Very briefly The cycle reveals all the charm and beauty of Italy, the customs of the southerners, tells about the labor movement at the beginning of the twentieth century and extraordinary life stories.
The epigraph to the cycle is a quote by G. H. Andersen: "There are no fairy tales better than those that life itself creates."
I
“In Naples, tram workers went on strike: a chain of empty cars stretched along the entire length of the Chiaia Riviera.” Soldiers appear and a man in a top hat threatens the striking conductors and carriage drivers. Then the protesters lie down on the rails. People on the streets follow their example and support them.
“Half an hour later, all over Naples, tram cars rushed with a screech and creak, winners stood on the platforms, grinning merrily.”
II
“In Genoa, on a small square in front of the station, a dense crowd of people gathered - workers predominate, but many well-dressed, well-fed people.” Everyone is waiting for the arrival of the hungry children of the Parma strikers. The owners do not give in, it is difficult for the workers, and they send the children here. The children are greeted with the Garibaldi anthem.
"Almost all the children are snatched up, they sit on the shoulders of adults." They are fed on the go, the children rejoice, the crowd rejoices, glorifies Italy and socialism.
III
“The city is festively bright and colorful, like a richly embroidered chasuble of a priest; in his passionate cries, trembling and groans, the singing of life sounds liturgically. People on the sidewalk getting ready for dinner. An old man with a long parrot nose sees drops of wine dripping from the fiasca carried by the boy, like rubies, and shouts to him about it. The old man pours this wine, and a curly-haired girl passing by with her mother throws flower petals into the bowl, and they float, “like pink boats.” The gift of a child is a gift from God, the old man says and blesses the girl.
IV
“A calm blue lake in a deep frame of mountains, winged with eternal snow, a dark lace of gardens descends to the water in lush folds ... Near a pile of rubble sits a worker black as a beetle, he has a medal on his chest, his face is bold and affectionate.” He tells a passerby how he, Paolo, and his father worked - punched through the belly of the mountain to connect the two countries. The father died without finishing the work. Thirteen weeks after his death, people from both sides met. Paolo considers this day the best in his life: “they kissed the conquered mountain, they kissed the earth ... and I fell in love with her like a woman!” Near the grave of his father, he says: “People won. Done, father!
V
A young musician describes what the music he wants to write should be like. The boy goes to big city: “... the bloody flame of sunset has not yet died out over him ... here and there, like wounds, glass sparkles; the ruined, tormented city - the place of the tireless battle for happiness - bleeds ... "" And the night silently follows the boy, covering the distance from which he came out with a black mantle of oblivion. The boy, alone, small, calmly goes to the city. "The city lives and groans in the delirium of many-sided desires for happiness." What will happen to the boy?
VI
“The sea slumbers and breathes an opal mist, the bluish water glistens with steel, a strong smell sea salt pours thickly on the shore. There are two fishermen on the rocks: an old man and a young "black-eyed dark man". The young man talks about a rich young American woman, whom he rode until the morning. They were silent during the walk. The old man remarks: True love... beats in the heart like lightning, and dumb like lightning. By morning, the young man wanted only one thing: to get her, at least for one night. “It's easier that way,” the old man remarks. “A little happiness is always more honest,” the young man replies.
VII
At a small station between Rome and Genoa, a one-eyed old man enters in a compartment. He talks about his life. He has thirteen sons and four daughters. He lost his eye when he was a child when a stone hit him. At 19, he met his love. The girl, like him, was very poor. But they got married, and kind people helped them all - from the barn, which became a home for the young, to the statue of the Madonna and dishes: “... there is no better fun than doing good to people, believe me, there is nothing more beautiful and more fun than this !"
VIII
Seeing a gray-haired man in his thirties, a friend of the narrator introduces him to the history of this man.
He is an ardent socialist. At meetings, he noticed a girl with whom they increasingly entered into an ideological confrontation. The girl was a devout Catholic, and her religion strongly opposes socialism. They tried to convince each other, to prove their case. And although the girl was touched by his fiery speeches about the liberation of man, she could not renounce God. Love came to them. But she refused to marry in the city hall, and he refused to get married in the church. Soon the girl fell ill with consumption. Before her death, she recognized with her mind that her beloved was right, but "the heart could not agree" with him.
Recently, a man married his student, and together they go to the grave of the deceased.
IX
"Let's glorify the woman - Mother, inexhaustible source all-conquering life!”
Timur-leng, nicknamed Tamerlane by the infidels, shed rivers of blood, avenging the death of his son Dzhigangir. Feasting, lame Timur asks his court poet Kermani how much he would give for him. Kermani names the price of Timur's belt and says that the khan himself is not worth a penny! “This is how the poet Kermani spoke with the king of kings, a man of evil and horror, and may the glory of the poet, the friend of truth, be for us forever higher than the glory of Timur.”
But then Mother comes to the king - a woman from Italian lands, from near Salerno, she is looking for her son, who is now with the khan. She demands to return it. “Everything beautiful in a person is from the rays of the sun and from Mother’s milk, that’s what saturates us with love for life!” And Timur orders messengers to be sent to all corners of the lands he conquered and to find the woman's son.
X
A gray-haired woman walks along a narrow path between the gardens. She is a widow, "her husband, a fisherman, went fishing shortly after the wedding and did not return, leaving her with a child under her heart." The child was born a freak: “his arms and legs were short, like the fins of a fish, his head was swollen into a huge ball ...” She worked tirelessly to feed him. And he just ate and mumbled. She was beautiful, many men were looking for her love, but the woman rejected everyone, fearing to give birth to a freak again.
One day the child got poisoned by something and died. After that, she became idle, like everyone else.
XI
The city is surrounded by a tight ring of enemies. People are exhausted by labor and hunger. A woman glimpses in the darkness, Marianne, the mother of the traitor who now leads the conquerors. Her heart is like a scale: it weighs the love for her native city and her son, but cannot understand what is easier, what is harder. In the dark, a woman thanks the Madonna for the fact that her son fell for hometown and curses the womb of Marianne, which gave birth to a traitor. Marianne leaves the city and goes to her son's camp. Realizing that she cannot convince him to save the city, where every stone remembers him, Marianna kills her son, who fell asleep on her lap, and then pierces her heart with a knife.
XII
When Guido was sixteen years old, he went fishing in the sea with his forty-year-old father. The wind hit them four kilometers from the coast. The father felt that he would not return alive and passed on all his knowledge of the sea and fish to his son while they drifted on the raging waves. They held on to the barge for a long time. Finally, they were swiftly carried to the shore, the father crashed against the black edges of the rocks. Guido was also rather crumpled, but he remained alive. And now, having lived for sixty-seven years, Guido admires his father, who, feeling the approach of death, found the strength and time to convey to him everything that he considered important.
XIII
Giuseppe Chirotta and Luigi Mata are fighting. Giuseppe says that he recognized the sweetness of the caresses of his wife Luigi. Mata's wife cannot prove her innocence, and Luigi leaves her and leaves. The good old women take the woman under their care, and bring the liar to clean water: Chirotta said this from evil. He is on trial for slander and shame for his own wife and children. The people decide that Giuseppe will pay the abandoned woman half of his earnings. Luigi, having learned about the innocence of his wife, asks her to return to him. And Chirrot, he writes a letter: if Giuseppe leaves the island for the mainland, Luigi and his three brothers will slaughter him: “Live without leaving the island until I tell you - you can!”
XIV
Over a decanter of wine, Giovanni, a big-headed, broad-shouldered guy, tells Vincenzo, a bony house painter with a dreamy smile, how he became a socialist and invites Vincenzo to write poems about it.
A company of Giovanni was sent to Bologna - the peasants were worried there. At first, the oppressed poured tiles, stones, and sticks on the soldiers. A doctor came to them with a very beautiful blonde, a noblewoman. She spoke to the doctor in French - Giovanni knew this language. The blonde condemned socialism and did not consider herself equal to people of "bad blood". Upon learning what she was talking about, the soldiers gradually went over to the side of the peasants. Soldiers with flowers were escorted from the village. The peasants could teach the blonde how to appreciate honest people.
“Yes, it is very suitable for a poem!” - answers the painter.
XV
A woman appears in the garden of the hotel: "this is an old woman, very tall, dark strict face, sternly knitted eyebrows." Behind her is a hunchback with a square body. They are Dutch, brother and sister. sister was older brother for four years. She spent a lot of time with him since childhood. Then the hunchback began to show interest in building houses.
When the hunchback was 13 years old, his whole room was littered with drawings, bars, tools. All this rained down on her sister when she entered. One day my sister said, “You're doing it on purpose, freak! and slapped him on the cheek. The next time, the hunchback offered the girl to touch the rat trap, and she screamed wildly in pain. After that, she began to visit him not so often. "She was nineteen years old and already had a fiancé when her father and mother died at sea."
After the betrothal, the groom built a house. Once he persuaded a hunchback to go see him. When the two of them reached the upper tier of the scaffolding, they fell from there. The brother “only dislocated his leg and arm, smashed his face, and the groom broke his spine and cut his side.”
On the day of his coming of age, the hunchback announced that he would build a house outside the city for all the city freaks, then, perhaps, he would become a happy person. But the sister gave this building to the city for a psychiatric hospital, and her brother became the first patient. Seven years was enough to turn into an idiot. Seeing that “her enemy has been killed and will not rise again,” the sister took her brother into her care.
XVI
In the morning, a fat man, a man in gray sideburns, a red-haired round man with a paunch, and two ladies appear on deck: a young, plump, and an older, pointed-nosed one. They discuss Italy: there is a lot of filth here, disgusting coffee, and "everyone looks terribly like Jews." A man appears on deck, "in a hat of gray curly hair, with a big nose, cheerful eyes." Only a fat man answers his bow from Russians. Talking to the footman, this man praises the Russians. The fat man translates his words to his fellow citizens. The redhead remarks: “They are all amazingly ignorant in relation to us ...” - “You are praised, but you find that it is due to ignorance ...” - the fat man answers him.
The sideburner shares an idea with his compatriots: the peasants need to put up several dozen buckets of vodka at the expense of the treasury - they say they will get drunk and kill each other themselves.
“Glittering with copper, the steamer gently and quickly” approaches the shore.
XVII
A 50-year-old "faded" man sits at a table in a cafe. A broad-chested man with agate eyes, Tram, sits down next to him and greets the first, "Mr. Engineer." Trama is looking forward to the engineer's new car. It is clear from the conversation that Trama is a socialist and organizes riots. He notes that people now enjoy the achievements of famous ancestors. The older man, saying goodbye, advises Trama to study: "You would have developed an engineer with a good imagination."
XVIII
If a person does not find a piece of bread in his native land, "driven by need", he leaves for the south of America. A woman, like a homeland, attracts to herself, so many people get married before leaving. The beautiful Emilia Bracco lives in the village of Saracena. The country boys dream of her, but she keeps her honor married woman. The old mother-in-law offends her daughter-in-law with suspicions, and one day Emilia kills the old woman with an ax in the forest: “It is better to be a murderer than to be known as shameless when she is honest,” she tells the carabinieri. Emilia is given four years in prison.
To her fellow villager Donato Gvarnachya, his mother writes about the connection between her daughter-in-law and her father. Donato returns to his homeland, and, having found out that this is true, shoots both his father and his wife. At the trial, Donato is acquitted.
Emily is released. A spark flares up between her and Donato, and now they themselves follow the path of criminal passion, destroying the ideals in whose name they shed their blood. They think about running across the ocean.
Upon learning of this, Emilia's mother in the church inflicts two blows on the head to the praying Donato with the letter V, which means vendetta. He remains alive, and the mother is horrified by this. “Soon this woman will be judged and, of course, they will be judged heavily, but what can a blow teach a person who considers himself entitled to strike and wound?”
XIX
"Old man Giovanni Tuba betrayed the earth for the sake of the sea in his early youth." As a boy, he was attracted to the blue eye of the sea. He went fishing on weekends. “Here he is hanging on the edge of a pinkish-gray rock, lowering his bronze legs; black, big as plums, his eyes sank into the transparent greenish water; through its liquid glass they see an amazing world, better than all fairy tales.
But when he has passed eighty, he comes to live in his brother's hut. The brother's children and grandchildren are too hungry and poor to be kind. It is hard for the old man among people, and one evening he goes to the sea, prays, takes off his rags and enters the water.
XX
The ancient elder Ettore Cecco receives a postcard with the image of his sons - Arturo and Enrico. They were arrested for organizing a workers' strike. Cecco is illiterate, the inscription is in a language unknown to him. He feels uncomfortable. The wife of a familiar artist, who speaks English, answers the old man: they are in prison because they are socialists. "It's politics," she explains. With this postcard, the old man goes to the Russian signor, who is reputed to be an honest and kind person, and he says that Checco is a happy father: “they are in prison because they grew up as honest guys.”
XXI
On the night of the birth of the Baby, all people rejoice. Children run around in the square, scattering crackers. At the end of the Mass, a “motley lava crowd” of people flows from the church. The manger is being carried to the old church. Children rejoice and look at the figures: what has been added since last year? They sing pagan songs and songs with biblical story. “In the old temple, children's laughter rings more and more vividly - the best music of the earth.” People celebrate until dawn.
XXII
The main pride of the quarter of St. James is Nuncha, a vegetable seller, the best dancer and the first beauty. Foreigners offered her money, but she did not want to know strangers: Nuncha did not refuse only her own, but she never went against her desires: “you only have to do something reluctantly once, and you will lose respect for yourself forever.”
