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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

We saw a tall old man standing in the gate, lean, with a long beard, as is the case with saints, in a summer cap and a white undershirt, like Gorkin, with his hands behind his back under his undergarment, playing with his undershirt, as Gorkin likes. He even called us cute, so friendly. And he laughs at something, I think he heard our conversation. "From Moscow, it seems, you are experienced..." And everyone laughed.He listened calmly, well, smiled affectionately and said: "We must take into account... It's you who made a little mistake, dear. We do not let pilgrims in, and we have no relatives in Moscow... And you, it must be taken into account, have probably been pointed out to my second cousin. I heard that he had someone in Moscow who was distant, our Pereyaslav man. Go to him. Here, across the ravine, the river will be... Gorkin thanks him for his courtesy, bows so respectfully. . . . "Excuse me," he said, "your dignity, for your trouble. . . ." "Nothing, nothing, dear," he said, "it's a matter of keeping in mind, it happens, it's nothing. We wrapped it up, and he said: "And you have an old horse, only to ride on pilgrimage. And everything adds the proverb "must be taken into account" - it turns out very judiciously, it is pleasant to listen to him. Gorkin was so respectful to him, again begging to excuse him for disturbing him, and he suddenly said, soon like this: "Wait a minute, we must take into account . . . trolley?.. Where did you get one?.. Let me see, I am an amateur, I must take into account... Well, he has a conversation like Gorkin. Affectionately, judiciously, and just as he barks like Gorkin. And the eye also squints and winks a little. Gorkin gladly asks: "Please take a look... We are very glad that you like our cart, it has only become dusty." She tells him that this cart is ancient. "From his grandfather the cart," he pointed to me, and he looked at the cart, "and even earlier, and everyone was happy and amazed at the cart, and there is no such thing anywhere now, and no one has seen it." And the old man walks around the cart, touching the beds, knocking, looking at us this way and that, nimbly, hurrying to let us go. "Yes, yes, well, well... must be taken into account... yes, a cart... A good cart, an old one... The front, the rear looked around, touched. He was already running around the cart, not talking, fingering as if he were washing, and he was all on the cart. And Gorkin praises him - the carving, they say, is good, thin. "Yes," he said, "a cart, we must take it..." The work is rare.. He sat down, began to look at the "pillows" in an arc... to take into account..." — his fingers were so around the bed, and he kept shaking his head and twitching, pulling at his beard, — well, well... the miracles of the Lord... He threw his head up at Gorkin, blinked, and looked up somewhere. "But tell me, dear man," he said to Gorkin, and his voice became quieter, as if it were difficult to speak, and he was choking, "why is it that this bed is cleanly worked, and this one is like another hand?" The patterns are the same, but... Where, in your opinion, dear man, is the drawing thinner and softer? And then curious people began to approach from the square. The old man shouted to the janitor: "Lock the gates behind us!" "And you, my dears," he said to us, "come with me into the yard and wrap the horse.. And he ran into the yard. And we need to hurry. Gorkin whispered to Anti-Pushka: "Old man, as if not everything is at home... He wants to lock us up?" And the old man ran out to the gate again, hurried us, turned Crooked himself, waved and called, did not say a word. We followed him, and then we all felt frightened, as the gates were locked. "It's okay, dear, you'll have time," said the old man, "you must take into account..." Wait a minute.And climbed under the cart, under the rear wheels! Before we had time to come to our senses, he was already coming out, completely red, unable to rest. "So... well, well... must be accepted... Taking into account... And rubs his hands. And he pointed to the beds again: "And the multi-handed work... Which is right?.. And he shakes his head all over. Gorkin took a closer look, and said, in order to get off as soon as possible: "You'll be fair to say: that bed is cleaner, more drawn, more beautiful, more unsightly. The wallpaper is good, but the one is cleaner.We stand and wait for what will be done to us now. The gates are locked, the dogs are shaggy, and those who are on a chain are walking. The yard is huge, and the garden behind it. And all the