Panteleimon Sergeevich ROMANOV
(1884-1938)
ROMANOV Panteleimon Sergeevich- prose writer.
Father, Sergei Fedorovich Romanov - a hereditary nobleman, provincial secretary. In 1889, the family moved to a farm in Belevsky district, where the children went. years R. Often, together with the brothers Fedor and Dmitry, he stayed with his aunt in the Yakhontovo estate, described later in pov. "Childhood". Rural life and beauty of Central Russian. nature, Belyov's domes, trips to the Zhabyn monastery on holidays - these childhood impressions forever tied R. to his native places. The neighborhoods of Odoev, Belev, Tula are recreated in many ways. his stories. In 1894 he entered the Belevsky vocational school. V. A. Zhukovsky, in 1895-97 he studied at the gymnasium. R. spent a lot of time in the Belyov library. At the age of 10 he tried to compose: “The first literary work, started on a farm in a barn in the attic, was a novel from English life» ( "Collected Works: In 12 volumes". T. 2. S. 24). From 1897 he continued his education at the Tula Men's Classical Gymnasium. He studied poorly, even stayed for the 2nd year. But he studied Russian with enthusiasm. literature of the 19th century: I. Goncharov, I. Turgenev, L. Tolstoy will become teachers and inspirers of the writer from the first to last days creativity.
After graduating from high school in 1905, he entered Moscow. un-t on jurid. f-t, after six months he left the university and returned to his relatives in the village. He took part in the affairs of the zemstvo, but the main. occupation was lit-pa. In 1907-08 he wrote the first stories, made sketches of the future rum. "Rus". In 1909, he turned to V. G. Korolenko for advice and help: he sent to the railway station. "Rus. wealth" several head of the "Childhood" and story "Court". Korolenko considered publ. premature, but noted undoubted lit. the ability of the author. Subsequently, the correspondence with Korolenko was continued. In 1911 in the "Rus. thought” appeared the story of R. "Father Fedor" about the life of a provincial priest. Soft auth. irony, the slow rhythm of the narration, as if bogged down in details, translate the story into a philosophic plane. thoughts about the destiny of man, the need to overcome the inertia of existence. Criticism paid no attention to the young writer. M. Gorky's assessment was restrained. Subsequently, in 1917, Gorky showed interest in R. and planned to publish a book of his stories in the publishing house "Sail" (Chronicle of the life and work of A. M. Gorky. Issue 3. P. 28).
Service as an attorney in the Tula Bank (since 1911) allowed R. to see Russia. The result of one of the business trips along the Amur railway came "Essays on Siberia"(Rus. Vedomosti. 1913. April 4). Siberia shocked R. with power and beauty, creative power and - poverty, darkness, which also met on the way. The writer accumulated life impressions, collected Interesting Facts. The sketchy beginning also prevailed in short stories about native places, also publ. into gas. "Rus. statements" ( "Fatal", "Medicine", "Disappointed" and etc.). In the stories of this period: "Autumn", "Court"(both - 1914), "Woman"(1915; subsequently published under the title. "Winter") the same genre scenes in Russian. provinces; in contrast to travel and village essays, psychologism, deliberate innuendo, and symbolism appeared in them. Philos. the beginning is obvious in the story "IN native land»
(1916; later under the title. "Russian soul"), in the center of which is the metropolitan professor. Once in his native land, he feels the abyss between himself and his village relatives, painfully reflects on the "mystery" of the national. character, about the “radical Russian spirit”. In his perception, the life of the brothers takes place only in the sphere of physiology and everyday life. Russian theme. soul, its contradictions will go through all the work of the writer.
In the beginning. 1st World War R. moved to Petrograd. As head of the statistical department of the Red Cross, he often went to the front, which gave factual material for epic "Rus", on which he worked with con. 1900s In 1915 publ. first major production - pov. "Writer"(Rus. thought. No. 8, 9), in the work on which the author took into account the comments of Korolenko. The story touched on one of the essential problems of the beginning. 20th century in Russia - the problem of the intelligentsia. R. very critically portrayed his hero-writer, who claims to be organically related to the people, constantly talking about the strength of Nar. elements, but at the same time does not know and does not understand the people. The pitiful position of the hero of the story in love triangle only emphasizes its social and creative failure.