The day comes when Nunchi's daughter, Nina, is no longer inferior to her mother in beauty, but behaves modestly. "As a mother - she was proud of her daughter's beauty, as a woman - Nuncha could not help but envy her youth." Finally, Nina tells her mother that her turn has come. Enrico, who returned from Australia, likes Nina, and Nuncha plays with him, and this interferes with her daughter. Nuncha steps back from the man.
One day, Nina says to her dancing mother in front of everyone: "... this is beyond your years, it's time to spare your heart."
Nuncha offers her daughter a race: they will run three times to the fountain without rest. Mother easily defeats Nina. It's past midnight and Nuncha is still dancing. Before the last dance, she screams and falls dead.
XXIII
At night, an old fisherman and a young soldier, his nephew, are sitting on the seashore. The old man remarks to him that they loved well in the old days, and women were valued more. The fisherman tells the story of the Gagliardi family, now they bear the nickname of their grandfather - Senzamane (Armless). middle son, Carlone, was going to marry a smart girl Julia. But the Greek hunter was also in love with the girl. Not having achieved reciprocity, he decided to get her by deceit and presented everything to people as if he had discredited Julia. Carlone believed and hit the girl in the face. Later, having learned the truth, he killed the Greek and cut off his hand: “The hand that innocently hit my beloved offended me, I cut it off ... Now I want you, Giulia, to forgive me ...” Then Carlone married on Julia, and they lived to old age.
The fisherman's nephew thinks Carlone is a stupid savage. The old man replies: “Your life in a hundred years will also seem stupid ... If only someone remembers that you lived on earth ...”
XXIV
Mother and sister escort their son and brother to Rome. The young man is a socialist. He leaves his city because of the strike. His colleague Paolo promises to take care of the mother and sister of the exile and continue their work in the city. It won't disappear, Paolo assures. “He has a good mind, a strong heart, he himself knows how to love and easily makes others love him. And love for people is, after all, those wings on which a person rises above everything ... "
XXV
On an island under a rock, strong men in rags dine. A hook-nosed, gray-haired, middle-aged man tells the story of his youth.
Andrea Grasso came to their village as a beggar, but after a few years he became a rich man. He hired the poor and treated them cruelly. Once between Grasso and the narrator there was a skirmish. He asked this evil and greedy man to leave, and Grasso poked him with a knife, but not deeply. The guy kicked the offender with his foot, "like they beat pigs." The narrator was twice unfairly imprisoned for skirmishes with Grasso. The third time the narrator came to the church. Grasso saw his enemy and was paralyzed. Grasso died seven weeks later. “And people created some kind of fairy tale about me,” the man ends his story.
XXVI
"Pepe is about ten years old, he is fragile, thin, fast, like a lizard." Some lady instructs him to take her friend a basket of apples and promises soldo. Pepe returns to her only in the evening. When he was walking through the square, the boys began to bully him, and Pepe attacked them with beautiful fruits from the garden of the respected lady.
The boy's sister, "much older, but not smarter than him," gets a job as a servant in the home of a wealthy American. Upon learning that the owner has a lot of trousers, Pepe asks his sister to bring him one. The American who found them with cut trousers wants to call the police. But Pepe answers him: “... I wouldn’t do this if I had a lot of trousers, and you didn’t have a single pair! I would give you two, perhaps - three pairs even ... ”The American laughs, treats Pepe with chocolate and gives him a franc.
XXVII
"On the moonless night of Passionate Saturday... a woman in a black cloak walks slowly." The musicians are following her. This is the procession of the last sufferings of Christ. But here ahead flashes a reflection of red fire. The woman rushes forward. Two figures appear in the square in the light of torches: "the fair-haired, familiar figure of Christ, the other - in a blue chiton - John, the beloved disciple of Jesus." A woman approaches them and throws off her hood: this is the luminous Madonna. People praise her.
The old women, although they know that Christ is a carpenter from Pisacane street, John is a watchmaker, and the Madonna is a gold embroiderer, they pray and thank the Madonna for everything.
It's getting light. People go to churches. “And we will all rise from the dead, trampling down death by death.”
Sultry day, silence; life froze in bright peace, the sky tenderly looks at the earth with a clear blue eye, the sun is its fiery pupil.
The sea is smoothly forged from blue metal, the motley boats of the fishermen are motionless, as if soldered into a semicircle of the bay, bright as the sky. A seagull flies by, lazily flapping its wings - the water will show another bird, whiter and more beautiful than the one in the air.
The distance is dying; there, quietly floating in the fog - or, hot by the sun, melting - a purple island, a lonely rock in the middle of the sea, a gentle semi-precious stone in the ring of the Gulf of Naples.
The rocky shore, cut by ledges, descends to the sea, all curly and lush in the dark foliage of grapes, orange trees, lemons and figs, all in the dull silver of olive foliage. Golden, red and white flowers smile affably through the stream of greenery, falling steeply into the sea, and yellow and orange fruits remind of the stars in the moonless hot night when the sky is dark, the air is humid.
There is silence in the sky, the sea and the soul, I want to hear how all living things silently sing a prayer to the Sun God.
A narrow path winds between the gardens, and along it, quietly going down from stone to stone, it goes to the sea. tall woman in a black dress, it has faded in the sun to brown spots, and even from a distance its patches are visible. Her head is not covered - the silver of her gray hair shines, they shower in small rings on her high forehead, temples and dark skin of her cheeks; this hair must be impossible to comb smoothly.
Her face is sharp, stern, seeing it once - you will remember it forever, there is something deeply ancient in this dry face, and if you meet the direct and dark gaze of her eyes - the sultry deserts of the east, Deborah and Judith are involuntarily recalled.
Tilting her head, she is knitting something red; the steel of the hook sparkles, a ball of wool is hidden somewhere in the clothes, but it seems that the red thread comes from the woman's chest. The path is steep and capricious, you can hear the rustle of crumbling stones, but this gray-haired one descends so confidently, as if her legs see the way.
Here is what they say about this man: she is a widow, her husband, a fisherman, went fishing shortly after the wedding and did not return, leaving her with a child under her heart.
When the child was born, she began to hide him from people, did not go out with him into the street, into the sun, to show off her son, as all mothers do, kept him in a dark corner of her hut, wrapped in rags, and for a long time none of the neighbors saw how complex the newborn was, they saw only his big head and huge motionless eyes in his yellow face. They also noticed that she, healthy and agile, had previously struggled with poverty tirelessly, cheerfully, being able to inspire good spirits in others, but now she had become silent, always thinking about something, frowning and looking at everything through the fog of sadness with a strange look, which, like like he was asking for something.
It took a little time for everyone to recognize her grief: the child was born a freak, that's why she hid him, that's what depressed her.
Then the neighbors told her that, of course, they understand how shameful it is for a woman to be the mother of a freak; no one, except the Madonna, knows whether she was justly punished by this cruel insult, but the child is not to blame for anything and she deprives him of the sun in vain.
She listened to the people and showed them her son - his arms and legs were short, like the fins of a fish, his head, swollen into a huge ball, could hardly rest on a thin, flabby neck, and his face was like that of an old man, everything is in wrinkles, he has a pair of muddy an eye and a large mouth stretched into a dead smile.
The women wept, looking at him, the men, wrinkling their faces in disgust, sullenly left; The freak's mother sat on the ground, now hiding her head, now raising it, and looking at everyone as if she were asking without words about something that no one understood.
The neighbors made a box for the freak - like a coffin, stuffed it with sacks of wool and rags, put the freak in this soft, hot nest and placed the box in the shade in the yard, secretly hoping that under the sun, which works miracles every day, another miracle will happen.
But time passed, and he remained the same: a huge head, a long body with four powerless appendages; only his smile took on a more and more definite expression of insatiable greed, and his mouth filled with two rows of sharp, crooked teeth. Short paws learned to grab pieces of bread and almost unmistakably dragged them into a large, hot mouth.
He was mute, but when they ate somewhere close to him and the freak heard the smell of food, he hummed muffledly, opening his mouth and shaking his heavy head, and the cloudy whites of his eyes were covered with a red mesh of bloody veins.
He ate a lot and the further - more and more, his lowing became continuous; mother, without lowering her hands, worked, but often her earnings were negligible, and sometimes there was none at all. She did not complain and reluctantly - always silently - accepted the help of her neighbors, but when she was not at home, the neighbors, irritated by lowing, ran into the yard and thrust bread crusts, vegetables, fruits into their insatiable mouth - everything that could be eaten.
Soon he will eat you all over! they told her. "Why don't you take him somewhere to an orphanage, to a hospital?"
She replied sullenly:
I gave birth to him, and I must feed him.
She was beautiful, and not one man sought her love, all unsuccessfully, but to one who liked her more than others, she said:
I can't be your wife, I'm afraid to give birth to another freak, that would be ashamed of you. No, go away!
The man persuaded her, reminded her of the Madonna, who is fair to mothers and considers them her sisters, - the freak's mother answered him:
I do not know what is to blame, but - behold, punished severely.
He begged, wept and raged, then she said:
You can't do what you don't believe in. Get away!
He's gone somewhere far away, forever.
And for so many years she stuffed her bottomless, tirelessly chewing mouth, he devoured the fruits of her labors, her blood and life, his head grew and became more and more terrible, like a ball, ready to break away from a powerless, thin neck and fly away, touching the corners of houses , swaying lazily from side to side.
Anyone who looked into the yard involuntarily stopped, amazed, shuddering, not being able to understand - what he sees? By the wall overgrown with grapes, on the stones, as if on an altar, stood a box, and from it this head rose, and, clearly protruding against the background of greenery, a yellow, wrinkled, high-cheeked face attracted the gaze of a passer-by, staring, crawling out of its orbits and for a long time sticking in the memory of everyone who saw them, dull eyes, a wide, flattened nose trembled, exorbitantly developed cheekbones and jaws moved, flabby lips moved, revealing two rows of predatory teeth, and, as if living their own separate life, large, sensitive, bestial ears stuck out - this terrible mask was covered by a cap of black hair, curled into small rings, like the hair of a negro.
Holding in his hand, short and small, like the paw of a lizard, a piece of something edible, the freak bent his head with the movements of a pecking bird and, tearing off food with his teeth, loudly champed and sniffed. Fed up, looking at people, he always bared his teeth, and his eyes shifted to the nose, merging into a muddy bottomless spot on this half-dead face, whose movements resembled agony. If he was hungry, he stretched his neck forward and, opening his red mouth, moving his thin snake tongue, bellowed demandingly.
Baptized and praying, people walked away, remembering all the bad things that they had experienced, all the misfortunes experienced in life.
The old blacksmith, a man of a gloomy mind, said more than once:
In all this mute head evoked sad thoughts, feelings frightening the heart.
The freak's mother was silent, listening to the words of people, her hair quickly turned gray, wrinkles appeared on her face, she had long forgotten how to laugh. People knew that at night she stood motionless at the door, looking at the sky and as if waiting for someone; they said to each other:
What can she expect?
Plant him in the square by the old church! neighbors advised her. - Foreigners go there, they will not refuse to throw him a few copper coins every day.
The mother trembled in fear, saying:
It will be terrible if people from other countries see it - what will they think of us?
She was answered:
Poverty is everywhere, everyone knows about it!
She shook her head.
But foreigners, driven by boredom, staggered everywhere, looked into all the yards and, of course, looked at her too: she was at home, she saw grimaces of disgust and disgust on the well-fed faces of these idle people, heard them talking about her son, twisting their lips and narrowing his eyes. Especially struck her in the heart were a few words spoken contemptuously, hostilely, with obvious triumph.
XI
You can talk about Mothers endlessly.
For several weeks the city had been surrounded by a close ring of enemies clad in iron; bonfires were lit at night, and the fire looked out of the black darkness at the walls of the city with many red eyes - they glowed maliciously, and this burning burning evoked gloomy thoughts in the besieged city.
From the walls they saw how the enemy's noose tightened more and more tightly, how their black shadows flickered around the lights; the neighing of well-fed horses was heard, the clanging of weapons, loud laughter, cheerful songs of people confident of victory were heard - and what is more painful to hear than the laughter and songs of the enemy?
All the streams that fed the city with water were thrown by the enemies with corpses, they burned the vineyards around the walls, trampled the fields, cut down the gardens - the city was open on all sides, and almost every day the cannons and muskets of the enemies showered it with iron and lead.
Detachments of soldiers, exhausted by battles, half-starved, marched sullenly along the narrow streets of the city; the groans of the wounded, the cries of delirium, the prayers of women and the crying of children poured out from the windows of the houses. They were talking depressedly, in an undertone, and, stopping each other's speech in mid-sentence, they listened intently - were the enemies going to attack?
Life became especially unbearable in the evening, when in the silence groans and cries sounded clearer and more abundant, when blue-black shadows crawled out of the gorges of distant mountains and, hiding the enemy camp, moved towards the half-broken walls, and above the black teeth of the mountains the moon appeared like a lost shield. beaten with swords.
Not expecting help, exhausted by toil and hunger, losing hope every day, people looked in fear at this moon, the sharp teeth of the mountains, the black mouths of the gorges and at the noisy camp of enemies - everything reminded them of death, and not a single star shone consolingly for them.
They were afraid to light fires in the houses, thick darkness flooded the streets, and in this darkness, like a fish in the depths of a river, a woman silently flashed, wrapped in a black cloak with her head.
When people saw her, they asked each other:
That's her?
And they hid in niches under the gates, or, with their heads down, silently ran past her, and the chiefs of patrols sternly warned her:
Are you out on the street again, Monna Marianne? Look, you can be killed, and no one will look for the culprit in this ...
She straightened up, waited, but the patrol passed by, not daring or disdaining to raise a hand against her; armed men walked around her like a corpse, but she remained in the darkness and again quietly, alone, walked somewhere, going from street to street, mute and black, like the embodiment of the misfortunes of the city, and all around, pursuing her, sad sounds crept plaintively: groans , crying, prayers and gloomy talk of soldiers who have lost hope of victory.
