What to do if a person constantly washes his hands. Neurosis of obsessive movements, or why does a person often wash his hands? What does it mean for a person to wash their hands frequently?

"Hunter's Notes - Living Relics"

Land of native long-suffering -

The land of the Russian people!

A French proverb says: "A dry fisherman and a wet hunter look sad." Having never had a taste for fishing, I cannot judge what a fisherman experiences in good, clear weather, and how much, in inclement times, the pleasure given to him by plentiful prey outweighs the unpleasantness of being wet. But for a hunter, rain is a real disaster. Yermolai and I were subjected to just such a disaster on one of our trips for black grouse to Belevsky district. The rain hasn't stopped since early morning. We didn't do anything to get rid of him! And rubber raincoats were put on almost to the very head, and they stood under the 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 - for sure, at first, as if it didn’t drip, but then suddenly the moisture accumulated in the foliage broke through, each branch doused us like from a rain pipe, a cold trickle climbed under the tie and flowed along the spine ... And already this is the last thing, as Yermolai put it.

No, Pyotr Petrovich," he exclaimed at last, "it's impossible that way!.. You can't hunt today. Fills the dogs with stuff; guns fail... Ugh! A task!

What to do? I asked.

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

Shall we return here?

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

I didn’t 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 confess, I had not suspected until then. At this farmstead there turned out to be an outbuilding, very dilapidated, but uninhabited and therefore clean; I spent a rather 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 young morning rays and yesterday's downpour. While they were laying the bugle for me, I went to wander around a small, once fruity, 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 poured! On their wings, they probably carried away drops of dew, and their songs seemed to be watered with dew. I even took off my hat from my head and breathed joyfully - with all my chest ... On the slope of a shallow ravine, near the wattle fence, one could see an apiary; a narrow path led to it, meandering like a snake between solid walls of weeds and nettles, over which rose, God knows where, the pointed stalks of dark green hemp were carried.

I went down this path; reached the apiary. Next to it stood a wicker shed, the so-called amshanik, where they put hives for the winter. I peered through the half-open door: dark, quiet, dry; smells like mint, lemon balm. A scaffolding was fitted in the corner, and on them, covered with a blanket, some small figure... I was about to go away...

Barin, and barin! Peter Petrovich! - I heard a voice, weak, slow and hoarse, like the rustle of marsh sedge.

I stopped.

Peter Petrovich! Come here please! repeated the voice.

It came to me from the corner from those scaffolds I noticed.

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

The head is completely dried up, one-color, bronze - for granted or take an icon of an old letter; the nose is narrow, like a knife blade; the lips are almost invisible - only the teeth and eyes turn white, and thin strands of yellow hair are knocked out from under the scarf onto the forehead. At the chin, in the fold of the blanket, they move, slowly fingering like chopsticks, two tiny hands are also bronze in color. I peer 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 on it, on its metal cheeks, I see - it is struggling ... a smile is trying and cannot be blurred.

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

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

I, yes, sir, I am. I am Lukerya.

I didn't know what to say, and looked in a dazed way at that dark, motionless face with its bright, dead eyes fixed on me. Is it possible to? This mummy is Lukerya, the first beauty in our entire household, tall, plump, white, ruddy, laughter, dancer, songbird! Lukerya, clever Lukerya, who was courted by all our young guys, for whom I myself secretly sighed, I am a sixteen-year-old boy!

Have mercy, Lukerya," I said at last, "what happened to you?

And such a disaster struck! Do not disdain, barii, do not disdain my misfortune - sit down on the tub, closer, otherwise you will not hear me ... look how loud I have become! .. Well, I’m really glad that I saw you! How did you get to Alekseevka?

Lukerya spoke very softly and weakly, but without stopping.

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

Tell me about my misfortune? Excuse me, sir. It happened to me a long time ago, six or seven years. I had just been engaged then to Vasily Polyakov - remember, he was such a stately person, curly-haired, he also served as a barmaid with your mother? Yes, you were not in the village then; went to Moscow to study. Vasily and I fell in love very much; he never left my head; and it was in the spring. One time at night ... it’s not far to dawn ... but I can’t sleep: the nightingale in the garden sings with such amazing sweetness! .. I could not stand it, got up and went out onto the porch to listen to him. It floods, floods ... and suddenly it seemed to me: someone is calling me in Vasya's voice, quietly like this: "Lusha! .." I look to the side, yes, I know, I stumbled awake, so right from the locker and flew down - yes bang on the ground! And, it seems, I didn’t hurt much, because I soon got up and returned to my room. Only as if something inside me - in the womb - was torn ... Let me take a breath ... for a minute ... master.

Lukerya fell silent, and I looked at her in amazement. Actually, what amazed me was that she led her story almost cheerfully, without oohs and sighs, without complaining at all and without asking for participation.

