During a trip to the Valaam Monastery on Lake Ladoga in the summer of 1872.

Genre originality of the story.

"The Enchanted Wanderer" is a work that is not easy in terms of genre. This is a story that combines the features of an old Russian life (biography of saints), epics, as well as features of an adventure story. novel and a travel novel.

The construction of the story brings it closer to the hagiographical genre: separate episodes describing events from the life of the hero (in the life of a saint). Ivan Flyagin goes from sin to repentance and atonement for guilt, goes to the monastery, believing that it was so predestined by God. The path of the Leskian hero is open, incomplete; the monastery is not his last resting place, but only a stop along the way. After all, Flyagin did not take the monastic vows, he only performs the duties of a novice. The filling of the plot with prophetic dreams and visions, as well as miraculous salvation, the baptism of the unfaithful, are also elements of the hagiographic narrative. And although hagiographic motifs and images are rethought by the writer and filled with realistic content, they give the image of the hero a special coloring, help to comprehend the essence of the righteous hero.

Ivan Severyanovich Flyagin travels the world, life puts him in the most unexpected situations, confronts him with a wide variety of people. He changes a lot social roles: a serf, a courtyard, a nanny with a small child, then a fugitive, a prisoner in the Tatar nomad camps, a horse rider, later a soldier, a participant in the war in the Caucasus, an actor serving in the address desk and, finally, a novice. He changes professions, positions, sometimes even a name to adapt to the circumstances. He wanders around the world - the motive of wandering, movement runs through the whole story. All this makes Flyagin related to the heroes of adventure novels.

The hero of The Enchanted Wanderer reminds and epic heroes. The motive of heroism is introduced into the content of the image. Flyagin resembles epic heroes not only outwardly, but also in internal qualities and deeds: mighty and strong, he bravely fights with a busurman warrior, tames horses. His main professions are connected with horses, the hero's love for these animals resembles the feeling of heroes for their faithful and inseparable comrades - heroic horses. The main thing in the future of Ivan Flyagin, for the sake of which and on the eve of which he lives, is a patriotic feat, a heroic service to his homeland. Serving the fatherland becomes the main spiritual need and the meaning of the hero's life.

Features of the plot and composition.

"The Enchanted Wanderer" is a story with a fantastic form of narration. Narrative form - oral speeches from the first person - is necessary for the author to create the image of the hero-narrator. Leskov's story is not limited only to the hero's narration about his life, it is told on behalf of several narrators - the narrator and Ivan Flyagin himself, who talks about himself while sailing from Valaam to the Solovetsky Islands. The speech of the narrator, on behalf of whom the introduction and conclusion are conducted, is literary, in contrast to Flyagin's tale speech, characterized by the reproduction of oral, colloquial intonation. Thus, in the work there are several stylistic layers, differing from each other, and a tale is not the only form of narration, although it is predominant. It is a means of expressing the character of the protagonist.

At the same time, the tale form determines the plot and composition of the work. The Enchanted Wanderer is a chronicle of the life of one hero, where there is no central event to which all the others would be drawn, but where various episodes freely follow each other. The creation of such a narrative form Leskova fundamental character. He noticed that the form of the novel is artificial and unnatural, it requires the plot to be rounded and the narrative to be concentrated around the main center, but this does not happen in life: the fate of a person is like a developing tape, and it must be depicted in this way. Many critics did not accept such a plot-compositional structure of Leskov's text. Critic N. K. Mikhailovsky wrote: “In terms of the richness of the plot, this is perhaps the most remarkable of Leskov’s works, but the absence of any center is especially striking in it, so that there is no plot in it, as a matter of fact. , but there is a whole series of plots strung like beads on a thread, and each bead by itself can be very conveniently taken out, replaced by another, or you can string as many beads as you like on the same thread.

The tale form determines the stylistic originality of the story. The story on behalf of the narrator is characterized by a literary form of speech, in contrast to Flyagin's speech, filled with colloquial intonation, vernacular, dialectisms. The meaning of the so-called frame is also ambiguous - the story that frames Flyagin's narrative. This is a gradual overcoming of the distance between the hero and his listeners, who at first expect from him only funny and interesting stories. In addition, the story of the trip on the steamboat gives a symbolic meaning to Flyagin's life path: he travels around Russia and, together with Russia, sails to a goal unknown to him or her.

In literary criticism, the concept of skaz has one more meaning: skaz as a genre. Skaz-genre is a form of artistic literature, built mainly as a monologue narrative using the characteristic features of colloquial-narrative speech. The narration is not conducted on behalf of a neutral and objective author; it is led by a narrator, usually a participant in the reported events. Speech artwork as if imitating the live speech of an oral story. Moreover, in a tale, the narrator is usually a person of a different social group and cultural stratum than the writer and intended reader of the work. An example of a tale genre is Leskov's story "Lefty".