In 1917 R. completed the first book. rum. "Rus". In the beginning. 1918 he returned to his native place, works as the head of the sub-department of the Odoevsky district department of the bunk. education. In the same year in the Gorky gas. " New life» printed a series of essays "People and Life", which coincided in tone with the oppositional orientation of the newspaper. In them, R. stated that while the roar. changes bring only destruction to the once harmonious life of the village. The peasants, who have received power, want to destroy all property ( “With our own strength”, “The poorest and the have-nots”), destroy forests and arable fields ( "Random Days"), destroy, plunder noble houses ( "Proprietors", "Nobles"). In 1919, R. moved to Moscow, where at first he worked in the Photo Film Committee, gaining access to the ist. archives, so necessary for the continuation of work on rum. "Rus". At this time, his outstanding gift as a reader, still known only to his relatives, was fully realized. “He read so strongly, funny, touchingly where necessary, that any audience literally responded with applause to his performances” (Ardov V. Sketches for portraits. M., 1983. P. 140) A. V. Lunacharsky, hearing chapters from Rus » in ed. performance, responded with a benevolent article (Izvestia. 1922. March 22), which contributed to the publication of the novel. In 1923, the first book was published in the publishing house of M. and S. Sabashnikov. R. - rum. "Rus", recreating life before the war. provincial Russia. R. wrote 5 parts of the novel, bringing his story to 1917. Through all production. passes the image of a nobleman, " typical representative frayed prerev. intelligentsia - an egocentric, wounded by the ailment of psychoanalysis on the basis of internal emptiness "(E. F. Nikitina. Foreword / / Romanov P. "Collected Works: In 12 volumes. T. 2. P. 12). In 1924 in Moscow saw the light pov. R. "Childhood", on which he worked in 1903-20. Autobiography basis of production predetermined his lyric. intonation. The series of events is not rich, the descriptions of nature, measured provincial manor life are unhurried. The writer cherishes the atmosphere of the child's organic connection with the family. The signs of the destruction of the patriarchal way of life observed by the author, the gradual transformation of the local life into a dacha, temporary life, contribute to the dramatization of the narrative.
Widely known in the 20s. brought R. short stories- Cases from life. They are permeated with humor, there is also a sharp satire in them. Everyday, anecdotal situations of "funny" stories contain completely unhappy thoughts about the rapid, spontaneous, often merciless breaking of the root of Russian life. The life of people is forced to submit to absurd attitudes and inevitably becomes absurd itself (story "Believers"). R. becomes a recognized master of the short satirical story, but his creative search is not limited to this genre. In the cycle of stories of the 20-30s. the writer appears as a subtle psychologist investigating new mores. great place gives R. the theme of love, the problems of sex. stories "Apple blossom", "Black cakes", "Without bird cherry", "Actress" accurately convey not only the experiences of the characters, but also the color of the time, its mood. Interesting auth. position: there are no judgments, assessments in the story. The reader must see the hidden meaning of life for himself, feel the philosophy. the importance of the natural world. A person is either included in it as a creature related to her (the artist is the hero of the story “Apple Blossom”), or is rejected from her, even hostile to her - mentally poor, defective (the hero of the sensational story “Without Bird Cherry”). The strongest side of the writer's talent is observation, deep knowledge life, brevity - fully manifested in the stories of this period, the time of the greatest popularity of R. He collaborates in alm. "Nedra", published in the magazines "Krasnaya Nov", "New World", "Young Guard", "Projector". The publishing house "Nikitinsky Subbotniks" has been publishing two of his collected works for 5 years: in 7 and 12 vols., ed. volumes are coming out. circulations. Major critics write about him - V. F. Pereverzev, A. K. Voronsky, A. Z. Lezhnev, D. A. Gorbov. N. N. Fatov dedicated R. great article in alm. "Surf", calling him "an artist of the first magnitude." Rapp's criticism scolded R. for pettiness, the idealization of patriarchal Russia (Ingulov S. Bobchinsky on Parnassus//Young Guard. 1929. No. 11), which did not reduce his popularity. In many theaters with success was his play "Earthquake" (1924).
Rum appeared in 1928. R. « New tablet»
. Long years R. is working on a book on the essence of the claim "The Science of Vision"(not published; manuscript in TsGALI and IMLI). R. emphasized the priority of proper aesthetic values, the need to study with the classics, the writer's independence from the requirements of criticism. In 1930, R.'s discrepancy with the official trend in culture was clearly revealed. The conflict arose in connection with the publ. his rum. "Comrade Kislyakov", dedicated drama of an intellectual forced to adapt to ideological dictates. Prod. was perceived by official criticism as "a deeply politically reactionary thing ... as another sortie of the activated reactionary forces in our literature" (On Lit. Post. 1930. No. 19. P. 90). All magazines and publishing houses stopped publishing products. R. Edition alm. "Nedra", in which he was published, was suspended, and alm. later closed. After R.'s penitential speech at an expanded meeting of the first Plenum of the Organizing Committee of the joint venture (from November 23 to December 3, 1933), a censorship ban on his work. was filmed. R. collaborated in railway. "Crocodile", spoke at the 1st Congress of Sov. writers with a speech about satire. In 1935-38 he published only 2 stories.