Ever since that incident,” continued Lukerya, “I began to wither, wither away; blackness found on me; it became difficult for me to walk, and there already - and full control of 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 the doctors, and sent me to the hospital. However, there was no relief for me. And not a single doctor could even say what kind of illness I had for this. What they just didn’t do to me: they burned my back with red-hot iron, put me in crushed ice - and that’s all. I completely ossified in the end ... So the gentlemen decided that there was nothing more to treat me, and it was incapable of keeping cripples in a manor house ... well, they sent me here - that's why I have relatives here. Here I live, as you can see.

Lukerya fell silent again and again increased her smile.

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

Lukerya averted her eyes a little.

What is Polyakov? He grieve, grieve - and he married another, a girl from Glinny. Do you know Glinnoe? Not far from us. Her name was Agrafena. He loved me very much, but he is a young man - he cannot remain single. And what kind of friend could I be to him? And he found himself a good, kind wife, and they have children. He lives here with a neighbor as a clerk: your mother let him go on a parcel-port, and, thank God, he is doing very well.

And so you lie and lie? I asked again.

And so I lie, gentleman, the seventh year. In the summer, I lie here, in this wicker, and when it gets cold, they will transfer me to the dressing room. I'm lying there.

Who is following you? Who is watching?

And there are good people here too. They don't leave me. Yes, and a little walk behind me. There is something to read that I don’t eat anything, but water - it’s water in a mug: there is always stored, clean, spring water. I can reach the mug myself: one hand can still work with me. Well, there is a girl here, an orphan; no, no - yes, and she will visit, thanks to her. She was here just now... You didn't meet her? Pretty, white. She brings me flowers; I am a big hunter for them, for flowers. We don’t have Sadovs, they were, but they disappeared. But wild flowers are good too, they smell even better than garden flowers. At least a lily of the valley ... what a nicer place!

And aren't you bored, aren't you terrified, 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, got used to it - nothing; others are even worse.

This is how?

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 that. And I can smell any smell, the weakest one! Buckwheat in the field will bloom or linden in the garden - I don’t even need to say: I’m the first to hear now. If only the breeze pulled from there. No, why anger God? - many are worse than mine. At least take it: another healthy person can sin very easily; and sin itself departed from me. The other day, Father Alexei, the priest, began to give me communion, and he said: “You, they say, have nothing to confess: can you sin in your state?” But I answered him: "What about mental sin, father?" “Well,” he says, but laughs himself, “this is not a great sin.”

Yes, I must be, and this very, mental sin is not painfully sinful, ”continued Lukerya,“ therefore I taught myself this way: not to think, and even more so, not to remember. Time passes quickly.

I confess I was surprised.

You are all alone and alone, Lukerya; how can you prevent thoughts from entering your head? Or are you all asleep?

Oh no, sir! I can't always sleep. Although I don’t have big pains, but I have an aching there, in the very inside, and in the bones too; doesn't let you sleep properly. No ... and so I lie to myself, I lie, I lie down - and I don’t think; I feel that I am alive, I breathe - and all I am here. I watch, I listen. The bees in the apiary are buzzing and buzzing; a dove will sit on the roof and coo; a mother hen will come in with chickens to peck crumbs; otherwise a sparrow or a butterfly will fly in - I am 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 fun it was! One will fly in, fall to the nest, feed the children - and out. You look - another one is to replace it. Sometimes it doesn’t fly in, it just rushes past the open door, and the children immediately - well, squeak and open their beaks ... I waited for them the next year, but, they say, one local hunter shot them with a gun. And what did he take advantage of? All of it, a swallow, is no more than a beetle ... What you, gentlemen, hunters, are evil!

I don't shoot swallows, I hastened to notice.

And then once, - Lukerya began again, - that was laughter! The hare ran, right! The dogs, or something, were chasing him, only he would roll right through the door! .. He sat down close by and sat for a long time, kept moving his nose and tugging at his mustache - a real officer! And looked at me. I understand that I am not afraid of him. Finally he got up, jumped, jumped to the door, looked back at the threshold - and he was like that! Such a funny one!

Lukerya looked at me... well, isn't that funny? I laughed to please her. She bit her dry lips.

Well, in winter, of course, it’s worse for me: because it’s dark; It’s a pity to light a candle, and why? At least I know how to read and write, and I was always eager to read, but what to read? There are no books here, but even if there were, how am I going to hold her, a book? Father Alexei brought me a calendar to distract me; yes, he sees that there is no use, he took it and took it away again. However, although it is dark, there is something to listen to: a cricket will crackle, or a mouse where it will scratch. Here's something good: do not think!

And then I read prayers, ”Lukerya continued, after resting a little. - Only a little I know them, these same prayers. And what am I going to bore God with? What can I ask him? He knows better than me what I need. He sent me a cross - it means he loves me. This is how we are told to understand it. I will read "Our Father", "Theotokos", an akathist "To All Who Sorrow" - and again I lie down for myself without any thought. And nothing!