Common features of a literary tale as a genre and a narrative tale form are the reproduction of a monologue oral colloquial speech, but in a literary tale one gets the impression that the narrator is the author of the work, in contrast to the text with a tale form of narration, where the author is not identified with the narrator and a “sketch situation” is created, requiring the obligatory presence of the listener. Thus, the skaz narration in The Outlined Wanderer is exclusively a form of narration and does not act as a genre-forming factor.

The image of Ivan Flyagin.

All episodes of the story are united by the image of the main character - Ivan Severyanovich Flyagin, shown as a giant of physical and moral power. “He was a man of great stature, with a swarthy open face with thick, wavy hair of a leaden color: his gray hair gleamed so strangely. He was dressed in a novice cassock with a wide monastic belt belt and a tall black cloth cap... This new companion of ours... looked like he was in his early fifties; but he was in the full sense of the word a hero, and, moreover, a typical, simple-hearted, kind Russian hero, reminiscent of grandfather Ilya Muromets in a beautiful picture by Vereshchagin and in a poem by Count A. K. Tolstoy. It seemed that he would not walk in a cassock, but would sit on a “chubar” and ride in bast shoes through the forest and lazily smell how

"Dark forest smells of resin and strawberries." The hero performs feats of arms, saves people, goes through the temptation of love. He knows from his own bitter experience serfdom, knows what it is to escape from a fierce master or soldier. Flyagin's actions manifest such traits as boundless courage, courage, pride, stubbornness, breadth of nature, kindness, patience, artistry, etc. The author creates a complex, multifaceted character, positive in its basis, but far from ideal and not at all unambiguous.

The main feature of Flyagin is "the frankness of a simple soul." The narrator likens him to God's baby, to whom God sometimes reveals his plans, hidden from others. The hero is characterized by childish naivety in the perception of life, innocence, sincerity, disinterestedness.

He is very talented. First of all, in the business in which he was still a boy, becoming a postilion with his master. As far as horses were concerned, he "received a special talent from his nature." His talent is associated with a heightened sense of beauty. Ivan Flyagin subtly feels female beauty, the beauty of nature, words, art - song, dance. His speech is striking in its poetry when he describes what he admires.

Like any folk hero, Ivan Severyanovich passionately loves his homeland. This is manifested in the painful longing for his native places, when he is a prisoner in the Tatar steppes, and in the desire to take part in the coming war and die for native land. Flyagin's last dialogue with the audience sounds solemn.

Warmth and subtlety of feeling invariably coexist with rudeness, pugnacity, drunkenness, narrow-mindedness. Sometimes he shows callousness, indifference: he strikes a Tatar to death in a duel, he does not consider unbaptized children his own and leaves them without regret. Kindness and responsiveness to someone else's grief coexist in him with senseless cruelty: he gives the child to his mother, tearfully imploring him, depriving himself of shelter and food, but at the same time, out of self-indulgence, he pinpoints a sleeping monk to death.

Flyagin's daring and freedom of feelings know no bounds (fight with a Tatar, relations with a grushenka). He surrenders to feeling recklessly and recklessly. Mental impulses, over which he has no control, constantly break his fate. But when the spirit of confrontation is in him, he very easily submits to someone else's influence. The sense of human dignity of the hero is in conflict with the consciousness of the serf. But all the same, in Ivan Severyanovich one feels a pure and noble soul.

The name, patronymic and surname of the hero are significant. The name Ivan, so often found in fairy tales, brings him closer to both Ivan the Fool and Ivan the Tsarevich, who go through various trials. In his trials, Ivan Flyagin matures spiritually, morally cleanses. Patronymic Severyanovich in Latin means "severe" and reflects a certain side of his character. The surname indicates, on the one hand, a tendency to a spree, but, on the other hand, it recalls the biblical image of a person as a vessel, and a righteous person as a pure vessel of God.

Suffering from the consciousness of his own imperfection, he goes, without bending, towards a feat, striving for heroic service to his homeland, feeling a divine blessing over himself. And this movement, this moral transformation constitutes the inner storyline story. The hero believes and seeks. Him life path- this is the way of knowing God and realizing oneself in God.

Ivan Flyagin personifies the Russian national character with all its dark and bright sides, people's view of the world. It embodies the enormous and unspent potential of the people's strength. His morality is natural, folk morality. Figypa Flyagin takes on a symbolic scale, embodying the breadth, infinity, openness of the Russian soul to the world.

The depth and complexity of the character of Ivan Flyagin help to comprehend the various artistic techniques used by the author. The main means of creating the image of the hero is speech, which reflects his worldview, character, social status, etc. Flyagin's speech is simple, full of vernacular and dialectisms, it contains few metaphors , comparisons, epithets, but they are bright and accurate. The style of the hero's speech is connected with the people's worldview.

