts, and we follow him. My soul is relieved. An old man with a scythe came up and listened to how well we sang "Rest with the Saints". Gorkin asks why the cross, if someone was killed here. "No one was killed," said the old man, "but the merchant died of natural causes, was on his way from Alexandrov, and began to eat under a birch tree. Well, it was enough, I ate and drank too much. Well, then the son took him home, and put a cross here for memory, gave us a commemoration of the soul... I was a guy then. Well remembered. We don't have it to kill. Beyond Talitsy... well, it happens there. Don't go there alone... We are all glad that we did not slaughter, and it became fun all around: both the cross and the birch seemed to cheer up. "There will be ravines there," said the old man, "look and look." And the horse can be taken away, and... Don't fight off your friend, take a look.And again we're all scared.It's soaring a lot, but only the tenth hour. Behind Talitsy there is a deep ravine. We move out - and immediately it becomes fresh and gloomy. On the other side of the ravine is an old birch grove, rooks are screaming. The place is completely desolate. There is a well under a tent with a cross. There are caves in the mountain. Pilgrims lie at the well, they tell us: the monk has led the people underground, wait a little, water the horse. Fedya looks into the well - the bottom, he says, is not visible. He lowers a bucket on a wheel. The wheel turns for a long time. The rope trembles for a long time, pulls in the bucket. The bucket smells cold. Water is like a tear, cold, it hurts to drink. They say that this is an underground river, covered with ice; It happens that they pull out the ice, and for those who are lucky, they find silver rubles, old ones. Here the robbers kept the treasure, and then the place brightened, some monk led them out. "Look," said Fedya, "an old lady I know here, with her granddaughter, in beads..." The old woman recognizes us, she is glad. With her on the grass is a handsome young woman who looks like a girl, in a red headband with horns, in a patterned shirt. We are all happy, as if relatives have met. For some reason, the young woman is crying, sorting through the amber beads in her knees. Gorkin asks why she is crying. The old woman complains that the old man alone has offended his granddaughter for no reason – he is lying there, a hog, sleeping on a brick! "Why, dear... He came up to us, grabbed the butterfly by the sleeve, began to sniff, demanded it... Give me your lock, whatever it is... I'll lock them up, I'll unlock them, and I'll take the sin upon myself! Ugh!.. The hog is scary.. What did you say about sin, eh? And it was he who had heard from people that the boy - the Andel darling - had fallen asleep, was silent and grieving because of that. She - from him, she began to cry ... Like a demon, terrible, twisted with irons, locks hung! He grabbed her by the beads and pulled her to him... Come live with me, I'll take your sin away! And he tore the beads on her. Plague! Everything was collected here, but not collected. He brought his granddaughter to tears. And she forgot how to cry, and now she cried! Gorkin said: "But it turned out for the best! She seems to have come to her senses, she looks intelligently. I remember walking - how they poured water on me... And look, mother, she has become good! Maybe he will find himself?.. "May the merciful God grant it!" She began to respond, otherwise she seemed to be mute. As the beads fell, she — ah.. "How's it going to shout.. She began to pick them up, to call me. She recognized me, dear... She cried, began to huddle up to me. "Grandma," she said, "where are we with you, let's go home, grandma!" Fedya found a bead and gave it to the pullet. She did nothing, accepted from him, only squinted and covered her face with her hands. Domna Panferovna sat down next to her, patted her on the head, and began to say something—nothing, she was listening. She looked at me so cheerfully and even smiled. Just like the saint on the icons, very pleasant. Gorkin says that a miracle has happened! Fedya shouts to us: "Come here, there is a wonderful old man here!" A terrible old man, with burdock hair, lying with his head on a brick. We approached, and he opened his stiff sweater, and there was a naked body, black, with sores, and a rusty chain, a dog's, wrapped around, and all the locks on it: small, and large, rusty, and cubic, and on the stomach the largest, as if from a gate. He barks at us: "Are you idle talkers?" Gorkin says to him affectionately: "We do not boast, but like the Lord. The old man and let's grind: "I pray for everyone!" I'll lock it up, I'll bear my sins, how much! I've been carrying this one for five years, tavern keepers, from Serpukhov! there is blood on it, blood. And these are women's sins, styling, all trifles... casually, I unlocked and closed... from the spirit there is no passage from theirs, the cat's. And he was angry with Domna Panferovna: "You, fat woman, eat and eat? Give me your castle... I will lock and open! I'll reproach you, fool, I'll do it... lost without me! Domna Panferovna spat and let's scold the old man. Holy people are humble, but he is a braggart! "Wash away your dirt!" He sleeps on a brick in public, but he offended a sick woman, tore the beads! Such parasites need to be caned, in the cold... Gorkin calms her down, but she is even more at the old man, she cannot calm her heart. The old man jumped on her, as if he had broken free from the chain, rattling the locks. "Damn! He shouted, "Devil, devil.. And let's spit. Then everyone realized that he had completely lost his mind. A monk comes from the caves and says: "Leave him alone, this is from the Trinity, from the posad, a philistine, he traded castles - and bargained... And now he takes his sins upon himself, removes them from people, wears chains-locks. He was released from the madhouse, he is harmless." Damp, like in a cellar, and slippery. And you can't see anything. The monk says that a robber lived in the mountain with his gang, he killed many people. And the nun Anthony came, and ordered the robber to leave. And he stabbed him with a knife, and the knife hit the stone and broke, by the will of the Lord. And the robber was frightened, and said, "I never missed, I only missed you." And he left him alone. And the nun began to dig into the mountain, and went away from the robber into the depths, and there he dwelt in prayer and fasting. And the robber lost his whole gang in the same year, and once returned to his cave, all beaten. And the nun learned about this, and said to the thief: "Repent, tomorrow you will die." And he repented. And the nuns walled him up in a distant cell, in a mountain, and where is unknown. And from that time the place was enlightened. For forty years the nun Anthony lived alone in grief and departed to the abodes of the righteous. And I dug for nine years, taking such a labor to test the flesh.We come out of the caves, Gorkin says: "I don't understand something, the monk tells badly." Well, Fedya explained to us that all this was for the suffering of the flesh, and yet the monk scattered the robbers, and brought the ataman to repentance. We ask the monk: is he a saint who dug a mountain? The monk thought about it and said that this was unknown and his life was not there, but only by hearsay. Well, we didn't quite like it, that there was no hagiography, and you never know what they would say. The only good thing is that the robbers' nest has ceased.