Two minutes passed. I did not break the silence and did not move on the narrow tub that served me as a seat. The cruel, stony immobility of the living, unfortunate creature lying before me communicated itself to me: I, too, seemed to be numb.

Listen, Lukerya, I began at last. - Listen, I'll make you an offer. Do you want me to arrange for you to be transported to a hospital, to a good city hospital? Who knows, maybe you will still be cured? Anyway, you won't be alone...

Lukerya slightly moved her eyebrows.

Oh, no, sir," she said in an anxious whisper, "don't take me to the hospital, don't touch me. I'll just take more flour there. Where can I be treated! .. That's how the doctor came here once; wanted to look at me. I ask him: "Do not disturb me, for Christ's sake." Where! began to turn me over, kneaded my arms, legs, stretched; says: “I do this for learning; that’s why I’m a servant, a scientist! And you, he says, can’t resist me, because I’ve been given an order around my neck for my labors, and I’m trying for you, fools.” He slowed me down, shook me up, told me my illness - it's so tricky - and with that he left. And then for a whole week all my bones ached. You say: I am alone, always alone. No not always. They go to me. I am quiet - do not interfere. Peasant girls will come in and chat; the wanderer will wander, will begin to talk about Jerusalem, about Kyiv, about the holy cities. Yes, I'm not afraid to be alone. Even better, she-she!.. Master, don't touch me, don't take me to the hospital... Thank you, you are kind, just don't touch me, my dear.

Well, as you wish, as you wish, Lukerya. I thought for your own good...

I know, sir, that for my benefit. Yes, sir, dear, who else can help? Who will enter his soul? Help yourself man! You won’t believe it - but sometimes I lie like that alone ... and it’s as if there is no one in the whole world but me. I'm the only one alive! And it seems to me that something will dawn on me ... Reflection will take me - even surprisingly.

What are you thinking about then, Lukerya?

This, sir, is also impossible to say: you can’t explain it. Yes, and then it is forgotten. It will come, as if like a cloud, it will spill, it will be so fresh, it will become good, but you won’t understand what it was! I just think; if there were people around me, none of this would have happened, and I would not have felt anything, except for my misfortune.

Lukerya sighed with difficulty. The chest did not obey her - just like the rest of the members.

When I look at you, sir," she began again, "you feel very sorry for me. Don't feel sorry for me too much, right! For example, I’ll tell you something: I sometimes even now ... You remember how cheerful I was in my time? Fight girl! .. so you know what? I still sing songs.

Songs?.. You?

Yes, songs, old songs, round dances, subservient, Christmas, all sorts! I knew a lot of them and have not forgotten. Only now I don’t sing dance songs. It doesn't work for my current position.

How do you sing them... to yourself?

Both about myself and with my voice. I can’t speak loudly, but I can understand everything. So I told you - the girl goes to me. An orphan means understanding. So I learned it; She has already taken over four songs from me. Al don't believe? Wait, now I'm...

Lukerya gathered her courage... The thought that this half-dead creature was preparing to sing aroused in me an involuntary horror. But before I could utter a word, a long, barely audible, but pure and true sound trembled in my ears ... followed by another, third. "In the puddles" sang Lukerya. She sang without changing the expression of her petrified face, even staring at her eyes. But this poor voice rang so touchingly, amplified, like a wisp of smoke, hesitating voice, so I wanted to pour out my whole soul to her ... It was no longer horror that I felt: unspeakable pity squeezed my heart.

Oh, I can't! she suddenly said, “there is not enough power... I was very glad to see you.

She closed her eyes.

I put my hand on her tiny cold fingers ... She looked at me - and her dark eyelids, covered with golden eyelashes, like those of ancient statues, closed again. A moment later, they shone in the semi-darkness ... A tear moistened them.

I still didn't move.

What am I! Lukerya suddenly spoke with unexpected force, and opening her eyes wide, she tried to blink away a tear from them. - Aren't you ashamed? What am I? This has not happened to me for a long time ... since the day Vasya Polyakov visited me last spring. While he was sitting with me and talking - well, nothing; and how he left - I cried alone! Where did it come from! .. Why, our sister's tears are not bought. Master,” added Lukerya, “tea, you have a handkerchief... Do not disdain, wipe my eyes.

I hurried to fulfill her desire - and left her a handkerchief. At first she refused ... why, they say, such a gift to me? The scarf was very simple, but clean and white. Then she grabbed him with her weak fingers and did not open them any more. Accustomed to the darkness in which we were both, I could clearly distinguish her features, I could even see the subtle blush that appeared through the bronze of her face, I could discover in this face - at least it seemed to me - traces of its experienced beauty.