He died in Moscow from leukemia.
In 1939, Goslitizdat published a one-volume collection of his fav. prose. From then until 1984 his production. were not published in our country, the name of R. was undeservedly hushed up. Prod. R. translated into plural. European languages. Today, almost everything significant in his creative heritage returned to the reader.
Op.: Sobr. cit.: In 7 vols. M., 1925-27; Complete collection. cit.: In 12 vols. M., 1928-29; Fav. prod. / Comp., int. Art. and comment. S. Nikonenko. M., 1988; Light dreams: Rom., stories. M., 1990; Stories. M., 1991.
Lit.: Fatov N. Panteleimon Romanov // Surf: Alm. first. L., 1925; Panteleimon Romanov / Ed. E.F. Nikitina. M., 1928; Milonov N. Rus. writers and the Tula region. Tula, 1971; Ardov V. Sketches for portraits. M., 1983; Petrochenkov V. creative destiny Panteleimon Romanov. New York, 1987; Sushilina I. K. “Dear of your true life” // Romanov P. S. Apple blossom: Pov. and stories. M., 1991.
I. K. Sushilina
(Biographical Dictionary"Russian writers of the XX century")
The epic novel "Rus" (parts I-V, 1922-1936) depicts manor Russia before World War I, then the war until February Revolution. Stylistically, the work is sustained in the traditions of the Russian novel XIX century. P. Romanov, with high artistry, was able to notice life's contradictions, to draw a character with a few words. He is characterized by lively lyricism and humor, mastery of dialogue, realistic language.
Romanov Panteleimon Sergeevich
stories
Panteleimon Sergeevich Romanov
(Agafon Shakhov)
STORIES
Russian soul
heavy things
In the dark
Italian accounting
Speculators
Death of Tikhon
worthy person
Technical words
bad chairman
Instruction
Weak heart
harmful thing
Blue jacket
promised land
Black flatbread
The wrong person
Without bird cherry
human soul
strong nerves
People's money
bad number
Herod's tribe
good boss
Trial of a pioneer
The right to life, or the problem of non-partisanship
thirteen logs
State property
Artists
Blue dress.
Light service
Economic basis
apple blossom
This will not be the case
Potato
Moscow horse racing
brilliant victory
white pig
RUSSIAN SOUL
Professor of Moscow University, Andrei Khristoforovich Vyshnegradsky, in the third year of the war received a letter from his two brothers from the village - Nikolai and Avenir, who asked him to come to them for the summer, visit them and relax himself.
“You must have turned sour there in the capital, you forgot your native, but here, brother, the Russian soul is still alive,” Nikolai wrote.
Andrey Khristoforovich thought about it and, going to the telegraph office, sent a telegram to his brother Nikolai, and the next day he left for the village.
The intense life of Moscow was replaced by the spaciousness and silence of the fields.
Andrey Khristoforovich looked out the window of the carriage and watched the plowed hills running past him swell and fall, the bridges being repaired with the sleepers scattered downhill rush by.
Time definitely stopped, got lost and fell asleep in these flat fields. Trains stood at each stop for an infinitely long time - why, why - no one knew.
Why are we standing for so long? - Andrey Khristoforovich asked once. - Are we waiting for someone?
No, we are not waiting for anyone, - said the important chief conductor and added: - we have no one to wait for.
We sat on transfers for hours on end, and no one knew when the train would come. Once a man came up, wrote with chalk on the blackboard: "Train No. 3 is late for 1 hour and 30 minutes." Everyone came and read. But five hours passed, and there was no train.
They didn't guess, - said some old man in a chuyka.
When someone got up and walked with a suitcase to the door, then they suddenly jumped up and all vied with each other rushed to the door, crushed each other, climbed over their heads.
It's coming, it's coming!
Where are you going with the knot?
The train is coming!
Nothing goes: one, maybe, got up for his own business, and everyone shied away.
So why is he getting up? Here's the accursed one, look, please, he messed up like everyone else.
And when the professor arrived at the station, it turned out that the horses had not been sent.
What am I going to do now? said the professor to the porter. He felt embarrassed. He did not see the brothers for 15 years, and they themselves called him and still remained true to themselves: either they were late with the horses, or they mixed up the numbers.
Don't you worry, - said the porter, a nimble peasant with a badge on his apron, - in our inn they will provide you with any horses you want. We have one word on this score...
Well, take me to the inn, just don't get your suitcases dirty, please.
