Ivan Turgenev “Notes of a Hunter - Living Relics. “Living Relics”, analysis of Turgenev’s story

The author and Ermolai go hunting. Because of the rain, they are forced to spend the night in a nearby village. There the heroes meet a sick woman. She suffers a lot, but only thinks about those around her. Lukerya sees God in her dreams and is glad of her torment. This is how she atones for the sins of all her neighbors. This woman does not want help from doctors or any people. She believes that the Lord rewarded her with a cross and joyfully bears this cross. Dreams about God and saints help her cope with difficulties.

the main idea

A true person should always think about the well-being of others. Your own torment and suffering seem trivial when in your soul you worry only about your loved ones and forget your own good.

The narrator and the hero, named Ermolai, go hunting for black grouse together. It starts to rain heavily. Continuing to be without cover in such weather could cause serious harm to the health of the heroes. They are trying to find a way out of a difficult situation. The narrator remembers that not far from the area where they hunt, there is the village of Alekseevka. The narrator's mother has a small farm in this village.

The hero has never been there. He was glad to find some shelter, since the terrible rainy weather left him no other choice. Two hunters headed to Alekseevka. The heroes spent the night in a farmstead. In the morning, the author decided to walk around the house and see the surroundings. There was a garden next to the farm. He had a very poor and deplorable appearance. It was clear that the garden had been abandoned for a long time. No one has looked after him for a long time. The garden had a small wicker shed.

Next to this barn, the hero noticed a figure. She resembled a mummy. As he approached, the main character noticed that the mummy was actually a woman. Her name was Lukeria. She was ill. Lukerya’s facial features showed what a beauty she used to be. Now nothing remains of her beauty. The poor thing had become so thin and withered that she really was no different from a mummy. The poor thing told her guests that it all started seven years ago. She fell off the porch. This caused endless illnesses. Now she couldn't even move. In the village Lukerya is called “Living Relics”. This poor thing did not blame fate at all for taking this into account. She said that she was completely satisfied with life.

With their suffering they atoned for the sins of all their neighbors. She refused the help of doctors. Her only request was to reduce the rent of the peasants. Lukerya was worried and thought only about the people around her.

Picture or drawing Living relics

Rainy hunt

The story "Living Relics", a summary of which you can read in this article, begins with a description of hunting in the rain. The author notes that such weather is a real disaster for a real hunter. The narrator found himself in a similar situation along with Ermolai. They went to Belevsky district to catch black grouse.

When the weather became very bad, Ermolai suggested staying at Alekseev’s farm, which belonged to the main character’s mother. It is interesting that the author, on whose behalf the story is told, did not even suspect its existence before.

There is a dilapidated outbuilding on the farm. It is clean, tidy, but uninhabited. This is where the narrator spends the night.

First beauty

In Turgenev's story "Living Relics" (a brief summary will help you quickly remember the plot), the next morning the hero wakes up at dawn and goes to a heavily overgrown garden on a farm. On the way, he discovers an apiary, which is located nearby. A narrow and untrodden path leads to it. Having set off along it, he sees a small shed next to the hives and looks into the slightly open door. It’s empty inside, only in the corner, on a small stage, lies an indeterminate figure.

Just about to set off on the way back, the hero hears someone weakly and hoarsely calling his name. Calls him Pyotr Petrovich and master. As he approaches the figure, he is amazed by what he sees. On the stage lies a man whom the author at first cannot call anything other than a creature. He is all dried up, he has a narrow nose, his lips are almost impossible to see, only his eyes and teeth are white in the darkness, and a strand of thin yellow hair sticks out from under a sloppy and ancient scarf. Only two dry, very small hands stick out from under the blanket. At the same time, the face cannot be called ugly, the author notes, it is rather beautiful, but it amazes and frightens with its unusualness.

Further, the author of the story “Living Relics”, a summary of which you can read directly in this article, tells that Lukerya lies in the barn. Once upon a time she was the first beauty in the entire area. She sang and danced beautifully, and all the men from the surrounding villages were crazy about her. The main character also secretly sighed about her when he was only sixteen years old. But a misfortune happened to her, which destroyed her beauty and her happy and carefree life.

History of Lukerya

About six or seven years ago, a woman, as they say in Turgenev’s story “Living Relics,” a summary of which we now invite you to read, was given in marriage to Vasily Polyakov.

The accident happened one night when she went out onto the porch. She thought she heard her husband's voice. In her sleep, she did not consider where she was stepping, missed the step and fell from the porch to the ground. She suffered a severe blow and since then began to dry out and waste away almost every day. Her legs began to rapidly fail, and soon she was unable to walk at all. They contacted doctors, but none of them could help her.

When Lukerye became very ill, she was transported to this abandoned farm. Vasily Polyakov did not worry about his sick wife for long and soon married again. Young and healthy.

Watching the world

From the story “Living Relics” (a brief summary for the reader’s diary can be compiled on the basis of this article) we learn that Lukerya now spends all his time lying down. In the summer - in a shed, and in the winter it is transferred to the dressing room. She eats practically nothing because of her weakness and illness. Her whole occupation is observing the world around her.

During the time that she had already spent on this farm, she taught herself not to think or remember anything. Thanks to this, time passes faster, it seems to Lukerye. She constantly reads the prayers that she still remembers, and then lies down again, trying not to let a single thought into her head.

Strange dreams

Pyotr Petrovich is trying as best he can to help Lukerya. As can be seen from the story “Living Relics,” a summary of which is described in detail in this article, readers learn that he invites her to go to the hospital together, but she refuses. Even though she was promised good and constant care there.