The image of the hero is also revealed through his attitude to other characters, about which he himself talks. In the tone of the story, in the choice artistic means the character's personality emerges.

The landscape also helps to feel the way the character perceives the world. The hero's story about life in the steppe conveys it emotional condition, longing for their native places: “No, I want to go home ... longing was done. Especially in the evenings, or even when the weather is good in the middle of the day, it’s hot, it’s quiet in the camp, all the Tatars from the heat fall into the tents ... A sultry look, cruel; space - no edge; herb rampage; the feather grass is white, fluffy, like a silver sea, it is agitated, and the smell carries in the breeze: it smells of sheep, and the sun douses, burns, and the steppe, like a painful life, does not foresee an end anywhere, and there is no bottom to the depth of longing ... You see, you don’t know yourself where, and suddenly a monastery or a temple appears in front of you, and you remember the baptized land and cry.

Meaning of the title of the story.

The hero is called "the enchanted wanderer". This definition can be taken in different ways. The whole life of Ivan Flyagin is controlled by the motive of predestination, his fate is subject to the power that rules over him. He follows his own path, predestined by God. The original charm, the promise of a certain life destiny determines the title of the story.

Another meaning of the name, perhaps, is connected with the writer's idea of ​​the people as an "enchanted environment". Pointing to the dramatic existence of the masses, Leskov noted conservatism, limitedness in the minds of the peasantry. The author also notes this "charm" of religious folklore consciousness in Flyagin. It is no coincidence that the comparison of the hero, who has not overcome the mental "enchantment" of the hero, with the baby.

The definition of "enchanted wanderer" can also be given to the hero because Flyagin passionately wants to unravel the mystery of being, the riddle of human life. He is fascinated and delighted with the beauty of the world.

But these meanings do not exhaust the meaning of the title of the story. References to the text give rise to new understandings of the symbolic definition of the Leskovsky hero.

The moral ideal of the writer (Leskov's concept of "righteousness").

In the work of Leskov, one of the important places was occupied by the theme of righteousness. In the images of righteous heroes, he embodied the concept of Russian national character. The righteous is first of all a believer. His life, behavior, outlook, relationships with people are determined by the commandments of Jesus Christ. He contrasts love with hatred, forgiveness with revenge, kindness and mercy with malice, compassion with cruelty, faith with unbelief, unity with people with loneliness and disunity, eternal life with death. The feeling of love for people drives his actions. Through compassion and help to his neighbor, he spiritually improves and tries to get closer to the ideal, which Jesus Christ is for him. The Leskovsky righteous man is modest and inconspicuous, sometimes even ridiculous and eccentric, but he does good, helps people and saves them. Leskov argued that Christianity "teaches to come to serve the suffering," and believed that the Christian faith determines the spiritual life of the Russian people, national identity and Russian character.

Ivan Flyagin becomes righteous only when he renounces all selfish motives and fully devotes himself to people. The desire to "die for the people" characterizes a certain stage of the hero's spiritual growth. Highlighting the idea of ​​righteousness, Leskov also notes other features inherent in him as a representative of the Russian people, which determine the content of the Russian national character: breadth of nature, openness to the world, nobility, a sense of honor and compassion, a willingness to stand up for the offended, innocence and naivety, fearlessness and selflessness, efficiency, diligence, lack of pretense, patriotism - traits that reflect the bright, ideal sides of the Russian folk character and which are sympathetic to the writer.