big sheds, and the bast boxes in a heap, and under the canopies the young gray horses and something else wrapped in paper and put in boxes. And we want to drink death, but the old man runs around the cart and coughs all the time. He looked at the arc, threw up his hands and said to Gorkin: "Do you know what I'm going to say, dear man..." must be taken into account?.. Gorkin asks him: "Tell me quickly, excuse me..." We must be in a hurry, and the children are not fed, and... And the old man turned and began to cross himself at the pink bell tower-Trinity: and here it looks, standing just on the flight between the courtyard and the garden. "That's it. The monk himself, he brought you to me! O Lord, wonderful are Thy works.. And we don't understand anything, we ask you to let us go as soon as possible. And he said, as if sternly: "It is not yet known whether you will go and where you will go... must be taken into account! What is the name of your owner, whose cart? So. Gorkin said: "It's been a long time, I've been living with them for forty years, and it was before me, and before the owner, his father got it from his grandfather..." Daddy's grandfather here is him..." - he pointed at me, - he went to the crests on it, sold red goods. "And he didn't sell wooden dishes?.. spoons, bowls, rollers, cups... and?.. Gorkin says that he heard that they also sold wooden dishes... Their name is old, they still had a house before the Frenchman and still stands. Then the old man, praising him by the shoulder, bent him to the ground and dragged him under the cart: "Well, look, what's marked there..." do you understand?.. Then we all climbed under the cart, and the old man climbed into it with us, fidgeting like a little one, on the grass and pointing with his finger on the back "pillow". And there, in a black circle, it was burned - "A". "What is it," he said, "it's marked here..." az? "Az..." Gorkin said. "That," he said, "is what I am, I am... must be taken into account! And my dad is here — az! Aksyonov! Our cart.. We got out from under the cart. The old man wipes himself with a red handkerchief, cries as if he weeps, looks at Gorkin and is silent. And Gorkin is silent and also wipes himself. And we are all silent. What will he do with us now, I think, take the cart from us? And I also think: someone stole a cart from him and it got to us?.. And then the old man said: "Yes... must be taken into account... And Gorkin too, followed him: "Yes... What is this, your degree, does it turn out? "Lord.. The old man says. "You have brought me joy, dear... That's what. And my grandson treated you like this the other day... I haven't been around yet, I'm hot! Father's cart! He cut this side into the pattern, and I cut that side. I was probably not even twenty then, that's when. And I burned the sweep, and branded the whole thing, our old one, when we were still cutting dishes. There was no trace of these in chorus. In the shed lived... Not tea, but water! Well, we'll talk about that later, but here's what... The monk himself brought you to me, I will not let you go. Stay with me... Do me such a favor, respect.. We stand and are silent. And Gorkin looks at the cart and also seems to be crying. He began to speak, but his voice broke, quite weak, as when he told me about his sin: "They deigned to tell the truth, Your Grace, that the reverend is..." "Now I see the works of the Lord. That's it... From the monk such a thing-beauty came — to the monk it returned, and brought us. On the way out, we met your driver, he called us happy, as they asked him about you, not a name! They were confused, they were looking for it... and how many of us were taken away, and in your place they came... Led! The monk wished both you and us to rejoice... Now you can see it with your own eyes. Well, could he have thought, huh?! And I rolled the cart out of the trash, it came to my mind... how many years, perhaps, it stood, and they have already forgotten about it... But she waited... I saw the old master.. And we thank you most humbly, we do not dare to refuse, only we need to report to the owner that he is at the hotel. "Ka-ak, and the owner himself is here?!" The old man asks. "I rode up for a day..." As if it was necessary! "Well," he said, "I'd like to make their acquaintance very much." Tell them, I beg them, they say, to come to me tomorrow after Mass to drink tea and eat a pie. He asks, they say, Aksyonov. We'll talk. And I have a large gazebo in the garden, you will be at peace there, you will be my guests. Lord, Lord... And it has to happen.. And he kept looking at the cart. And we look. He stands and smooths the beds and shakes his head.