When the protagonist's eyes finally get used to the darkness, he manages to thoroughly examine the woman's facial features. But no matter how hard he tries, he cannot see even a glimpse of its former beauty.

At the same time, Lukerya complains that she hasn’t been sleeping well lately. She often cannot sleep for a long time due to severe pain throughout her body. But when she finally succeeds, she sees strange, amazing dreams. One day she dreamed that she was sitting on the side of a highway dressed as a praying mantis or a pilgrim. Crowds of wanderers pass by her, among whom one woman catches her eye, who turns out to be head and shoulders above everyone else. She has a stern face and a foreign dress. When Lukerya asks her who she is, she replies that she is dead.

Having learned this, Lukerya asks to quickly take her away from this world, because life is no longer sweet to her, only sorrows and suffering remain in her. Death replies that it’s not time yet, she will come for her only after Petrovka (that’s what people call haymaking).

Cure for insomnia

But she doesn’t get to see such hopeful dreams often. Sometimes Lukerya doesn’t sleep for whole weeks. A lady passing by once left her some medicine for insomnia, but it had long since run out. Pyotr Petrovich guesses that it was opium and promises to get more.

In the story "Living Relics", a brief summary of which helps to better understand the author's intention, the main character marvels at the patience and courage of this ordinary woman. To this, Lukerya objects that many people suffer much more than she does. It turns out that she is a very young woman, she is not yet 30.

At parting, Pyotr Petrovich asks if she needs anything. Lukerya asks only one thing, that his mother reduce the rent for the peasants. She herself doesn’t need anything.

The narrator learns from local residents that Lukerya is nicknamed “living power”; she does not cause anyone any trouble. And a few weeks later, right after Petrovka, Lukerya dies.

Annotation

“Rarely have two difficultly combined elements been combined to such an extent, in such complete balance: sympathy for humanity and artistic feeling,” F.I. admired “Notes of a Hunter.” Tyutchev. The series of essays “Notes of a Hunter” basically took shape over five years (1847-1852), but Turgenev continued to work on the book. To the twenty-two early essays, Turgenev added three more in the early 1870s. About two dozen more plots remained in sketches, plans and testimonies of contemporaries.

Naturalistic descriptions of the life of pre-reform Russia in “Notes of a Hunter” develop into reflections on the mysteries of the Russian soul. The peasant world grows into myth and opens up into nature, which turns out to be a necessary background for almost every story. Poetry and prose, light and shadows intertwine here in unique, whimsical images.

Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev

Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev

LIVING POWERS

The native land of long-suffering -

You are the edge of the Russian people!

A French proverb says: “A dry fisherman and a wet hunter look sad.” Having never had a passion for fishing, I cannot judge what a fisherman experiences in good, clear weather and how much in stormy times the pleasure given to him by abundant catch outweighs the unpleasantness of being wet. But for a hunter, rain is a real disaster. It was precisely this kind of disaster that Ermolai and I suffered on one of our trips to buy black grouse in Belevsky district. The rain had not stopped since early morning. We really didn’t do anything to get rid of it! And they put rubber raincoats almost over their heads, and stood under trees so that it would drip less... Waterproof raincoats, not to mention the fact that they interfered with shooting, let water through in the most shameless way; and under the trees - as if, at first, it didn’t seem to be dripping, but then suddenly the moisture accumulated in the foliage broke through, each branch doused us as if from a rain pipe, a cold stream climbed under the tie and flowed along the spine... And this is the last matter, as Ermolai put it.

No, Pyotr Petrovich,” he finally exclaimed, “You can’t do that!.. You can’t hunt today.” The dogs are flooded with stuff; the guns misfire... Ugh! Task!

What to do? - I asked.

Here's what. Let's go to Alekseevka. You may not know - there is such a farm, it belongs to your mother; it's about eight versts from here. We'll spend the night there, and tomorrow...

Shall we come back here?

No, not here... I know places beyond Alekseevka... many better than here for black grouse!

I did not ask my faithful companion why he didn’t take me straight to those places, and on the same day we reached my mother’s farm, the existence of which I, frankly, did not even suspect until then. At this farm there was an outbuilding, very dilapidated, but uninhabited and therefore clean; I spent a fairly quiet night in it.

The next day I woke up early. The sun has just risen; there was not a single cloud in the sky; everything around shone with a strong double brilliance: the brilliance of the young morning rays and yesterday’s downpour. While they were laying out the tarataika for me, I went to wander around the small, once fruit-bearing, now wild garden, which surrounded the outbuilding on all sides with its fragrant, juicy wilderness. Oh, how good it was in the free air, under the clear sky, where the larks fluttered, from where the silver beads of their sonorous voices rained down! On their wings they probably carried drops of dew, and their songs seemed watered with dew. I even took off my hat from my head and breathed joyfully - with all my heart... On the slope of a shallow ravine, near the fence, an apiary was visible; a narrow path led to it, meandering like a snake between solid walls of weeds and nettles, above which rose, God knows from where, spiky stems of dark green hemp.

I set off along this path; reached the apiary. Next to it stood a wicker shed, the so-called amshanik, where hives are placed for the winter. I looked into the half-open door: dark, quiet, dry; Smells like mint and lemon balm. There was a stage in the corner, and on it, covered with a blanket, was some small figure... I started to walk away...

Master, oh master! Pyotr Petrovich! - I heard a voice, weak, slow and hoarse, like the rustle of swamp sedge.

I stopped.

Pyotr Petrovich! Come here please! - the voice repeated.

It came to me from the corner from the stage I noticed.

I approached and was dumbfounded with surprise. Before me lay a living human being, but what was it?

