Read "living relics" online. Ivan Turgenev: Living Relics

Current page: 1 (book has 2 pages in total)

Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev

Living relics

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 dawn. 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 - exactly, at first, it seemed as if it wasn’t 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 sticks. 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! Don’t be disdainful, barias, don’t be disdained by 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 - 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 Glinnoye? 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 and lie? – 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’ll 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 come and 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 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’m probably 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 still have an ache there, in my very core, 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 mother hen will come in with the chickens to peck some 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 kids - 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 chasing him, or something, 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!

“Otherwise 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 - that’s a clever 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 to 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 her the scarf. 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 certainly 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 a wreath for myself. 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.

“Or else I 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 - my father and my 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—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 turns - right towards 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: sometimes 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 over the sea. 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; Yes, wherever it goes! 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.

I gave Lukerya my word to fulfill her request and was already approaching the door... she called me again.

“Remember, master,” she said, and a wonderful something flashed in her eyes and on her lips, “what kind of braid did I have?” Remember - up to the knees! I didn’t dare for a long time... Such hair!.. But where could I comb it? In my situation!.. So I cut them off... Yes... Well, forgive me, master! I can not anymore…

That same day, before going hunting, I had a conversation about Lukerye with the farm foreman. I learned from him that in the village they called her “Living Relics”, that, however, there was no sign of any concern from her; You don’t hear any murmurs or complaints from her. “She herself does not demand anything, but on the contrary, she is grateful for everything; quiet, as quiet as there is, so to speak. Killed by God, - so concluded the tenth, - therefore, for sins; but we don't go into that. And in order, for example, to condemn her - no, we do not condemn her. Let her go!”

A few weeks later I learned that Lukerya had passed away. Death did come for her... and “after the Petrovkas.” They said that on the very day of her death she kept hearing the ringing of bells, although from Alekseevka to the church they think it’s more than five miles away and it was an everyday day. However, Lukerya said that the ringing did not come from the church, but “from above.” She probably did not dare to say: from heaven.

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 dawn. 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 thing, as Ermolai put it.

No, Pyotr Petrovich,” he finally exclaimed. - You can’t do that!.. You can’t hunt today. For dogs strange floods; 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 didn’t ask my faithful companion why he didn’t take me straight to those places and to the same

The next day we reached my mother’s farm, the existence of which I, to be honest, 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 sparkled with a strong double shine: the shine 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 come 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 sticks. 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 am Lukerya... 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! Don’t be disdainful, master, don’t be disdained by my misfortune - sit down on the little chair over there, closer, otherwise you won’t be able to 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; it's out of my head

didn't go out; and it was spring. One night... it’s not far to dawn... and 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! o earth 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. 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. What did they do to me: they burned my back with a hot iron, 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 incapable of keeping cripples in a manor house... well, 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 is, however, a terrible situation, 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 Glinnoye? 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 is 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 there’s water - there it is 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. She was here just now... 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 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 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 must be doing this very, mentally

“I’m not painfully sinful,” 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 sleeping?

Oh, no, master! I can't always sleep. Although I don’t have much pain, I still have an ache there, in my very core, 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 mother hen will come in with the chickens to peck some 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 laughter!” 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 me, for absent-mindedness,

brought 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 itself somewhere. This is where it’s good: don’t think!

“And then I read prayers,” Lukerya continued, after resting a little. - I only know them a little, these same prayers. And why would the Lord become 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 will read the Our Father, the Mother of God, the akathist to all who mourn - and again I lie down to myself 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? At least 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 wish, as you wish, Lukerya. I thought for your own good...

I know, master, that it is 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, is also impossible to say: 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 in my 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, rang so touchingly,

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.

So, master, you asked me,” Lukerya spoke again, “am I dreaming?” 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 chained up. 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

It’s a simple sickle, but it’s 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 a wreath for myself. 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 saw 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 again

bowed - 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. - I see that 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, Petrovka... With this I woke up... Such and such I have 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 the holy virgin appeared here among those inhabitants; She took a great sword, put two pounds of armor on herself, went against the Hagarians and drove them all over the sea. 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 of Joan 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; Yes, wherever it goes! 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, there are no lands... They would pray to God for you... But I don’t need anything - I’m happy with everything.