So you, master, asked me, - Lukerya spoke again, - am I sleeping? I sleep, for sure, rarely, but every time I see dreams - good dreams! I never see myself sick: I’m always so healthy and young in my sleep ... One grief: I wake up - I want to stretch well - but I’m all chained up. Once I had a wonderful dream! Do you want me to tell you?.. Well, listen. I see that I am standing in a field, and all around is rye, so tall, ripe, like gold! .. And as if with me a red-haired dog, angry, despising - everything wants to bite me. And it’s as if I have a sickle in my hands, and not a simple sickle, but the moon as it is, that’s when it looks like a sickle. And this very month I must compress this very rye clean. Only the heat made me very tired, and the month blinds me, and laziness found me; and cornflowers grow all around, so big! And everyone turned their heads to me. And I think: I will pick these cornflowers; Vasya promised to come - and so I first made myself a wreath; I still have time to reap. I begin to tear cornflowers, and they melt between my fingers and melt, no matter what! And I can’t make myself a wreath. Meanwhile, I hear - someone is already coming towards me, close like that, and calling: Lusha! Lusha!.. Oh, I think it's a problem - I didn't have time! All the same, I will put this month on my head instead of cornflowers. I put it on for a month, exactly like a kokoshnik, and so now I myself have shone all over, illuminated the whole field around. Look - along the very tops of the ears it rolls towards me quickly - only not Vasya, but Christ himself! And why I found out that this is Christ, I can’t say - they don’t write him like that, but only he! Beardless, tall, young, all in white, - only a golden belt - and holds out a pen to me. "Do not be afraid, she says, my bride is dressed up, follow me; you will lead round dances in my kingdom of heaven and play songs of paradise." And I will cling to his pen! My dog is now me by the legs ... but then we soared! He is ahead ... His wings unfolded all over the sky, long, like those of a seagull - and I am behind him! And the dog must stay away from me. It was only then that I realized that this dog was my illness and that there would be no place for it in the kingdom of heaven.

Lukerya was silent for a minute.

And then I also saw a dream, - she began again, - or maybe it was a vision for me - I don’t know. It seemed to me that I was lying in this very wicker and my dead parents - father and mother - came to me and bowed low to me, but they themselves did not say anything. And I ask them: why are you, father and mother, bowing to me? And then, they say, that since you suffer a lot in this world, you not only relieved your darling, but also removed a great craving from us. And we have become much more capable in the next world. You have already done away with your sins; now you conquer our sins. And having said this, my parents again bowed to me - and they were not visible: only the walls were visible. I doubted very much later that this was the case with me. I even told my father in spirit. Only he believes that it was not a vision, because visions happen to one spiritual rank.

And then here’s another dream I had, ”Lukerya continued. - I knit that I am sitting that way, as if on a high road under a willow, I hold a planed stick, a knapsack behind my shoulders and my head is wrapped in a scarf - how is a wanderer! And go to me somewhere far, far away on a pilgrimage. And all the wanderers pass by me; they walk quietly, as if reluctantly, all in one direction; everyone's faces are dull and everyone is very similar to each other. And I see: one woman is twisting and rushing between them, her whole head higher than the others, and her dress is special, as if not ours, not Russian. And the face is also special, lean face, strict. And as if everyone else shuns her; and she suddenly twirl - yes right to me. Stopped and looks; and her eyes, like those of a falcon, are yellow, large and bright, very bright. And I ask her: "Who are you?" And she says to me: "I am your death." To scare me, but on the contrary, I’m glad, glad, I’m baptized! And that woman, my death, says to me: "I'm sorry for you, Lukerya, but I can't take you with me. Farewell!" 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 appoints my hour for me, but it’s not clear, implicitly ... After, they say, petrovkas ... With this I woke up ... I have amazing dreams!

Lukerya raised her eyes upward... thoughtfully...

Only here is my misfortune: it happens that a whole week will pass, and I will not fall asleep even once. Last year, the lady was passing alone, saw me, and gave me a bottle of medicine against insomnia; I ordered to take ten drops. It helped me a lot, and I slept; only now that bottle has been drunk for a long time ... Do you know what kind of medicine it was and how to get it?

A passing lady evidently gave Lukerya opium. I promised to deliver such a bottle to her, and again I could not help but wonder aloud at her patience.

Eh, sir! she objected. - What are you? What is patience? Here Simeon the Stylite had great patience: he stood on a pillar for thirty years! And another saint ordered to bury himself in the ground up to the very chest, and the ants ate his face ... And then another one told me: there was a certain country, and that country was conquered by the Agarians, and they tortured and killed all the inhabitants-lions; and no matter what the inhabitants did, they could not free themselves. And appear here among those inhabitants, holy virgin; she took a great sword, put on armor two pounds, went to the Hagarites and drove them all across the sea. And only having driven them away, he says to them: "Now you burn me, because such was my promise, so that I would die a fiery death for my people." And the Agarites took it and burned it, and the people from that time were freed forever! Here is a feat! What am I!

I wondered to myself, where and in what form did the legend of John d "Arc go, and, after a pause, asked Lukerya: how old is she?

Twenty-eight... or nine... There won't be thirty. Why count them, years! I'll tell you one more thing...