The head is completely dry, one-color, bronze - like an icon of an ancient letter; the nose is narrow, like a knife blade; lips are almost invisible - only the teeth and eyes turn white, and from under the scarf thin strands of yellow hair spill out onto the forehead. Near the chin, on the fold of the blanket, two tiny hands, also bronze-colored, move, slowly moving their fingers, like chopsticks. I look more closely: the face is not only not ugly, even beautiful, but terrible, extraordinary. And this face seems all the more terrible to me because I can see from it, from its metallic cheeks, that it is growing... it is straining and cannot break into a smile.

You don't recognize me, master? - the voice whispered again; it seemed to evaporate from barely moving lips. - Yes, and where to find out! I’m Lukerya... Do you remember that I led your mother’s round dances in Spassky... remember, I was also the lead singer?

Lukerya! - I exclaimed. - Is that you? Is it possible to?

Yes, master, I am. I am Lukerya.

I didn’t know what to say, and I looked stunned at this dark, motionless face with bright and deathly eyes fixed on me. Is it possible to? This mummy is Lukerya, the first beauty in our entire household, tall, plump, white, ruddy, laughing, dancing, singing! Lukerya, clever Lukerya, whom all our young boys courted, for whom I myself secretly sighed, I am a sixteen-year-old boy!

Have mercy, Lukerya,” I finally said, “what happened to you?”

And such a misfortune happened! Yes, don’t disdain, barias, don’t disdain my misfortune - sit down on the little chair over there, closer, otherwise you won’t hear me... look how loud I’ve become!.. Well, I’m really glad that I saw you! How did you end up in Alekseevka?

Lukerya spoke very quietly and weakly, but without stopping.

Yermolai the Hunter brought me here. But tell me...

Should I tell you about my misfortune? If you please, master. This happened to me a long time ago, about six or seven years. I had just been engaged to Vasily Polyakov then - remember, he was so handsome, curly-haired, he also served as your mother’s bartender? Yes, you weren’t even in the village then; went to Moscow to study. Vasily and I fell in love very much; I couldn’t get it out of my head; and it was spring. One night... it’s not far to dawn... but I can’t sleep: the nightingale in the garden sings so amazingly sweetly!.. I couldn’t stand it, I got up and went out onto the porch to listen to him. It poured and poured... and suddenly it seemed to me: someone was calling me in Vasya’s voice, quietly: “Lusha! clap! And, it seems, I wasn’t hurt too badly, so I soon got up and returned to my room. It’s just as if something inside me - in my womb - has torn... Let me catch my breath... just a minute... master.

Lukerya fell silent, and I looked at her in amazement. What amazed me was that she told her story almost cheerfully, without groans or sighs, without complaining at all or asking for participation.

“From that very incident,” Lukerya continued, “I began to wither and wither away; blackness came over me; It became difficult for me to walk, and then it became difficult to control my legs; I can neither stand nor sit; everything would lie down. And I don’t want to drink or eat: it’s getting worse and worse. Your mother, out of her kindness, showed me to doctors and sent me to the hospital. However, I didn’t get any relief. And not a single doctor could even say what kind of illness I had. They didn’t do anything to me: they burned my back with a hot iron, they put me in crushed ice - and nothing happened. I was completely numb in the end... So the gentlemen decided that there was no more treatment for me, and that it was impossible to keep cripples in a manor house... so they sent me here - because I have relatives here. This is where I live, as you can see.

Lukerya fell silent again and began to smile again.

This, however, is terrible, your situation! - I exclaimed... and, not knowing what to add, asked: - What about Vasily Polyakov? - This question was very stupid.

Lukerya averted her eyes a little to the side.

What about Polyakov? He pushed, he pushed, and he married someone else, a girl from Glinnoye. Do you know Glinnoe? Not far from us. Her name was Agrafena. He loved me very much, but he was a young man - he couldn’t remain single. And what kind of friend could I be to him? But he found himself a good, kind wife, and they have children. He lives here as a clerk with a neighbor: your mother let him go through the patchport, and, thank God, he’s doing very well.

And so you just lie there and lie there? - I asked again.

This is how I lie, master, seventh year old. In the summer I lie here, in this wicker, and when it gets cold, they take me to the dressing room. I'm lying there.

Who is following you? Who's looking after?

And there are good people here too. They don't leave me. Yes, and there’s a little walking behind me. It’s almost like I don’t eat anything, but water—it’s in a mug: there’s always stored, clean, spring water. I can reach the mug myself: I can still use one hand. Well, there is a girl here, an orphan; no, no - yes, she will visit, thanks to her. Now she was here... Haven't you met her? So pretty, so white. She brings me flowers; I’m a big hunter of them, of flowers. We don’t have gardeners; we had them, but they disappeared. But wildflowers are also good, they smell even better than gardens...

Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev

"Living Relics"

For a hunter, rain is a real disaster. Yermolai and I suffered such a disaster while hunting black grouse in Belevsky district. Finally, Ermolai suggested going to the Alekseevka farm, which belonged to my mother, the existence of which I had not previously suspected. At the farmstead there was a dilapidated outbuilding, uninhabited and clean, in which I spent the night. The next day I woke up early and went out into the overgrown garden. Not far away I noticed an apiary; a narrow path led to it. Approaching the apiary, I saw a wicker shed next to it, and looked into the half-open door. In the corner I noticed a stage and a small figure on it.

I was already walking away, when suddenly a weak, slow and hoarse voice called me by name: “Master! Pyotr Petrovich! I approached and was dumbfounded. In front of me lay a creature with a head that was as dry as bronze. The nose is narrow, like a knife blade, the lips are almost invisible, only the teeth and eyes turn white, and strands of yellow hair come out from under the scarf. Two tiny dry hands are visible from under the blanket. The face was not ugly, even beautiful, but scary in its unusualness.