At the Venerable

Part 1

That's what everyone says – a living miracle has taken place. What a miracle! We were all wandering about—looking for Aksyonov's toy-maker, and everyone was frightening us that Aksyonov would not let the pilgrims in, and they had already driven us away from Aksyonov, and then it turned around, Aksyonov recognized the cart as if it were his work, and that the monk had brought it home to its owner—and it had stood there for a century! "And now we are Aksyonov's guests, in the Garden of Eden, in the gazebo. And somehow awkward even, as if we asked for it ourselves. Domna Panferovna reproaches Fedya: "Barefoot... And Fedya is sitting under a bush, hiding his legs. The Anti-Cannon is worried about the Curve: "What kind of autocracy... He took our horse over there! "Pray," she said, "rest, and my coachman goes after her." And she will not give herself to a stranger, she will neither drink nor eat. I need to tell him this, Aksyonov.Gorkin reassures him: it's okay, it'll be okay, let's say. And he ordered the cart to be emptied, as if it were already his... And Domna Panferovna is even more heated: the crows flew into the mansions that were not their own, they fell under the command, look out of the hands of strangers now... The rules are strict, the gates are locked, tell me how you need to leave... And if you happen to go in need, you are terrible dogs, call the janitor to see you off, what a stramot... Gorkin calms her down: "At least it's not a scandal, a brawler... The landlady's young lady will hear again, under the birch bush.. Well, a little shy, I see... in a foreign place there are their own rules, but one must submit: the monk himself brought it, there should be no evil... In what kind of garden, in paradise.. The garden... — and there is no end in sight. Meadows, birches, flowers, paths are strewn with red sand, green benches everywhere, in the beds Victoria is turning red, currants, gooseberries ... - so it burns in the sun - as much rosehip as you want, but all double ... and cherries, and apple trees, and plums, and they seemed to blow ... — well, whatever the soul desires. And on the meadow, under a birch tree, sits a beautiful young lady, all embroidered according to drawings and in beads with ribbons — she keeps looking at us. A gazebo is not a gazebo at all, but like a summer house. The glass is all multi-colored, the architraves and valances are of the most intricate workmanship, made of birch, under light varnish, with stars and checkers, skates and cockerels, cunning curls, suns and ripples... — carved, delicate. Gorkin said so: "Not a gazebo, but a song! And then Aksyonov from behind the bushes, as if in response to our thoughts: "Don't be shy, dear, make yourself comfortable. A samovar - whenever you want, bread from my table... And walk - go through the gate, through the garden, in the fence there, in the elderberry, right into the street, I'll tell you to unlock it... The boy will be here with you. The benches are wide, hay is laid... He called the young lady from under the birch tree, pointed at us, affectionately thus: "You, Manyusha, watch... They are happy to be, they are good people. And this," he said to us, "is my granddaughter, my mistress, we must take into account. it will please you. Live as long as you can live with the Lord. The monk himself brought them to us, Manyusha... I'll tell you later.And then Domna Panferovna, about Fedya: "Don't think about it, father, he's barefoot... He is a good parent, and it was for the salvation of his soul that he gave patent leather boots to a paralytic one. And they have a big lamb business in Moscow and a rich house... For no reason. Fedya huddled under a bush, and Aksyonov only smiled. "I," he said, "mother, and I don't think anything." "And you'll have a well behind the gazebo to wash." Refresh yourself after the journey, have a snack... I'll send the boy now. And we all rejoiced here. Domna Panferovna began to tell the young lady what we were like and what kind of houses we had in Moscow. And she picked a handful of red currants and regaled: "Please don't be shy, eat..." And then a boy, so nimble, shouted: "And here is Savka, to serve you... The landlord told me to refuel! And for dinner you will have noodles with mushrooms.I brought a jug of cracker kvass with ice, a cup of pickles in cabbage and a carpet of bread, just taken out of the oven. And the young lady ordered that we should have more soaked apples to cool down. Such a courteous girl, she keeps blushing and waving a book, tugging at it with her teeth and still saying: "Please, be at home..." She took us to the gazebo and let us show us the things on the shelves – sheep, cows, a woman with a yoke, a shepherd, bunnies, pilgrims... – everything is carved from wood. She tells us that it was her grandfather and great-grandfather who cut her, and they have it as a memory, they show the guests, from the old years. And it's even better in the house... There is a horse with a cart under the glass and a peasant is also mowing hay, and they even have a letter from the tsar hanging in a golden frame, that they really liked the toys, once my great-grandfather brought it to the tsar. Gorkin praises how clean the work is—he knows how to carve himself—and the young lady is very happy, she has taken everything