Part 2

We go through the most terrible places. The dark forests moved, it became dull. The road is completely empty, rarely - someone will pass. And pilgrims less often. Where the forests recede, birch groves with ravines approach. In the copses of cuckoos you can hear - vying with each other. "The cuckoos are uncooked... before a thunderstorm, perhaps?.. Gorkin says, looking around the sky. "No, it's clean. And it soars. "If it's soaring, there's a cloud propping it up somewhere," says Anti-Cannon. "The curve is foggy!" And like a birch... Pure perfume, bath. It's so pulling from the ravines... And it began to smell like love. And the evening is far away; And they smell more at night, night violets. And the cuckoos... — one after another, one after another — are in a hurry. We guess how many years we will live. Gorkin turned out to be thirty, and I was four, my cuckoo got lost. They say that she has not yet learned to count.The old woman and her granddaughter are with us, they are so attached to us. And we have more fun with them. The young woman also cheered up, began to talk a little to Domna Panferovna. She would call out to her: "Parasha!" - and the young woman would say to her: "Oh?" Otherwise: "Ayushki?" Fedya found a strawberry, gave it to Parasha, but she did not - she would bite and smile. Everyone laughs at Fedya: what a good gentleman, but everyone is going to become a monk. And the old woman was very surprised - such a handsome fellow, and under the hood under the black one! And he kept Parasha strawberries. Domna Panferovna laughed at him: "Find such a little thing in Moscow, and get married, and you will feed her strawberries. And this one is a stranger, there is a husband.Fedya seemed to be frightened and ran away from the road into the forest. We called him by force - it was terrible without him, the places were desolate... Kashcheevka now.We pass Kashcheevka, where a scrupulous man was stabbed. We ask the people there how they stabbed the scrupulous man, whether they caught him. They say they haven't even heard of it. They say there was a peddler-scrupulous here the other day - he went to Posad. And a peasant here was a passer-by..." - in Posad, a man stabbed himself in a tavern, he was taken to the hospital - that, perhaps, is where the rumor went. And here the place is the quietest.And really, it's not scary at all. They say that a bear was seen in oats, he went and jumped and squinted. And we did not see it. Well, they say, maybe you will see again, here is their strength.We walk for a long time, but the bear is still not visible. After Rakhmanov, we turn off the road to Khotkovo. The places here are the most desolate. It is three o'clock in the afternoon: just in time for vespers, we will get to the parents of the monk. And the road is heavy, ravines. It is soaring strongly, everyone is exhausted, The curve stammeres. And now - as if behind us... thunder?.. "Not loudly?.. Gorkin looks around. "Uh... Look at what is happening... to Moscow, how it freezes! Oh-oh-oh... The storm is driving us down, brothers, I just have time to get there. Chase, chase Crooked, Anti-Cannon.. Anyuta and I are in the cart. The sky behind us is dark, oppressive with heat. For example, the beginning of soaring in the morning is for a thunderstorm. Honey flowers are drawn from the ravines. "Gyadi, what is Crooked cutting up..." ears like a shearer! it's she who is loudly afraid..." says Anti-Cannon. "And you, fool, don't be afraid... if it washes you with rain, you'll be good. The thunder is now clearly audible, in peals. The blue one towards Moscow, behind us, and the black one from behind the forest, on the right. I see lightning, and Anyuta sees that a fiery rope has tangled and gone under a cloud. I would rather reach Khotkov. Thunder seems to be ahead, like balls rolling. "How... — it rolled out, they say. "A circular thunderstorm is coming, a terrible one, God forbid.. Oh, it's coming from everywhere.. And again I see a golden string on a cloud — it only blinked. An oncoming peasant in a cart shouts: "Hurry up! The mowing over there is in the monastery, the nuns are harvesting hay and hurrying ... Get to the shed! Oh, the threats are coming, the Soviet one is overwhelmed like... God forbid, hail.. He pulls out a mat from under himself and covers himself. "Is it really with hail, cold as it blows?.. "Anti-Cannon takes off his hat and crosses himself. "Look, there's a cloud with a beard... We go through birches, a clean grove. Cuckoos here and there crow like madmen from a thunderstorm. There is a thick smell of birch, hay, some bitter flowers. The curve itself is in a hurry, afraid of thunderstorms. There is a meadow, a lawn. The nuns quickly rake and rake hay into shafts and haystacks. It was completely dark: a black cloud above us, with white shreds - "with a beard". Zippers are whipped from shreds, birches are beaten. Anyuta poked her head, shouted: "Oh, grandmother, I'm afraid.. It is completely overhanging, clinging to the birches, crackling dryly, as if a heap of splinters has been thrown... And now it deafens with thunder, as if it hit a cart. Everyone crosses themselves and whispers: "Holy, holy, holy, Lord of hosts..." Thunder rolls for a long time, and again it flares