It turned out that this creature was once Lukerya, the first beauty in our household, a dancer and singer, for whom I, a 16-year-old boy, secretly sighed. Lukerya told about her misfortune. About 6 or 7 years ago, Lukerya became engaged to Vasily Polyakov. One night she went out onto the porch, and she thought she heard Vasya’s voice. Woke up, she stumbled and fell from the porch. From that bottom, Lukerya began to wither and dry up, her legs gave out. Not a single doctor could help her. In the end she became completely ossified, and she was transported to this farm. But Vasily Polyakov pushed, and even married someone else.

In the summer, Lukerya lies in the shed, and in the winter she is transferred to the dressing room. She said that she hardly eats, lies down, watches the world around her. She taught herself not to think or remember - that way time passes faster. He reads the prayers he knows, and again lies there without any thought. I offered to take her to the hospital, where she would be well cared for, but Lukerya refused. Having become accustomed to the darkness, I clearly distinguished her features, and was even able to find traces of her former beauty on this face.

Lukerya complained that she doesn’t sleep much because of the pain all over her body, but if she falls asleep, she will have strange dreams. One day Lukerya dreamed that she was sitting on a high road in the clothes of a praying pilgrim. A crowd of wanderers passes by her, and between them is a woman, head taller than the others. The dress she is wearing is not Russian and her face is stern. Lukerya asked the woman who she was, and the woman replied that she was her death. Lukerya began to ask death to take her with him, and death replied that he would come for her after the petrovkas. Only, it happens that a whole week will pass, and Lukerya will not fall asleep even once. Once a passing lady left her a bottle of medicine against insomnia, but that bottle had been drunk long ago. I guessed that it was opium, and promised to get her such a bottle.

I couldn’t help but marvel out loud at her courage and patience. Lukerya objected that many people suffered more than she did. After a pause, I asked how old she was. It turned out that Lukerya was not yet 30. After saying goodbye, I asked if she needed anything. Lukerya only asked that my mother reduce the rent for the local peasants, but nothing for herself.

On the same day, I learned from the farm governor that in the village Lukerya was nicknamed “Living Relics”, and there was no concern from her. A few weeks later I learned that Lukerya died just after the petrovka. All day before her death, she heard bells ringing from the sky. Retold Yulia Peskovaya

Rain is a real disaster for a hunter. Yermolai and I fell right under it when we were hunting in Belevsky district. He and I then went to the Alekseevka farm. As it turned out, it belonged to my mother. There we spent the night in the outbuilding, waiting out the rain. In the morning I went out into the slightly wild garden and walked along a narrow path to the apiary. Next to her was a shed, inside of which I saw a stage and a figure on it.

I was about to leave, but a weak, hoarse voice called me by name. I took a closer look and was dumbfounded. In front of me was Lukerya, once the first beauty for whom I sighed as a sixteen-year-old teenager. And now she had turned into a creature with a withered head and tiny hands, with yellow strands of hair escaping from under her scarf.

She said that after her engagement to Vasily Polyakov, she somehow heard his voice and stumbled off the porch. Her legs gave out and she wasted away all over. No one could help. And the betrothed became a little sad and married his rival. This is how she lives now, trying to pray and not think about anything, so that time can fly by faster. I wanted to take her to the hospital, but she refused.

Looking at her in the twilight of the shed, I could even recognize a reflection of her former beauty on this face. She complained to me that her whole body hurt, so she hardly slept. But if she falls asleep, she will always dream of something strange and incomprehensible. So, one day she dreamed that she was a praying pilgrim sitting on a high road. In the crowd of wanderers passing by, she saw a woman who was head taller than other people. In a Russian dress, with a stern face, she approached Lukerya. She asked the wanderer who she was, and this woman answered that she was the death of Lukeryin. This traveler promised to come for the sick person after Petrovka. Only Lukerya hasn’t slept for weeks. A passing lady left her a bottle of medicine that was good against insomnia, but that bottle was already empty.

I immediately realized what kind of medicine the lady had left behind, and promised to bring Lukerya more opium. I was amazed at her patience and courage. But she spoke in response to the fact that many also endured great suffering with humility. As I said goodbye, I asked if she needed anything. But the woman again spoke about others, asking for a reduction in the rent for the peasants.

That same day, the foreman at the farm told me that Lukerya had long been called “Living Relics” here. And she died exactly after petrovka. And all day long she kept hearing the ringing of bells that descended from heaven.

Free e-book available here Living relics the author whose name is Turgenev Ivan Sergeevich. In the ACTIVE WITHOUT TV library you can download the book Living Relics for free in RTF, TXT, FB2 and EPUB formats or read the online book Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev - Living Relics without registration and without SMS.