I gave Lukerya my word to fulfill her request and was already approaching the door... she called me again.

Remember, master,” she said, and a wonderful something flashed in her eyes and on her lips, “what kind of life I had

braid? Remember - up to your knees! I didn’t dare for a long time... Such hair!.. But where could I comb it? In my situation!.. So I cut them off... Yes... Well, forgive me, master! I can not anymore...

That same day, before going hunting, I had a conversation about Lukerye with the farm foreman. I learned from him that in the village they called her “Living Relics”, that, however, there was no sign of any concern from her; You don’t hear any murmurs or complaints from her. “She herself does not demand anything, but on the contrary, she is grateful for everything; quiet, as quiet as there is, so to speak. Killed by God, - so concluded the tenth, - therefore, for sins; but we don't go into that. And in order, for example, to condemn her - no, we do not condemn her. Let her go!”

A few weeks later I learned that Lukerya had passed away. Death did come for her... and “after the Petrovkas.” They said that on the very day of her death she kept hearing the bells ringing, although from Alekseevka to the church they think it’s more than five miles away and it was an everyday day. However, Lukerya said that the ringing did not come from the church, but “from above.” She probably did not dare to say: from heaven.

Turgenev I.S. Notes of a hunter. Living relics // I.S. Turgenev. Complete collection of works and letters in thirty volumes. M.: Nauka, 1979. T. 3. P. 326-338.

Turgenev's story "Living Relics" is included in the collection "Notes of a Hunter." The famous writer spent the summer and half of the autumn of 1846 hunting on the family estate of Spasskoye Lutovino. In October, having arrived in St. Petersburg, he learned that N. Nekrasov and I. Panaev had become the head of the literary magazine “Sovremennik”, who offered him their cooperation.

It was at this very time that Turgenev created his stunning story “Living Relics”. An analysis of the work suggests that in it the writer embodied the most beautiful image of a kind, long-suffering and at the same time humble Russian soul, completely submissive to the will of God.

Petr Petrovich

Master Pyotr Petrovich, who came to hunt black grouse in Belevsky district, and the huntsman Ermolai find themselves in a heavy downpour. This is how Turgenev begins his story (“Living Relics”). The summary continues with the fact that even though they were wearing waterproof raincoats, the hunt didn’t go well right away: it was uncomfortable, the branches were doused with water, it even started to flow into their bosoms, and the dogs’ sense of smell was lost due to the water. And then Ermolai suggested going to the Alekseevka farmstead, which belonged to Pyotr Petrovich’s mother.

Having reached the place, they found an uninhabited, clean outbuilding, where they spent the night. The next day the weather was sunny and cloudless.

Barn

It should be noted that Turgenev was a great master at describing landscapes. “Living Relics” is a story that incomparably describes the fragrant rural nature, fresh air and the chirping of larks.

In general, Pyotr Petrovich wanted to take a walk, along the path he reached the apiary and there he suddenly saw a wicker shed where hives are usually put away for the winter. He opened the door and looked in, and was greeted by the smell of fragrant dried herbs - mint and lemon balm. In the corner there was a stage where a small figure could be seen covered with a blanket.

He wanted to close the door, but suddenly he heard someone calling him. He was stunned by surprise and by the fact that he saw an almost shriveled bronze female head with a narrow nose, thin lips, white teeth and colorless eyes, and strands of red hair were sticking out of the scarf.

Lukerya

Pyotr Petrovich began to peer into the face. It was unusual, like an image from an ancient icon. The woman introduced herself as Lukerya and reminded him that she led round dances with his mother in Spassky and was the lead singer. He recognized her and immediately remembered how beautiful she was in the master's household. She was rosy-cheeked, a full-on singer, a laugher and a dancer. All the local guys looked after her. And Pyotr Petrovich was then still a 16-year-old boy, who also really liked her.

Turgenev, “Notes of a Hunter”: “Living Relics”

He said her name and asked what happened to her.

The writer famously twists the plot, and it becomes incredibly interesting who this woman is and what misfortune befell her.