up and blinds, and again it rumbles, to the point of fear. A rustle is coming after us - it's a downpour. Nuns are waving to us from the meadow — hurry, hurry! The first drops fall, large as hailstones. On the mowed meadow the haystacks are darkening in rows, the workers are turning blue and white: they are wearing blue dresses and white handkerchiefs. At a trot, we reach the shed, run to take cover. The rain is getting worse. An old nun said affably: "Stop the rain, God save you." Fedya runs to the cart, grabs the bags - all wet. The curve stands in the downpour, hanging ears, all slimy. Like a swamp under a cart. Anti-Cannon is pleased - it's okay, it will refresh a little, it's good for Crooked, the weather is warm.With a cheerful cry the workers run across the meadow, as if in a net. "My magpies, stupid... Oh, stupid.. — laughs the old nun.As if white and blue birds are flying in the rain in a meadow. Not a downpour, but a spill - the forest is not visible at all. It shines, rattles and pours. A huge puddle near the canopy - it will flood, perhaps, and where will we all go then, we need to climb onto the roof. I want it to rain longer. The workers jump out into the downpour, wash themselves with the rain and cross themselves. It rumbles right above the barn. The nun says, crossing herself: "Holy, holy, holy... Ah, the grace of the Lord... It's so good, it's fresh, it's easy to breathe.. Holy, holy... The thunder is already quieter, more muffled. It smells of fragrant hay and a warm meadow, the park is smoking. Under the departing downpour, you can hear how they preach the good news in the monastery for vespers. "Spend the night with the parents of the monk," the nun said to us, "pray, serve a pannikhida for your parents, Schema-monk Kirill and Schema-nun Maria. And the monk will hear your prayer. We are good, decent... under the Protection of the Lady we dwell. Our parents are under a bushel... Remember your parents with a well-fed kutitsya, God save you. Look at our needlework, lace, belts... Give the children patchwork balls with embroidery, what elegant ones... In Khotkovo we spend the night.Morning, warm and cloudy. The distances are vague. We are "at the cross", on a hill. In the chapel there is a great cross. The monk tells us that from here, ten versts before the Trinity, some saint sent a bow and blessing to the monk, and the monk heard in spirit and exclaimed: "Rejoice thou also, brother!" He also tells us that from here they see the Trinity bell tower, like a pink Easter candle. Wherever you look, there are pine forests. I am looking for a bell tower – a pink candle, an Easter candle. Where is she? I peer into the distance, dig into the dark forests and see... I see a spark flashing, beating and trembling in my eyes. I close my eyes and see: a golden cross stands above the forests, in the sky. I see pink, in gold, a great pink candle, an Easter candle. It stands above the forests, in the sky. The sun is burning on it. I see her so clearly! It is alive, it shines with a cross – fire. "I see, I see!" I shouted to Gorkin. And no one sees. Anyuta doesn't even see either. "Where can I see it, it's so gloomy," Gorkin says from under his palm, sadly, "and the eyes are not the same. Sometimes they see it. Yes, you can rarely see from here, you need to get closer. And I did. I say that a pink candle, reaching to the sky, and a golden cross on it. But they don't believe me: it's revenge. I try to see again, close my eyes... — and hear: — Father.. He gallops at us, in his white curl, in a verkhovka-cap, so dexterous, cheerful. He jumped down from the Kavkazka and could not stand, he squatted down immediately - he was so tired. Everyone sits and stretches his legs. I rush to him, with joy. He threw me up, and I shouted into his daughter's tanned face that I had just seen a candle... a pink candle, an Easter candle! He doesn't understand anything—what kind of candle! I tell him that this is whomever he will deign to do... He kisses me, calls me an inventor and shouts to someone, behind us: "Girl... Do you have strawberries, or what?.. And he buys a whole basket of strawberries, fragrant, ripe. We are sitting right on the grass, although it is still very damp, and we are all eating strawberries from a basket. My father feeds me with a handful, slaps me on the cheeks and plays. His hands smell of reins, of black, shoemaker's, brew, and ripe strawberries—it smells wonderful! He tells how dashingly he galloped: at half past six he left Moscow, and now it is only nine. Everyone is surprised. He buys another basket, treats and eats handfuls; strawberries roll on the jacket. He says about Zvenigorod that he managed to visit St. Savva, caught the mass... about the groves at the Vasilchikovs in Koralov: "I took such and such groves!" "Well, I'll go to sleep." In the monastery hotel you will find..." — And he rides on the washed-up Caucasian. "Fire.. Gorkin throws up his hands, "I was and I wasn't.. I look at the muddy road, at the darkening forests in the distance. No father, no pink bell tower, no spark. "Let me wipe them..." Their whole face is strawberry, Daddy respected me so much..." laughs Gorkin and wipes me with his palm. I look at a basket of strawberries... — as if a vision passed.