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Notes of a hunter -

Zmiy
“I.S. Turgenev. “Notes of a Hunter”: People's Asveta; Minsk; 1977
annotation
“Rarely have two difficultly combined elements been combined to such an extent, in such complete balance: sympathy for humanity and artistic feeling,” F.I. admired “Notes of a Hunter.” Tyutchev. The series of essays “Notes of a Hunter” basically took shape over five years (1847-1852), but Turgenev continued to work on the book. To the twenty-two early essays, Turgenev added three more in the early 1870s. About two dozen more plots remained in sketches, plans and testimonies of contemporaries.
Naturalistic descriptions of the life of pre-reform Russia in “Notes of a Hunter” develop into reflections on the mysteries of the Russian soul. The peasant world grows into myth and opens up into nature, which turns out to be a necessary background for almost every story. Poetry and prose, light and shadows intertwine here in unique, whimsical images.
Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev
LIVING POWERS
The native land of long-suffering -
You are the edge of the Russian people!
F. Tyutchev
A French proverb says: “A dry fisherman and a wet hunter look sad.” Having never had a passion for fishing, I cannot judge what a fisherman experiences in good, clear weather and how much in stormy times the pleasure given to him by abundant catch outweighs the unpleasantness of being wet. But for a hunter, rain is a real disaster. It was precisely this kind of disaster that Ermolai and I suffered on one of our trips to buy black grouse in Belevsky district. The rain had not stopped since early morning. We really didn’t do anything to get rid of it! And they put rubber raincoats almost over their heads, and stood under trees so that it would drip less... Waterproof raincoats, not to mention the fact that they interfered with shooting, let water through in the most shameless way; and under the trees - as if, at first, it didn’t seem to be dripping, but then suddenly the moisture accumulated in the foliage broke through, each branch doused us as if from a rain pipe, a cold stream climbed under the tie and flowed along the spine... And this is the last matter, as Ermolai put it.
“No, Pyotr Petrovich,” he finally exclaimed, “You can’t do that!.. You can’t hunt today.” The dogs are flooded with stuff; the guns misfire... Ugh! Task!
- What to do? - I asked.
- Here's what. Let's go to Alekseevka. You may not know - there is such a farm, it belongs to your mother; it's about eight versts from here. We'll spend the night there, and tomorrow...
- Shall we go back here?
- No, not here... I know places beyond Alekseevka... many better than here for black grouse!
I did not ask my faithful companion why he didn’t take me straight to those places, and on the same day we reached my mother’s farm, the existence of which I, frankly, did not even suspect until then. At this farm there was an outbuilding, very dilapidated, but uninhabited and therefore clean; I spent a fairly quiet night in it.
The next day I woke up early. The sun has just risen; there was not a single cloud in the sky; everything around shone with a strong double brilliance: the brilliance of the young morning rays and yesterday’s downpour. While they were laying out the tarataika for me, I went to wander around the small, once fruit-bearing, now wild garden, which surrounded the outbuilding on all sides with its fragrant, juicy wilderness. Oh, how good it was in the free air, under the clear sky, where the larks fluttered, from where the silver beads of their sonorous voices rained down! On their wings they probably carried drops of dew, and their songs seemed watered with dew. I even took off my hat from my head and breathed joyfully - with all my heart... On the slope of a shallow ravine, near the fence, an apiary was visible; a narrow path led to it, meandering like a snake between solid walls of weeds and nettles, above which rose, God knows from where, spiky stems of dark green hemp.
I set off along this path; reached the apiary. Next to it stood a wicker shed, the so-called amshanik, where hives are placed for the winter. I looked into the half-open door: dark, quiet, dry; Smells like mint and lemon balm. There was a stage in the corner, and on it, covered with a blanket, was some small figure... I started to walk away...
- Master, oh master! Pyotr Petrovich! - I heard a voice, weak, slow and hoarse, like the rustle of swamp sedge.
I stopped.
- Pyotr Petrovich! Come here please! - the voice repeated.
It came to me from the corner from the stage I noticed.
I approached and was dumbfounded with surprise. Before me lay a living human being, but what was it?
The head is completely dry, one-color, bronze - like an icon of an ancient letter; the nose is narrow, like a knife blade; lips are almost invisible - only the teeth and eyes turn white, and from under the scarf thin strands of yellow hair spill out onto the forehead. Near the chin, on the fold of the blanket, two tiny hands, also bronze-colored, move, slowly moving their fingers, like chopsticks. I look more closely: the face is not only not ugly, even beautiful, but terrible, extraordinary. And this face seems all the more terrible to me because I can see from it, from its metallic cheeks, that it is growing... it is straining and cannot break into a smile.
-You don’t recognize me, master? - the voice whispered again; it seemed to evaporate from barely moving lips. - Yes, and where to find out! I’m Lukerya... Do you remember that I led your mother’s round dances in Spassky... remember, I was also the lead singer?
- Lukerya! - I exclaimed. - Is that you? Is it possible to?
- I, yes, master, - I. I am Lukerya.
I didn’t know what to say, and I looked stunned at this dark, motionless face with bright and deathly eyes fixed on me. Is it possible to? This mummy is Lukerya, the first beauty in our entire household, tall, plump, white, ruddy, laughing, dancing, singing! Lukerya, clever Lukerya, whom all our young boys courted, for whom I myself secretly sighed, I am a sixteen-year-old boy!
“For mercy, Lukerya,” I finally said, “what happened to you?”
- And such a misfortune has happened! Yes, don’t disdain, barias, don’t disdain my misfortune - sit down on the little chair over there, closer, otherwise you won’t hear me... look how loud I’ve become!.. Well, I’m really glad that I saw you! How did you end up in Alekseevka?
Lukerya spoke very quietly and weakly, but without stopping.
- Ermolai the hunter brought me here. But tell me...