off the shelves—the bears, the wolves, the blacksmith and the peasant, and the fox, and—" "How can he realize.. "Oh, what am I... You are tired, and you need to go to the vigil soon.. And she went under a birch tree to read her book. And we are for kvass and cucumbers.I can't believe my eyes where we got to! The garden through the glass is multi-colored: blue, gold, pink, and scarlet... and so joyful in our souls, as if we were in paradise. And the high bell tower-Trinity looks out from behind the birches. It's so beautiful.. Truly, the monk himself brought me here.Gorkin leads me to the hotel, to my father. Soon they will strike for the vigil, and he still needs to go to the bath, before the repentance. He is now wearing a blue cossack jacket and new boots, goat's; I am tired, I sit down by the pillars on the edge of the ravine, and begin to cry. In the ravine, sheds are smoking, "pancake houses" there on the river, it smells of pancakes with onions, fried fish, porridges... Pilgrims lie in burdocks, go down the stairs into the ravine, change their shoes, dry footcloths and onuchi on nettles. Higher, behind the ravine, the pink walls of the lavra, the blue domes, the high bell tower - the Trinity - mist and trembling through tears. Gorkin persuaded me not to resist, but I did not want to go, I shouted that he had lured me to a pilgrimage, and tortured me. There is neither a pine forest nor a cell. "What a cut slice I am... what?.. He is angry and laughing, sits down under the burdocks to me and persuades me that we should rejoice, and not cry: the monk looks at us. The pilgrims ask why the boy is crying - did he beat off his legs? They advise you to whip with speckles, and it will pull it off. Gorkin was angry with me, shouting: "Why are you wise with me?! He tied his hands and legs.. I cling to the posts, I don't want to go anywhere. They are fine, they will go in a cooperative, and Sanya the stutterer, a novice, will show them everything... like a sinner has a mote and a beam in his eye, and everyone will go to Chernigov, and into the caves, and the coffin of the monk will be sharpened with their teeth, and where they bake bread, and Sanya the novice will show them some junk and leavened bread, and in the Garden of Eden they will chill... And I went to the hotel.. "As a joke, I'm cut off to you, they say, you're a slice now, and you're stiff!" Gorkin says, smearing my tears with his finger. "Why be upset.. You'll ride with your sisters and mother in wheelchairs on pilgrimage, and we'll go with our gang, a pawn with a bag... I suppose your mother has arrived, waiting for you at the hotel. It's a sin to abandon your relatives... I won't go?.. I cling to the posts, I don't want to go to the hotel. I want to see my father... and tomorrow he will gallop to Moscow, and they will drill me, and I will not see the gray horses, and they will not let me go with Gorkin. He is angry, stomping at me: "Why did you tie me up.. I need to go to the bathhouse, and you're canning me? Well, if so... sit in burdocks, the blind will catch them.. He wants to leave me. I beg him not to leave, beg, for Christ's sake, to let me go on pilgrimage together... Then I'll go. He promises, points to the "pancake shops" in the ravine and promises to take them there tomorrow to eat kashnichki and pancakes. "Just don't be wise, I'll beg you." I walked well all the way, I was happy with you... And here - get out! It is he who confuses you, takes you away from the saint.My eyes are weeping, everyone is looking. They rolled with the ringing of threes and pairs, drove pilgrims from the station, dusted at us. I ask him to hire a cabman, my legs are very tired. He shouts at me: "Are you crazy?!" There it is, the hotel, you can see from here... and hire a cab for you?.. Can't you walk the street? I walked all the way - nothing, and here.. There, the reverend looks at how much you are. The high bell tower of the Trinity is looking at us. I obediently follow Gorkin. Heat, dust, legs can hardly walk. Here is a wide square, a white hotel building. Everyone is rolling up with a ringing of Trinity cabs. And we are still weaving - such a large area. The peasants with whips shouted to us: "I'll take you to Bethany.. Order Chernigov, merchants?.. Horses shake their heads at us, ring their golden capercaillies. The strollers smell wonderful - wheel ointment and leather, the village. The girls thrust us plates of strawberries and purses of birch mushrooms. An old innkeeper, in a white cassock and kamilavka, gently says that it is a sin for the monk to cry, and orders a young man with a towel to escort us "to the golden chambers", where a horseman from Moscow has stopped. It is cool, it smells of a monastery - lenten cabbage soup, bread, coals. They shouted from the corridor: "When is the samovar?" Pilgrims scurried up the stairs, clicking their keys at the door, asking our young man: "When is the vigil for you?" At the high door, the young man said in a whisper: "They didn't order us to wake you up for the vigil, you are very tired." The room is golden, velvet. On the round table in front of the sofa there is a stalled samovar, white fish on a piece of paper, strawberries, green cucumbers. It smells of heat and strawberries and something familiar, cute. I see in the corner, by the door, our Caucasian