We sailed on Lake Ladoga from the island of Konevets to Valaam and on the way we went on ship's need to the pier to Korela. Here, many of us were curious to go ashore and rode peppy Chukhon horses to a deserted town. Then the captain prepared to go on, and we set sail again. After visiting Korela, it is quite natural that the conversation turned to this poor, albeit extremely old Russian village, sadder than which it is difficult to invent anything. Everyone on the ship shared this opinion, and one of the passengers, a man prone to philosophical generalizations and political playfulness, remarked that he could not understand why it was customary to send people who were inconvenient in St. Petersburg somewhere to more or less remote places, why, of course, there is a loss to the treasury for their transportation, while right there, near the capital, there is such an excellent place on the Ladoga coast as Korela, where any freethinking and freethinking cannot resist the apathy of the population and the terrible boredom of oppressive, stingy nature. “I am sure,” said the traveler, “that in the present case, routine is certainly to blame, or in extreme cases, perhaps, the lack of underlying information. Someone who often travels here answered this, saying that some exiles lived here at different times, but only they all did not last long. - One young seminarian was sent here as a deacon for rudeness (I could not even understand this kind of exile). So, having arrived here, he put up a lot of courage and kept hoping to raise some kind of judgment; and then, as soon as he drank, he drank so much that he went completely crazy and sent such a request that it would be better to order him as soon as possible "to be shot or given to the soldiers, but for being unable to hang." What was the resolution to this? — M... n... I don't know, really; only he still did not wait for this resolution: he hanged himself without permission. “And he did well,” replied the philosopher. - Fine? asked the narrator, obviously a merchant, and, moreover, a respectable and religious man. — What is it? at least died, and ends in the water. - How are the ends in the water, sir? And in the next world, what will happen to him? Suicides, because they will suffer for a century. No one can even pray for them. The philosopher smiled venomously, but did not answer, but on the other hand, a new opponent came up against him and against the merchant, who unexpectedly stood up for the sexton, who had committed the death penalty on himself without the permission of his superiors. It was a new passenger who sat down from Konevets not noticeably for any of us. Until now, Od had been silent, and no one had paid any attention to him, but now everyone looked at him, and, probably, everyone was amazed at how he could still remain unnoticed. He was a man of enormous stature, with a swarthy, open face and thick, wavy, lead-coloured hair: his gray cast so strangely. He was dressed in a novice cassock with a wide monastic belt belt and a high black cloth cap. A novice, he was a tonsured monk- it was impossible to guess this, because the monks of the Ladoga Islands, not only when traveling, but also on the islands themselves, do not always wear kamilavkas, and in rural simplicity they are limited to caps. This new companion of ours, who later turned out to be extremely interesting person, in appearance one could give with a little over fifty years; but he was in the full sense of the word a hero, and, moreover, a typical, simple-hearted, kind Russian hero, reminiscent of grandfather Ilya Muromets in the beautiful picture of Vereshchagin and in the poem of Count A. K. Tolstoy. It seemed that he would not have walked in duckweed, but would have sat on a "chubar" and rode in bast shoes through the forest and lazily sniffed how "dark forest smells of resin and strawberries." But, with all this good innocence, it didn’t take much observation to see in him a man who had seen a lot and, as they say, “experienced”. He carried himself boldly, self-confidently, although without unpleasant swagger, and spoke in a pleasant bass with habit. “It all means nothing,” he began, lazily and gently letting out word after word from under his thick, upward, curled-up, gray mustache, like a hussar. “I don’t accept what you say about the other world for suicides, that they never say goodbye. And that there is no one to pray for them is also nothing, because there is such a person who can very easily correct their entire situation in the easiest manner. He was asked: who is this person who knows and corrects the cases of suicides after their death? “But someone, sir,” answered the hero-Chernorizet, “there is in Moscow dioceses in one village, a priest is a grieving drunkard who almost got his hair cut, so he wields them. "How do you know that?" “And pardon me, sir, I’m not the only one who knows, but everyone in the Moscow district knows about it, because this case went through the most eminent Metropolitan Philaret. There was a short pause, and someone said that all this is rather doubtful. The Chernorizian was not in the least offended by this remark and answered: - Yes, sir, at first glance it is so, sir, it is doubtful, sir. And what is surprising here, that it seems doubtful to us, when even His Eminence themselves did not believe this for a long time, and then, having received true to that evidence, saw that it was impossible not to believe it, and believed it? The passengers approached the monk with a request to tell this wonderful story, and he did not refuse this and began the following: “They say that once a dean writes to His Eminence Vladyka, that he says so and so, this terrible drunkard, drinks wine and is not good for the parish. And it, this report, on one essence was fair. Vladyko was ordered to send this priest to them in Moscow. They looked at him and see that this priest is really a zapivashka, and decided that there was no place for him. The popik was upset and even stopped drinking, and he is still killing himself and mourning: “What, he thinks, have I brought myself to, and what more can I do now, if not lay hands on myself? This alone, he says, is the only thing left for me: then, at least, the lord will take pity on my unfortunate family and will give the bridegroom's daughters to take my place and feed my family. That's good: so he decided to end himself urgently and determined the day for that, but only as he was a man of a good soul, he thought: “It's good; if I die, let's say I die, but I'm not a beast: I'm not without a soul - where will my soul go then? And he began to grieve even more from this hour. Well, it’s good: he mourns and mourns, but Vladyka decided that he should be without a place for his drunkenness, and one day, after a meal, they lay down on the sofa with a book to rest and fell asleep. Well, it’s good: they fell asleep or just dozed off, when they suddenly see that the doors to their cell are opening. They called out, "Who's there?" - because they thought that the servant had come to report to them about someone; an, instead of a servant, they look - an old man enters, kind, kind, and his lord now found out that it