- Should I tell you about my misfortune? If you please, master. This happened to me a long time ago, about six or seven years. I had just been engaged to Vasily Polyakov then - remember, he was so handsome, curly-haired, he also served as your mother’s bartender? Yes, you weren’t even in the village then; went to Moscow to study. Vasily and I fell in love very much; I couldn’t get it out of my head; and it was spring. One night... it’s not far to dawn... but I can’t sleep: the nightingale in the garden sings so amazingly sweetly!.. I couldn’t stand it, I got up and went out onto the porch to listen to him. It poured and poured... and suddenly it seemed to me: someone was calling me in Vasya’s voice, quietly: “Lusha! clap! And, it seems, I wasn’t hurt too badly, so I soon got up and returned to my room. It’s just as if something inside me - in my womb - has torn... Let me catch my breath... just a minute... master.
Lukerya fell silent, and I looked at her in amazement. What amazed me was that she told her story almost cheerfully, without groans or sighs, without complaining at all or asking for participation.
“From that very incident,” Lukerya continued, “I began to wither and wither; blackness came over me; It became difficult for me to walk, and then it became difficult to control my legs; I can neither stand nor sit; everything would lie down. And I don’t want to drink or eat: it’s getting worse and worse. Your mother, out of her kindness, showed me to doctors and sent me to the hospital. However, I didn’t get any relief. And not a single doctor could even say what kind of illness I had. They didn’t do anything to me: they burned my back with a hot iron, they put me in crushed ice - and nothing happened. I was completely numb in the end... So the gentlemen decided that there was no more treatment for me, and that it was impossible to keep cripples in a manor house... so they sent me here - because I have relatives here. This is where I live, as you can see.
Lukerya fell silent again and began to smile again.
- This, however, is terrible, your situation! - I exclaimed... and, not knowing what to add, asked: - What about Vasily Polyakov? - This question was very stupid.
Lukerya averted her eyes a little to the side.
- What about Polyakov? He pushed, he pushed, and he married someone else, a girl from Glinnoye. Do you know Glinnoe? Not far from us. Her name was Agrafena. He loved me very much, but he was a young man - he couldn’t remain single. And what kind of friend could I be to him? But he found himself a good, kind wife, and they have children. He lives here as a clerk with a neighbor: your mother let him go through the patchport, and, thank God, he’s doing very well.
- And so you just lie there and lie there? - I asked again.
- This is how I lie, master, seventh year old. In the summer I lie here, in this wicker, and when it gets cold, they take me to the dressing room. I'm lying there.
- Who is following you? Who's looking after?
- And there are good people here too. They don't leave me. Yes, and there’s a little walking behind me. It’s almost like I don’t eat anything, but water—it’s in a mug: there’s always stored, clean, spring water. I can reach the mug myself: I can still use one hand. Well, there is a girl here, an orphan; no, no - yes, she will visit, thanks to her. Now she was here... Haven't you met her? So pretty, so white. She brings me flowers; I’m a big hunter of them, of flowers. We don’t have gardeners; we had them, but they disappeared. But wildflowers are also good, they smell even better than garden flowers. If only there was a lily of the valley... what could be more pleasant!
- And aren’t you bored, aren’t you scared, my poor Lukerya?
- What will you do? I don’t want to lie - at first it was very languid; and then I got used to it, endured it - nothing; for others it is even worse.
- How is this possible?
- And the other one has no shelter! And the other is blind or deaf! And I, thank God, see perfectly and hear everything, everything. A mole is digging under the ground - I can hear it too. And I can smell anything, even the faintest! Buckwheat in the field will bloom or linden in the garden - I don’t even need to tell you: I’m the first to hear it now. If only there was a breeze from there. No, why anger God? - it happens to many worse than mine. For example: another healthy person can sin very easily; and sin itself has departed from me. The other day, Father Alexey, a priest, began to give me communion, and he said: “There’s no point in confessing you: can you really sin in your condition?” But I answered him: “What about mental sin, father?” “Well,” he says, and he laughs, “this is not a great sin.”
“Yes, I guess I’m not too sinful with this very mental sin,” Lukerya continued, “that’s why I taught myself this way: not to think, and what’s more, not to remember.” Time is quickly passing.
I admit, I was surprised.
- You are all alone, Lukerya; How can you stop thoughts from entering your head? Or are you still asleep?
- Oh, no, master! I can't always sleep. Although I don’t have much pain, I have an aching there, in my very gut, and in my bones too; doesn't let me sleep properly. No... and so I lie to myself, lie and lie there - and don’t think; I feel that I’m alive, I’m breathing - and all of me is here. I look, I listen. The bees in the apiary are buzzing and humming; a dove will sit on the roof and coo; the hen will come in with the chickens to peck crumbs; otherwise a sparrow or a butterfly will fly in - I’m very pleased. The year before last, even the swallows over there in the corner made a nest for themselves and brought out their children. How entertaining it was! One will fly in, come to the nest, feed the children - and away. You look - there's another one to replace it. Sometimes it won’t fly in, it will just rush past the open door, and the kids will immediately squeak and open their beaks... I was waiting for them the next year, but they say one local hunter shot them with a gun. And what did you profit from? All she is, a swallow, is no more than a beetle... How evil you gentlemen, hunters are!
“I don’t shoot swallows,” I hastened to point out.
“And then,” Lukerya began again, “that was a laugh!” The hare ran in, right! The dogs were, perhaps, chasing him, but he just rolled right through the door!.. He sat down very close and sat there for a long time, still moving his nose and twitching his mustache - a real officer! And he looked at me. I understand, it means that he is not afraid of me. Finally he got up, jumped and jumped to the door, looked back on the threshold - and there he was! So funny!
Lukerya looked at me... isn’t it funny? To please her, I laughed. She bit her dry lips.