saddle — it smells so much — a silver whip on the window, a starched shirt that has fallen from the chair with its sleeves, with large gold cufflinks and blue letters on them, I recognize the smell of orange blossom. Father sleeps in another room, behind a screen, under a sheet; You can see her neck black from tanning and heel, which is tickled by flies. You can hear his breathing. Gorkin sat me down on a velvet armchair and told me to sit quietly, and when my father woke up, he would say that Gorkin had gone to the bathhouse before the fasting, and after the vigil he would run in and report everything. "Eat some fish and cucumber, refuel..." If you want, take a nap on the sofa, and I'll go. Quietly look, sit.I sit and swallow tears. Bells rattle under the window, cabmen shout. Waves from the breeze pass through the white curtains, and a pink tower is shown when it blows the curtain. A strict bishop in a white klobuk looks at me from the golden wall, as if to say: "Look quietly, sit!" I also see, in the fir trees, a tall and narrow cell with a dome, made of logs, a window under the roof, and in it St. Sergius in a golden aureole. His hands are clasped in palms, and a streak of golden light, like a new board, stretches out to him from the little God in the sky, and in it is a multitude of white birds. I look and look at this heavenly road, my eyes twinkle... "I'll take you to Bethany.. I shudder and wake up. The bishop looks at me: "Look quietly, sit!" Someone walks along the corridor, singing: ... Having come to the so-a-a-pad of the sun... The sun is creeping away from the curtains. The doors in the corridor slam, the keys click, and they leave for the vigil. Someone shouts outside the door: "We'll drink tea to our heart's content after the vigil!" I look at my father behind the screens - he is fast asleep on his back, he does not hear the flies crawling over his eyes. I look out the window.A large square is golden from the slanting sun, which has already gone behind the laurel. Above the walls — pink and white — there are blue pot-bellied domes with golden stars and a great bell tower-Trinity. On it you can see columns, and curls, and a golden bowl into which gold is poured from the cross. A golden hand jumps on the black circle of the clock. Pilgrims and monks pass through the gate with the tower. They play and the clock strikes intermittently - six o'clock.And my father sleeps and sleeps.In the mirror above the sofa I see... - my cheek stretched down and swollen and as if I had... two noses. I come closer and begin to look at myself. Oh, and here it is—as if I had four eyes, if you look like that—" but it was flattened, some kind of frog's snout. I saw the bishop threatening, and I moved away from the mirror. I eat white fish and strawberries... And again white fish, and cucumbers, and sugar. I count the silver money scattered on the table, put it in a column, as my father always does. Flies get sticky and annoying. The cabmen under the window begin to shout furiously: "Your Grace, I was dressed..." I'll take you to the skete! to Bethany, to the frisky.. to Chernigov, who is for fifty rubles?.. I look in at my father's. His hand dangled from the bed. The gold clock on the bedside table is ticking. I lie down on the sofa and cry into the green stuffy upholstery. As if it smells like bedbugs?.. I saw the upholstery sitting right next to my eyes, large and brown... I jumped up, sat down, looked at the cell, at the heavenly bright road... Someone quietly takes me... I know who. I squeeze my neck and cry into my hot shoulder. My father asked: "Why are you so angry?" but now I am crying with joy. He brings me to the window, waves the curtain on rings, asks: "Well, how good is our Trinity?" There is a lot of silver in the purse - "for Trinity toys!". He praises me: "And he got a great tan, his nose is even peeling off!" - he asks about Gorkin. I said that after the vigil he would run in and report, and now he went to the bathhouse, and then he would confess. The father laughs: "That's such a praying mantis, it's no match for us!" Well, tell me what you've seen.I'm telling you about the Garden of Eden, about the gray horses, about the toy maker Aksyonov, that he tells us to live in the gazebo, and took the cart for himself. The father does not believe it: "Is it in your dream?.. I say that it is true. "Aksyonov invites him to visit. He laughs: "Well, chat, chatterbox... I know you, the inventor! He begins to dress and sings his beloved: "To the Cross-at Thine-mu-u... we worship, the Lords-o-o-o-o... They beat for the vigil. I shudder at the good news, as if a booming, heavy ball rolled into the room. The spoon in my glass trembles in my chest, rattles. Like a breeze from the ringing, the curtain bubbles — a joyful chill, evening. The Lavra shines at the edges, seems light, light, made of pink and gold paper: the sun burns behind it. The monk raises a pink light on the gate – a lampada. Pilgrims stretch across the square, cross themselves at the holy gates.Father says that now he will kiss me to the relics, tomorrow he will leave me with Gorkin. "He'll show you everything.Mom won't come, she's sick, and he's waiting for business." He sprinkles his favorite orange blossom on a fresh, tight handkerchief brought in a horse purse, gives it to me to smell, grabbing