Be calm ... - the peasant waved his hand over the covers, threw the suitcases on his back and disappeared into the darkness. Only his voice was heard somewhere ahead:
Along the wall, along the wall, sir, make your way, otherwise there is a puddle on the side, and a well to the right.
The professor, as he became, rolled somewhere from the first step.
They didn’t please ... - said the peasant. - True, it’s a little dirty. Well, yes, we will dry soon. We live well here: there is a wide square right here for you, to the left - the church, to the right - the priests.
Where are you? Where to go here?
Indulge in me, in me, otherwise here now the pits will go. Last week, a land surveyor cracked one of his forelocks, and they dragged him out by force.
The professor walked, every minute expecting that the same thing would happen to him as to the surveyor.
And the little man kept talking and talking endlessly:
Our area is good. And the rooms are good, Seleznevsky. And the people are good, remembering.
And everything was good with him: both life and people.
You must, apparently, knock, - said the peasant, stopping near some wall. He dumped the suitcases right into the mud and began banging on the gate with a brick.
Would you be quieter, why are you thrashing like that?
Do not worry. Otherwise, you won't wake them up. The people are strong. What are you doing there, oh, everyone went crazy! Are there horses?
There is ... - a sleepy voice was heard from behind the gate.
That's it - there is! Always reschedule so that you chop all your hands.
Please go upstairs.
No, you prepare a place for me in the carriage, I will sit down, and you harness and go. It will be more likely ... - said Andrei Khristoforovich.
It's possible.
Is the road good?
The road is one word - Lub.
Lubok ... Lubok, that is. Very smooth. Our seats are good. Well, sit down, I'll be in one minute.
Andrey Khristoforovich groped for the step, sat down in a huge sob, which was standing in a shed under a shed. He smelled of dusty felt and some kind of acid. Andrei Khristoforovich stretched out his legs on the hay and, leaning his head against the back, began to doze. From time to time a fresh, cool breeze swept over his face, coming in from above through the crack of the closed gate. There was a pleasant smell of tar, fresh hay and horses.
Through his drowsiness he could hear the luggage being tied down, pulling the rope behind the carriage. Sometimes his driver, saying: "Oh, you, honest mother!", Repaired something. Sometimes he ran away to the hut, and then there was silence, from which the legs hummed pleasantly, as if at a stop while riding a sleigh in a snowstorm. Only occasionally did the horses snort and step over the straw as they chewed oats under the shed.
Half an hour later, the professor woke up in fright with the feeling that he was hanging over an abyss, and clutched the edge of the sod with his hands.
Where are you going! Hold your horses, crazy!
Be calm, we won’t leave, - a calm voice said from somewhere behind, now I’ll support the other side.
It turned out that they were not hanging over the abyss, but were still standing in the yard, and the driver was only going to grease the wheels, raising one side of the carriage.
As soon as we left the yard, it began to rain, direct, large and warm. And the whole neighborhood was filled with the steady sound of falling rain.
The driver silently reached under the seat, pulled out some tattered rubbish and covered himself with it, like a priest with a robe.
Panteleimon Sergeevich Romanov(July 12, Petrovsky, Odoevsky district, Tula province - April 8, Moscow) - Russian prose writer, playwright.
Biography
From the impoverished hereditary nobles. He entered Moscow University, but instead of studying he worked at native village and took up self-education and writing; early publications (stories and essays) in Russian Thought and Russkiye Vedomosti (1911-1917) evoked a sympathetic (with a number of remarks) reaction from Gorky and Korolenko; in 1918 he published essays on the countryside critical of Bolshevism in the newspaper Novaya Zhizn. During the First World War he served in Petrograd (he was not subject to conscription due to his health), from 1920 in Moscow.
He gained fame in the early 1920s as a writer and performer. own works; had extraordinary talent reader-actor and performed with great success before the public. At the same time, his main work began to be created, excerpts from which Romanov invariably included in his oral speeches, the novel Rus (6 parts, 1923-1936; not completed). This is an epic about manor life in Russia on the eve and during the First World War, with pictures from the life of gentlemen and peasants. "Rus" called conflicting reviews critics, most reviewers noted the fragmentation of the plot and masterfully written out individual characters and dialogues. With great success he worked as a teacher in the children's colony named after Lunacharsky. Wrote the story "Childhood" (1924) about noble life in the estate through the eyes of a child; she was highly appreciated by G. V. Adamovich.
In the mid-1920s, he became close to literary society"Nikitinsky Subbotniks", wrote popular plays ("Earthquake", "Woman of the New Earth"), which provoked a political attack by Mayakovsky (1929) in a poem with characteristic name"The Face of the Class Enemy"; this "enemy" allegedly "dreams of seeing Romanov" and "gives a social order for Bulgakov's Days of the Turbins".