Lukerya suddenly coughed in a dull way, groaned...

You talk a lot, I remarked to her, it might hurt you.

True, - she whispered barely audibly, - our conversation is over; yes, wherever you go! Now, when you leave, I'll keep silent to my heart's content. At the very 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 am satisfied with everything, thank God, - with the greatest effort, but with tenderness she said. - God bless everyone! But you, sir, should persuade your mother - the local poor peasants - if only she would reduce the dues from them a little! They don’t have enough land, they didn’t please ... They would have prayed 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.

Do you remember, master, - she said, and something wonderful flashed in her eyes and on her lips, - what a braid I had? Remember - to the very knees! I did not dare for a long time ... Such hair! .. But where was it to be combed? In my position! .. So I cut them off ... Yes ... Well, excuse me, gentleman! I can not anymore...

On the same day, before going hunting, I had a conversation about Lukerya with the tenant of the farm. I learned from him that in the village she was nicknamed "Living Relics", that, however, no anxiety can be seen from her; not to hear a murmur from her, nor complaints. “She herself does not demand anything, but on the contrary, she is grateful for everything; a quiet woman, as there is a quiet woman, so to speak. Killed by God,” the tenth concluded, “so, for sins; but we do not enter into this. 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 petrovki". It was said that on the very day of her death she kept hearing the bell ringing, although from Alekseevka to the church they count more than five miles and it was an everyday day. However, Lukerya said that the ringing did not come from the church, but "from above." Probably she did not dare to say: from the sky.

Ivan Turgenev - Notes of a hunter - Living relics, read text

See also Turgenev Ivan - Prose (stories, poems, novels ...):

Hunter's Notes - Kasyan with Beautiful Swords
I was returning from a hunt in a shaking cart and, overwhelmed by the stifling heat, l...

Hunter's Notes - Chertophanov's End
I About two years after my visit, Pantelei Yeremeitch began...

living relics

First published: Skladchina. Literary collection, compiled from the works of Russian writers in favor of the victims of famine in the Samara province. SPb., 1874, p. 65-79 (published date: March 28, 1874). Signature: Iv. Turgenev. The story was accompanied by the subtitle “An excerpt from the Hunter’s Notes” and the following footnote (in a letter to Ya. P. Polonsky dated December 18 (30), 1873, Turgenev called it a “small preface”):

“This story was received by Ya. P. Polonsky, for transfer to the collection, with the following letter from I. S. Turgenev:

Dear Yakov Petrovich! Wishing to contribute to the Skladchina, and having nothing ready, I began to rummage through my old papers and found the enclosed excerpt from the Hunter's Notes, which I ask you to forward to the property. — Twenty-two of them were printed, but about thirty were prepared. Other essays were left unfinished for fear that the censors would not let them pass; others - because they seemed to me not quite interesting or not going to the point. Among the latter is a sketch entitled "Living Relics". “Of course, it would be more pleasant for me to send something more significant; but the richer, the more glad. And besides, the reference to the "long-suffering" of our people, perhaps, is not entirely out of place in a publication like Skladchina.

By the way, let me tell you an anecdote that also relates to the time of famine in Russia. In 1841, as is known, Tula and the provinces adjacent to it almost completely died out. A few years later, while traveling with a friend through this very Tula province, we stopped at a village tavern and began to drink tea. My comrade began to tell I don’t remember what incident from his life and mentioned a man who was dying of hunger and “thin as a skeleton.” “Allow me, sir, to report,” the old owner, who was present at our conversation, intervened, “from hunger they do not lose weight, but swell.” - "How so?" - "Yes, just the same, sir; a person swells, swells all over like a bottle (such an apple happens). Here we are in 1841, all plump walked. - "BUT! in 1841! I picked up. “Was it a terrible time?” “Yes, father, it was terrible.” - "So what? I asked, “Were there riots, robberies then?” “What kind of riots, father? said the old man in astonishment. “You’ve already been punished by God, but then you’re still going to sin?”

It seems to me that helping such a people when misfortune befalls them is the sacred duty of each of us. - Accept, etc.

Ivan Turgenev.

The story “Living Powers” was included in the cycle “Notes of a Hunter” for the first time in ZO 1874, With. 494-508. At the same time, the subtitle of the first publication was dropped; a lengthy footnote was replaced by a brief indication: “Sketches of two excerpts from the Hunter’s Notes:“ Living Powers ”and“ Knocking ! ”- were found by the author in his draft papers in 1874 and then added, one for“ Skladchiny ”, the other for an upcoming edition. They were not included in the first collection of the Hunter's Notes for the reason that they were not directly related to the main idea that guided the author at that time.

Despite the fact that this footnote is signed “Note of ed.<ателя>", his belonging to Turgenev is proved by an almost verbatim coincidence of the text ZO 1874 with lines sketched by Turgenev on the title page of the draft autograph of the story “Knocking!” (Bible Nat; photocopy - IRLI, R. I, op. 29, unit ridge 170).