A citizen and mother, she thought about her son and homeland: at the head of the people who destroyed the city was her son, a cheerful and ruthless handsome man; until recently she looked at him with pride, as at her precious gift to her homeland, as at good power, born by her to help the people of the city - the nest, where she was born herself, gave birth and nursed him. Hundreds of unbreakable threads connected her heart with ancient stones, from which her ancestors built houses and laid the walls of the city, with the earth where the bones of her blood lay, with legends, songs and hopes of people - she lost the heart of the mother of the person closest to him and cried: it was like scales, but, weighing the love for his son and the city, he could not understand - what is easier, what is harder.
So she walked the streets at night, and many, not recognizing her, were frightened, mistaking the black figure for the personification of death, close to everyone, and recognizing, they silently moved away from the mother of the traitor.
But one day, in a deaf corner, near the city wall, she saw another woman: kneeling beside a corpse, motionless, like a piece of earth, she prayed, raising her mournful face to the stars, and on the wall, above her head, watchmen were quietly talking and gnashing weapons, brushing against the stones of the prongs.
The traitor's mother asked:
Brother? - Son. The husband was killed thirteen days ago, and this one is today.
And, rising from her knees, the mother of the dead man meekly said:
Madonna sees everything, knows everything, and I thank her!
For what? - asked the first, and she answered her:
Now that he honestly died fighting for his homeland, I can say that he aroused fear in me: frivolous, he loved too much fun life, and it was fearful that for this he would betray the city, as did the son of Marianne, the enemy of God and people, the leader of our enemies, damn him, and damned be the womb that carried him! ..
Covering her face, Marianna walked away, and in the morning the next day she appeared to the defenders of the city and said:
Either kill me because my son has become your enemy, or open the gate for me, I will go to him...
They have replyed:
You are a man, and the homeland should be dear to you; your son is as much an enemy to you as he is to each of us.
I am a mother, I love him and consider myself guilty of the fact that he is what he has become.
Then they began to consult what to do with her, and decided:
By honor - we cannot kill you for the sin of your son, we know that you could not inspire him with this terrible sin, and we guess how you must suffer. But the city does not need you even as a hostage - your son does not care about you, we think he has forgotten you, the devil, and - here is your punishment if you find that you deserve it! It seems to us more terrible than death!
Yes! - she said. - It's scarier.
They opened the gates in front of her, let her out of the city and watched for a long time from the wall as she walked along her native land, thickly saturated with the blood shed by her son: she walked slowly, with great difficulty tearing her legs off this land, bowing to the corpses of the defenders of the city, disgustedly pushing away a broken weapon with their foot, mothers hate the weapon of attack, recognizing only that which protects life.
She seemed to be carrying in her hands under a cloak a bowl full of moisture, and was afraid to spill it; moving away, it became smaller and smaller, and those who looked at it from the wall, it seemed as if despondency and hopelessness were moving away from them along with it.
They saw how she stopped halfway and, throwing off the hood of her cloak, looked at the city for a long time, and there, in the camp of the enemies, they noticed her, alone in the middle of the field, and, slowly, carefully, black figures like her approached her. .
They approached and asked - who is she, where is she going?
Your leader is my son,” she said, and not one of the soldiers doubted it. They walked beside her, speaking in praise of how smart and brave her son was, she listened to them, proudly raising her head, and was not surprised - her son should be like that!
And here she is before the man whom she knew nine months before his birth, before the one whom she never felt outside her heart - he is in silk and velvet before her, and his weapon is in precious stones. Everything is as it should be; this is how she saw him many times in her dreams - rich, famous and loved.
Mother! he said, kissing her hands. - You came to me, so you understood me, and tomorrow I will take this damned city!
Where you were born, she reminded him.
Intoxicated by his exploits, maddened by the thirst for even greater glory, he spoke to her with the impudent ardor of youth:
I was born in the world and for the world, to amaze him with surprise! I spared this city for your sake - it is like a thorn in my foot and prevents me from advancing to glory as quickly as I want it. But now - tomorrow - I will destroy the nest of stubborn!
Where every stone knows and remembers you as a child, she said.
Stones are dumb, if a man does not make them speak, let the mountains speak of me, that's what I want!
But - people? she asked.
Oh yes, I remember them, mother! And I need them, because only in the memory of people are heroes immortal!
She said:
A hero is one who creates life in spite of death, who conquers death...
No! he objected. - He who destroys is as glorious as he who builds cities. Look - we do not know whether Aeneas or Romulus built Rome, but - the name of Alaric and other heroes who destroyed this city is known for sure.
Who survived all the names, - reminded the mother.
So he spoke to her until sunset, she interrupted his crazy speeches less and less, and her proud head sank lower and lower.
Mother - creates, she - protects, and talking about destruction in front of her means talking against her, but he did not know this and denied the meaning of her life.
Mother is always against death; the hand that brings death into people's dwellings is hateful and hostile to Mothers - her son did not see this, blinded by the cold glare of glory that kills the heart.
And he did not know that the Mother is a beast as smart, ruthless as fearless, when it comes to the life that she, the Mother, creates and protects.
She sat bent over, and through the open cloth of the leader's rich tent she could see the city, where she first experienced the sweet trembling of conception and the painful convulsions of the birth of a child who now wants to destroy.
The crimson rays of the sun poured blood over the walls and towers of the city, the windows of the windows gleamed ominously, the whole city seemed wounded, and through hundreds of wounds the red juice of life poured; time passed, and now the city began to turn black, like a corpse, and, like funeral candles, the stars lit up above it.
She saw there, in the dark houses, where they were afraid to light a fire, so as not to attract the attention of enemies, in the streets full of darkness, the smell of corpses, the suppressed whispers of people awaiting death - she saw everything and everyone; familiar and dear stood close before her, silently awaiting her decision, and she felt like a mother to all the people of her city.
Clouds were descending from the black peaks of the mountains into the valley and, as if winged horses, flew to the city, doomed to death.
Maybe we will attack him at night, - said her son, - if the night is dark enough! It is inconvenient to kill when the sun looks into the eyes and the glare of the weapon blinds them - there are always many wrong blows, - he said, examining his sword.
The mother told him:
Come here, lay your head on my chest, rest, remembering how cheerful and kind you were as a child and how everyone loved you...
He obeyed, knelt down beside her and closed his eyes, saying:
I love only glory and you, because you gave birth to me the way I am.
What about women? she asked, leaning over him.
There are many of them, they quickly get bored, like everything is too sweet.
She asked him for the last time:
And you don't want to have kids?
For what? To kill them? Someone like me will kill them, and it will hurt me, and then I will be old and weak to avenge them.
You are beautiful, but as barren as lightning,” she said with a sigh.
He replied smiling:
Yes, like lightning...
And dozed off on his mother's chest, like a child.
Then she, covering him with her black cloak, stuck a knife in his heart, and he, shuddering, immediately died - after all, she knew very well where her son's heart was beating. And, throwing his corpse from her knees at the feet of the astonished guards, she said towards the city:
Man - I did everything I could for the motherland; Mother - I stay with my son! It's too late for me to give birth to another, nobody needs my life.
And the same knife, still warm from his blood - her blood - she plunged with a firm hand into her chest and also correctly hit the heart - if it hurts, it is easy to hit it.
Like thousands metal strings stretched out in the dense foliage of olives, the wind shakes the hard leaves, they touch the strings, and these light continuous touches fill the air with a hot, intoxicating sound. This is not music yet, but it seems that invisible hands are tuning hundreds of invisible harps, and all the time you are waiting tensely for a moment of silence, and then a powerful hymn to the sun, sky and sea will burst out powerfully.
The wind is blowing, the trees are swaying and seem to go from the mountain to the sea, shaking their peaks. A wave beats evenly and deafly against the coastal stones; the sea is all in living white spots, as if countless flocks of birds have descended on its blue plain, they all swim in the same direction, disappear, diving into the depths, appear again and ring a little audibly. And, as if dragging them along, two ships, also similar to gray birds, sway on the horizon, raising their three-tiered sails high; all this - reminiscent of a long-standing, half-forgotten dream - does not look like life.
A strong wind will blow tonight! - says the old fisherman, sitting in the shade of stones, on a small beach dotted with ringing pebbles.
The surf threw fibers of fragrant seagrass on the stones - red, golden and green; the grass withers in the sun and hot stones, the salty air is saturated with the tart smell of iodine. Curly waves crash into the beach one after another.
The old fisherman looks like a bird - a small, constricted face, a hooked nose and invisible in the dark folds of the skin, round, must be very keen eyes. The fingers are hooked, inactive and dry.
Fifty years ago, sir, - says the old man, in tune with the rustle of the waves and the ringing of cicadas, - there was once such a cheerful and sonorous day when everyone laughs and sings. My father was forty, I was sixteen, and I was in love, it is inevitable at sixteen and in good sunshine.
- "Let's go, Guido, for pezzoni", - said the father. “Pezzoni, signor, a very thin and tasty fish with pink fins, it is also called coral fish, because it is found where there are corals, very deep. She is caught, standing at anchor, with a hook with a heavy sinker. Beautiful fish.
And we went, expecting nothing but good luck. My father was a strong man, an experienced fisherman, but shortly before that he fell ill - his chest hurt, and his fingers were spoiled with rheumatism - a disease of fishermen.
This is a very cunning and evil wind, this one, which blows so kindly on us from the shore, as if softly pushing us into the sea - there it approaches you imperceptibly and suddenly rushes at you, as if you had insulted it. The barge is immediately torn down and flies with the wind, sometimes up with a keel, and you are in the water. This happens in one minute, you do not have time to swear or remember the name of God, as you are already spinning, driving into the distance. The robber is more honest than this wind. However, people are always more honest than the elements.
Yes, and so this wind hit us four kilometers from the coast - very close, as you can see, it hit unexpectedly, like a coward and a scoundrel.
- Guido! - said the parent, grabbing the oars with mutilated hands. - Hold on, Guido! Alive - anchor!
But while I was picking up the anchor, my father was hit in the chest with an oar - the oars were pulled out of his hands - he fell to the bottom without memory. I had no time to help him, every second we could overturn. At first, everything is done quickly: when I got on the oars, we were already rushing somewhere, surrounded by water dust, the wind tore off the tops of the waves and sprinkled us like a priest, only with the best zeal and not at all in order to wash away our sins.
“This is serious, my son! - said the father, coming to his senses and looking towards the shore. "It's a long time, my dear."
If you are young, you do not easily believe in danger, I tried to row, did everything that needs to be done in the water at a dangerous moment, when this wind - the breath of evil devils - graciously digs thousands of graves for you and sings a requiem for free.
“Sit still, Guido,” said the father, grinning and shaking the water from his head. - What is the use of picking the sea with matches? Take care of your strength, otherwise they will wait for you at home in vain.
The green waves are throwing our little boat like children are balls, peering over the sides at us, rising over our heads, roaring, shaking, we fall into deep pits, climb white ridges - and the shore runs away from us farther and also dances like our barge . Then my father says to me:
- “You may return to earth, I will not! Listen to what I'm going to tell you about fish and work..."
And he began to tell me everything he knew about the habits of those and other fish - where, when and how to catch them more successfully.
“Perhaps we should pray, father?” - I suggested, when I realized that our affairs were bad: we were like a couple of rabbits in a pack of white dogs, baring their teeth at us from everywhere.
“God sees everything! - he said. - He knows that people who were created for the earth perish in the sea and that one of them, not hoping for salvation, must pass on to his son what he knows. The earth and people need work - God understands this ... "
And, having told me everything he knew about work, my father began to talk about how to live with people.
“Is it time to teach me now? - I said. “On earth, you didn’t do that!”
“On earth, I never felt death so close.”
The wind howled like a beast and splashed the waves - my father had to shout so that I could hear, and he shouted:
“Always act as if there is no one better than you and no one worse than you - that will be true! The nobleman and the fisherman, the priest and the soldier are one body, and you are just as necessary a member of it as all the others. Never approach a person thinking that there is more bad in him than good - think that there is more good in him - so it will be! People give what they ask."
This, of course, was not said right away, but, you know, like a command: we were thrown from wave to wave, and then from below, then from above, through the spray of water, I heard these words. Much was carried away by the wind before it reached me, much I could not understand - is it time to study, signor, when every minute threatens with death! I was frightened, for the first time I saw the sea so furious and felt so powerless in it. And I can't say - then or after, remembering those hours, I experienced a feeling that is still alive in the memory of my heart.
As I now see a parent: he is sitting at the bottom of the barge, spreading his sore arms, clutching the sides with his fingers, his hat was washed off him, the waves rush on his head and on his shoulders, now from the right, then from the left, they beat him from behind and in front, he shakes his head, snorts and yells at me from time to time. Wet, he became small, and his eyes were huge from fear, or maybe from pain. I think it's from pain.
- "Listen! - shouted to me. “Hey, do you hear?”
Sometimes I answered him:
- "I hear!"
- "Remember - everything good comes from a person."
- "OK!" - I answer.
He never spoke to me like that on earth. He was cheerful, kind, but it seemed to me that he was looking at me mockingly and incredulously, that I was still a child for him. Sometimes it offended me - youth is proud.
His screams subdued my fear, which must be why I remember everything so well.
The old fisherman paused, looked into the white sea, smiled and said with a wink:
Looking closer at people, I know, sir, to remember is the same as to understand, and the more you understand, the more you see the good - it’s so, believe me!
Yes, and so - I remember his sweet wet face and huge eyes - they looked at me seriously, with love, and so that I knew then - I was not destined to die on this day. I was afraid, but I knew that I would not die.