was Reverend Sergius. Lord and say: “Is it you, Holy Father Sergius?” And the servant replies: "I am a servant of God Filaret ». The Lord is asked: “What does your purity want from my unworthiness?” And Saint Sergius answers:"I want mercy." “To whom will you command to reveal it?” And the saint named the priest who was deprived of his place for drunkenness, and he himself retired; and the lord woke up and thought: “What is this to be considered: is it a simple dream, or a dream, or a spiritual vision?” And they began to meditate, and, like a man of mind eminent in the whole world, they find that this is a simple dream, because is it sufficient that St. Sergius, a fasting and guardian of a good, strict life, interceded for a weak priest, who creates life with negligence. Well, sir, well: His Eminence judged thus and left the whole matter to its natural course, as it had been begun, while they themselves spent their time as they should, and went back to sleep at the proper hour. But as soon as they fell asleep again, like a vision again, and such that the great spirit of the lord plunged into even greater confusion. Can you imagine: a roar ... such a terrible roar that nothing can express it ... They gallop ... they have no number, how many knights ... rush, all in green attire, armor and feathers, and horses that are lions, black, and ahead of them proud stratopedarchus in the same attire, and wherever he waves a dark banner, everyone jumps there, and on the banner of snakes. Vladyka does not know what this train is for, and this prideful one commands: “Torment,” he says, “them: now there is no prayer book for them,” and galloped past; and behind this stratopedarch his warriors, and behind them, like a flock of skinny spring geese, boring shadows stretched, and they all nod to the lord sadly and pitifully, and all through crying softly moan: “Let him go! “He alone prays for us.” Vladyka, how deigned to get up, now they are sending for a drunken priest and asking: how and for whom does he pray? And the priest, due to spiritual poverty, was completely at a loss before the saint and said: “I, Vladyka, do it as it should be.” And by force his eminence achieved that he confessed: better life deprive myself, I'm always on the holy proskomedia I pray for those who died without repentance and laid hands on themselves...” Well, then Vladyka realized that the shadows in front of him in the seat, like skinny geese, were swimming, and did not want to please those demons that were in a hurry with destruction ahead of them, and they blessed the priest: “Go,” they deigned to say, “and don’t sin against him, but for whom you prayed, pray,” and again they sent him to his place. So he, such a person, can always be useful to such people that they cannot endure life of struggle, because he will not back down from the audacity of his calling and everything will bother the creator for them, and he will have to forgive them. Why "must"? - But because they "crowd"; after all, this was commanded from him himself, so after all, this will not change, sir. “But tell me, please, except for this Moscow priest, doesn’t anyone pray for suicides?” “But I don’t know, really, how can you report on this? It is not necessary, they say, to ask God for them, because they are self-governing, but, by the way, others, not understanding this, pray for them. On the Trinity, or not on the spirits of the day, however, it seems that even everyone is allowed to pray for them. Then such special prayers are read. Miraculous prayers, sensitive; seems to always listen to them. “But isn’t it possible to read them on other days?” - I don't know. This should be asked of someone from the well-read: they, I think, should know; Yes, I don't need to talk about it. —Have you noticed in your ministry that these prayers are ever repeated? - No, sir, I did not notice; and you, however, do not rely on my words in this, because I rarely go to the service, I go. Why is this? - My studies do not allow me. — you hieromonk or a hierodeacon? - No, I'm still just in ryasophore. “Still, it already means that you are a monk, don’t you?” - N ... yes, sir; in general it is so revered. “They read something,” the merchant replied, “but only from a cassock you can even shave your forehead into a soldier.” The hero-Chernorizet was not in the least offended by this remark, but only thought a little and answered: - Yes, you can, and, they say, there have been such cases; but only I am already old: I have been living for fifty-three years, and military service is not a wonder for me either. Did you serve in military service? - Served. “Well, are you from the underdogs, or what?” the merchant asked him again. - No, not from unders. - So who is it: a soldier, or a watchman, or a shaving brush - whose cart? - No, they did not guess; but only I am a real military man, I have been in regimental affairs almost from childhood. — So, cantonist? - angry, sought the merchant.- Again, no. - So the dust will sort you out, who are you?— I koneser. — What-o-o taco-o-e? - I am a coneser, sir, coneser, or, as it is more common to put it, I am an expert in horses and with repairmen was for their guidance.— That's how! - Yes, sir, I took away more than one thousand horses and set off. I weaned such animals, such as, for example, there are those that rear up and rush backwards with all their heart and now they can break the chest of a rider with a saddle pommel, but not one of them could do this with me. - How did you pacify such people? - I ... I am very simple, because I received a special talent for this from my nature. I’ll jump up, now, it used to be, I won’t let the horse come to its senses, with its left hand with all its strength behind the ear and to the side, and with the right fist between the ears on the head, and I’ll grit my teeth terribly at her, so she even has a different brain from her forehead in the nostrils, along with blood, it will appear, and it will pacify.- Well, and then? “Then you get off, stroke it, let yourself admire her in the eyes so that a good imagination remains in her memory, and then you sit down again and go. “And the horse walks quietly after that?” - She will go quietly, because the horse is smart, she feels what kind of person treats her and what he thinks about her. For example, every horse loved and felt me ​​in this reasoning. In Moscow, in the arena, there was one horse, completely out of the hands of all riders and studied, layman, such a manner that there is a rider behind the knees. Just like the devil, he grabs with his teeth, so the whole kneecap will come out. Many people died from it. Then to Moscow an Englishman Rarey he came, - he was called the "mad pacifier", - so she, this vile horse, even almost ate him, but she nevertheless brought him to shame; but he only survived from her because, they say, he had a steel kneecap, so that although she ate him by the leg, she could not bite through and threw it off; otherwise he would die; and I sent it the right way. - Tell me, please, how did you do it? - With God's help, sir, because, I repeat to you, I have a gift for this. Mr. Raray, this so-called "mad tamer", and others who took on