Under the Trinity

The Trinity is very close. People they meet say: "Go up the hill - it's like the whole Trinity in the palm of your hand! We are going to rejoice, and they have already rejoiced, have seen and seen, and from such grace they are again in the murya. Well, we have lived for three days, breathed holiness, and we must give others a place. They sit under the fir trees — crosses, belts, eat bread from the monk — he blessed them with a slice for the path. The children are wearing new crosses, on pink ribbons, they are turning white silver. is it good at the Trinity, there are many people? That's good, they say... And I should be better, but there is nowhere to go. And which are more beautiful — from the spiritual they lament: — So benevolent, so orderly and gracious and sweet-voiced... I wouldn't have left! And the people are full. "Why," they said, "don't worry, he'll get you about everyone. And if there is a little bit of soup or porridge, the abbot will bless me to cook what is left of the monk in a copper pot, "scoop it up!" The Trinity now... What is it, the Trinity? Gold and all in flowers? Like a dense forest, and a big, big church, and above it, on a cloud, a golden icon – the Trinity. I asked Gorkin, and he only said: "You'll see." The air after the rain is fragrant and fresh. Wet juniper smells of fragrant incense. Domna Panferovna says that in Jerusalem there is a smell of cypress spirit. There is a cypress tree, black, shaggy, like our juniper, only it grows higher than houses. Icons are written on it, crosses are cut from it, coffins for saints are made. And we have a spiritual juniper tree, under icons and under the dead.Cheerful meadows are full of flowers — the very time of flourishing, the month of June. In the wet grass, in the sun, large bells are golden, sunken from the rain, fluffy, you shake it above your ear - splashing and ringing. They stand on the forest lawns like thin wax candles, their nighties, as if smoking with smoke - the incense aroma from them. And daisies, and bells... And in Bethany, they say, daisies... - right into the palm of the chamomile.. Anyuta crawls through the meadows in the dew, and grabs lyubka. And Domna Panferovna threatened: "I'll dry you, wet one! The curve turns everything back to the meadows. And Gorkin, no, no, and stopped, breathed: "What is this... What a dissolution! You can't breathe enough directness... the nature of the Lord. Everything here is walked by the monk, looked around. Fedya says that the monk, when he was a youth, lost his horse and searched for it, and the holy elder appeared to him and pointed out: "There is your horse grazing!" — and blessed him with a prosvirka. The anti-cannon said: "You see, he also took care of the horse, he did not disdain it. "How can you be disdainful," says Gorkin happily, "he worked with a hatchet, did carpentry, just like we do. If he puts a peasant in a cage there, he won't take any money!" "Give me," he said, "a piece of bread, some superfluous, dry stubs... and it will be from me." How he relieved the poor, he was hearty. That's why everyone reveres them, for their labors and prayers and for their humility. Well, how good, Lord.. Fedya walks barefoot, boots on his back, on a stick. He was completely numb, he said. And boring. And his boots went out of order—the soles flew off from the rain, or something. In the morning in Khotkovo, he told Gorkin that he would have to buy boots from the Trinity, but that he would probably not be allowed to see the archimandrite barefoot — he would ask to become a novice. Gorkin joked: "Come on, the archimandrite will say, "Oh, did you drink your boots?" And it was she, she herself said later, who joked about Fedya that he had picked strawberries for her granddaughter. So he got bored in the morning, that boots could not be avoided, he had to buy. And the old woman and the young woman in Khotkovo lagged behind, the hieromonk there began to reprimand his granddaughter, to get better. On the way, we got used to them, they are very pleasant - well, and boring. Fedya looked at the meadow and said: "Oh, I wish we could put a cell here and live!" and Domna Panferovna jokingly told him: "So save yourself, and you don't need lacquer boots. And at a distance you will put strawberries on someone else, for the sake of your soul's salvation.Fedya even stopped and dropped his boots. "It's a sin for you, Domna Panferovna," she said, "to think of me like that. I'm like a sister's brother... And she is on her tongue, God forbid: "Nonche sister, and tomorrow her eyes are dazzling!" I took you away from sin, whispered to your grandmother to leave you behind. And the cradle began to peep in... Gorkin was angry that such conversations were not in this place, and said: "It was you who went to the matchmakers in Moscow - and you got the words, it's not good. The anti-cannon says that we were emaciated from fasting, on only crackers another day, so we were upset. And the demon rolled over Domna Panferovna, shouting at Anti-Cannon: "You're still getting involved here! There are no commanders against me.. I was on crackers for a hundred days, as I went to Jerusalem... and in Khotkovo she refused mushroom soup, not like others... Gorkin tells her that no one asks to be a saint here, and that's as the Lord wills... and that he also refused to eat soup, and did not nibble smoked herring in the corner, as people went to sleep. "And there's no need to argue," Gorkin said, "whoever can, he can bear it, the Scriptures say so. And if we talk, the Lord willing, we will refuel in the "pancake houses" at the Trinity, now it will not be long. Anyuta and I pick flowers for Crooked, and she is also happy, blinking and chewing. Otherwise, he will stop chewing and doze, flowers hanging on his lip. Otherwise, we'll sit down and listen to how quiet, the bees are only buzzing and