Of course, we were knocked over. Here we are both in boiling water, in foam that blinds us, the waves throw our bodies, beat them against the keel of the barge. Even earlier we tied everything that could be tied to the banks, we have ropes in our hands, we will not tear ourselves away from our barge as long as there is strength, but it is difficult to stay on the water. Several times he or I was thrown onto the keel and immediately washed off. The most important thing here is that you feel dizzy, deaf and blind - your eyes and ears are filled with water, and you swallow a lot of it.
It dragged on for a long time - about seven hours, then the wind immediately changed, rushed thickly towards the shore, and we were carried to the land. Then I rejoiced, shouted:
- "Hold on!"
Father also shouted something, I understood one word:
- "Breaking..."
He thought about the stones, they were still far away, I did not believe him. But he knew the matter better than I did - we rushed among the mountains of water, clinging, like snails, to our nurse, fairly beaten about her, already exhausted and numb. It lasted a long time, but when the dark mountains of the coast became visible, everything went with inexpressible speed. Swinging, they moved towards us, leaning over the water, ready to tip over on our heads, - one, one - the white waves throw up our bodies, our barge crunches, like a nut under the heel of a boot, I am torn from it, I see the broken black edges of rocks, sharp like knives, I see my father's head high above me, then - above these claws of the devils. He was caught two hours later, with a broken back and a broken skull, to the brain. The wound on the head was huge, part of the brain was washed out of it, but I remember gray, with red veins, pieces in the wound, like marble or foam with blood. He was terribly mutilated, all broken, but his face was clean, calm, and his eyes were well, tightly closed.
I? Yes, I was also fairly crumpled, I was dragged ashore without memory. We were brought to the mainland, beyond Amalfi - a strange place, but, of course, our own people are also fishermen, such cases do not surprise them, but make them kind: people who lead dangerous life are always kind!
I think that I was not able to tell about my father the way I feel, and what I have been holding in my heart for fifty-one years requires special words, maybe even songs, but - we are simple people, like fish, and we don’t know how speak as beautifully as you would like! You feel and know always more than you can say.
The whole point here is that he, my father, at the hour of death, knowing that he could not avoid it, was not afraid, did not forget about me, his son, and found the strength and time to convey to me everything that he considered important. I lived for sixty-seven years and I can say that everything he inspired me is true!
The old man took off his knitted cap, once red, now brown, took out a pipe from it and, tilting his naked, bronze skull, said forcefully:
That's right, dear sir! People are what you want them to be, look at them kind eyes, and you will feel good, they - too, from this they will become even better, you - too! It's simple!
The wind grew stronger, the waves higher, sharper and whiter; birds have grown up on the sea, they are swimming faster and faster into the distance, and two ships with three-tiered sails have already disappeared behind the blue horizon.
The steep shores of the island are in the foam of the waves, the blue water is splashing, and the cicadas are tirelessly, passionately ringing.
XIII
On the day it happened, the sirocco was blowing, a damp wind from Africa - a bad wind! - it irritates the nerves, brings bad moods, which is why two cabbies - Giuseppe Chirotta and Luigi Mata - quarreled. The quarrel arose imperceptibly, it was impossible to understand who first called it, people only saw how Luigi threw himself on Giuseppe's chest, trying to grab him by the throat, and he, putting his head into his shoulders, hid his thick red neck and put out strong black fists.
They were immediately separated and asked:
What's the matter?
Blue with anger, Luigi shouted:
Let this bull repeat in front of everyone what he said about my wife!
Chirotta wanted to leave, he hid his small eyes in the folds of a scornful grimace and, shaking his round black head, refused to repeat the insult, then Mata said loudly:
He says he recognized the sweetness of my wife's caresses!
Hey! people said. - This is not a joke, it requires serious attention. Calm down, Luigi! You are a stranger here, your wife is our person, we all here knew her as a child, and if you are offended - her fault falls on all of us - let's be truthful!
We proceeded to Chirotta.
Did you say it?
Well, yes, he admitted.
And it is true?
Who ever caught me lying?
Chirotta - a decent man, a good family man - things took a very gloomy turn - people were embarrassed and thoughtful, and Luigi went home and said to Concetta:
I'd like to check out! I don't want to know you unless you prove that the words of this scoundrel are slander.
She, of course, cried, but - after all, tears do not justify; Luigi pushed her away, and now she was left alone, with a child in her arms, without money and bread.
Women intervened - first of all Katarina, a vegetable seller, a smart fox, a sort of, you know, old bag, tightly stuffed with meat and bones and in some places very wrinkled.
Sirs,” she said, “you have already heard that this concerns the honor of all of you. This is her prank, inspired moonlit night, the fate of two mothers is hurt - right? I take Concetta with me and she will live with me until the day when we discover the truth.
They did so, and then Katarina and that dry witch Lucia, a screamer whose voice can be heard for three miles, set about poor Giuseppe: they called and let's pinch his soul like an old rag:
Well, good man, tell me - did you take her many times, Concetta?
Fat Giuseppe puffed out his cheeks, thought, and said:
One day.
It could have been said without thinking, ”Lucia remarked aloud, but as if to herself.
Did it happen in the evening, at night, in the morning? asked Katharina, just like a judge.
Giuseppe, without thinking, chose the evening.
Was it still light?
Yes, said the fool.
So! So you saw her body?
Well, of course!
So tell us what it's like!
Then he understood what these questions were for, and opened his mouth, like a sparrow choking on a grain of barley, understood and muttered, angry so that his big ears bled and turned purple.
What, he says, can I say? After all, I did not treat her like a doctor!
Do you eat fruits without admiring them? Lucia asked. - But maybe you did notice one feature of Conchettina? she asks further and winks at him, snake.
It all happened so quickly, - says Giuseppe, - really, I did not notice anything.
So you didn't have it! - said Katarina, - she is a kind old woman, but when necessary, she knows how to be strict. In a word, they so entangled him in contradictions that the fellow finally lowered his bad head and confessed:
There was nothing, I said it out of spite.
The old women were not surprised by this.
So we thought, - they said, and, releasing him in peace, they referred the case to the court of men.
A day later, our society of workers met. Chirotta stood before them, accused of slandering a woman, and old Giacomo Fasca, the blacksmith, said quite well:
Citizens, comrades, good people! We demand justice for us - we must be fair to each other, let everyone know that we understand the high price of what we need, and that justice for us is not an empty word, as for our masters. Here is a man who slandered a woman, insulted a comrade, destroyed one family and brought grief to another, causing his wife to suffer from jealousy and shame. We must take it seriously. What are you offering?
Sixty-seven languages said with one accord:
Get him out of the commune!
And fifteen found it too harsh, and an argument ensued. They shouted desperately - it was about the fate of a man, and not one: after all, he is married, has three children - what are the wife and children to blame for? He has a house, a vineyard, a pair of horses, four donkeys for foreigners - all this is raised by his hump and costs a lot of work. Poor Giuseppe stood alone in the corner, gloomy as the devil among children; he sat bent over in a chair, his head bowed, and crumpled his hat in his hands, already tore off the ribbon from it and gradually tore off the brim, and his fingers danced like a violinist's. And when they asked him, what would he say? - he said, straightening his body with difficulty and getting to his feet:
I ask for mercy! Nobody is without sin. To drive me away from the land where I lived for more than thirty years, where my ancestors worked, would not be fair!
Women were also against the expulsion, and finally Fasca suggested doing this:
I think, friends, he will be well punished if we put on him the responsibility of supporting Luigi's wife and his child - let him pay her half of what Luigino earned!
They argued a lot more, but in the end they settled on this, and Giuseppe Chirotta was very pleased that he got off so cheaply, and everyone was satisfied with this: the case did not go to court or to the knife, but was decided in his own circle. We do not like it, signor, when our affairs are written in the newspapers in a language in which understandable words rarely stick out, like teeth in an old man's mouth, or when judges, these strangers to us, who understand life very poorly, talk about us in such a tone, as if we savages, and they are God's angels who do not know the taste of wine and fish and who do not touch a woman! We are simple people and look at life simply.
So they decided: Giuseppe Chirotta feeds his wife Luigi Mata and their child, but the matter did not end there: when Luigino found out that the words of Chirotta were false, and his signora was innocent, and found out our verdict, he called her to him, writing briefly:
“Come to me and we will live well again. Do not take a centesim from this man, and if you have already taken it, throw it in his eyes! I am not guilty before you either, how could I think that a person lies in such a matter as love!
And Chirotta he wrote another letter:
“I have three brothers, and all four of us swore to each other that we would slaughter you like a sheep if you ever come down from the island to land in Sorrento, Castellamare, Toppe, or wherever. As soon as we find out, we will slaughter, remember! It is as true as the fact that the people of your commune are good, honest people. Your help is not needed by my signora, even my pig would refuse your bread. Live without leaving the island until I tell you - you can!
They say that Chirotta carried this letter to our judge and asked if it was possible to condemn Luigi for threatening him? And the judge said:
You can, of course, but then his brothers will probably slaughter you; they will come here and slaughter. I advise - wait! It is better. Anger is not love, it is short-lived...
The judge could say something like this: he is very kind with us, very clever man and composes good poetry, but - I do not believe that Chirotta went to him and showed this letter. No, Chirotta is a decent guy after all, he would not have done another faux pas, because he would have been ridiculed for it.
We are simple, working people, signor, we have our own life, our own concepts and opinions, we have the right to build a life as we want and as best for us.
Socialists? Oh, my friend, a working man will be born a socialist, as I think, and although we do not read books, we hear the truth by smell - after all, the truth smells strong and is always the same - labor sweat!
On the terrace of the hotel, through the dark green canopy of vines, golden rain pours sunlight- golden threads stretched in the air. Strange patterns of shadows lie on the gray tiles of the floor and the white tablecloths of the tables, and it seems that if you look at them for a long time, you will learn to read them like poetry, you will understand what they are talking about. Clusters of grapes play in the sun, like pearls or a strange muddy olivine stone, and blue diamonds in a carafe of water on the table.
There is a small lace handkerchief in the aisle between the tables. Of course, the lady lost him, and she is divinely beautiful - it cannot be otherwise, it is impossible to think otherwise on this quiet day, full of sultry lyricism, a day when everything everyday and boring becomes invisible, as if disappearing from the sun, ashamed of itself.
Silence; only the birds chirp in the garden, the bees buzz over the flowers, and somewhere on the mountain, among the vineyards, a song sighs hotly: two sing - a man and a woman, each verse is separated from the other by a moment of silence - this gives the song a special expressiveness, something prayerful .
Here the lady slowly ascends from the garden along the wide steps of the marble staircase; she is an old woman, very tall, dark stern face, sternly knitted eyebrows, thin lips stubbornly compressed, as if she had just said: "No!"
On her dry shoulders is a wide and long - like a cloak - a cape of golden silk trimmed with lace, gray hair is small, not tall, her heads are covered with black lace, in one hand is a red umbrella, with a long handle, in the other is a black velvet bag, embroidered silver. She walks through the web of rays straight, firmly, like a soldier, and knocks with the end of her umbrella on the ringing tiles of the floor. In profile, her face is even sterner: her nose is bent, her chin is sharp, and on it is a large gray wart, her bulging forehead hangs heavily over the dark pits where her eyes are hidden in a network of wrinkles. They are hidden so deep that the old woman seems to be blind.
Behind her, waddling from side to side like a drake, on the steps of the stairs noiselessly appears the square body of a hunchback, with a large, heavily bowed head in a gray soft hat. He keeps his hands in the pockets of his vest, which makes him even wider and more angular. He is wearing a white suit and white boots with soft soles. His mouth is painfully open, yellow uneven teeth are visible, a dark mustache, sparse and hard, unpleasantly bristles on his upper lip, he breathes quickly and hard, his nose twitches, but his mustache does not move. He walks, ugly twisting his short legs, his huge eyes boringly look at the ground. There are many big things on this small body: a large gold ring with a cameo on the ring finger of the left hand, a large gold ring with two rubies, a token at the end of a black ribbon that replaces the watch chain, and in a blue tie, an opal is too large, an unfortunate stone.
And a third figure, slowly, enters the terrace, also an old woman, small and round, with a kindly red face, with lively eyes, probably cheerful and talkative.
They walk along the terrace at the door of the hotel, like people from the paintings of Gogart: ugly, sad, funny and alien to everything under this sun - it seems that everything fades and dims at the sight of them.
They are Dutch brother and sister, children of a diamond dealer and a banker, people of a very strange fate, if you believe what is derisively told about them.
As a child, the hunchback was quiet, inconspicuous, thoughtful and did not like toys. It did not excite anyone except my sister special attention to him - the father and mother found that this was how a failed person should be, but in a girl who was four years older than her brother, his character aroused an anxious feeling.
She spent almost all her days with him, trying in every possible way to arouse revival in him, to cause laughter, slipped him toys - he stacked them, one on top of the other, building some kind of pyramids, and only very rarely smiled with a forced smile, usually he looked at his sister , as for everything, - with a sad look of large eyes, as if blinded by something; that look annoyed her.
Don't you dare look like that, you'll grow up to be an idiot! she shouted, stamping her feet, pinching him, hitting him, he whimpered, protected his head, throwing his long arms up, but he never ran away from her and never complained about the beatings.
Later, when it seemed to her that he could understand what was already clear to her, she urged him:
If you are a freak - you must be smart, otherwise everyone will be ashamed of you, dad, mom and everyone! Even people will become ashamed that there is a little freak in such a rich house. In a rich house, everything should be beautiful or smart - you know?
Yes,” he said seriously, tilting his large head to one side and looking into her face with the dark gaze of lifeless eyes.