this horse, kept all the art against his spitefulness in the occasions, so as not to allow him to shake his head either on one side or the other; but I invented a completely opposite way to that; I, as soon as the Englishman Rarey refused this horse, I say: “Nothing, I say, this is the most empty, because this horse is nothing more than possessed by a demon. An Englishman cannot comprehend this, but I will comprehend and help. The authorities agreed. Then I say: “Take him out of the Drogomilov outpost!” Brought out. Good with; we led him on the reins into the hollow to Fili, where in the summer the gentlemen live in dachas. I see: here the place is spacious and comfortable, and let's act. He sat down on him, on this cannibal, without a shirt, barefoot, in some trousers and a cap, and over his naked body he had a belt from the holy brave Prince Vsevolod-Gabriel of Novgorod, whom I greatly respected for his youth and believed in him; and on that girdle his inscription is woven: "I will not give my honor to anyone." In my hands, however, I did not have any special tool, except in one - a strong Tatar whip with a lead head, in the end it was no more than two pounds, and in the other - a simple formic pot with liquid dough. Well, sir, I sat down, and four people were dragging that horse’s muzzle with reins in different directions so that he wouldn’t throw his teeth at one of them. And he, the demon, seeing that we are up in arms against him, and neighs, and squeals, and sweats, and is all cowardly with anger, he wants to devour me. I see this and tell the grooms: “Drag, I say, rather, off with him, the bastard, the bridle off.” Those ears do not believe that I give them such an order, and their eyes bulged. I say: “What are you waiting for! or don't you hear? What I order you - you must do now! And they answer: “What are you, Ivan Severyanych (I was called Ivan Severyanych in the world, Mr. Flyagin): how, they say, is it possible that you order the bridle to be removed?” I started to get angry with them, because I watch and feel in my legs how the horse is furious with rage, and I thoroughly crushed it in my knees, and I shout to them: “Take it off!” They had another word; but here I was already completely furious, and as I grit my teeth - now in an instant they pulled off the bridle, and they themselves, whoever they see, rushed to run, and at that very moment I was the first thing he did not expect, bang the pot on his forehead: he broke the pot, and the dough flowed into his eyes and nostrils. He was frightened, thinking: “What is this?” And I rather grabbed a cap from my head in left hand and with it I rub the horse even more dough on the eyes, and with a whip on his side he clicks ... He yok and forward, and I rub his eyes with a cap to completely blur his vision in his eyes, and with a whip on the other side ... Yes, and went, and went to soar it. I don’t let him breathe, I don’t let him look, I smear the dough all over his face with my cap, I blind him, I tremble with a gnash of teeth, I scare him, and on the sides on both sides I tear with a whip so that he understands that this is not a joke ... He understood this and did not begin to persist in one place, but began to carry me. He carried me, dear, wore me, and I flogged him and flogged him, so that the harder he wears, the more zealously I try for him with a whip, and, finally, both of us began to get tired of this work: my shoulder hurts and my arm does not rise, and, I see, he has already stopped squinting and stuck his tongue out of his mouth. Well, here I see that he is asking for forgiveness, got off him as soon as possible, rubbed his eyes, took him by the tuft and said: “Stop, dog meat, dog food!” but as soon as I pull him down, he fell on his knees before me, and from that time on he became such a modest man that it was better not to demand: he would sit down and ride, but he soon died.- Exhausted though? - Izdoh-sir; he was a very proud creature, he humbled himself by his behavior, but apparently he could not overcome his character. And Mr. Rarey then, having heard about this, invited me to his service. “Well, did you serve with him?”- No, sir. Why? - Yes, how can I tell you! The first thing is that I was a coneser and more used to this part - for the choice, and not for the departure, and he needed only one furious pacification, and the second, that it was on his part, as I believe, was one insidious trick .— What is it? He wanted to take a secret from me. - Would you sell it to him? Yes, I would sell. “So what was the matter?” “So… he must have been afraid of me himself. “Tell me, if you please, what is this story?” - There was no special story, but he only says: “Open to me, brother, your secret - I’ll take you a lot of money to dump in my cones.” But since I could never deceive anyone, I answer: “What is the secret? - this is stupidity. And he takes everything from an English, scientific point of view, and did not believe it, he said: “Well, if you don’t want to open it in your own way, then let’s drink rum with you.” After that, we drank a lot of rum together with him, to the point that he flushed and said as best he could: “Well, now, they say, open what you did with the horse?” And I answer: “That's what ...” - yes, he looked at him as scarily as possible and gritted his teeth, but as he didn’t have a pot of dough with him at that time, he took it and, for example, waved a glass at him, and he suddenly, seeing this, how he dived - and went down under the table, and then how he shuffled to the door, and he was like that, and there was nowhere to look for him. So we haven't seen him since. Is that why you didn't join him? - Therefore, sir. And what should I do when since then he was even afraid to meet me? And I would really like to see him then, because I liked him very much, while we competed with him on rum, but, it’s true, you can’t avoid your path, and you had to follow another calling. - And what do you consider your vocation? “But I really don’t know how to tell you ... I happened a lot, I happened to be on horses, and under horses, and I was a prisoner, and fought, and I myself beat people, and they maimed me, so which, perhaps, not everyone would have endured. - And when did you go to the monastery? “It’s recently, sir, just a few years after my entire life has passed. Did you also feel called to it? — M... n... n... I don't know how to explain it... however, one must assume that he had, sir. "Why are you saying this... as if you're not sure?" “Yes, because how can I say for sure when I can’t even embrace all my vast elapsed vitality? Why is that? “Because, sir, I did a lot of things not even of my own free will.- And whose is it? - According to the parent's promise. - And what happened to you according to your parental promise? “All my life I have been dying, and I could never die.- Like so? - That's right, sir. “Tell us, please, about your life. - Why, if I remember, then, if you please, I can tell, but I can’t do otherwise, sir, as from the very beginning. - Do me a favor. This will be all the more interesting. “Well, I don’t know, sir, whether it will be of any interest, but if you please listen.