She began to tell him that about seven years ago she was engaged to Vasily Polyakov, the lady’s prominent and curly-haired barman. One night she couldn’t sleep, she went out onto the porch, and she heard the voice of her beloved. Out of surprise, she stumbled and fell heavily. Returning to her room, she realized that it was as if something had snapped in her, she felt heavy, and fell ill. The lady, out of her kindness, showed it to the doctors, but they could not even diagnose it.

It was not customary to keep crippled people in manor houses, and the sick girl was sent here to stay with relatives. Her fiancé grieved and married someone else.

Half-dead creature

Lukerya continued her story by saying that she had been lying there for many years, in the summer here, in the wicker, and in the winter - in the dressing room. Good people do not forget her. Lukerya said that at first she felt languid, but then she got used to it and thought that she was not so bad, compared to deaf and blind disabled people and homeless people.

She even noted that it is very easy for a healthy person to sin, and even the sin itself left her. Then she began to tell that priest Alexey, when he began to give her communion, said that she had nothing to confess, but she reminded him of the mental sin, then the priest noted that this sin was not so great. Lukerya added that she tries to even drive away bad thoughts. Turgenev's "Living Relics" literally decorates Lukerya's dreams.

Christ

She told her guest that sometimes she sings quietly to herself, and sometimes she reads prayers, which she also knows a little: Our Father, Mother of God, Akathist to All Who Sorrow.

The master wanted to offer treatment, but she flatly refused and asked not to feel sorry for her. And then she began to talk about her unusual dreams.

One day she sees a field and golden rye, in her hands she has a sickle that looks like a moon, and next to her there is a red dog that keeps trying to bite her. And she wanted to weave herself a wreath from cornflowers, but it still didn’t work out, and then someone called her by name. She put her sickle on her head like a kokoshnik and everything around began to shine. And suddenly Lusha saw that it was not her fiancé Vasily who was rolling towards her through the ears of corn, but Christ Himself in a white robe with a golden belt. He extended his hand to her and told her not to be afraid of Him, for she was His bride, and she would lead round dances and sing heavenly songs with Him in the Kingdom of Heaven. Then he took her hand, His wings opened, and they flew. But the dog remained, since it was her illness, and there will be no place for her in the Kingdom of Heaven.

Deceased parents

And then Turgenev’s “Living Relics” fills him with even more interesting details. Lukerya also told another dream of hers. Her deceased parents came to her and bowed low to her. She immediately asked why they were doing this. They began to talk to her about how she had not only lightened her soul, but was also saving them. Allegedly, Lukerya has already dealt with her sins, but now she is conquering her parents’ sins. Then they disappeared, bowing again.

Death Woman

And then the sick girl told her third dream. It’s as if she sees herself on the high road in a scarf with a stick and a knapsack. It seems she needs to go somewhere on a pilgrimage. And people pass by her like strangers. And between them she saw a woman a head taller than them. She curled around them, her dress was not Russian, her face was lean and stern. Everyone avoids her, but she goes straight to Lukerya. Lusha asked her who she was, and she replied that she was her death. The girl was not afraid for a moment and began to beg her to take her as soon as possible. Death turned around and said that, supposedly, after “Petrovka”... And then the girl woke up.

Lusha told the master many more interesting things, and in parting she asked her mother to reduce his rent a little from the local peasants. They have little land, but they would pray for it.

A few weeks later, Lukerya died, just after Petrovka.

Conclusion

This is how Turgenev ended his amazing story. “Living Relics” (the summary reveals only a small part of the story) tells about a real event. It is known that this story really happened to Turgenev and even the name of his heroine is genuine.

Lukerya evokes almost no pity; even in such a martyr’s state she glorifies God and prays to him. She knows why all this was sent to her, and patiently bears her cross.

Turgenev made the work “Living Relics” completely difficult. Analyzing it, after reading it, every reader will definitely think about the eternal and very deep questions of faith and repentance. The spiritual component in it is very strong. After all, while a person is healthy, he rarely remembers the Savior. As people say: “Until thunder strikes, a man will not cross himself.” But sooner or later everyone will come to God and ask for forgiveness of their sins.

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 dawn. 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 sticks. 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 Glinnoye? 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!