Father and mother admired the girl's attitude to her brother, praised her good heart in his presence, and imperceptibly she became the recognized confidante of the hunchback - she taught him how to use toys, helped prepare lessons, read him stories about princes and fairies.
But, as before, he piled toys in high heaps, as if trying to achieve something, but he studied inattentively and poorly, only the miracles of fairy tales made him smile hesitantly, and one day he asked his sister:
Are princes humpbacked?
And the knights?
Of course not!
The boy sighed wearily, and she, putting her hand on his coarse hair, said:
But wise wizards are always hunchbacked.
So I'll be a magician, - the hunchback obediently remarked, and then, after thinking, he added:
Are fairies always beautiful?
Always.
May be! I think - even more beautiful, - she said honestly.
He was eight years old, and his sister noticed that every time during their walks, when they passed or drove past houses under construction, the boy’s face showed an expression of surprise, he stared for a long time at how people were working, and then turned his mute eyes inquiringly to her.
Is it interesting for you? she asked.
Shy, he replied:
Why?
I don't know.
But once he explained:
Such small people and bricks - and then huge houses. Is this how the whole city is made?
Yes of course.
And our house?
Certainly!
Looking at him, she said decisively:
You'll be a famous architect, that's what!
They bought him a lot of wooden cubes, and from that time a passion for construction flared up in him: for days on end, he, sitting on the floor of his room, silently erected tall towers that fell with a crash. He built them again, and it became so necessary for him that even at the table, during dinner, he tried to build something from knives, forks and napkin rings. His eyes became more focused and deeper, and his hands came to life and moved continuously, feeling with his fingers every object that they could take.
Now, during his walks around the city, he was ready to stand for hours in front of a house under construction, watching how a huge thing grows from a small one to the sky; his nostrils trembled, smelling the dust of bricks and the smell of boiling lime, his eyes became sleepy, covered with a film of intense thoughtfulness, and when he was told that it was indecent to stand on the street, he did not hear.
Let's go! his sister woke him up, tugging at his hand.
He bowed his head and walked, all looking back.
You will be an architect, right? she suggested and asked.
One day, after dinner, in the living room, while waiting for coffee, my father started talking about the time to leave toys and start studying seriously, but my sister, in the tone of a person whose mind is recognized and who cannot be ignored, asked:
I hope, dad, that you are not thinking of sending him to an educational institution?
Big, shaven, without a mustache, adorned with many sparkling stones, the father said, lighting a cigar:
Why not?
Do you know, why!
Since it was about him, the hunchback quietly retired; he walked slowly and heard his sister say:
But everyone will laugh at him!
Oh yes, of course! - said the mother in a thick voice, damp, like an autumn wind.
People like him should be hidden! my sister said hotly.
Oh yes, there is nothing to be proud of! - said the mother. - How much mind in this head, oh!
Perhaps you are right, - agreed the father.
No, how crazy...
The hunchback came back, stood at the door and said:
I'm not stupid either...
We'll see, - said the father, and the mother remarked:
Nobody thinks like that...
You will study at home,” the sister announced, seating him next to her. - You will learn everything that an architect needs to know - do you like it?
Yes. You'll see.
What will I see?
What I like.
She was a little taller than him - by half a head - but she screened everything - both mother and father. At that time she was fifteen years old. He looked like a crab, and she - thin, slender and strong - seemed to him a fairy, under whose authority the whole house lived and he, a little hunchback.
And so polite, cold people go to him, they explain something, ask, and he indifferently admits to them that he does not understand the sciences, and coldly looks somewhere through the teachers, thinking about his own. It is clear to everyone that his thoughts are directed beyond the usual, he speaks little, but sometimes asks strange questions:
What happens to those who don't want to do anything?
The well-bred teacher, in a black, tightly buttoned frock coat, at the same time resembling a priest and a warrior, answered:
With such people, everything bad that you can imagine is done! So, for example, many of them become socialists.
Thank you! - says the hunchback, - he behaves with teachers correctly and dryly, like an adult. - What is a socialist?
At best, he is a dreamer and a lazy person, in general, he is a moral freak, devoid of an idea of God, property, and the nation.
The teachers always gave short answers, their answers stuck in memory as tightly as pavement stones.
Can an old woman also be a moral deformity?
Oh, of course, among them...
And a girl?
Yes. It's innate...
Teachers said about him:
He has poor math skills, but big interest on moral issues...
You talk a lot, - his sister told him, having learned about his conversations with teachers.
They talk more.
And you don't pray to God...
He won't fix my hump...
Ah, that's how you started to think! she exclaimed in astonishment, and said:
I forgive you this, but - forget all that - do you hear?
She was already wearing long dresses, and he was thirteen years old.
Since that time, troubles have rained down on her abundantly: almost every time she entered her brother’s working room, some bars, boards, tools fell at her feet, hitting her shoulder, then her head, beating off her fingers - the hunchback always warned her cry:
Watch out!
But - always late, and she was in pain.
Once, limping, she ran up to him, pale, angry, and shouted in his face:
You're doing it on purpose, freak! and slapped him on the cheek.
His legs were weak, he fell and, sitting on the floor, quietly, without tears and without offense, said to her:
How can you think this? You love me, don't you? Do you love me?
She ran away, groaning, then came to explain.
You see, this has never happened before...
And this too, - he calmly noticed, making a wide circle with his long arm: boards, boxes were heaped in the corners of the room, everything had a very chaotic appearance, carpentry and lathes near the walls were littered with wood.
Why did you bring in so much of this rubbish? she asked, looking round in disgust and incredulity.
You'll see!
He had already begun to build: he made a house for rabbits and a kennel for a dog, he invented a rat trap, - his sister jealously followed his work and at the table proudly told about them to his mother and father, - his father, nodding his head approvingly, said:
It all started with little things, and it always starts like this!
And the mother, hugging her, asked her son:
Do you understand how to appreciate her concern for you?
Yes, said the hunchback.
When he made a rat trap, he called his sister to him and, showing her the clumsy construction, said:
This is no longer a toy, and you can take a patent! Look - how simple and strong, touch here.
The girl touched, something clapped, and she screamed wildly, and the hunchback, jumping around her, muttered:
Oh no, no, no...
The mother came running, the servants came. They broke the apparatus for catching rats, freed the pinched, bluish finger of the girl and carried her away in a swoon.
In the evening he was called to his sister, and she asked:
You did it on purpose, you hate me - why?
Shaking his hump, he answered, quietly and calmly:
You just touched it with the wrong hand.
You are lying!
But - why should I spoil your hands? It's not even the hand you hit me with...
Look, freak, you are not smarter than me! ..
He agreed:
His angular face was, as always, calm, his eyes looked intently - it was not believed that he was angry and could lie.
After that, she began to visit him not so often. Her friends visited her - noisy girls in multi-colored dresses, they gloriously ran around the large, a little cold and gloomy rooms - paintings, statues, flowers and gilding - everything became warmer with them. Sometimes his sister would come with them to his room—they stiffly held out their little pink-nailed fingers to him, touching his hand so carefully, as if they were afraid of breaking it. They spoke with him especially meekly and affectionately, looking with surprise, but without interest, at the hunchback among his tools, drawings, pieces of wood and shavings. He knew that all the girls called him "inventor" - this sister inspired them - and that they expected something from him in the future that should glorify the name of his father, - the sister spoke about it confidently.
He, of course, is not handsome, but he is very smart, she often reminded him.
She was nineteen years old and already married when her father and mother died at sea, during a trip on a pleasure yacht, wrecked and sunk by a drunken navigator of an American truck; she, too, was supposed to go on this walk, but her teeth suddenly hurt.
When the news of the death of her father and mother came, she, forgetting her toothache, ran around the room and shouted, raising her hands:
No, no, it can't be!
The hunchback stood at the door, wrapping himself in a curtain, looked at her attentively and said, shaking his hump:
My father was so round and empty - I don't understand how he could drown...
Shut up, you don't love anyone! the sister screamed.
I just don't know how to say kind words," he said.
The father's corpse was not found, and the mother was killed before she fell into the water - they pulled her out, and she lay in the coffin as dry and brittle as the dead branch of an old tree, which she had been in life.
Here we are left alone with you, - the sister said sternly and sadly to her brother after the funeral of her mother, pushing him away from her with a sharp look of gray eyes. - It will be difficult for us, we know nothing and we can lose a lot. So sorry I can't get married right now!
ABOUT! exclaimed the hunchback.
What is - o?
He thought and said:
We are alone.
You say it like that, it's like something makes you happy!
I am not happy about anything.
This is also very unfortunate! You look awfully little like a living person.
In the evenings her fiance came - a small, lively little man, blond, with a fluffy mustache on a tanned round face; he laughed untiringly all evening, and probably could have laughed all day. They were already engaged, and a new house was being built for them in one of the best streets in the city - the cleanest and quietest. The hunchback had never been to this construction site and did not like to listen when people talked about it. The groom clapped him on the shoulders with a small, plump hand, with rings on it, and said, baring his many small teeth:
You should go see this, huh? How do you think?
He refused for a long time under various pretexts, finally gave in and went with him and his sister, and when the two of them climbed to the upper tier of the scaffolding, they fell from there - the groom was right on the ground, working with lime, and the brother caught on the scaffolding with his dress, hung in the air and was removed by masons. He only dislocated his leg and arm, smashed his face, and the groom broke his spine and cut open his side.
My sister was convulsing, her hands scratched the ground, raising white dust; she cried for a long time, more than a month, and then she became like her mother - she lost weight, stretched out and began to speak in a damp, cold voice:
You are my misfortune!
He remained silent, lowering his large eyes to the ground. The sister dressed in black, drew her eyebrows into one line, and, meeting her brother, clenched her teeth so that her cheekbones protruded. sharp corners, and he tried not to catch her eye and kept making some kind of drawings, lonely, silent. So he lived until adulthood, and from that day an open struggle began between them, to which they devoted their whole lives - a struggle that connected them with strong links of mutual insults and insults.
On the day of his coming of age, he said to her in the tone of an elder:
There are no wise wizards, no good fairies, there are only people, some are evil, others are stupid, and everything that is said about good is a fairy tale! But I want the fairy tale to be reality. Remember, you said: “In a rich house, everything should be beautiful or smart”? In a rich city, too, everything should be beautiful. I'm buying land outside the city and I'll build a house there for myself and freaks like me, I'll get them out of this city where it's too hard for them to live, and it's unpleasant for people like you to look at them ...
No, she said, you certainly won't! This is a crazy idea!
This is your idea.
They argued, coldly and reservedly, as people of great hatred for each other argue when they do not need to hide this hatred.
It's decided! - he said.
Not by me, - answered the sister.
He lifted his hump and left, and after a while the sister found out that the land had been bought and, moreover, the diggers were already digging ditches for the foundation, dozens of carts were bringing brick, stone, iron and wood.
Do you still feel like a boy? she asked. - Do you think this is a game?
He was silent.
Once a week, his sister - dry, slender and proud - went out of town in a small carriage, driving a white horse herself, and, slowly passing by the works, coldly watched how the red meat of bricks was tied together by the sinews of iron beams, and the yellow tree lay down in a heavy mass. nerve threads. She saw from a distance the figure of her brother, like a crab, he crawled through the forests, with a cane in his hand, in a crumpled hat, dusty, gray, like a spider; then, at home, she looked intently into his excited face, into his dark eyes - they became softer and clearer.
No, - he said quietly, - I thought well, equally good for you and for us! It is a wonderful thing to build, and it seems to me that I will soon consider myself a happy person ...
She asked, mysteriously measuring his ugly body with her eyes:
Happy?
Yes! You know - the people who work are completely different from us, they excite special thoughts. How good it must be for a bricklayer to walk through the streets of the city where he built dozens of houses! There are many socialists among the workers, they are, above all, sober people, and, really, they have their own sense of dignity. Sometimes it seems to me that we do not know our people well ...
You sound strange, she said.
The hunchback came to life, becoming more talkative every day:
In essence, everything is going the way you wanted: here I am becoming a wise wizard, freeing the city from freaks, but you could, if you wanted, be good fairy! Why don't you answer?
We'll talk about it later," she said, playing with her gold watch chain.
One day he spoke in a language completely unfamiliar to her:
Perhaps I am more to blame for you than you are for me...
She was surprised:
I am guilty? Before you?
Wait! Honestly, I'm not as guilty as you think! After all, I walk badly, perhaps I pushed him then - but there was no ill intention no, believe me! I'm much more guilty of wanting to ruin the hand you hit me with...
Let's leave it! - she said.
I think it needs to be better! muttered the hunchback. - I think that good is not a fairy tale, it is possible ...
The huge building outside the city grew with great rapidity, spreading across the rich earth and rising into the sky, always gray, always threatening with rain.
One day, a bunch of official people came to work, they examined what had been built and, having quietly talked among themselves, forbade building further.
You did it! - shouted the hunchback, rushing at his sister and seizing her by the throat with long, strong arms, but strangers came from somewhere, tore him away from her, and the sister said to them:
You see, gentlemen, that he is really insane and guardianship is necessary! It began with him immediately after the death of his father, whom he passionately loved, ask the servants - they all know about his illness. They were silent until recently - these are kind people, the honor of the house where many of them have lived since childhood is dear to them. I also hid my misfortune - after all, one cannot be proud that a brother is insane ...
His face turned blue and his eyes popped out of their sockets as he listened to this speech, he became dumb and silently scratched the hands of the people holding him with his nails, and she continued:
A wasteful undertaking with this house, which I intend to give to the city as a psychiatric hospital named after my father...
He squealed, lost consciousness, and was taken away.