buzzing. The cone will fall, the cuckoo will crow and listen. And now it seems to be far away... — ringing? "They preach the gospel, no way... I heard ?... — Gorkin listened and crossed himself. "And it's at the Trinity, they call the 'Worthy'..." muffles the slide?.. At the Trinity. Its very ringing, so good, important... No, only the cuckoo can be heard, her voice washed away by the rain - so loud. And as if it were ringing?.. Fedya is already on the hill, making the sign of the cross... — Did you see the Trinity? I ran up and saw... "Trinity?.. Brilliance, blue sky — and in this brilliance, in the blue, a tall pink bell tower with a shining golden top! The top trembles with shine, as if gold is pouring there. Further on, the forests are darkening. Smooth, sleepy as if ringing.I hear heavy breathing and sighs behind me. Gorkin, without a cap, hurriedly climbs, all wet, falls to his knees, whispers: "Trinity... mother... Heard... vouchsafed the Lord... He rubs it at his heart, crosses himself, pressing his fingers with trembling. I ask him, where is the Trinity? His head is shaking, glistening with sweat; The pressure from the cap on the forehead seems to be a dark thread. "Make the sign of the cross, dove," he says tiredly, weakly, "there is our Trinity..." I cross myself at the pink bell tower, at the shining top with a cross, small as on me, at the sparks flashing below. I see blue domes, pink walls, green caps of turrets, houses, gardens... Everyone sighs and gasps – Lord, what a beauty! Everyone commemorates the Trinity. And I don't see where the Trinity is. Is this bell tower the Trinity? I ask – where is the Trinity?! Gorkin does not hear, crosses himself. The anti-cannon says: "There it is, it's all here is the Trinity!" He wipes away his tears, grabs me, rejoices, cries and whispers: "We have reached the Trinity, falcon... The Lord brought it to you. Trinity... there she is... everything is here, including the Trinity, around the bell tower, outside the walls... the property is large, the Lavra itself is the Trinity. Look... there will be one golden dome from the bell tower in his left hand. the very Trinity here is our Life-Giving One... the cathedral itself, the relics of St. Sergius of Radonezh there, his cathedral. And right the bell towers, higher than the cathedral, the blue domes... this is the Cathedral of the Assumption. And this is Posad, houses under the Lavra... Sergiev Posad is called. And what a ringing, what a ringing, a killer whale... dead, important... Ah, the beauty of the Lord.. A boy with a pancake runs up and shouts to us: "Daddy is calling you to visit.. to the dacha.. — and ran away. We looked - and this was from the Savior-in-Nalivok, a deacon, with all his horde. He waves a red handkerchief from the fir trees, shouts as if into a trumpet, loudly: "Hey, ours, Zamoskvoretskys.. To visit me, to the dacha.. It would be necessary to hurry, but there is no way to refuse: a familiar person, and most importantly, that he is a spiritual person. We looked - they were sitting under the fir trees, like gypsies, and the fire was smoking, and the cart, huge as a barque. And all kinds of snacks, and bottled kvass, and even a samovar! Father Deacon – cheerful, red, as if from the bathhouse, in a summer cassock unbuttoned, with a shock of hair, and children hanging on it, chewing pancakes. The girls are all wearing wreaths, sitting with their mother. The deacon is so affectionate, she gives me pancakes with jam, she tells the girls to treat me. So they are good, rich, smells of white fish and strawberries, they fry mushrooms in a frying pan - they picked them themselves on the way - and fried bream on sugar paper. The deacon tells us that they caught it themselves in Ucha, – they walked with Pushkin's priest, according to old memory, deliriously. Their horse was white, heavy, and crowbard, and they had taken it from the baker for pilgrimage. They have been driving for the third day, with coolness, they spend the night in the forest, although they are afraid of robbers. The deacon invites everyone to have a snack, offers "fierce pepper" for the stomach — he always grabs it on the road, for cholera — but Gorkin humbly thanks: — Govey, Father Deacon... And no bream, nothing. The deacon presses and shakes Gorkin, laughs: "Ah, the saint's headman..." Do you want to go to paradise before Father Deacon? And he points behind the fir trees: "There are the most desperate sinners, how scattered they are... Your beloved! Come on, get them through, Pankratych. In Pushkin, the peasants treated them so much for singing. They rushed in carts, and then they dumped me, I had already detained him. And these are our Vasilievsky singers who sleep in the fir trees, all with their heads - they were seen near Mytishchi: Lomshakov and Batyrin with Kostikov. The deacon keeps shaking her head and taking the decanter from the deacon: "Don't please yourself!" Of course, it is not for us to judge, but still we need to restrain ourselves. Lomshachok had just been discharged from the hospital - he escaped right at death. The deacon threw white fish into Gorkin's mouth, shouted: "I won't let you go without a treat!" People are watching! be ashamed.. If only she could get away in time, and she asked if anything had happened on the way—they say Rakhmanov's scrupulous merchant had stabbed him to death, and they saw the place, the grass was crushed," the shopkeeper said. Well, we told her that all this was not true, and in Posad one stabbed himself. And she was still afraid that they spent the night in the forest, and it was still raining. The deacon, although very strong, sleeps like a dead man: they drag him by the legs and will not hear. And what else, it turns out. He says that the guy drowned two thieves in the Yauza alone, they took off his lacquered boots from his sleepy man... well, he caught up, beat