And on the way we went to the ship's need at the pier to Korela. Here, many of us were curious to go ashore and rode peppy Chukhon horses to a deserted town. Then the captain prepared to go on, and we set sail again.

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

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

Someone who often travels here answered this, saying that some exiles lived here at different times, but only they all did not last long.

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

What was the resolution to this?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How do you know?

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

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

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

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

The passengers approached the monk with a request to tell this wonderful story, and he did not refuse this and began the following:

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

Lord and say:

“Is it you, Holy Father Sergius?”

And the servant replies:

The Lord is asked:

“What does your purity want from my unworthiness?”

And Saint Sergius answers:

"I want mercy."

“To whom will you command to reveal it?”

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

Leskov Nikolai Semenovich

The Enchanted Wanderer

N.S. LESKOV

THE ENCHANTED WANDERER

CHAPTER FIRST

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

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

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

Someone who often travels here answered this, saying that some exiles lived here at different times, but only they all did not last long.

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

What was the resolution to this?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How do you know?

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

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

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

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

The passengers approached the monk with a request to tell this wonderful story, and he did not refuse this and began the following:

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

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

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

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

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

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

What was the resolution to this?

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

“And he did well,” replied the philosopher.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But someone, sir,” replied the hero-Chernorizet, “there is a priest in the Moscow diocese in one village - a grieving drunkard who was almost shot, - so he wields them.

- How do you know that?

“But, pardon me, I’m not the only one who knows this, but everyone in the Moscow district knows about it, because this case went through the most eminent Metropolitan Philaret.

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

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

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

The passengers approached the monk with a request to tell this wonderful story, and he did not refuse this and began the following:

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

Lord and say:

“Is it you, Holy Father Sergius?”

And the servant replies:

"I, the servant of God Filaret."

The Lord is asked:

“What does your purity want from my unworthiness?”

And Saint Sergius answers:

"I want mercy."

“To whom will you command to reveal it?”

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

– Why "must"?

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

- And tell me, please, apart from this Moscow priest, does no one pray for suicides?

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

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

– Have you ever noticed in your ministry that these prayers are ever repeated?

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

- Why is this?

- My studies do not allow me.

– Are you a hieromonk or a hierodeacon?

- No, I'm still just in the cassock.

“Still, it already means that you are a monk, don’t you?”

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

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

- Yes, you can, and, they say, there were such cases; but only I am already old: I have been living for fifty-three years, and military service is not a wonder for me either.

- Did you serve in the military?

- Served.

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

- No, not from the unders.

- So who; a soldier, or a watchman, or a shaving brush - whose cart?

- No, they did not guess; but only I am a real military man, I have been in regimental affairs almost from childhood.

"So you're a cantonist?" - angry, sought the merchant.

- Again, no.

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

- I coneser.

- What-o-o taco-o-e?

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

– That's how!

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

- How did you pacify such people?

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

- Well, and then?

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

“And the horse walks quietly after that?”