it by the nose, as he always does, and, clicking his tongue juicy, says cheerfully: "Now we'll take warm prosphoras, I'll treat you with a kahorchik." And for dinner... We'll order a monastery hodgepodge, the Trinity Solyanka! He leads me across the square, to the Lavra.Its pink walls now seem higher, its blue domes huge. Stars are thickly stuffed on them. I look at the walls and happily think – something is behind them, there?.. Boron... and a high cell, with a window under the dome? I asked, "Shall we see the cell?" The father said, "We'll see, every monk there has a cell." He is wearing riding boots, a deft riding cap - everyone admires him. In front of the holy gates, crippled wretches sit in two rows, stretching out their wooden cups to meet him and chanting in different voices: "For Christ's sake... Orthodox, benefactors... breadwinners... for the nourishment of the soul-body... parents-relatives... St. Sergius... from the Holy Trinity... We walk between black, withered hands, between shaggy heads falling at our feet, which fidget on the dung at our feet, and throw pennies into cups. I see with fear the inverted blood eyelids, the tin eyesores, the sunken noses screwed under the cheeks, the ulcers, the yellow blisters, the dry legs like sticks... And ahead, far away, to the most holy gates, they wave and wave their cups, reach out to us with their hands, fall with their heads at our feet. There is twilight and chill in the holy gates, and then it is blinding from the light: behind the bell tower is the sun, looking into the span, and a huge black bell is visible, as if hanging in the sun. The earth trembles from the good news. I see churches — white, blue, pink — in a wide expanse, in the ringing. And everyone, it seems to me, calls. Crosses shine clearly in the sky, through, light. Swallows and swifts are flying. Pilgrims are sitting on the cobblestone square, chewing monastery bread. The servants in white are carrying carpets somewhere, holding them with their chins on top — a carpet of six. I am hungry, dizzy from the warm bread spirit - somewhere the bakery is close. Father says that we'll take some warm stuff later, but now we need to kiss it, while it's not cramped yet. Broad monks walk solemnly, waving their rosaries in their sleeves, incense blowing behind them.

Part 2

I looked out and searched – where was the cell with the dome and the Christmas trees? The father does not know what kind of cell it is. I ask about the sinner. "What kind of sinner?" "Yes, the beam is in his eye... Gorkin told me. "Well, we need to find out from Gorkin, he's a doc on this case.To the right is a large cathedral, with blue domes with thick golden stars. The flower garden smells fresh — white servants water the flower beds abundantly — it smells delicately of petunias and reseda. I can hear even through the good news how sharply the swifts scream.The Great Bell Tower-Trinity is above me. I looked, throwing back my head, and there was no cross in sight! A ringing falls from the sky, dizziness from the roar, the earth trembles. They push me with bags, kettles, rub my cheeks with armyaks. In the stampede, there is nothing to breathe. Someone touches the cap and says familiarly: "Ours is like a boy, an acquaintance..." They were going to get drunk.. I recognize an old woman with a handsome young woman who has beads around her neck. Is she Parasha? He looks at me affectionately, wants to say something as if, but my father takes me in his arms, otherwise they will crush me. Under the high canopy, a golden cross shines over the chalice, water gushes out of the cross; Water is drawn from the bowl with circles on a chain. I shouted: "Water from the cross.. The miracle is here.. I want to tell you about the miracle, but my father doesn't even look, he says - after that, otherwise you won't be able to get through. I sit on his shoulder, looking back at the cross under the canopy. Everyone is scooping up circles there, water is gushing out of the cross.At the small white church, with a golden roof and a lonely dome, there is such a crush that you cannot pass. Terrible voices shouted: "Don't push, for Christ's sake... Crush!.. Oh, there is nothing to breathe ... Lie down, don't push.. And the people are pushing more and more, swaying. My father tells me that this is the Trinity itself, the Trinity Cathedral, the relics of St. Sergius are here. They say all around: "Lord, and with the children here... Where else are you here with children! The man over there was crushed, dragged out without memory... Where to do with the children?!. And behind them they press more and more, squeeze, shout, sigh, cry: "Oh, dear... Let go, you won't rest... let me breathe at least once... soul for repentance... They cling to bags and kettles, children cry. A tall monk in a robe walks along, blesses, waves his rosary: "Make way, give way.. It is easy to part in front of him, wherever the place comes from! The monk passes, blessing, pulling out the mantle stuck behind him from the crowd. My father carries me after him.It is dark and stuffy in the church. From the darkness you can hear the familiar - Gorkin, used to sing: "Bring out of the dungeon du-shu mo-yu-u.. As if they are singing from under the ground. Children cry for a long time. Gilding and silver are shimmering, holy faces are