The sister continued and completed the building with the same speed with which he led her, and when the house was completely rebuilt, her brother entered it as the first patient. He spent seven years there, long enough to turn into an idiot; he developed melancholy, and during this time his sister grew old, lost hope of being a mother, and when she finally saw that her enemy had been killed and would not rise, she took him into her care.
And so they circle around the globe hither and thither, like blinded birds, they stare senselessly and bleakly at everything and see nothing anywhere but themselves.
The blue water seems as thick as oil, the propeller of the steamer works softly and almost silently in it. The deck does not tremble underfoot, only the mast is shaking tensely, directed to the clear sky; cables sing softly, stretched like strings, but - you are already used to this trembling, you do not notice it, and it seems that the steamer, white and slender, like a swan, is motionless on slippery water. To notice the movement, you need to look over the side: there a greenish wave repels from the white sides, frowns and runs away in wide soft folds, bending, sparkling with mercury and sleepily murmuring.
Morning, the sea has not yet fully awakened, the pink colors of sunrise have not faded in the sky, but Gorgonu Island has already passed - overgrown with forest, a harsh lonely stone, with a round gray tower on top and a crowd of white houses near the sleeping water. Several small boats quickly slipped past the sides of the steamer - these are people from the island going for sardines. The measured splash of long oars and the thin figures of fishermen remain in my memory - they row standing and swing, as if bowing to the sun.
Behind the stern of the steamer is a wide strip of greenish foam, over which seagulls lazily swoop; sometimes a python appears from nowhere, stretched out like a cigar, flies silently over the very water and suddenly pierces it like an arrow.
In the distance, the shores of Liguria rise cloudy from the sea - purple mountains; another two or three hours, and the steamer would enter the cramped harbor of marble Genoa.
The sun is rising higher, promising a hot day.
Two footmen ran out on deck; one is young, thin and nimble, a Neapolitan, with an elusive expression of a mobile face, the other is a middle-aged man, gray-moustached, black-browed, with silver bristles on a round skull; he has a hooked nose and serious intelligent eyes. Joking and laughing, they quickly set the table for coffee and ran away, and the passengers slowly got out of the cabins in single file, one by one: a fat man, with a small head and a swollen face, red-cheeked, but sad and wearily spread plump raspberry lips; a man in gray whiskers, tall, all sort of smoothed out, with inconspicuous eyes and a small button nose on a yellow flat face; behind them, stumbling over the copper threshold, jumped out a red-haired round man with a paunch, a militantly curled mustache, in a climbing suit and a hat with a green feather. All three stood up to the side, the fat one screwed up his eyes sadly and said:
That's how quiet, huh?
The whiskered man put his hands in his pockets, spread his legs, and looked like open scissors. The red-haired man took out a gold clock, large as a pendulum of a wall clock, looked at them, at the sky and along the deck, then began to whistle, swinging the clock and stamping his foot.
Two ladies appeared - one young, plump, with a porcelain face and affectionate milky blue eyes, her dark eyebrows seemed to be drawn and one higher than the other; the other is older, sharp-nosed, in a lush hairstyle of faded hair, with a large black mole on her left cheek, with two gold chains around her neck, a lorgnette and many charms at the waist of her gray dress.
They served coffee. The young woman silently sat down at the table and began to pour black moisture, rounding her bare arms to the elbows in a special way. The men approached the table, sat silently, the fat man took the cup and sighed, saying:
The day will be hot...
You're dripping on your knees, the older lady remarked.
He bowed his head, his chin and cheeks swollen against his chest, put the cup down on the table, brushed the drops of coffee from his gray trousers with a handkerchief, and wiped his sweaty face.
Yes! the redhead suddenly spoke loudly, shuffling his short legs. - Yes Yes! If even the left began to complain about hooliganism, then ...
Wait to crack, Ivan! interrupted the older lady. - Lisa won't come out?
She's not well, - the young woman answered sonorously.
But the sea is calm...
Ah, when a woman is in this position...
The fat man smiled and closed his eyes sweetly.
Overboard, tearing the calm surface of the sea, dolphins tumbled, - a man with sideburns looked at them attentively and said:
Dolphins are like pigs.
Red replied:
There's a lot of bullshit here.
The colorless lady raised a cup to her nose, sniffed the coffee, and grimaced in disgust.
Disgusting!
What about milk, huh? - supported the fat one, blinking in fright.
The porcelain-faced lady sang:
And everything is dirty, dirty! And everyone is terribly similar to the Jews ...
The redhead, choking on words, kept talking about something in the ear of the man with sideburns, exactly answered the teacher, knowing the lesson well and being proud of it. His listener was ticklish and curious, he gently shook his head from side to side, and on his flat face his mouth gaped like a crack on a cracked board. Sometimes he wanted to say something, he began in a strange, furry voice:
In my province...
And, without continuing, he again attentively bowed his head to the redhead's mustache.
The fat man sighed heavily, saying:
How you buzz, Ivan...
Well - give me coffee!
He moved towards the table, with a creak and a crackle, and his interlocutor said significantly:
Ivan has ideas.
You didn't get enough sleep,' said the older lady, looking through her eyeglass at the sideburner, who passed his hand over his face and looked at his palm.
I feel like I'm powdered, don't you think so?
Ah, uncle! the young woman exclaimed. - This is the peculiarity of Italy! The skin is terribly dry here!
The older lady asked:
Do you notice, Lydie, how bad sugar they have?
Out on deck big man, in a cap of gray curly hair, with a big nose, cheerful eyes and a cigar in his teeth - the footmen standing at the side bowed respectfully to him.
Good afternoon guys, good afternoon! Nodding his head benevolently, he said in a loud, hoarse voice.
The Russians fell silent, looking askance at him, the mustachioed Ivan said in an undertone:
A retired military man, you can immediately see ....
Noticing that they were looking at him, the gray-haired man took a cigar out of his mouth and politely bowed to the Russians, - the older lady threw her head up and, putting a lorgnette to her nose, looked defiantly at him, the barbel for some reason became embarrassed, quickly turning away, snatched his watch from his pocket and again became swing them in the air. Only the fat man answered the bow, pressing his chin to his chest - this embarrassed the Italian, he nervously put a cigar in the corner of his mouth and asked the elderly footman in an undertone:
Russians?
Yes, sir! Russian governor with his last name...
What kind faces they always have...
Very good people...
The best of the Slavs, of course ...
A little careless, I'd say...
Careless? Is it?
It seems to me - careless to people.
The fat Russian blushed and, smiling broadly, said in a low voice:
He speaks about us...
What? - the eldest asked, wrinkling her face in disgust.
The best, he says, are the Slavs, - the fat man answered, giggling.
They are flattering,” declared the lady, and red-haired Ivan hid his watch and, twisting his mustache with both hands, said dismissively:
They are all amazingly ignorant of us...
They praise you, - said the fat one, - but you think that it is due to ignorance ...
Nonsense! I'm not talking about that, but in general ... I myself know that we are the best.
The man with whiskers, who had been watching the dolphins play all the time, sighed and, shaking his head, remarked:
What a stupid fish!
Two more approached the gray-haired Italian: an old man, in a black frock coat, with glasses, and a long-haired young man, pale, with high forehead, thick eyebrows; all three of them stood up to the side, about five steps from the Russians, the gray-haired one said softly:
When I see Russians - I remember Messina...
Remember how we met the sailors in Naples? - asked the young man.
Yes! They will not forget this day in their forests!
Have you seen a medal in honor of them?
I don't like work.
They talk about Messina, - the fat one told his people.
And - laugh! exclaimed the young lady. - Marvelous!
Seagulls caught up with the steamer, one of them, flapping its crooked wings strongly, hung over the side, and the young lady began to throw biscuits to her. The birds, catching the pieces, fell overboard and again, screaming greedily, rose into the blue void above the sea. Coffee was brought to the Italians, they also began to feed the birds, throwing biscuits up, - the lady strictly moved her eyebrows and said:
Here are the monkeys!
Tolstoy listened attentively to the lively conversation of the Italians and again said:
He is not a military man, but a merchant, he talks about trading with us in grain and that they could also buy kerosene, timber and coal from us.
I immediately saw that I was not a military man, - the older lady admitted.
The redhead again began to talk about something in the ear of the sideburner, who listened to him and stretched his mouth skeptically, and the young Italian spoke, looking sideways in the direction of the Russians:
What a pity that we know little of this country of big people with blue eyes!
The sun is already high and burning strongly, the sea is dazzling, in the distance, from the starboard side, mountains or clouds are growing from the water.
Annette, - says the sideburner, smiling from ear to ear, - listen to what this funny Jean has come up with, - what a way to destroy the rebels in the villages, this is very witty!
And, swaying in his chair, he slowly and boringly spoke, as if translating from a foreign language:
It is necessary, he says, that on the days of fairs, as well as rural holidays, the local zemstvo chief prepares, at the expense of the treasury, stakes and stones, and then he would put the peasants - also at the expense of the treasury - ten, twenty, fifty - depending on the number people - buckets of vodka - nothing else is needed!
I don't understand! said the older lady. - It's a joke?
No seriously! You think ma tante...
The young lady opened her eyes wide and shrugged her shoulders.
What nonsense! To drink vodka from the treasury when they already ...
No, wait, Lydia! cried the redhead, jumping up in his chair. The whisker laughed soundlessly, his mouth wide open and swaying from side to side.
Just think - those hooligans who do not have time to get drunk will kill each other with stakes and stones, is it clear?
Why - each other? asked the fat man.
It's a joke? the older lady inquired again.
The redhead, smoothly spreading his short arms, heatedly argued:
When they are tamed by the authorities - the left screams about cruelty and atrocity, then you need to find a way for them to tame themselves, right?
The steamer rocked plump lady frightened, she grabbed the table, the dishes rattled, the older lady, putting her hand on the fat man's shoulder, asked sternly:
What is it?
We are turning...
Higher and clearer the banks rise from the water - hills and mountains, shrouded in mist, covered with gardens. Dove-gray stones look out from the vineyards, white houses hide in dense clouds of greenery, window glass sparkles in the sun, and bright spots are already visible to the eye; on the very shore nestled among the rocks a small house, its façade facing the sea and hung all over with a heavy mass of bright purple flowers, and above, from the stones of the terrace, red geraniums flow in thick streams. The colors are cheerful, the shore seems gentle and hospitable, the soft outlines of the mountains call to themselves, into the shade of the gardens.
How cramped everything is here,” the fat man said with a sigh; the older lady looked implacably at him, then—into her lorgnette—at the shore, and tightly pursed her thin lips, tossing her head up.
There are already a lot of dark-skinned people on deck in light suits, they are talking noisily, Russian ladies look at them dismissively, like queens at their subjects.
How they wave their hands, - says the young one; the fat man, puffing, explains:
This is a property of the language, it is poor and requires gestures ...
My God! My God! - the eldest sighs deeply, then, after thinking, asks:
What, there are also many museums in Genoa?
It seems only three, - the fat one answered her.
And this is a graveyard? the young woman asked. - Campo Santo. And churches, of course.
And the cabbies are nasty, like in Naples?
The redhead and the sideburner got up, went to the side and there they are talking anxiously, interrupting each other.
What does the Italian say? - the lady asks, adjusting her magnificent hairstyle. Her elbows are pointed, her ears are large and yellow, like withered leaves. The fat man listens attentively and obediently to the curly-haired Italian's lively story.
They, gentlemen, must have a very ancient law forbidding Jews to visit Moscow - this is obviously a relic of despotism, you know - Ivan the Terrible! Even in England there are many archaic laws that have not been repealed to this day. Or maybe this Jew mystified me, in a word, for some reason he did not have the right to visit Moscow - ancient city kings, saints...
And here, in Rome, the mayor is a Jew - in Rome, which is older and more sacred than Moscow, - said the young man, grinning.
And deftly beats dad-tailor! put in the old man with glasses, clapping his hands loudly.
What is the old man shouting about? the lady asked, dropping her hands.
Some nonsense. They speak in a Neapolitan dialect...
He came to Moscow, you need to have shelter, and now this Jew goes to a prostitute, gentlemen, there is nowhere else, - so he said ...
Fable! - the old man said resolutely and waved his hand away from the narrator.
To tell the truth, I think so too.
She turned him over to the police, but at first she took money from him, as if he was using her ...
Muck! - said the old man. - He is a man of dirty imagination, and nothing more. I know Russians from the university - they are kind guys ...
The fat Russian, wiping his sweaty face with a handkerchief, said to the ladies, lazily and indifferently:
He tells a Jewish joke.
With such heat! - the young lady chuckled, and the other remarked:
In these people, with their gestures and noise, there is still something boring ...
A city grows on the shore; rise from behind the hills of the house and, becoming closer to each other, form a solid wall of buildings, as if carved from ivory and reflecting the sun.
It looks like Yalta, - the young lady determines, getting up. - I'm going to Lisa.
Swaying, she slowly carried her large body wrapped in a bluish cloth along the deck, and when she caught up with a group of Italians, the gray-haired one interrupted his speech and said quietly:
What beautiful eyes!
Yes, the old man in glasses shook his head. - This is what Basilide must have been like!
Basilis is a Byzantine?
I see her as a Slav...
They talk about Lydia, - said the fat one.
What? the lady asked. - Of course, vulgarity?
About her eyes. Praise...
The lady made a face.
Sparkling with copper, the steamer affectionately and quickly pressed closer and closer to the shore, the black walls of the pier became visible, hundreds of masts rose into the sky from behind them, bright patches of flags hung motionless in some places, black smoke melted in the air, the smell of oil, coal dust was heard , the noise of works in the harbor and the complex rumble of a big city.
The fat man suddenly laughed.
Are you what? asked the lady, screwing up her gray, faded eyes.
The Germans will crush them, by God, you'll see!
What are you happy about?