- Well, in winter, of course, it’s worse for me: that’s why it’s dark; It would be a pity to light a candle, and why? At least I know how to read and write and have always wanted to read, but what to read? There are no books here, but even if there were, how will I hold this book? Father Alexey, to distract me, brought me a calendar; Yes, he sees that there is no use, he took it and carried it away again. However, even though it’s dark, there’s still something to listen to: a cricket will chirp, or a mouse will start scratching somewhere. This is where it’s good: don’t think!
“I’m reading prayers,” Lukerya continued, after resting a little. - I only know them a little, these same prayers. And why would God get bored with me? What can I ask him for? He knows better than I what I need. He sent me a cross - that means he loves me. This is how we are told to understand it. I’ll read the “Our Father”, “Theotokos”, the akathist “To All Who Sorrow” - and again I lie down without any thoughts. And nothing!
Two minutes passed. I did not break the silence and did not move on the narrow tub that served as my seat. The cruel, stony stillness of the living, unfortunate creature lying in front of me was communicated to me: I, too, seemed to be numb.
“Listen, Lukerya,” I finally began. - Listen to what offer I will make you. Do you want me to order that you be transported to a hospital, to a good city hospital? Who knows, maybe you will still be cured? In any case, you won't be alone...
Lukerya slightly moved her eyebrows.
“Oh, no, master,” she said in a concerned whisper, “don’t transfer me to the hospital, don’t touch me.” I will only take more flour there. How can I be treated!.. That’s how the doctor came here once; wanted to examine me. I ask him: “Don’t bother me, for Christ’s sake.” Where! He began to turn me over, stretched my arms and legs, straightened them out; says: “I do this for learning; That's why I'm an employee, a scientist! And you, he says, cannot resist me, because for my labors I was given an order on my neck, and I’m trying for you fools.” He pushed me, he pushed me, he told me my illness - it’s a tricky thing - and with that he left. And then all my bones ached for a whole week. You say: I am alone, always alone. No not always. They come to see me. I'm quiet - I don't interfere. The peasant girls will come in and chat; a wanderer will wander in and begin to talk about Jerusalem, about Kyiv, about the holy cities. Yes, I’m not afraid to be alone. Even better, hey!.. Master, don’t touch me, don’t take me to the hospital... Thank you, you’re kind, just don’t touch me, my dear.
- Well, as you want, as you want, Lukerya. I thought for your own good...
- I know, master, it’s for my benefit. Yes, master, dear, who can help someone else? Who will enter his soul? Help yourself, man! You won’t believe it - but sometimes I lie alone... and it’s as if there is no one in the whole world but me. Only I am alive! And it seems to me that something will dawn on me... Thinking will take me - it’s even surprising.
- What are you thinking about then, Lukerya?
- This, master, can’t be said either: you can’t explain it. Yes, and it is forgotten later. It will come like a cloud, it will pour down, it will be so fresh, it will feel good, but you won’t understand what happened! I just think; If there were people around me, none of this would have happened, and I wouldn’t feel anything except my misfortune.
Lukerya sighed with difficulty. Her chest did not obey her - just like the rest of her members.
“When I look at you, master,” she began again, “you feel very sorry for me.” Don’t feel too sorry for me, really! For example, I’ll tell you: sometimes even now... You remember how cheerful I was at one time? Boy-girl!.. so you know what? I still sing songs.
- Songs?.. You?
- Yes, songs, old songs, round dances, dance songs, Christmas songs, all kinds! I knew a lot of them and haven’t forgotten them. Only I don’t sing dance songs. It is not suitable for my current rank.
- How do you sing them... to yourself?
- Both about myself and in my voice. I can’t speak loudly, but everything can be understood. I told you - the girl comes to see me. An orphan means she is understanding. So I learned it; She has already adopted four songs from me. Don't you believe me? Wait, I’ll tell you now...
Lukerya gathered her courage... The thought that this half-dead creature was preparing to sing aroused involuntary horror in me. But before I could utter a word, a drawn-out, barely audible, but clear and true sound trembled in my ears... it was followed by another, a third. Lukerya sang “In the Pockets”. She sang without changing the expression of her petrified face, even staring at her eyes. But this poor, amplified, wavering voice rang so touchingly, like a wisp of smoke, I so wanted to pour out my whole soul to her... I no longer felt horror: unspeakable pity squeezed my heart.
- Oh, I can’t! - she said suddenly, - there’s not enough strength... I was very happy to see you.
She closed her eyes.
I put my hand on her tiny cold fingers... She looked at me - and her dark eyelids, fringed with golden eyelashes, like those of ancient statues, closed again. A moment later they shone in the semi-darkness... A tear wetted them.
I still didn't move.
- What am I! - Lukerya suddenly said with unexpected force and, opening her eyes wide, tried to blink away a tear from them. - Aren't you ashamed? What am I doing? This hasn’t happened to me for a long time... since the very day Vasya Polyakov visited me last spring. While he was sitting and talking to me - well, nothing; and when he left, I cried alone! Where did it come from!.. But our sister has unbought tears. Master,” Lukerya added, “tea, you have a handkerchief... Don’t be disdainful, wipe my eyes.”
I hastened to fulfill her wish - and left the scarf for her. At first she refused... why do I need such a gift? The scarf was very simple, but clean and white. Then she grabbed him with her weak fingers and did not unclench them any more. Having become accustomed to the darkness in which we were both located, I could clearly distinguish her features, I could even notice the subtle blush that appeared through the bronze of her face, I could reveal in this face - so, at least, it seemed to me - traces of its seasoned beauty.