Two autographs of the story have been preserved - a draft and a white one. (Bible Nat, photocopies - IRLI). A brief description of them was first given by A. Mazon (Mazon, p. 85-86).

The draft autograph of the story contains its full text and a preface to the story. Differences from the first printed edition are in some places in the nature of the presentation and in multi-layered stylistic editing. The date stamped on the title page is "Paris. Rue de Douai. 48. Jan<арь>1874, "- indicates the time of writing the story (according to the old style - from the twentieth of December 1873). At the end of the autograph is the date: "8 / 20 Jan<аря>1874. 5 p.m.<о>P<олудни>».

The white autograph contains only the text of the story (without a letter to Ya. P. Polonsky), which is close to the final layer of the draft autograph and differs from it by an additional stylistic correction. In addition, an epigraph appeared in the white autograph and Lukerya's story about her dream was expanded, subsequently crossed out by Turgenev (see the "Variants" section in the ed.: T, PSS and P, Works, vol. IV, p. 455). There is no date in the white autograph.

An authorized copy of the story has also been preserved, which served as the original set for "Packing" (IRLI, 4976, XXVI b. 68). The title and text of the preface (letter to Ya. P. Polonsky) are written by Turgenev. The text of the story is a copy with separate author's amendments. Handwritten by Turgenev: Iv. Turgenev.

In this edition in the text ZO 1880 the words: “full and feet” (329, 19) are corrected to “and full of feet” according to a white autograph.

The time of the origin of the idea of the story is determined only approximately. Turgenev himself, in the preface to the first publication cited above, calls Living Powers a "fragment" and a "sketch" found "in old papers." In a letter to P. V. Annenkov dated January 19 (31), 1874, he also says that he used to write the story "a surviving sketch and fooled him." In a footnote in ZO 1874 Turgenev explains the reason why "Living Powers" and "Knocks!" were not included in the first edition of the "Notes of a Hunter" - therefore, it refers the idea of these stories to the time before 1852. The idea of "Living Relics" and Turgenev's letter to L. Peach dated April 10 (22), 1874 can be attributed to the initial period of the cycle. ., in which he calls everything told in Living Relics "a true incident." Indeed, in some parts of the story, autobiographical elements appear. The action of the story takes place in Alekseevka, one of the possessions of V.P. Turgeneva. “You may not know - there is such a farm, it belongs to your mother ...” - explains Yermolai (p. 326). “I am Lukerya…” says the heroine of the story. “Remember that round dances at your mother’s in Spassky drove ...”; “It happened to me a long time ago, six or seven years<…>Yes, you were not in the village then; to Moscow, they left to study” (p. 328). Obviously, Turgenev's meeting with Claudia (this is the real name of the heroine of the story - see the indicated letter to L. Peach) really took place in the first half of the 40s, and the idea of the story, which arose under the influence of this meeting, took shape in the late 40s - early 50s, at the time of the design of the cycle. The assumption that the prototype of Lukerya was the “crippled Eupraxia”, once a beauty with whom the seventeen-year-old Turgenev was close (see his letters to N. A. Kishinsky dated October 9 (21), 1867 and May 7 (19), 1868, as well as the article by A. I. Poniatovsky "Turgenev and the Lobanov family" - T sat, issue 1, p. 274-275).

Turgenev returned to the old plan at the end of 1873, when he received an offer to participate in the collection in favor of the peasants who suffered from famine in the Samara province. On December 18 (30), 1873, he wrote to Ya. P. Polonsky: “We'll have to dig through old papers. I have one unfinished excerpt from the "Notes of a Hunter" - is it to be sent? It is very short and almost bad, but goes to the point, because it displays an example of Russian long-suffering. Apparently, from January (N.S.) the writing of the story began, which was completed in draft on January 8 (20), 1874.

Ten days later, a white edition of the story was ready and, apparently, a copy was made of it by the same time: on January 19 (31), 1874, Turgenev sent the manuscript to P. V. Annenkov with a request to read it and immediately return it, expressing his opinion. Annenkov's letter on this matter is unknown, but the meaning of his advice is clear from Turgenev's response letter. Informing Annenkov on January 26 (February 7), 1874, that the manuscript he had returned "has already been sent to St. Petersburg," Turgenev further wrote: "As soon as I read that part of your letter in which you express doubts about one but I thought: it is he who speaks de la tartine sur l'émancipation<по поводу тирады об освобождении>- so it turned out - and the result was that the aforementioned passenger immediately flew out. So Lukerya's story about a dream in which she saw herself as the intercessor of the people was crossed out by Turgenev both in a white autograph and in an authorized copy.

The following, already insignificant, changes were made, at the request of Turgenev, at the moment when the authorized copy was in the editorial office of Skladchina: in the text of the story, at the suggestion of Ya. ” was: “mental, clever sin” - see p. 330, line 41) and in the preface the words “not even begun” after “and having nothing ready” (quoted above, p. 511; see also letter Turgenev to Ya. P. Polonsky dated February 5 (17), 1874).