Posted by big number short stories, for a long time not rising above the painted light irony sketches from nature of Soviet life; however, in the second half of the 1920s, he appeared with a number of socially and politically sharp stories: “Without bird cherry” (), “Trial of a pioneer”, “The right to life, or the problem of non-partisanship” (). The story "Without bird cherry", depicting the "love life" of Komsomol members devoid of romance, the vulgar ideas of "new people" about morality - made the author an all-Russian celebrity, his name became a saying, was translated into several languages. In the same vein and satirical novels Panteleimon Romanov's The New Tablet (1928), Comrade Kislyakov (1930), Property (1933), depicting the philistinism of Soviet life, the opportunism of intellectuals and writers. Throughout this period, Romanov was haunted by the systematic persecution of Soviet criticism, which sees in his writings sheer slander and slander, but he fundamentally did not want to give up. Romanov justified his position as a satirist in a speech at the First Congress of Soviet Writers ().
In 1937, Panteleimon Romanov suffered a heart attack, died of leukemia in the Kremlin Hospital, and was buried at the Novodevichy Cemetery. The combination of the date of his death - 1938 - with the fact that he was persecuted in the 1920s and 1930s caused erroneous statements in a number of publications in the 1980s. that he was allegedly repressed.
Compositions
- Rus', part 1 M., “Edition of M. and S. Sabashnikovs”; Part 1-3 L., Surf, 1926 / Part 5-6 L., GIHL, 1936; Riga, Gramatu Draugs, 1927 (all parts)
- Three whales, M., GIZ, 1924
- Earthquake. Comedy, M., Moscow Theater Publishing House, 1925; 1926
- Strong people, M., "Spotlight", 1925
- Russian soul, M., "Proletary", 1925
- Stories, M., "Izd. Peasant newspaper", 1925
- Stories, M., "Moscow Worker", 1925; 1926
- New stories, M., "Moscow worker", 1926, 112 p.
- Questions of sex, L., Surf, 1926
- Nut, L., Surf, 1926
- Stories about love, L., Surf, 1925; 1926
- Humorous stories, M., "Spark", 1926
- Stories, M.-L., "Behemoth", 1926
- Promised Land, M., "Nedra", 1926
- Brownie, M., "Land and Factory", 1926
- Black cakes, M., "Nedra", 1926; 1928
- Stories, M., "Spark", 1927, 56 p.
- New stories, M., "Spark", 1927, 44 p.
- Without bird cherry, 1927 (?)
- Stories, Riga, Literature, 1927
- The right to life, or the problem of non-partisanship, M., "Young Guard", 1927
- From notebook writer (Thoughts about Art), M., collection "Morning", 1927
- About myself, about criticism and other things, M., 30 days magazine, No. 6
- Questions of gender, Riga, "Literature", 1928
- New tablet, Riga, "Literature", 1928; 4th ed. - 1930
- Comrade Kislyakov, M., "Nedra", No. 18, 1930; (Three pairs of silk stockings), Riga "Life and Culture", 1930; Berlin, Book and Stage, 1931
- Confusion, M., "Moscow Association of Writers", 1932
- Ownership, M.-L., "GIKhL", 1933. - 296 p., 10,000 copies.
- Stories, M., " Soviet literature", 1934
- About children: Travel notes writer // New world. - 1936. - No. 1
- New People: Essays // New World. - 1936. - No. 3
Editions
- Collected works in 7 vols. - M.: Nikitinsky subbotniks, 1925-1927.
- Complete works in 12 vols. - M.: Nedra, 1928-1929.
- 2nd ed. - 1929-1930 (the 9th volume was not published).
- Childhood. - Tula: Priokskoe book publishing house, 1984.
- Selected works. - M.: Fiction, 1988. - ISBN 5-280-00084-1
- Black cakes. - M.: Sovremennik, 1988. - ISBN 5-270-00159-4
- Light dreams. Novel, stories. - M.: Moscow worker, 1990. - ISBN 5-239-00581-8
- Without cherry. - M.: Pravda, 1990. - ISBN 5-253-00001-1
- Leads and stories. - M.: Fiction, 1990. - ISBN 5-280-01121-5
- Stories. - M .: Pravda, 1991. - (Library of satire and humor) - ISBN 5-253-00375-4
- Rus. T. 1-2. - M.: Friendship of peoples, 1991. - ISBN 5-285-00125-0
- Apple blossom. - M.: Soviet Russia, 1991. - ISBN 5-268-01239-8
- Anthology of satire and humor of Russia of the XX century. Volume 34. - M.: Eksmo, 2004. - ISBN 5-699-07957-2; 5-04-003950-6
- The Science of Vision. - M.: Coincidence, 2007. - ISBN 978-5-903060-19-1
- Unconscious herd. - St. Petersburg: Leonardo, 2012. - ISBN 978-5-91962-016-7
- Without cherry. - M.: Terra, 2016. - ISBN 978-5-4224-1134-4
Screen adaptations
- - Bewitched
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Literature
A. I. Solzhenitsyn. P. Romanov - stories Soviet years // New world, 1999, № 7.
Links
- (Russian) Gattinger, Anna. (Master of Arts thesis) (). University of British Columbia, 1966. . Google Books.