peeping through, bunches of candles are blazing. On the high pillars, which seem to me to be walls, corollas are golden and shimmering. Light stripes fall into the narrow windows of the top, and bluish incense swirls in them. I want to go there, to freedom, to the iron crossbar, to the dove: there the doves fly, sparkling with their wings. I showed my father: "Doves live... The Father sighs, throws me up, changing his hand. Everyone says, sighing: "Well, you and I are in a mess... there is nothing to breathe." There are droplets on his forehead. I look at his crest, all wet, at the droplets, how they break off, and after them others swell, collide with each other, become large and come off, fall on his shoulder. His white shoulder was all wet and darkened. He throws his head back, opens his mouth wide, fanns himself with a handkerchief. Veins swelled on his black neck, and there were droplets on them. Under me are heads and handkerchiefs, crawling somewhere, crawling, pulling us with them. Everyone sighs and prays: "Father Venerable, saint of God... dear, help!". A woman is shouting under me, I see her sunken eyes, screaming at me: "Oh, let me in... I can't breathe... The girl died.. Her head, in a black scarf with yellow flies, falls somewhere, and instead of it, someone's red head pops out. He shouts behind us: "The woman has been crushed.. Orthodox, give up.. I'm stuffy with stuffiness and fear, I'm dizzy. It smells of heated orange blossom, my father waves a handkerchief at me, but I can't hear the breeze. His face was anxious, his voice hoarse: "Well, be patient, my dear, let's come up now..." I see different lights — crimson, blue, pink, green... — the quiet lights of the lamps. They do not move like sleepy. Above them are golden chains. Under the silver canopy they hang, higher and lower, like stars in the sky. The relics of the monk are under them. A tall, thin monk, in a folded robe, which all streams and shimmers in the flames of candles, stands motionless at the head, where the golden Trinity shines. I see something large, golden, like a shroud, or a high table all bound with gold, in it... covered with a pink veil. My father bowed me down and whispered: "Kiss me on the head." I'm afraid. The pale finger of a tall monk, with black polka dots, points to me a stitched cross of reticulated gold brocade on a pink covering. I kiss, feeling with my lips something hard, sweetish smelling of peace. I know that St. Sergius, the great saint of God, is here.We are sitting on a bench near a long pink house. They give me something sour to drink from a mug and wet my head. My father wipes his handkerchief, waves at himself and at me, says – barely catches his breath – he almost fell with me at the relics, such a stampede. They say that some died in the cathedral, the water was already poured out. It is cool here, it smells of watered flowers, damp grass. Pilgrims pass by and ask where they sell prosvirki. They say: "Over there, turn around the corner." And it is true: it smells of warm prosphoras. I see on the corner of the pink house an iron blue tablet; It has a pink swirl painted on it, so delicious. From around the corner they come out with knots, you can see the swirls. A young nun, in a white cassock with a black leather belt, gives me a warm prosphora and asks, bending down to me: "N-no-u-u..." Did you know M-me? And I'm Sa-sanya... Yurtso... I recognize at once: this is Sanya the stutterer, a novice, of our Trifonitch's granddaughters. His face is so kind, everything is covered with scrofula; his pale lips bulge out like a tube and tremble when he tries to speak. He calls us to the leavened bread, where his obedience is: "How... kavasku... our... mmo ... And Fedya is with us on the bench. He is in new boots, he has a curl in his hand, but he does not eat - he has just confessed, it is impossible. He says that they were with Gorkin at Chernigovskaya, they confessed to Father Varnava... and Gorkin is now in the cathedral, he will stand to the end. He is sad, he shakes his head all the time. He also says that Domna Panferovna is alone with Anyuta, and Antipushka with Gorkin, and he needs to go back to the cathedral. Sanya, the novice, said to his father: "Why... vasku... mo-mo... stubborn... He leads us to a kvass room, under a large house. It is cool there, smells of fragrant mint and sweet kvass. A little old man, father kvasnik, cordially treats us to the "abbot", from an iron ladle, and gives us a large slice of bread that is still warm, smelling as if it were gingerbread. He said: "Come back tomorrow, I'll treat you to sweet-rich food." We eat bread and watch how Sanya and another nun stir with oars in low tubs – they dilute kvass. And as if in a church: wide icons hang on the wall, lamps burn. The kvass here is special, the Trinity kvass – sacred, blessed, the father kvass baptizes both tubs and veselkas, when they are diluted, and when they are mashed – he baptizes. That's why it smells like gingerbread. The father asks if he is satisfied with Sanya. The kvasnik said: "Nothing, he works for the glory of God..." he is so zealous, he sleeps on the board, he gets up at night to pray, beats the bows.He orders Trifonitch to demolish the bow, he knows well how to do it: "We are countrymen with Trifonitch, from near Pereyaslavl... I also had a trade, I