“You, master, asked me,” Lukerya spoke again, “am I sleeping?” I definitely rarely sleep, but every time I see dreams - good dreams! I never see myself as sick: I’m always like this in my dreams, healthy and young... Only grief: when I wake up, I want to stretch well, but I’m all stiff. What a wonderful dream I had! Do you want me to tell you?.. Well, listen. I see as if I’m standing in a field, and all around me there is rye, so tall, ripe, like gold!.. And as if there’s a red dog with me, feisty and contemptuous, it keeps wanting to bite me. And it’s as if I have a sickle in my hands, and not just a simple sickle, but just like the month, that’s when it looks like a sickle. And this very month I must squeeze this very rye clean. Only I am very tired from the heat, and the month is blinding me, and laziness has come over me; and there are cornflowers growing all around, so big! And everyone turned their heads towards me. And I think: I’ll pick these cornflowers; Vasya promised to come, so I made myself a wreath first; I still have time to reap. I start picking cornflowers, and they just melt and melt between my fingers, no matter what! And I can’t make myself a wreath. And meanwhile I hear someone coming towards me, so close, and calling: Lusha! Lusha!.. Oh, I think it’s a disaster - I didn’t have time! All the same, I’ll put this month on my head instead of cornflowers. I’ve been putting it on for a month, just like a kokoshnik, and now I’m all shining, lighting up the whole field all around. Lo and behold, he’s quickly rolling towards me along the very tops of the ears of corn - only not Vasya, but Christ himself! And why I found out that it was Christ, I can’t say - they don’t write him like that - but only him! Beardless, tall, young, all in white - only a gold belt - and he holds out his hand to me. “Don’t be afraid,” he says, “my bride is dismantled, follow me; In my kingdom of heaven you will lead round dances and play heavenly songs.” And I’ll cling to his hand! My little dog is now holding my legs... but then we took off! He’s ahead... His wings spread out all over the sky, long, like a seagull’s, - and I’m behind him! And the dog should leave me alone. It was only then that I realized that this dog was my illness and that there would be no place for her in the kingdom of heaven.
Lukerya fell silent for a minute.
“I also had a dream,” she began again, “or maybe it was a vision for me - I don’t know.” It seemed to me as if I was lying in this very wicker and my late parents - father and mother - were coming to me and bowing low to me, but they themselves did not say anything. And I ask them: why do you, father and mother, bow to me? And then, they say that since you suffer a lot in this world, you have not only relieved your little soul, but also removed a lot of burden from us. And in the next world we became much more capable. You have already finished with your sins; now you conquer our sins. And having said this, my parents bowed to me again - and they were no longer visible: only the walls were visible. Later I very much doubted that this was the case with me. I even told my priest in spirit. Only he believes that it was not a vision, because visions are of one spiritual order.
“And here’s another dream I had,” Lukerya continued. “As I knit, I’m sitting as if on a high road under a willow tree, holding a whittled stick, a knapsack over my shoulders and my head wrapped in a scarf - just like a wanderer!” And I should go somewhere far, far away on a pilgrimage. And all the strangers pass by me; they walk quietly, as if reluctantly, all in one direction; Everyone’s faces are sad and they all look very similar to each other. And I see: one woman is winding and rushing between them, a whole head higher than the others, and the dress she is wearing is special, as if not ours, not Russian. And the face is also special, a lean face, stern. And it’s as if everyone else is avoiding her; and she suddenly turned and came straight to me. She stopped and looked; and her eyes, like those of a falcon, are yellow, large and light-bright. And I ask her: “Who are you?” And she tells me: “I am your death.” I should be scared, but on the contrary, I’m glad, I’m baptized! And that woman, my death, says to me: “I feel sorry for you, Lukerya, but I can’t take you with me. Goodbye!" God! How sad I felt here!.. “Take me, I say, mother, my dear, take me!” And my death turned to me, began to reprimand me... I understand that she is assigning my time to me, but it’s so unclear, indistinct... After, they say, the petrovkas... With this I woke up... I have such amazing dreams!
Lukerya raised her eyes up... thought...
- Only here’s my problem: it happens that a whole week will pass, and I won’t fall asleep even once. Last year, a lady was passing by alone, saw me, and gave me a bottle of medicine against insomnia; She ordered me to take ten drops. It helped me a lot and I slept; only now that bottle has been drunk a long time ago... Do you know what kind of medicine it was and how to get it?
A passing lady apparently gave Lukerya opium. I promised to deliver such a bottle to her and, again, I could not help but marvel out loud at her patience.
- Eh, master! - she objected. - What are you talking about? What kind of patience is this? Simeon the Stylite really had great patience: he stood on the pillar for thirty years! And another saint ordered to bury himself in the ground up to his chest, and the ants ate his face... And then one narrator told me: there was a certain country, and the Hagarians conquered that country, and they tortured and killed all the inhabitants; and no matter what the residents did, they could not free themselves. And appear here among those inhabitants, holy virgin; She took a great sword, put two pounds of armor on herself, went against the Hagarians and drove them all overseas. And only having driven them away, he says to them: “Now you will burn me, because that was my promise, that I should die a fiery death for my people.” And the Hagarians took it and burned it, and from that time on the people were freed forever! What a feat! What am I doing!
I wondered to myself where and in what form the legend about John of Arc had gone, and, after being silent for a while, I asked Lukerya: how old is she?
- Twenty-eight... or nine... It won’t be thirty. Why count them, years! I'll tell you something else...
Lukerya suddenly coughed muffledly and gasped...
“You talk a lot,” I remarked to her, “it could hurt you.”
“It’s true,” she whispered barely audibly, “our conversation is over; no matter what! Now, after you leave, I’ll keep quiet to my heart’s content. At least, I took my soul away...
I began to say goodbye to her, repeated to her my promise to send her medicine, asked her to think carefully again and tell me if she needed anything?
- I don’t need anything; “I’m happy with everything, thank God,” she said with the greatest effort, but tenderly. - God bless everyone! But you, sir, would like to persuade your mother - the peasants here are poor - if only she could reduce their rent a little! They don’t have enough land, they don’t please... They would pray to God for you... But I don’t need anything - I’m happy with everything.