An excerpt characterizing Romanov, Panteleimon Sergeevich
During his recovery, Pierre only gradually weaned from the impressions that had become familiar to him. recent months and got used to the fact that no one would drive him anywhere tomorrow, that no one would take away his warm bed, and that he would probably have dinner, and tea, and supper. But in a dream he saw himself for a long time in the same conditions of captivity. Just as little by little, Pierre understood the news that he learned after his release from captivity: the death of Prince Andrei, the death of his wife, the destruction of the French.A joyful feeling of freedom - that complete, inalienable freedom inherent in a person, the consciousness of which he first experienced at the first halt, when leaving Moscow, filled Pierre's soul during his recovery. He was surprised that this inner freedom, independent of external circumstances, was now, as it were, surrounded with excess, with luxury, by external freedom. He was alone in a strange city, without acquaintances. Nobody demanded anything from him; they didn't send him anywhere. Everything he wanted he had; The thought of his wife, which had always tormented him before, was no more, since she was no more.
- Oh, how good! How nice! he said to himself when a cleanly set table with fragrant broth was moved to him, or when he lay down at night on a soft, clean bed, or when he remembered that his wife and the French were no more. - Oh, how good, how nice! - And out of old habit, he asked himself the question: well, then what? What will i do? And immediately he answered himself: nothing. I will live. Ah, how nice!
The very thing that he had tormented before, what he was constantly looking for, the purpose of life, now did not exist for him. It was no coincidence that this desired goal of life now did not exist for him only at the present moment, but he felt that it did not exist and could not exist. And this lack of purpose gave him that full, joyful consciousness of freedom, which at that time constituted his happiness.
He could not have a goal, because he now had faith - not faith in any rules, or words, or thoughts, but faith in a living, always felt god. Previously, he had sought it for the purposes he had set for himself. This search for a goal was only a search for God; and suddenly, in his captivity, he recognized, not by words, not by reasoning, but by direct feeling, what his nanny had told him for a long time: that God is here, here, everywhere. In captivity, he learned that God in Karataev is greater, infinite and incomprehensible than in the Architecton of the universe recognized by the Masons. He experienced the feeling of a man who found what he was looking for under his feet, while he strained his eyes, looking far away from him. All his life he was looking somewhere, over the heads of the people around him, but he had not to strain his eyes, but only look in front of him.
He was not able to see before the great, incomprehensible and infinite in anything. He only felt that it must be somewhere and looked for it. In everything close, understandable, he saw one thing limited, petty, worldly, meaningless. He armed himself with a mental telescope and looked into the distance, to where this shallow, worldly distance, hiding in the fog, seemed to him great and infinite only because it was not clearly visible. This is how he imagined European life, politics, freemasonry, philosophy, philanthropy. But even then, in those moments that he considered his weakness, his mind penetrated into this distance, and there he saw the same petty, worldly, meaningless. Now, however, he had learned to see the great, the eternal, and the infinite in everything, and therefore, naturally, in order to see it, to enjoy its contemplation, he threw down the trumpet into which he had until now looked over the heads of people, and joyfully contemplated around him the ever-changing, eternally great , incomprehensible and infinite life. And the closer he looked, the more he was calm and happy. The terrible question that previously destroyed all his mental structures was: why? no longer existed for him. Now to this question - why? a simple answer was always ready in his soul: then, that there is a god, that god, without whose will a hair will not fall from a person’s head.
Pierre has hardly changed in his external tricks. He looked exactly the same as he had before. Just as before, he was absent-minded and seemed preoccupied not with what was before his eyes, but with something of his own, special. The difference between his former and present state was that before, when he forgot what was in front of him, what was said to him, he wrinkled his forehead in pain, as if trying and could not see something far away from him. . Now he also forgot what was said to him, and what was before him; but now, with a barely perceptible, as if mocking, smile, he peered at the very thing that was in front of him, listened to what was being said to him, although he obviously saw and heard something completely different. Formerly he seemed, though a kind man, but unhappy; and therefore involuntarily people moved away from him. Now a smile of the joy of life constantly played around his mouth, and in his eyes there shone concern for people - the question is: are they happy just like he is? And people enjoyed being in his presence.