off the boots, and left them in the Yauza, they swam out by force. Well, we told her how it happened, that it was this very Fedya who punished the blasphemers in the river, and donated the lacquer boots to the relaxed boy. The deacon began to praise him, began to admire him, but Fedya would not utter a word. The deacon kissed him and said: "You may be a great ascetic!As if the seal on your face is like that of the ascetics.And then the singers woke up, recognized us, grabbed hold of Gorkin and did not let go: drink and drink with them! "You," they say, "are our most precious, you have no price... let us all drink to your health, and to your father deacon, and to your mother deacon, and we will sing to you what we love: "Now lettest Thou Thy servant depart"... and then we will let you go! And the deacon clung to Gorkin, pressed his head to his knees – he did not let go. The deacon stood up for us, began to cry, and after her the girls in wreaths began to cry. "What is it... I should die here with my children?!. Well, we began to console her. Gorkin put a leaf of white fish behind his cheek, as if he ate it, and drank pepper for the sake of appearance - rinsed his teeth and spat it out. They rejoiced very much and sang to us, "Now lettest Thou depart." And it was so touching that all of us began to cry, the deacon burst into tears. And many people wept from the pilgrims, and even pennies were added. And those who were the most wretched... — Father Deacon gave them a handful of crackers, "from the poor storehouse": he had a whole bag on the cart, for the poor. We wanted to treat them with fresh mushrooms and put on a samovar - we forcibly escaped from them in order to get away from sin.Gorkin said, as they broke free and moved away: "Ah, a good man, father deacon, a soul man. I know him, he won't let a single beggar through, he'll give him the last one. Well, here, in the air, he rests, allows a little... And Domna Panferovna began to say: "How is it so, a spiritual person, and even on pilgrimage..." — opposite Gorkin. And Gorkin explains to her through what salvation comes: sin is not in the mouth, but from the mouth! "It is a sin to condemn a person without dismantling it. And Christ feasted with sinners, did not refuse. And the deacon started an almshouse at the church, and encouraged the butcher Loshchenov to do a good deed. And the singers are good, only a little sluggish... And what a consolation, how the people cried, rejoiced! Forgive them, O Lord. And we are not judges. You're a woman, and at Christmas you got drunk... I don't say those in condemnation, but, for example.I said it from the heart, and he was right there.Domna Panferovna boiled and come on, let's remember everything that happened. This, yes, yes, that, yes, like at the wedding of the undertaker Bazykin, fifteen years old, someone was dragged down the stairs... Gorkin trembled at her with his hands, then shook his head and closed himself so as not to see. And she felt so sorry for him, and Domna Panferovna began to wave and cry, and the pilgrims began to come up. And then Fedya began to cry and fell on his knees in front of us - and frightened everyone here. He said, in tears: "It was sin that came from me, I embarrassed and upset you... picking strawberries, and that's why the conversation was just now... And I had no sin in my thoughts... Forgive me, a sinner, because it is hard for me.. And — boom! "At Gorkin's feet. They began to raise him, and he pointed his hand forward: "This is an example of life.. We looked, and between the forests, just where the white road went, the Trinity bell tower was standing, half visible, as if there was a toy in the forest. And Fedya said: "Here, before the monk, forgive me, a sinner! As if from the forest the monk himself is looking at us, his Trinity. And they all began to cross themselves on the bell tower, and ask forgiveness of everyone, and bow at each other's feet, before the repentance. And then there were pilgrims at a distance. Later they found out why we bowed to each other, and they said: "You are right, it is a joy to look at you. And then I thought that the guy had fallen—the thief had been caught, the old man had been robbed of something, barefoot, and he was begging for forgiveness! And you are so correct.We lingered so-and-so, and Crooked went to herself, we caught up with her by force.And then the Posad is visible, and the Lavra all opens, with all the domes and walls. And on the pink bell tower, both the columns and the bells in the bays began to be indicated. And not the dome on the bell tower, but a large golden bowl, and it flows into it like gold from a cross, and you can already see the clock and hands. Gorkin says - now the first thing to do is to find Aksyonov, his house in Posad - Trifonych Yurtsov wrote down on a note, he has a toy establishment, everyone knows it here, from the old days. We will dock with him by acquaintance, he has a rich building, there is a place to put the Crooked, and it is not far from the Lavra. And most importantly - a rare, sincere person.We walk along the white road, houses have already went, in gardens, and gardens with ditches, cabbies and carts began to come across. The cabs are special, not in spans, but Trinity, wide, with a screed. A carter is driving, carrying bast boxes. We ask - in which direction will Aksyonov's house be? And the driver laughs at us: "Well, are you happy... I am just from Aksyonov!He also asks what kind of Aksyonov we have, there are two of them: the toy Aksyonov or the chest maker? We said. It turned out that he had toys in the boxes, he was taking him to Moscow. Shows us how closer. Such joy is in me: the Trinity, and toys, and there we will live! You can already see the time on the black clock, the golden hand indicates. And then we hear how the clock begins to play — with sad shimmering, twice.