Reviews of the story in the Russian press were contradictory, due to different attitudes, mainly to the motive of "long-suffering". Mikhailovsky, an active participant in the democratic struggle in those years, did not evoke sympathy for the poeticization of the “long-suffering” of the Russian people. Analyzing the contents of "Skladchiny" in "Literary and Journal Notes", he assessed the story as the writer's appeal back, "to the past" (Father Zap, 1874, No. 4, p. 408-409). As a weak story, and, moreover, with some "false notes", N. V. Shelgunov assessed "Living Powers" (Case, 1874, No. 4, section "Modern Review", p. 63); at the same time, Shelgunov emphasized that, as before, deep humanity constitutes "the structure of the whole soul of Mr. Turgenev."

In contrast to Mikhailovsky and Shelgunov, B. M. Markevich credited Turgenev with the portrayal of the Russian character, representing “a sharp contrast with those countless types protest and denial, which were almost exclusively created by our literature for a whole quarter of a century ”(M. Three last works of Mr. Turgenev. - P.B. 1874, No. 5, p. 386).

The Living Relics, immediately after the publication of their translation in the Temps, were highly acclaimed in French literary circles. On April 4 (16), 1874, Turgenev wrote to Annenkov: “It turns out that Living Powers received great preference both in Russia and here: I received laudatory statements from various people, and from J. Sand even something that I can repeat scary: Tous nous devons aller à l'école chez vous.<Все мы должны пройти у Вас школу>…” This review by J. Sand was not only a sign of the French writer’s admiration for the high skill of the author of “Living Relics”; Turgenev, with his humanism and constant attention to the life of the people, also appeared ideological teacher for leading French writers who experienced a spiritual crisis after the suppression of the Paris Commune (for more details see: Alekseev M. P. World significance of the "Notes of a Hunter". - In the collection: Creativity of I. S. Turgenev. M., 1959, p. 102). Answering J. Sand on April 3 (15), 1874, Turgenev wrote about his original intention to dedicate a story to her.

A laudatory review was also received by Turgenev from I. Ten. On March 30 (April 11), 1874, Turgenev informed P. V. Annenkov: “The translation of Living Relics appeared in Temps - and Taine wrote me an enthusiastic letter about this!!!” Ten wrote to Turgenev: “...what a masterpiece!<…>What a lesson for us, and what freshness, what depth, what purity! How it makes clear to us that our sources have dried up! Marble quarries, where there is nothing but puddles of stagnant water, and next to it is an inexhaustible full-flowing stream. What a pity for us that you are not French!<…>I have read Lukerya three times in a row" (A. Zvigilsky. Les écrivains français d'apres leur correspondance inédite avec Ivan Tourgueniev. - In: "Cahiers. Ivan Tourgueniev. Pauline Viardot. Maria Malibran, No. 1, Octobre 1977, p. 23; here is a review by J. Sand). He also gave an assessment of the story “Living Relics” in the book “The Old Order”: “As for modern literary works, the state of the medieval believing soul is superbly depicted<… > Turgenev in Living Relics” (see: Taine H. Les origines de la France contemporaine. T. I. L’ancien régime. 2 ed. Paris, 1876, p. 7-8).

The land of native long-suffering ...- Lines from the poem by F. I. Tyutchev "These poor villages ..." (1857).

... "A dry fisherman and a wet hunter show a sad look."- This saying was not included in the main collections of French proverbs and sayings. In the French translation of The Hunter's Notes, ed. A. Mongo it is translated as follows: "Pêcheur à sec, chasseur mouillé ont également piteuse mine" and left without comment ( Tourgueniev Ivan. Memoires d'un chasseur. (Zapiski okhotnika). 1852. Traduits du russe avec une introduction et des notes par Henri Mongault. Second volume. Paris, 1929, p. 570).

"In the puddles" sang Lukerya.- Two songs are known with such an intro: “I walked in the puddles, mumbled in the green mountains” and “In the puddles, in the puddles, still in the puddles, green puddles” (Lvov-Prach, No. 4, p. 27-28; No. 14, p. 37-38). Turgenev probably had the first of them in mind: although both songs are classified in the collection as “dancing or fast”, “I walked in the puddles, bellowed in green mountains” differs from the second, typically round dance song, in a smoother, drawn-out tune, less at a fast pace; its content is also more in line with Lukerya's mood.

After, they say, Petrovka ...- Petrovka - the Orthodox fast preceding the day of the apostles Peter and Paul - June 29 (old style).

Here Simeon the Stylite had great patience...- The translated life of Simeon the Stylite has been known in Russia since the 13th century. and was part of the prologues, cheti-menyas and many manuscripts.

And another saint ordered himself to be buried in the ground ...- Obviously, this refers to the story of the "long-suffering John the Recluse" about his struggle with temptations, which was included in the "Kiev-Pechersk Patericon".