Before, he talked a lot, got excited when he spoke, and listened little; now he was rarely carried away by conversation and knew how to listen in such a way that people willingly told him their most intimate secrets.
The princess, who never loved Pierre and had a particularly hostile feeling towards him since, after the death of the old count, she felt indebted to Pierre, to her annoyance and surprise, after a short stay in Orel, where she came with the intention of proving to Pierre that, despite his ingratitude, she considers it her duty to follow him, the princess soon felt that she loved him. Pierre did nothing to curry favor with the princess. He just looked at her curiously. Before, the princess felt that in his glance at her there was indifference and mockery, and she, as before other people, shrank before him and showed only her fighting side of life; now, on the contrary, she felt that he seemed to be digging into the most intimate aspects of her life; and she, at first with distrust, and then with gratitude, showed him the hidden good sides of her character.
The most cunning person could not have more skillfully sneaked into the confidence of the princess, evoking her memories of the best time of her youth and showing sympathy for them. Meanwhile, Pierre's whole cunning consisted only in the fact that he was looking for his own pleasure, evoking human feelings in an embittered, cyhoy and proud princess.
Yes, he is very, very a kind person when under the influence bad people but people like me, the princess said to herself.
The change that took place in Pierre was noticed in his own way and by his servants - Terenty and Vaska. They found that he was a lot simpler. Terenty often, having undressed the master, with boots and a dress in his hand, having wished good night, hesitated to leave, waiting for the master to join in the conversation. AND for the most part Pierre stopped Terenty, noticing that he wanted to talk.
- Well, tell me ... but how did you get your food? he asked. And Terenty began a story about the ruin of Moscow, about the late count, and stood for a long time with his dress, telling, and sometimes listening to Pierre's stories, and, with a pleasant consciousness of the master's closeness to himself and friendliness to him, went into the hall.
The doctor who treated Pierre and visited him every day, despite the fact that, according to the duty of doctors, considered it his duty to look like a person, every minute of which is precious for suffering humanity, sat up for hours with Pierre, telling his favorite stories and observations on the mores of patients in general and especially ladies.
Etude
Professor of Moscow University, Andrei Khristoforovich Vyshnegradsky, in the third year of the war received a letter from his two brothers from the village - Nikolai and Avenir, who asked him to come to them for the summer, visit them and relax himself.
“You must have turned sour there in the capital, you forgot your native, but here, brother, the Russian soul is still alive,” Nikolai wrote.
Andrey Khristoforovich thought about it and, going to the telegraph office, sent a telegram to his brother Nikolai, and the next day he left for the village.
The intense life of Moscow was replaced by the spaciousness and silence of the fields.
Andrey Khristoforovich looked out the window of the carriage and watched the plowed hills running past him swell and fall, the bridges being repaired with the sleepers scattered downhill rush by.
Time definitely stopped, got lost and fell asleep in these flat fields. Trains stood at each stop for an infinitely long time - why, why - no one knew.
Why are we standing for so long? Andrey Khristoforovich asked once. - We are waiting for someone?
No, we are not waiting for anyone, - said the important chief conductor and added: - we have no one to wait for.
We sat on transfers for hours on end, and no one knew when the train would come. Once a man came up, wrote with chalk on the blackboard: "Train number 3 is late for 1 hour and 30 minutes." Everyone came and read. But five hours passed, and there was no train.
They didn't guess, - said some old man in a chute.
When someone got up and walked with a suitcase to the door, then they suddenly jumped up and all vied with each other rushed to the door, crushed each other, climbed over their heads.
It's coming, it's coming!
Where are you going with the knot?
The train is coming!
Nothing goes: one, maybe, got up for his own business, and everyone shied away.
So why is he getting up? Here's the accursed one, look, please, he messed up like everyone else.
And when the professor arrived at the station, it turned out that the horses had not been sent.
What am I going to do now? said the professor to the porter. He felt embarrassed. He did not see the brothers for 15 years, and they themselves called him and still remained true to themselves: either they were late with the horses, or they mixed up the numbers.
Don't worry, - said the porter, a nimble little man with a badge on his apron, - at the inn we will provide you with any horses you want. We have one word on this score!..
Well, take me to the inn, just don't get your suitcases dirty, please.
Be calm ... - the little man waved his hand over the covers, threw the suitcases on his back and disappeared into the darkness. Only his voice was heard somewhere ahead:
Along the wall, along the wall, sir, make your way, otherwise there is a puddle on the side, and a well to the right.
The professor, as he became, rolled somewhere from the first step.