I am at the Trinity on the Posad

Part 1

Goodbye, path... — I went to the Lavra and further, to the cities, with the pine forests. We walk along quiet streets, looking for the toy maker Aksyonov, where to moor. He had to hurry—to take me to the hotel, to pass me from hand to hand to his father, to go to the bathhouse to wash himself after the journey, before communion, and to bow to the monk, to venerate the relics, and to the Chernigov church, to Elder Varnava to run to confession, and to take the all-night vigil in the cathedral—but here you can't get a good word, only boys. We ask about Aksyonov, and they send us to the ravine somewhere, on a hillock, somewhere behind the third street. And we were exhausted, we're sick, we didn't take anything in our mouths in the morning, it's hot again... Domna Panferovna came to ask for a drink, but a dog came at her from the gate - and not a soul. And the driver did not tell me the way, but go and ask Aksyonov, everyone will point him out! And there is no one at all. We knock on the gate - they do not respond. And somewhere jam is being cooked, there is a smell of strawberry jam from the garden, and it looks like warm prosphoras or pies?.. "There are people somewhere. Gorkin says it's a deaf hour: they've gone to the bathhouse, look, it's Saturday today; and who, having dined, are still asleep, and it is hot, in the houses, in the cold, they are buried. The Lavra is the most boiling, and here is a lull, Posad, life here is correct, worldly, there is nowhere to hurry, not Moscow.The streets are covered with soft grass, at the porches there are "prosvirkas" and burdocks, on the fences there are tall nettles - like in the village. The plank passages were overgrown with silk through the cracks, so thick and fresh, as if no one was walking. The houses are all cheerful, like summer cottages, green, blue; geraniums and fuchsias bloom in the windows, and there are green quarters with an infusion of last year's berries; the curtains are muslin everywhere, there are cages with siskins and canaries, and all the birdhouses are on birch trees. Otherwise the old ruin will come across, the windows are boarded up. Otherwise, the grass on the roof is stone, peeling all over. The gardens are desolate, with nails on the fences, so that they do not climb to steal apples; You can see green apples and cherries. The serpent stands high, gleaming in the sun, you can hear the rattle crackling. And from everywhere you can see the pinkish bell tower-Trinity: now it appears behind the garden, then from behind the roof it looks - walks with us. You look at it and it is immediately fun, as if today is a holiday. It's always a holiday here, as if He lives here.Anyuta is tired, whimpering: "All your tummies, grandma, have failed..." to some kind of tavern.. And Domna Panferovna pushed her: she volunteered and go! And Fedya is worried. In the woods he went wild, and here, in the posad, he began to be timid: "Well, how am I barefoot - and to a good house? Only I'll tie you up, I'd better go to the hospice.His legs are bruised, his boots don't fit anymore, and there's nothing to climb on, the soles have flown off. And I want to go to Aksyonov, to toys. And Anti-Pushka says that we must get it, Trifonitch praised it: he will caress us, and we will put Crooked well, and there is no need to worry about goodness, they will not steal in a familiar place. Gorkin doesn't say anything, he's tired. We passed a street, and Domna Panferovna sat down on the grass by the fence and whispered, her throat dry: "As you like, we'll walk another block. if we don't find it, Anyutka and I will give us a good room for forty kopecks.We sat for a minute, and Gorkin said: "All right, we'll pass the last block, if we don't find it, we'll all go to the hotel, we won't crash anymore. . . ." and Krivaya to the inn, and maybe the monks will put it somewhere.We hear from the window - the cuckoo on the clock has crowed three. They began to call out of the window - no one, the siskin was only knocking on the cage, everyone was clean. Through the house, we saw an old man come out of the gate, shaking the samovar into the ditch. We ask him, but he does not hear anything, he is completely deaf. We shout in his ear - where does Aksyonov live here? And he did not understand anything, he stammered: "We do not sell oats." And he left with a samovar.We looked - a girl was standing at the window behind flowers, looking out at us, bright as an angel, and quickly braided her braid. We approached, but she got scared, or something, and hid. Gorkin began to call her: "Young lady, killer whale... and where is the toy maker Aksyonov, we need to dock ... Please tell me, do me a favor.. She was buried - and did not show up. We stood for a while and went. As soon as we moved away, someone called out to us, and strictly so. We looked - from the same window leaned out a torn man, in a dressing gown, fat, did not look with his eyes, so angry, and he had a plate of red currants: - Why do you need Aksyonov? I began to search for who we were, where in Moscow we lived, and how many days did we go... I suppose it was hot to walk, he said. why, you have a horse without an eye, and what an unreliable cart you could find?.. Gorkin asked him, "Do us such a favour, tell us quickly, we'll go," and he sat down in the window, and kept asking questions, and eating currants. And he began to explain to us that there was a little Aksyonov here, "this Trinity chests and various small toys, and more boxes with bells, good chests... that's why he is called chest-maker. And that is the big Aksyonov, who is a real toy maker... he is both big and rich, you can't compare him with little Aksyonov... he even drives toys to Siberia, his grandson is in charge of this business, and he himself is more engaged in spiritual affairs, the elder of their parish, dear... But he doesn't let the pilgrims in, he doesn't live from it, and I haven't even heard of such a thing, and it's impossible even to think about it! "You," he said, "are confusing something... You're sure you need a chest, think it over.. He saw Anyuta and me and threw out the currants twig by twig. We tell him that we are not the last people either, not for Christ's sake, but by acquaintance, a relative of Aksyonov sent us. Gorkin also explained to him that we, too, were churchwardens, from a rich parish, from the Kazan Parish, and had our own houses. He asked, "will it be to the other side?" Gorkin told him about Trifonitch that Aksyonov was akin to our Trifonitch and that Trifonitch rented a bench from us, but in a hurry he did not write down the street for us on a piece of paper, but said that everyone there