sold kvass. And now here's what my leaven is... For God's sake, for the brethren and all Orthodox Christians.He is such an affectionate old man, he shines all over as if he were a saint. The father says: "The soul rejoices to look at you... And the old man laughs: "And the Lord wipes it out..." That's the kind of kvasok he creates. But we're not good kvass, sour... We are far from the first grade.Both of them laugh, but I don't understand: what kind of kvass?.. My father said: "We are bad worshippers, we'd better go to the hotel." She now rings with a light, cheerful chime.Behind the holy gates the beggars still sit and beg piteously. The cabbies at the hotel offer to take him to Bethany, to Chernigovskaya. The guest kindly reproaches us: "Why haven't you prayed enough?" Well, never mind, the monk will not demand anything from a child. In the golden chambers there is a stuffy and viscous smell of warmed strawberries and something so cute... My father gives me a glass of sweet black wine with boiling water – kahorchik. This wine is from the Church, and it is always drunk with bread. A hot stream runs through me from the kahorchik, I feel good and calm now, and I greedily swallow the fragrant, warm prosphora. There is still light outside the windows. They call back in the darkened Lavra; the curtains are blowing from the breeze.I wake up from voices. A candle is burning. Father and Gorkin are sitting at the samovar. His father persuades: "At least you drink tea, you'll get sick!" He tells me how well I walked, he was so pleased with me - and I can't say so. He talks about the cart and about Aksyonov: a living miracle has happened. I thought that tomorrow after an early mass we would leave, it was a hot time, things were not waiting, and now this mess is to Aksyonov's! Gorkin begs to stay, attention should be paid: Aksyonov is a very respectable man, he will be offended. "I don't know, I haven't heard... Aksyonov? - says the father. "How did his cart get to us?" You say I knew my grandfather... It's strange, I've never heard of anything. And indeed, the reverend seems to have brought.Gorkin says thoughtfully: "It's all like that—we all know! And it comes out... And he begins to cry something. The father asks - what is it? "With joy, I am unworthy..." says Gorkin in tears, in a handkerchief, in a broken voice. "I confessed to Father Varnava..." I began to tell him about my sins... and about that sin of mine, about Grisha... how he was forced not to be afraid of heights. And he, blond, looked at me, smiled so well... and said, affectionately: "Oh, you blue-winged dove!" He covered me with a stole and let me go. "Come more often," he said, "to rejoice." Come more often... Why will it be - more often? Isn't he already giving instructions to the monastery?.. "And he likes you, that's what," says his father. "You're a monk without a monastery, just in a cossack hut." His face is bright, bright, like that of his father, and his eyes are full of rays, such as saints have. If he had a golden aureole," I thought, "and put it in the window under the dome... and the holy heavenly road?.. "And our Fedya was not blessed by Father Varnava to enter the monastery. Why, I wanted everything, on the way I opened up to us – I want to become a monk! I went to ask the elder for advice, to bless myself... and Father Varnava patted him on the cheek and said: "Such a ruddy, red-cheeked man – but to us, to the prosvirniks... Bagels are better baked with children! when, perhaps, you will treat me, son." And he did not bless. "With children," he said! It means that it is open to him. With the children, what did he say. Domna Panferovna kept laughing at him - he treated the young woman to strawberries. As he was leaving, Gorkin kissed me on the top and whispered in my ear: "But you guessed right, you forgave my sin! It smells of a bathhouse, incense, candles. He says that now we will see everything, and we will go to Father Varnava to be blessed, and we will see Mount Tabor in Bethany, and the boots of the monk, and the coffin. Of course, we'll look at the sinner, there's a beam in the eye... and the Last Judgment... I asked him about his cell. "I'll buy you a picture, like this," he points to the wall, "and you'll have a cell." Father says – joking as if and as if sadly: – you are Gorka, Gorka! Do you remember... "A pood of business, and she's a fool?" Well, I got out of the "poods" for a day. "And it's good, we should thank the Lord. And who knows what...," Gorkin says thoughtfully, "everything is under God." I don't sleep. Sleep is interrupted, I toss and turn from side to side. In front of my eyes - laurel, multi-colored lights. Everyone must be asleep by now, not slamming the doors in the hallway. Under the windows, horses step on a stone, sleepily shake their dull bells. The clock on the bell tower plays with sad iridescence. The curtains are drawn back, and a breeze blows into the room. I can see the sky with twinkling stars. I look at them and, perhaps, for the first time in my life, I wonder what is there?.. I rise on the pillow, look below: the light is shining, not at all like the stars, it does not twinkle. It's in the pink tower on the corner, I know. Is anyone praying? I look at the light, at the stars, and again I think, already with a sleepy thought – who is there?..