The whisker, looking down at his feet, asked the red-haired man, loudly and strictly grammatically:
Would you be happy with this surprise or not?
The redhead, twirling his mustache ferociously, did not answer.
The steamer went quieter. The muddy-green water splashed and sobbed against the white sides, as if complaining; marble houses, high towers, openwork terraces were not reflected in it. The black mouth of the port was opened, crowded with many ships.
XVII
A man in a light-coloured suit, dry and clean-shaven, like an American, sat down at an iron table by the door of the restaurant, and lazily sang:
Everything around is densely dotted with acacia flowers - white and like gold: the rays of the sun shine everywhere, on the ground and in the sky - the quiet fun of spring. In the middle of the street, clicking their hooves, little donkeys with shaggy ears run, heavy horses walk slowly, people walk slowly - you clearly see that all living things want to stay in the sun as long as possible, in the air full of the honey smell of flowers.
Again - strikes, riots, right?
He shrugged, smiling softly.
If it were possible without it...
An old woman in a black dress, stern as a nun, silently offered the engineer a bouquet of violets, he took two and handed one to his interlocutor, saying thoughtfully:
You, Trama, have such a good brain, and, really, it is a pity that you are an idealist ...
Thanks for the flowers and the compliment. Did you say sorry?
Yes! You are essentially a poet, and you have to study to become a good engineer...
Trama, laughing softly, baring his white teeth, said:
Oh, that's right! An engineer is a poet, I was convinced of this while working with you ...
You are a kind person...
And I thought - why shouldn't the engineer become a socialist? A socialist also needs to be a poet...
They laughed, both looking at each other equally intelligently, surprisingly different, one - dry, nervous, worn out, with faded eyes, the other - as if forged yesterday and not yet polished.
No, Trama, I would rather have my own workshop and a dozen or so fellows like you. Wow, here we would do something...
He tapped his fingers softly on the table and sighed as he threaded the flowers into his buttonhole.
Damn it, - Trama exclaimed excitedly, - what trifles interfere with life and work ...
Are you calling the history of mankind trifles, Master Trama? - Smiling thinly, the engineer asked; the worker pulled off his hat, waved it, and spoke, ardently and lively:
Eh, what is the history of my ancestors?
your ancestors? asked the engineer, emphasizing the first word with an even sharper smile.
Yes mine! Is this audacity? Let there be boldness! But - why are Giordano Bruno, Vico and Mazzini not my ancestors - do I not live in their world, do I not use what their great minds have sown around me?
Ah, in that sense!
Everything that is given to the world by those who have departed from it is given to me!
Of course, - said the engineer, seriously moving his eyebrows.
And everything that has been done before me - before us - is ore, which we must turn into steel - isn't it?
Why not? It is clear!
After all, you scientists, like us workers, live off the work of the minds of the past.
I do not argue, - said the engineer, bowing his head; near him stood a boy in gray rags, small, like a ball broken by a game; holding a bouquet of crocuses in his dirty paws, he insistently said:
Take my flowers, sir...
I already have...
Flowers are never enough...
Bravo, baby! Trama said. - Bravo, give me two...
And when the boy gave him flowers, he raised his hat and suggested to the engineer:
Anything?
Thank you.
Wonderful day, isn't it?
You can feel it even at my fifty years...
He looked around thoughtfully, narrowing his eyes, then sighed.
You, I think, should especially strongly feel the play of the spring sun in your veins, this is not only because you are young, but - as I see it - the whole world is different for you than for me, right?
I don't know, - he said, grinning, - but life is beautiful!
With your promises? - the engineer asked skeptically, and this question seemed to touch his interlocutor, - putting on his hat, he quickly said:
Life is beautiful in everything that I like about it! Damn it, my dear engineer, for me, words are not just sounds and letters - when I read a book, see a picture, admire the beautiful - I feel as if I did it all myself!
Both laughed, one loudly and openly, as if showing off his ability to laugh, throwing his head back, throwing out his broad chest, the other almost soundlessly, sobbing laughter, exposing teeth in which gold was stuck, as if he had recently chewed it and forgot to clean the greenish bones of his teeth. .
Unless you rebel...
Oh, I always rebel...
And, making a serious face, screwing up his bottomless black eyes, he asked:
I hope - we then behaved quite correctly?
Shrugging, the engineer stood up.
Oh yeah. Yes! This story - you know? - cost the company thirty-seven thousand lire...
It would be wiser to include them in wages...
Hm! You think badly. Prudence? It is different for every animal.
He held out his dry yellow hand and, as the worker shook it, he said:
I still repeat that you should study and study...
I am learning every minute...
You would have developed into an engineer with a good imagination.
Uh, fantasy does not prevent me from living and now ...
Goodbye, stubborn...
The engineer walked under the acacias, through the network of sunlight, walking slowly with long, dry legs, carefully pulling the glove on the thin fingers of his right hand - a small, blue-black garcon moved away from the door of the restaurant where he was listening to this conversation, and said to the worker, who was rummaging through purse, taking out copper coins:
Our famous one is getting old...
He will stand up for himself! the worker exclaimed confidently. - He has a lot of fire under his skull...
Where will you speak next?
In the same place, at the labor exchange. Did you hear me?
Three times, comrade...
After shaking each other's hands firmly, they parted with a smile; one went in the direction opposite to the one where the engineer had disappeared, the other, humming thoughtfully, began to clear the dishes from the tables.
A group of schoolchildren in white aprons - boys and girls march in the middle of the road, noise and laughter fly from them with sparks, the two in front loudly blow trumpets rolled from paper, acacias quietly shower them with snow of white petals. Always - and in the spring especially eagerly - you look at the children and want to shout after them, cheerfully and loudly:
Hey you people! Long live your future!
Studying the summary of the chapters of Gorky's novel "Mother", one can understand why this work was first published in the USA. The author published it only in 1907-1908, it had major changes regarding censorship. original without changes Russian readers were able to see after.
In contact with
History of creation
Although work on the work took place in the middle of 1906, the first sketches were made as early as 1903. By mid-October, Gorky moved from America closer to Russia and - to Italy, where he finishes the first edition. The history of the creation of the novel is connected with a close acquaintance of the author and Sormov workers. The material for the creation of the novel "Mother" was the actions taking place at the Sormovo plant in Nizhny Novgorod.
He witnessed the preparations for the May demonstration and the trial of its participants. Close contact with the workforce of the enterprise in 1901–1902. allowed Gorky to collect material that served the basis for the creation of the novel, where the main character Pavel Vlasov and his friend Andrey Nakhodka are experiencing similar events.
Important! The author's attention is paid to the strength of the protesting oppressed class, called the proletariat. He displays his struggle in others early works. For example, the play "Petty Bourgeois", revealing the image of a working revolutionary or "Enemies", reflecting the events of the first Russian revolution.
Main character's family
The image of Pavel Vlasov in Gorky's novel "Mother" begins with a description of the hero at the age of 14. The protagonist's father's name was Mikhail, he was a factory locksmith, who was disliked by his colleagues. Rude, grumpy character, reflected in loved ones: the wife and child were periodically beaten. Before his death, having come home from work, he decided to teach his son a lesson, to pull his hair. Pavel grabbed a heavy hammer - the father was afraid to touch the young man. After the incident Mikhail became isolated, and when he died of a hernia, no one was sorry.
After that, Pavel continues to work at the factory. Suddenly he changes, on holidays he begins to go for walks, brings and reads forbidden literature. Mother explains her behavior desire to know the truth for which they can be sent to hard labor, put in jail.
Revolutionaries gather in the hero's house every Saturday. They read books, sing forbidden songs, characterize the state system, discuss the life of workers.
The mother understands that "socialist" is a terrible word, but she sympathizes with her son's comrades. Nilovna is only 40 years old, but the author describes her as an elderly woman, broken by a difficult hopeless life, a difficult fate.
Plot development
Maxim Gorky in the novel "Mother" revealed Nilovna's maternal love: she is getting closer to her son's friends, while relations with Pavel are getting better. Among the guests visiting the house, the author identifies several:
- Natasha is a young girl from rich family who left her parents and came to work as a teacher;
- Nikolai Ivanovich is a well-read, intelligent man, he can always find interesting topic and tell the workers;
- Sashenka - the daughter of a landowner who left the family for the sake of an idea;
- Andrei Nakhodka is a young man who grew up as an orphan.
The retelling of the summary of Gorky's novel "Mother" reveals the life of revolutionaries. Nilovna feels that Pavel and Sashenka love each other, however, for the good of the revolution, the youth refuses to start a family, as this may distract from an important matter. Andrey Nakhodka understands what mother's love: the mistress of the house treats him as if he were her own. Soon the Vlasovs invite him to live with them, and he agrees.
The promotion of the plot and the next presentation of the image of Pavel Mikhailovich Vlasov in Gorky's novel "Mother" begins with an episode called "swamp penny". Summary is as follows: the management of the factory imposes an additional charge on the already small wages of the workers. It will be intended for the habitation of swampy lands located near the walls of the enterprise. The protagonist decides to pay attention to this and writes a note to the city newspaper. The mother of the traitor is called to take the text to the editor. At this time, he himself leads a rally taking place at the plant. However, the director calms the crowd from the first word and sends everyone to their jobs. Paul understands that people do not trust him because of his young age. At night, the gendarmes take Pavel to prison.
Traitor's mother
What Gorky's work "Mother" is about becomes clear in the first chapters. The main problem is to reveal the image and spirit of the workers, fighting against the current government and requisitions. After reading the novel, the name of the protagonist's mother would hardly have been remembered if it were not for the subsequent events in which she is at the forefront of the plot of the novel. Gradually analyzing the meaning of the book chapter by chapter, the motivation for the actions of an elderly woman becomes clear: this is motherly love.
Immediately after the arrest, a friend of his son comes to Nilovna and asks for help. The fact is that a total of 50 people were arrested, but it is possible to prove non-involvement in the rally only by continuing distribution of leaflets. The mother of the traitor son agrees to carry the papers to the factory. She begins to deliver lunches to the factory for workers, which are prepared by a woman she knows, she takes advantage of the fact that the old woman is not searched. After some time, the main characters, Andrei Nakhodka and Pavel Vlasov, are released.
Attention! In Maxim Gorky's novel "Mother", the image of the main characters is depicted in such a way that after leaving prison they are not afraid, but continue to engage in underground activities.
Arrest again
Workers are preparing for the May Day holiday. It is planned to march through the streets of the city and deliver a speech on the factory square. Paul cannot think of anything but leading the procession, carrying in his hands the red banner of freedom.
However, the gendarmes and soldiers block the path of the demonstrators and disperse the procession. Many are behind bars, and Vlasov among them.
Nilovna was present at the arrest of her son, she saw everything. The one who wrote "Mother" perfectly understood what was going on in the mother's heart. Further development events is characterized by spontaneous and thoughtless actions of an elderly woman: she picks up a piece of the banner that her only son was carrying, and takes it home.
After the events described, the old woman is taken away by Nikolai Ivanovich (such conditions were agreed between him, Andrei and Pavel in advance). In the heart of the mother, the flame of desire for a better life and at the same time resentment for the fate of her son burns, so she leads active underground activity:
- distributes underground books, magazines;
- talking to people, listening to stories;
- convinces them to join.
Traveling around the province, Nilovna sees how poor the common people live, unable to enjoy huge wealth native land. Coming back, the mother hurries to meet with Pavel. Friends worry about best friend, they are trying to arrange an escape, initiated by Sashenka. The hero refuses help, explaining his actions by the desire to make a speech before the court.
On trial
Maxim Gorky wrote about Pavel's trial as a sad picture of the past: the speeches of a lawyer, a judge, a prosecutor are perceived as one. The words of Pavel Vlasov sounded loud and bold. He did not say words of justification, the young man tried to explain to those who were, who they were - new age people. Although they are called rebels, they are socialists. The slogan consists of simple, understandable words:
- Power to the people!
- The means of production to the people!
- Labor is obligatory for all citizens!
The judge reacted negatively to the statements of the young revolutionary and passed a sentence: "All detainees are sent to a settlement in Siberia." The mother is skeptical about the sentence for her son, realizing the court's decision only after some time. Nilovna does not believe in the possibility of separation from the only Pavel for many years.
The problems of Gorky's novel "Mother" affect the last chapters of the work. The court delivers a verdict: the accused refer to the settlement. Sashenka is going to follow her lover, Nilovna plans to come if her son has grandchildren.
However, during the transportation of the printed judicial speech Paul in a nearby town an elderly woman recognizes in a glance young man familiar features.
He was present at the courthouse, next to the prison. The guy whispers to the watchman, he goes up to his mother, calls her a thief. The latter, in turn, calls the accusation a lie, handing out flyers with her son's speech to those around her. The gendarme who arrived in time grabs the woman by the throat, in response, a wheezing and exclamations of people who see this spectacle are heard.
Gradually following the chapters, the woman does not realize: from an ordinary mother, whose son is in prison, she has turned into the mother of a traitor. The summary of the plot of the work does not allow you to fully plunge into the cycle of problems that have swept over a simple Russian heroine. The problems of Gorky's novel "Mother" affect a wide range of popularity of revolutionary ideas among the working class.
As a depicted subject, the author shows life ordinary person, becoming a person, able to think and reflect. The work is a socio-political book, pushing for the identification of a promising idea of the emergence of a stubborn struggle against the oppressive class.
Summary of Gorky's novel "Mother"
Analysis of the novel by Maxim Gorky "Mother"
Conclusion
Separately, it should be mentioned that the main characters of Gorky's novel "Mother" were invented after meeting with the revolutionaries, because of which the author had to emigrate to America. The meaning of the novel lies in the fact that the author writing for millions, he tried to make his works simple and understandable. But, despite this, after the novel was written and published, Gorky was not satisfied with his work, just like many others.