And then another teller told me...- The Russian folk version of the legend of Joan of Arc could be based on a free retelling of the dramatic poem by V. A. Zhukovsky "The Maid of Orleans" (1821) or one of the popular biographies like the repeatedly reprinted collection: Plutarch for the Fair Sex, or Lives of the Great and Glorious wives of all nations, ancient and modern times. Op. G. Blanchard and Propiak.<Пер. Ф. Глинки>. M., 1816. Part I, p. 116-153. About the sources of the legend on Russian soil and its connection with the Russian hagiographic tradition, see the article by N. F. Drobenkova ““Living Powers”. Hagiographic tradition and "legend" about Joan of Arc in Turgenev's story. — T sat, issue 5, p. 289-302.

127. The convergence of this idea with the name "Mad" in Program X devoid of credibility, in view of the obvious inconsistency of this name with the content of "Living Relics" (see: Clement, Programs, With. 123).

Abstract

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

Naturalistic descriptions of the life of pre-reform Russia in the "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 backdrop for almost every story. Poetry and prose, light and shadows are intertwined here in unique, bizarre images.

Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev

Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev

LIVING POWERS

Land of native long-suffering -

The land of the Russian people!

No, Pyotr Petrovich," he exclaimed at last, "it's impossible that way!.. You can't hunt today. Fills the dogs with stuff; guns fail... Ugh! A task!

What to do? I asked.

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

Shall we return here?

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

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 young morning rays and yesterday's downpour. While they were laying the bugle for me, I went to wander around a small, once fruity, 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 poured! On their wings, they probably carried away drops of dew, and their songs seemed to be watered with dew. I even took off my hat from my head and breathed joyfully - with my whole chest ... On the slope of a shallow ravine, near the wattle fence, one could see an apiary; a narrow path led to it, meandering like a snake between solid walls of weeds and nettles, over which rose, God knows where, the pointed stalks of dark green hemp were carried.

Barin, and barin! Peter Petrovich! - I heard a voice, weak, slow and hoarse, like the rustle of marsh sedge.

I stopped.

Peter Petrovich! Come here please! repeated the voice.

It came to me from the corner from those scaffolds I noticed.

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

You don't recognize me, sir? whispered the voice again; it seemed to evaporate from barely moving lips. - Yes, and where to find out! I'm Lukerya... Remember that round dances at your mother's in Spassky led... remember, I was still the leader?

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

I, yes, sir, I am. I am Lukerya.

Have mercy, Lukerya," I said at last, "what happened to you?

And such a disaster struck! Don’t disdain, barii, don’t disdain my misfortune - sit down on the tub, closer, otherwise you won’t hear me ... see how vociferous I have become! .. Well, I’m already glad that I saw you! How did you get to Alekseevka?

Lukerya spoke very softly and weakly, but without stopping.

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

Tell me about my misfortune? Excuse me, sir. It happened to me a long time ago, six or seven years. I had just been engaged then to Vasily Polyakov - remember, he was such a stately person, curly-haired, he also served as a barmaid with your mother? Yes, you were not in the village then; went to Moscow to study. Vasily and I fell in love very much; he never left my head; and it was in the spring. One time at 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 floods, floods ... and suddenly it seemed to me: someone was calling me in Vasya's voice, quietly like this: "Lusha! .." clap! And, it seems, I didn’t hurt much, because I soon got up and returned to my room. Only as if something inside me - in the womb - was torn ... Let me take a breath ... for a minute ... master.

Ever since that incident,” continued Lukerya, “I began to wither, wither away; blackness found on me; it became difficult for me to walk, and there already - and full control of 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 the doctors, and sent me to the hospital. However, there was no relief for me. And not a single doctor could even say what kind of illness I had for this. What they just didn’t do to me: they burned my back with red-hot iron, put me in crushed ice - and that’s all. I completely ossified in the end ... So the gentlemen decided that there was nothing more to treat me, and it was incapable of keeping cripples in a manor house ... well, they sent me here - because I have relatives here. Here I live, as you can see.

Lukerya fell silent again and again increased her smile.

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

Lukerya averted her eyes a little.

And so you lie and lie? I asked again.

And so I lie, gentleman, the seventh year. In the summer, I lie here, in this wicker, and when it gets cold, they will transfer me to the dressing room. I'm lying there.

Who is following you? Who is watching?

And there are good people here too. They don't leave me. Yes, and a little walk behind me. There is something to read that I don’t eat anything, but water - it’s water in a mug: there is always stored, clean, spring water. I can reach the mug myself: one hand can still work with me. Well, there is a girl here, an orphan; no, no - yes, and she will visit, thanks to her. Now she was here ... You didn’t meet her? Pretty, white. She brings me flowers; I am a big hunter for them, for flowers. We don’t have Sadovs, they were, but they disappeared. But wild flowers are good too, they smell even better than gardens...