“Living Relics” was published in the literary collection “Skladchina”, compiled from the works of Russian writers in favor of the starving people of the Samara province, in 1774. The story had a subtitle - “An excerpt from “Notes of a Hunter”.”

The idea for the story dates back to the period before 1852, but it was not included in the first edition of Notes of a Hunter. The story has autobiographical features. The action takes place in Alekseevka, one of the estates of Turgenev's mother. The prototype of the heroine of Lukerya’s story was called Claudia, Turgenev met with her in the first half of the 40s. Another prototype of Lukerya is the crippled Eupraxia, who was a beauty when 17-year-old Turgenev was intimate with her.

Literary direction and genre

The story “Living Relics” belongs to the realistic direction. It reflected the psychology of a person enduring suffering with patience.

Issues

The problem of a person’s attitude to his own suffering and to the suffering of others. The origins of human strength and weakness, empathy and compassion for others.

The main problem is the long-suffering of the Russian people.

Plot and composition

The epigraph to the story was a quote from Tyutchev’s poem that the Russian people are characterized by long-suffering.

The story has a frame. The master ends up on the farm by accident, due to rain interfering with the hunt. Most of the story is a conversation with Lukerya, in which there is also a retrospective about her past. The end is a story about her imminent death.

Heroes

Lukerya is a 29-year-old woman who, over the course of 6 years of illness, has transformed from a tall, plump, white-skinned beauty, laughing, dancing and singing into a mummy.

Lukerya takes for granted all the trials that befell her. The narrator does not hear any complaints in her voice. Lukerya, in her position, sympathizes with other people who are worse off than her. She includes among these those who have no shelter, who cannot see, hear, speak, or recognize smells. She is happy for her ex-fiancé Vasily Polyakov, who, after struggling, married Agrafena from Glinny, a kind woman.

Lukerya is grateful to those kind people who follow her, but does not expect help: “Who can help whom? Who will enter his soul? Help yourself."

The narrator is most amazed that Lukerya is even pleased with her position, because she is deprived of the opportunity to sin. She feels involved in the life of her farm, not cut off from the church (the priest confesses to her). Lukerya also feels like a part of all nature.

Lukerya's position makes her like a saint. The oxymoronic name refers to this idea. Lukerya looks like dead saints. Like many martyrs, she endures physical suffering, so much so that she cannot even always sleep. Her life is the full life of a Christian soul.

This woman's life philosophy is not to burden anyone. She doesn’t even burn a candle, because it’s a pity, she doesn’t even pray to God much, so as not to get bored.

Lukerya feels useful: she passes on to the orphan girl who visits her her ability to sing songs, and she knows many of them.

The only thing Lukerya asks is to persuade the lady to reduce the rent for the peasants. She only regrets about her braid, which she had to cut off.

She rejects the narrator’s admiration for her patience, recalling the exploits of Simeon the Stylite, John the Recluse and Joan of Arc (she does not know the last two by name).

Barin-storyteller

The narrator calls Lukerya an unfortunate, half-dead creature. Imbued with sympathy for Lukerya, he wants to take her to the hospital, because she “will not be alone” there. He tries “for her own good,” reasoning in the same way as the doctor who examined Lukerya and did not tell her to resist: “I’m trying for you fools.”

Gradually, the horror of the unfortunate creature gives way to unspeakable pity in the narrator.

The only useful thing that the master can do for Lukerya is to get her a cure for insomnia.

Style Features

Lukerya is described very poetically. What should inspire fear and disgust is beautiful, almost divine. Her face is petrified, the voice of the singing woman is poor, wavering like a wisp of smoke. Her tiny fingers are cold, and her dark eyelids, fringed with golden eyelashes, look like the eyelids of ancient statues. In the whole image of Lukerya there is some kind of petrification, ossification, so that next to her the narrator also becomes petrified. This stillness contrasts with the movement of life around.

Lukerya’s dreams carry a special semantic and figurative load. The first dream in which she heard the call became the cause of her illness. Her last dream, in which Death predicts the time of her death, comes true. One must think that the other dreams are also true, in which Jesus takes her to the Kingdom of Heaven and her parents thank her for her prayers.

• “Living Relics”, a summary of Turgenev’s story
• “Fathers and Sons”, a summary of the chapters of Turgenev’s novel