I, the servant of God Timur, say what follows! Here is a woman sitting in front of me, what darkness, and she aroused in my soul feelings unknown to me. She speaks to me as an equal, and she does not ask, but demands. And I see, I understood why this woman is so strong - she loves, and love helped her to know that her child is a spark of life, from which a flame can flare up for many centuries. Weren't all prophets children and heroes weak? Oh, Dzhigangir, the fire of my eyes, maybe you were destined to warm the earth, sow it with happiness - I watered it well with blood, and it became fat!
Again the scourge of the peoples thought for a long time and finally said:
- I, the servant of God Timur, say what follows! Three hundred horsemen will immediately go to all the ends of my land, and let them find the son of this woman, and she will wait here, and I will wait with her, the same one who returns with a child on the saddle of his horse, he will be happy - says Timur! So, woman?
She brushed her black hair back from her face, smiled at him, and replied with a nod of her head:
Yes, king!
Then this terrible old man stood up and silently bowed to her, and the cheerful poet Kermani spoke, like a child, with great joy:
What is more beautiful than songs about flowers and stars?
Everyone will immediately say: songs about love!
What is more beautiful than the sun on a clear May afternoon?
And the lover will say: the one I love!
Oh, the stars in the midnight sky are beautiful - I know!
And the sun is beautiful on a clear summer afternoon - I know!
The eyes of my dear of all colors are more beautiful - I know!
And her smile is sweeter than the sun - I know!
But the most beautiful song of all has not yet been sung,
A song about the beginning of all beginnings in the world,
Song about the heart of the world, about the magic heart
The one whom we, people, call Mother!
And Timur-leng said to his poet:
Yes, Kermani! God was not mistaken in choosing your mouth to proclaim his wisdom!
- E! God himself is a good poet! said the drunken Kermani.
And the woman smiled, and all the kings and princes, military leaders and all other children smiled, looking at her - Mother!
All this is true; all the words here are true, our mothers know about it, ask them and they will say:
- Yes, all this is eternal truth, we are stronger than death, we who continuously give the world sages, poets and heroes, we who sow in it everything for which it is glorious!
You can talk about Mothers endlessly.
For several weeks the city had been surrounded by a close ring of enemies clad in iron; bonfires were lit at night, and the fire looked from the black darkness at the walls of the city with many red eyes - they glowed with malevolence, and this burning burning evoked gloomy thoughts in the besieged city.
From the walls they saw how the enemy's noose tightened more and more tightly, how their black shadows flickered around the lights; the neighing of well-fed horses was heard, the clanging of weapons, loud laughter, cheerful songs of people confident of victory were heard - and what is more painful to hear than the laughter and songs of the enemy?
All the streams that fed the city with water were thrown by the enemies with corpses, they burned the vineyards around the walls, trampled the fields, cut down the gardens - the city was open on all sides, and almost every day the cannons and muskets of the enemies showered it with iron and lead.
Detachments of soldiers, exhausted by battles, half-starved, marched sullenly along the narrow streets of the city; the groans of the wounded, the cries of delirium, the prayers of women and the crying of children poured out from the windows of the houses. They were talking depressedly, in an undertone, and, stopping each other's speech in mid-sentence, they listened intently - were the enemies going to attack?
Life became especially unbearable in the evening, when in the silence groans and cries sounded clearer and more abundant, when blue-black shadows crawled out of the gorges of distant mountains and, hiding the enemy camp, moved towards the half-broken walls, and above the black teeth of the mountains the moon appeared like a lost shield. beaten with swords.
Not expecting help, exhausted by toil and hunger, losing hope every day, people looked in fear at this moon, the sharp teeth of the mountains, the black mouths of the gorges and the noisy camp of enemies - everything reminded them of death, and not a single star shone consolingly for them.
They were afraid to light fires in the houses, thick darkness flooded the streets, and in this darkness, like a fish in the depths of a river, a woman silently flashed, wrapped in a black cloak with her head.
When people saw her, they asked each other:
- That's her?
And they hid in niches under the gates, or, with their heads down, silently ran past her, and the chiefs of patrols sternly warned her:
“Are you out on the street again, Monna Marianne?” Look, you can be killed, and no one will look for the culprit in this ...
She straightened up, waited, but the patrol passed by, not daring or disdaining to raise a hand against her; armed men walked around her like a corpse, but she remained in the darkness and again quietly, alone, walked somewhere, going from street to street, mute and black, like the embodiment of the misfortunes of the city, and all around, pursuing her, sad sounds crept plaintively: groans , crying, prayers and gloomy talk of soldiers who have lost hope of victory.
A citizen and mother, she thought about her son and homeland: at the head of the people who destroyed the city was her son, a cheerful and ruthless handsome man; until recently, she looked at him with pride, as at her precious gift to her homeland, as at a good force born by her to help the people of the city - the nest where she herself was born, gave birth and brought him up. Hundreds of unbreakable threads connected her heart with ancient stones, from which her ancestors built houses and laid the walls of the city, with the earth where the bones of her blood lay, with legends, songs and hopes of people - she lost the heart of the mother of the person closest to him and cried: it was like scales, but, weighing the love for his son and the city, he could not understand - what is easier, what is harder.
So she walked the streets at night, and many, not recognizing her, were frightened, mistaking the black figure for the personification of death, close to everyone, and recognizing, they silently moved away from the mother of the traitor.
But one day, in a deaf corner, near the city wall, she saw another woman: kneeling beside a corpse, motionless, like a piece of earth, she prayed, raising her mournful face to the stars, and on the wall, above her head, watchmen were quietly talking and gnashing weapons, brushing against the stones of the prongs.
The traitor's mother asked:
- Son. The husband was killed thirteen days ago, and this one is today.
And, rising from her knees, the mother of the dead man meekly said:
– Madonna sees everything, knows everything, and I thank her!
- For what? the first one asked, and she answered her:
“Now that he honestly died fighting for his homeland, I can say that he aroused fear in me: frivolous, he loved a cheerful life too much, and it was fearful that for this he would betray the city, as did the son of Marianne, the enemy of God and people, the leader of our enemies, cursed be he, and cursed be the womb that bore him! ..
Covering her face, Marianna walked away, and in the morning the next day she appeared to the defenders of the city and said:
“Either kill me because my son has become your enemy, or open the gate for me, I will go to him…
They have replyed:
- You are a person, and the homeland should be dear to you; your son is as much an enemy to you as he is to each of us.
- I am a mother, I love him and consider myself guilty of the fact that he is what he has become.
Then they began to consult what to do with her, and decided:
- By honor - we cannot kill you for the sin of your son, we know that you could not inspire him with this terrible sin, and we can guess how you must suffer. But the city does not need you even as a hostage - your son does not care about you, we think that he has forgotten you, the devil, and - here is your punishment if you find that you deserve it! It seems to us more terrible than death!
The novel is set in Russia in the early 1900s. Factory workers with their families live in the working settlement, and the whole life of these people is inextricably linked with the factory: in the morning, with the factory whistle, the workers rush to the factory, in the evening it throws them out of its stone bowels; on holidays, meeting each other, they only talk about the factory, drink a lot, get drunk - they fight. However, the young worker Pavel Vlasov, unexpectedly for his mother Pelageya Nilovna, the widow of a locksmith, suddenly begins to live a different life:
On holidays he goes to the city, brings books, reads a lot. To his mother's bewildered question, Paul replies: “I want to know the truth and therefore I read forbidden books; if they find them, they will put me in jail.”
After some time, Pavel's comrades begin to gather in the Vlasovs' house on Saturday evenings: Andrey Nakhodka - "a crest from Kanev", as he introduces himself to his mother, who recently arrived in the suburb and entered the factory; several factory guys from the suburbs, whom Nilovna had known before; people from the city come: a young girl Natasha, a teacher who left Moscow from rich parents; Nikolai Ivanovich, who sometimes comes instead of Natasha to deal with the workers; thin and pale young lady Sashenka, also, like Natasha, who left the family: her father is a landowner, a zemstvo chief. Pavel and Sashenka love each other, but they cannot get married: they both believe that married revolutionaries are lost for business - they need to earn a living, an apartment, raise children. Gathering in the house of the Vlasovs, the members of the circle read books on history, talk about the hard lot of the workers of the whole earth, about the solidarity of all working people, and often sing songs. At these meetings, the mother hears the word "socialists" for the first time.
Mother really likes Nakhodka, and he also fell in love with her, affectionately calls her “nenko”, says that she looks like his late foster mother, but he does not remember his own mother. After some time, Pavel and his mother offer Andrei to move into their house, and the Little Russian gladly agrees.
Leaflets appear at the factory, which speak of workers' strikes in St. Petersburg, of the injustice of the factory's order; leaflets call on the workers to unite and fight for their interests. The mother understands that the appearance of these sheets is connected with the work of her son, she is both proud of him and fears for his fate. After some time, the gendarmes come to the Vlasovs' house with a search. The mother is scared, but she tries to suppress her fear. Those who came did not find anything: having been warned in advance about the search, Pavel and Andrey took away forbidden books from the house; nevertheless Andrey is arrested.
An announcement appears at the factory stating that the directorate will deduct a penny from each ruble earned by the workers - to drain the swamps surrounding the factory. The workers are dissatisfied with this decision of the management, several elderly workers come to Pavel for advice. Pavel asks his mother to go to the city to take his note to the newspaper so that the story of the "swamp penny" gets into the nearest issue, and he goes to the factory, where, having led a spontaneous rally, in the presence of the director, he sets out the workers' demands for the abolition of the new tax. However, the director orders the workers to resume work, and everyone disperses to their places. Pavel is upset, he believes that the people did not believe him, did not follow his truth, because he is young and weak - he did not manage to tell this truth. At night, the gendarmes again appear and this time they take Pavel away.
A few days later, Yegor Ivanovich comes to Nilovna - one of those who went to meetings with Pavel before his arrest. He tells his mother that, in addition to Pavel, 48 more factory workers were arrested, and it would be good to continue delivering leaflets to the factory. The mother volunteers to carry leaflets, for which she asks a friend who sells lunches for workers at the factory to take her to be her assistant. Everyone entering the factory is searched, but the mother successfully smuggles the leaflets and hands them over to the workers.
Finally Andrei and Pavel are released from prison and begin to prepare for the celebration of the First of May. Pavel is going to carry the banner ahead of the column of demonstrators, although he knows that for this he will be sent to prison again. On the morning of May 1, Pavel and Andrei do not go to work, but go to the square, where the people have already gathered. Pavel, standing under the red banner, declares that today they, members of the Social Democratic Labor Party, are openly raising the banner of reason, truth, and freedom. "Long live the working people of all countries!" - with this slogan of Paul, the column headed by him moved along the streets of the settlement. However, a chain of soldiers came out to meet the demonstration, the column was crushed, Pavel and Andrei, who was walking next to him, were arrested. Automatically picking up a fragment of a pole with a fragment of a banner torn by the gendarmes from the hands of her son, Nilovna goes home, and in her chest there is a desire to tell everyone that the children are following the truth, they want a different, better life, the truth for everyone.
A few days later, the mother moves to the city to Nikolai Ivanovich - he promised Pavel and Andrei, if they were arrested, to immediately take her to him. In the city of Nilovna, leading the simple household of the lonely Nikolai Ivanovich, he begins active underground work:
alone or together with Nikolai's sister Sophia, disguised as either a nun, or a pilgrim-wanderer, or a lace merchant, she travels around the cities and villages of the province, delivering forbidden books, newspapers, and proclamations. She likes this job, she loves talking to people, listening to their stories about life. She sees that the people live half-starved among the vast riches of the earth. Returning from trips to the city, the mother goes on dates with her son in prison. On one of these dates, she manages to give him a note with a proposal from her comrades to arrange an escape for him and his friends. However, Pavel refuses to escape; Most of all, Sashenka, who was the initiator of the escape, is upset by this.
Finally, the day of judgment arrives. Only the relatives of the defendants were allowed into the hall. Mother was waiting for something terrible, waiting for a dispute, finding out the truth, but everything goes quietly: the judges speak indifferently, indistinctly, reluctantly; witnesses - hastily and colorless. The speeches of the prosecutor and lawyers also do not touch the mother's heart. But then Paul begins to speak. He does not defend himself - he explains why they are not rebels, although they are judged as rebels. They are socialists, their slogans are down private property, all means of production - to the people, all power - to the people, labor - is obligatory for all. They are revolutionaries and will remain so until all their ideas win. Everything that the son says is known to the mother, but only here, at the trial, does she feel the strange, captivating power of his faith. But now the judge reads the verdict: send all the defendants to the settlement. Sasha is also waiting for the verdict and is going to declare that she wants to be settled in the same area as Pavel. The mother promises her to come to them when their children are born, to nurse her grandchildren.
When the mother returns home, Nikolai informs her that it was decided to publish Pavel's speech at the trial. The mother volunteers to take her son's speech for distribution to another city. At the station, she suddenly sees a young man whose face and attentive gaze seem strangely familiar to her; she remembers that she had met him earlier both in court and near the prison, and she understands that she has been caught. The young man calls the watchman and, pointing at her with his eyes, says something to him. The watchman approaches the mother and reproachfully says: “Thief! Old already, but there too! "I'm not a thief!" - choking with resentment and indignation, the mother screams and, snatching a bundle of proclamations from her suitcase, holds them out to the people around her: “This is the speech of my son, yesterday he was judged by political politicians, he was among them.” The gendarmes push people aside as they approach their mother; one of them grabs her by the throat, preventing her from speaking; she wheezes. There are sobs in the crowd.