- She will go quietly, because the horse is smart, she feels what kind of person treats her and what he thinks about her. For example, every horse loved and felt me ​​in this reasoning. In Moscow, in the arena, there was one horse, completely out of the hands of all riders and studied, layman, such a manner that there is a rider behind the knees. Just like the devil, he grabs with his teeth, so the entire kneecap will peel out. Many people died from it. Then the Englishman Rarey came to Moscow - he was called the "mad pacifier", - so she, this vile horse, even almost ate him, but she nevertheless brought him to shame; but he only survived from her because, they say, he had a steel kneecap, so that although she ate him by the leg, she could not bite through and threw it off; otherwise he would die; and I sent it the right way.

- Tell me, please, how did you do it?

- With God's help, sir, because, I repeat to you, I have a gift for this. Mr. Raray, this so-called "mad tamer", and others who took on this horse, kept all the art against his spitefulness in the occasions, so as not to allow him to shake his head either on one side or the other; but I invented a completely opposite way to that; I, as soon as the Englishman Rarey refused this horse, I say: “Nothing, I say, this is the most empty, because this horse is nothing more than possessed by a demon. An Englishman cannot comprehend this, but I will comprehend and help. The authorities agreed. Then I say: “Take him out of the Drogomilov outpost!” Brought out. Good with; we led him on the reins into the hollow to Fili, where in the summer the gentlemen live in dachas. I see: here the place is spacious and comfortable, and let's act. I sat down on him, on this cannibal, without a shirt, barefoot, in only trousers and a cap, and on his naked body he had a banded belt from the holy brave prince Vsevolod-Gabriel from Novgorod, whom I greatly respected for his youth and believed in him; and on that girdle his inscription is woven: "I will never give up my honor." In my hands I did not have any special tool, except in one - a strong Tatar whip with a lead head at the end, no more than two pounds, and in the other - a simple ant pot with batter. Well, sir, I sat down, and four people were dragging that horse’s muzzle with reins in different directions so that he wouldn’t throw his teeth at one of them. And he, the demon, seeing that we are up in arms against him, and neighs, and squeals, and sweats, and is all cowardly with anger, he wants to devour me. I see this and tell the grooms: “Drag, I say, rather, off with him, the bastard, the bridle off.” Those ears do not believe that I give them such an order, and their eyes bulged. I say: “What are you waiting for! or don't you hear? What I order you - you must do now! And they answer: “What are you, Ivan Severyanych (I was called Ivan Severyanych in the world, Mr. Flyagin): how, they say, is it possible that you order the bridle to be removed?” I started to get angry with them, because I watch and feel in my legs how the horse is furious with rage, and I thoroughly crushed it in my knees, and I shout to them: “Take it off!” They had another word; but here I was already completely furious, and as I grit my teeth - they now pulled off the bridle in an instant, and they themselves, whoever they see, rushed to run, and at that very moment I was the first thing he did not expect, bang the pot on his forehead: he broke the pot, and the dough flowed into his eyes and nostrils. He was frightened, thinking: “What is this?” But I rather grabbed the cap from my head in my left hand and rubbed the dough even more on the horse’s eyes with it, and snapped it on the side with a whip ... with a whip on the other side ... Yes, and he went, and he went to soar. I don’t let him breathe or look through, I smear the dough all over his muzzle with my cap, blind it, gnash it with teeth, scare it, and tear it on the sides with a whip so that it understands that this is not a joke ... He understood this and did not began to persist in one place, but he tried to carry me. He carried me, dear, wore me, and I flogged him and flogged him, so that the harder he wears, the more zealously I try for him with a whip, and, finally, both of us began to get tired of this work: my shoulder hurts and my arm does not rise, and, I see, he has already stopped squinting and stuck his tongue out of his mouth. Well, here I see that he is asking for forgiveness, got off him as soon as possible, rubbed his eyes, took him by the tuft and said: “Stop, dog meat, dog food!” but as soon as I pull him down, he fell on his knees in front of me, and from that time on he became such a modest man that it was better not to demand: he would sit down and ride, but he soon died.

- Exhausted though?

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

- What, you served with him?

- From what?

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

- What is it?

He wanted to take a secret from me.

- Would you sell it to him?

Yes, I would sell.

“So what was the matter?”

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

- Tell me, please, what is this story?

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

Is that why you didn't join him?

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

- And what do you consider your vocation?

“But I don’t know, really, how can I tell you ... I happened a lot, I happened to be on horses, and under horses, and I was a prisoner, and fought, and I myself beat people, and they maimed me, so, perhaps not everyone could bear it.

- And when did you go to the monastery?

- It's recently, sir, just a few years after my whole past life.

Did you also feel called to it?

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

“Why are you saying this… as if you’re not sure?”

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

- Why is that?

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

- And whose is it?

- According to the parent's promise.

- And what happened to you according to your parental promise?

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

- Like so?

- That's right, sir.

- Tell us, please, your life.

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

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

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