They didn’t please ... - said the peasant. - It's true that it's a little dirty. Well, yes, we will dry soon. We live well here: there is a wide square right here for you, to the left - the church, to the right - the priests.
Where are you? Where to go here?
Indulge in me, in me, otherwise here now the pits will go. Last week, a land surveyor cracked one of his forelocks, and they dragged him out by force.
The professor walked, every minute expecting that the same thing would happen to him as to the surveyor.
And the little man kept talking and talking endlessly:
Our area is good. And the rooms are good, Seleznevsky. And the people are good, remembering.
And everything was good with him: both life and people.
We must, apparently, knock, - said the peasant, stopping near some wall. He dumped the suitcases right into the mud and began banging on the gate with a brick.
Would you be quieter, why are you thrashing like that?
Do not worry. Otherwise, you won't wake them up. The people are strong. What are you doing there, oh, everyone went crazy! Are there horses?
There is ... - a sleepy voice was heard from behind the gate.
That's it - there is! Always reschedule so that you chop all your hands.
Please go upstairs.
No, you prepare a place for me in the carriage, I will sit down, and you harness and go. So it will be more likely ... - said Andrei Khristoforovich.
It's possible.
Is the road good?
The road is one word - Lub.
Lub ... splint, that is. Very smooth. Our seats are good. Well, sit down, I'll be in one minute.
Andrey Khristoforovich groped for the step, sat down in a huge sob, which was standing in a shed under a shed. He smelled of dusty felt and some kind of acid. Andrei Khristoforovich stretched out his legs on the hay and, leaning his head against the back, began to doze. From time to time a fresh, cool breeze swept over his face, coming in from above through the crack of the closed gate. There was a pleasant smell of tar, fresh hay and horses.
Through his drowsiness he could hear the luggage being tied down, pulling the rope behind the carriage. Sometimes his driver, saying: “Oh, you, honest mother!”, Repaired something. Sometimes he ran away to the hut, and then there was silence, from which the legs hummed pleasantly, as if at a stop while riding a sleigh in a snowstorm. Only occasionally did the horses snort and step over the straw as they chewed oats under the shed.
Half an hour later, the professor woke up in fright with the feeling that he was hanging over an abyss, and clutched the edge of the sod with his hands.
Where are you going! Hold your horses, crazy!
Be calm, we won’t leave, - a calm voice said from somewhere behind, now I’ll support the other side.
It turned out that they were not hanging over the abyss, but were still standing in the yard, and the driver was only going to grease the wheels, raising one side of the carriage.
As soon as we left the yard, it began to rain, direct, large and warm. And the whole neighborhood was filled with the steady sound of falling rain.
The driver silently reached under the seat, pulled out some tattered rubbish and covered himself with it, like a priest with a robe.
Half an hour later the wheels were already moving with a continuous murmur over deep ruts. And the sobs all somewhere pulled to the left and down.
The driver stopped and slowly looked back from the goat, then began to look around, as if studying the area in the dark.
What has become? Hey, are you lost?
No, it's like nothing.
What are you? There are ravines, right?
No, there are no ravines.
Well, so what then?
You never know what ... here, just look, you will hang out somewhere.
Yes, be careful! Where are you turning?
And the devil knows, - said the driver, - so you go - nothing, but like rain, then pick up your boots ...
Nikolai wrote that it was only 30 versts from the station, and Andrei Khristoforovich expected to arrive in three hours. But we drove 4-5 hours, stopped at an inn from an impossible road, and only by morning had overcome these 30 versts.
The carriage drove up to a low house with two whitewashed chimneys and a wide boarded porch, on which a white rooster stood perched on one leg. Not far away, in the open gates of a wattle shed, crouching on the ground by a carriage, a worker was busy tying a windrow, helping himself with his teeth and not paying any attention to the newcomer.
And from the back porch, picking up a semi-caftan around the corners and rolling with galoshes in the mud, some old priest was in a hurry.
Seeing the professor, he waved his arms and remained in this position for some time, as if he were a ghost.
Hey, have you arrived? We're just going to send for you. Why a whole day earlier? Hey, what happened?
Nothing happened. I telegraphed that I would arrive on the 15th, and today the 16th.
My dear you! The sixteenth - you say? .. This means that yesterday they forgot to tear off a leaf from the calendar. What are you going to do here! Well, hello, hello. What a fine fellow you are, fresh, tall, slender. Well, uh...
This was younger brother Nikolay.
Let's go to the house quickly. Why are you looking at me like that? Aged?
Yes, very old...
What will you do to it suits... Lower, lower your head, - he shouted in fright, - otherwise you will knock.
Why did you make such doors for yourself? ..
What can you do ... - And he smiled slowly and kindly. - Why are you all looking at me?