knew Aksyonov, a toy maker, not a chest maker! "He'll be very happy," he said, "and that's what Trifonitch said. Even every holiday Sanya, the novice, Trifonych's grandson, comes to visit him from the Lavra.He finished eating the currants, sighed at us and pointed to Fedya: "And this barefoot one is also with you to visit Aksyonov? and Osman Pasha is with you too? "What Osman Pasha?.. Gorkin asks him: the conversation has become completely incomprehensible. "But this fat Turk looks very much like Osman Pasha..." I have a portrait, I can show you.And he began to laugh, all over the street. And this is about Domna Panferovna, that her head was wrapped in a towel, from the heat. We laughed too, she looked very much like Osman Pasha: we all knew him well. And she told him: "You are Osman Pasha yourself!" Well, he was not offended, he even felt sorry for us, how unsightly we were, like gypsies. "I feel sorry for you," he said, "and I want to warn you. Oh, I'm afraid you're confusing the Aksyonovs! And maybe you're in trouble because of that. Although he is a sincere old man, he can be very offended that he is treated as a guest. You'd better go to the chest, or rather. Well, whatever you like, just don't talk about me, or he'll be offended by me, as if I'm laughing at him. To the right now, behind the fire yard, which is opposite the church, you will see a stone house, white, in a dead end. But you'd better go to the chest.. As soon as they moved away, Domna Panferovna turned around, and he was looking. "You have nothing to do, shelaput!" And he said to her again: "Turk! Osman Pasha!" They turned the corner, and then the woman was washing the stairs on the front door, she threw a rag at Fedya. She began to gasp, asking for forgiveness. She found out what we were looking for, and began to regret it: "You'd better go to my aunt..." By the ravine there is a shack nearby, and he will take cheap from you, and calm you down, and sleep softly, and feed you pancakes... and Aksyonov is a rich man, he won't let you in, and there's nothing to think about! Makhonky is Aksyonov, the chest keeper... He doesn't let me in either, and he has a sister who seems to be blessed... well, she accepts beggars, she has adapted an old bathhouse, for Christ's sake she lets them in... and you don't seem to look like beggars. We began to wonder if Trifonitch was talking about little Aksyonov. Well, it's not far now, we'll ask if we can see a fire tower.We go, Anyuta screams - she looks through the crack in the fence: - Horses, horses... Mother!.. The yard is full of horses.. All gray, beautiful.. They began to look - and gasped: the yard was filled with horses! Standing in rows, in the sun, all gray, covered with apples... toy horses, but as if they were alive, they all seemed to move, they all glittered! And on the grass, and on the boards, and under the canopy, both large and small, in rows, on green boards, on white wheels, even ripples in the eyes - never seen. Some dry out in the sun, while others seem to be tattered, brown, and they are made up. The old man and the boys are squatting and dyeing, writing apples and harnesses... One boy straightens their tails, the other with a bucket, makes red nostrils. And it's so festive in the yard, so tempting is the smell of brand new horses - sharp paint, and something else, and glue, and... something so cheerful, you can't tear yourself away from joy. I pulled Gorkin: "Gorkin, dear, for Christ's sake..." Let's come in to see, buy a new one, please... Gorkin.. He agrees to come in—maybe, he says, that's where Aksyonov is, he ought to ask. We entered, and the old man was angry, shouting at us, what didn't we see here? And then he relented, said that this was only Aksyonov's apprentice, and the main one was there, at the house, and the main warehouse there... and they work for Aksyonov all over the district, and he is a good, wise man, there is no wiser man than him in the Posad, and only he does not let the pilgrims in, I have never heard of him. We stroked the horses, priced them, but they don't sell them from here. Gorkin pulled me out by the hand, and in my eyes there were horses, alive and gray — such a joy. And all the merry ones became from the horses.We went out into the street again — and in front of us right in front of us was the bell tower of the Trinity, with a shining golden top, as if gold was pouring there.We came to the square, to the fire tower, opposite the high church. Pilgrims sit on dry manure, drink water by the pool, snack on bread. A butoshnik is sitting in the cold, gnawing sunflowers. He pointed out to us the blind man, but warned us not to enter the gate, otherwise the dogs. He also told me to ring the bell, not too much: he himself does not like to be called loudly. We saw a good house, with figurative plaster, large, bright windows, Bem glass, mirrored - in Moscow it was unusual; Gates with stone pillars, paneled, excellent. Gorkin was a wonderful panel-maker himself, and then he was glad: "It's so clean!" and we felt doubtful here, at the gate—Trifonitch had messed up something! It is immediately clear that milienniks live here, how can you bump into them. We are looking for a bell, and then the gate itself opens, a janitor is holding a tvorilo in a white apron, and a young man on a trotter rides out on a charaban, on a gray one in apples - a living beauty, a trotter! "And he's got a red bundle with him: he's probably going to the bathhouse." He shouted at us: "What do you need here, whom?.. And Krivaya is just across his road. He shouted at us again: "Take the horse.. There is not enough space for you there.. The janitor rushed to Krivaya to turn around, and Gorkin said to him: "Wait, it's not your horse, hold your hands..." And the young man shouted: "Why are you here, you drove into our blind house - and even to be rude?!. Our whole street is here! I'll send you to the quarter now.. And Gorkin turned Crooked and said, "Nothing, not frightened by the young man: "There's no fire here, sir, why are you shouting like that?" Allow me to ask you about one thing, and we'll go..." said what we wanted.The young man narrowed his eyes at us, as if he didn't see us: "I don't know what Trifonitch came from!" and no relatives in Moscow, and we do not let any pilgrims in... in your mind?!. So he shouted at us, as if he were a governor-general. "Prince Dolgorukov himself doesn't shout like that," Gorkin said to him, "don't frighten us, or we'll be terribly frightened.. And he smacked the trotter with the reins and rolled it, only dust. Well, as if he spat on it. And suddenly, we heard a slow voice behind the gate: "What do you want here, dear... Who are you from?

Part 2