The eleventh story in the Tales of Italy series. "Tales of Italy" - a cycle of 27 short stories Maxim Gorky. The cycle was created in the period 1911-1913, during the first emigration of the writer. Gorky lived in Italy on the island of Capri, but traveled extensively in other cities of the country. Impressions from what he saw formed the basis of Tales of Italy.
In 1906, Maxim Gorky left for Italy due to tuberculosis. In October, he arrives on the island of Capri, where he will live for the next seven years. In 1911, Gorky began to write stories for the future cycle. They are based on the writer's impressions of what he saw during his trip to Italy. In addition, many stories were taken from the materials of the labor movement in Italy and from newspaper reports of trials. Fairy tales were published in Bolshevik periodicals separately. Only in 1912 the first separate edition cycle called "Tales". The stories in the collection were censored and were not presented in the order that Gorky had insisted on. On title page An epigraph from Andersen was printed: "There are no fairy tales better than those that life itself creates." The book was dedicated to the civil wife of the author A. F. Andreeva.
In addition to Russia, fairy tales have become widespread in Italy, France, and Germany. Unlike the workers' press, the stories were attacked in bourgeois criticism. The themes of the stories were criticized, as well as their title. Gorky continued to work on the stories until his return to Russia in 1913. After the 1917 revolution, the tales were published uncensored and in Gorky's sequence. The cycle received its name "Tales of Italy" only in 1923.
http://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tales_about_Italy
http://www.bookol.ru/proza-main/russkaya_klassicheskaya_proza/19894.htm
Maxim Gorky, also known as Alexei Maksimovich Gorky (at birth Alexei Maksimovich Peshkov; March 16 (28), 1868, Nizhny Novgorod, Russian empire- June 18, 1936, Gorki, Moscow region, USSR) - Russian writer, prose writer, playwright. One of the most significant and famous Russian writers and thinkers in the world. On turn of XIX and XX centuries, he became famous as the author of works with a revolutionary tendency, personally close to the Social Democrats and in opposition to the tsarist regime.
Gorky was initially skeptical October revolution. However, after several years of cultural work in Soviet Russia(in Petrograd he headed the publishing house " world literature”, petitioned the Bolsheviks for those arrested) and life abroad in the 1920s (Berlin, Marienbad, Sorrento), returned to the USSR, where in last years life received official recognition as "petrel of the revolution" and "great proletarian writer", the founder of socialist realism.
He supported the ideas of god-building, in 1909 he helped the participants in this trend to maintain a factional school on the island of Capri (Capri School) for workers, which Lenin called "the literary center of god-building."
http://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gorky,_Aleksey_Maximovich
Natalya Sergeevna Rashevskaya (October 26, 1893, Dvina Fortress (now Daugavpils), Russian Empire - March 18, 1962, Leningrad, USSR) - Russian, Soviet theater and film actress, director, screenwriter, theater teacher. People's Artist RSFSR (1957).
Http://ru.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rashevskaya,_Natalya_Sergeevna_
Current page: 4 (total book has 13 pages)
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 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 labor 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 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 for 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 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 topmasts, 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 murdered 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 God and people, the leader of our enemies, be damned, and be damned 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 worse than death!
- Yes! - she said. - This is 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 native land, densely saturated with the blood shed by her son: she walked slowly, with great difficulty tearing her legs off this earth, bowing to the corpses of the defenders of the city, disgustedly pushing away broken weapons with her 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, she became smaller and smaller, and those who looked at her from the wall, it seemed as if despondency and hopelessness were departing from them along with her.
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. .
Came up and asked - who is she, where is 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 - in silk and velvet he is 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 progressing 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 unless a man makes 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. “The one who destroys is as glorious as the one 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.
“The one who survived all the names,” his mother reminded him. 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 an animal 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.
“Perhaps we will attack him at night,” her son said, “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 fame and you, because you gave birth to me the way I am.
- What about women? she asked, leaning over him.
- There are a lot of them, they quickly get bored, like everything is too sweet.
She asked him to last time:
"And you don't want to have children?"
- 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 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.
XII
The cicadas are calling.
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 yet music, 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.
- By night, a strong wind will break out! - speaks 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 rustling 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 the pizzoni,” 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 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 gently on us from the shore, as if gently pushing 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, so this wind hit us four kilometers from the coast - quite 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 choosing the anchor, my father received a blow from the oar in the chest - 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. “This is a long time, my dear.”
“If you are young, you don’t 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 – kindly 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 a ball, looking 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 ours.” barge. Then my father says to me:
“You may return to earth, I will not! Listen to what I will tell you about fish and work ... "
- And he began to tell me everything he knew about the habits of these 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. Work is necessary for the earth and people - God understands this ... "
– And, having told me everything he knew about work, my father began to talk about how to live with people.
“Now is the time to teach me? - 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! A nobleman and a fisherman, a priest and a 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 like this, you know for sure the 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 blown 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 whether then or after, remembering those hours, I experienced a feeling that is still alive in the memory of my heart.
- As I see a parent now: 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, signor, to remember is the same as understanding, and the more you understand, the more you see the good - it’s so, believe me!
- Yes, 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 we have 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 - 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 was thinking 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 28
Amalfi- a city on the coast of the Gulf of Salerno.
- an alien place, but, of course, their 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 - this requires special words, maybe even songs, but - we are simple people, like fish, and not we can speak as beautifully as we would like! You feel and know always more than you can say.
“The thing 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 be fine, they will be, 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.
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 malevolent joy, and this lurking burning caused 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 clatter of weapons, loud laughter could be heard, the 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 spoke subduedly, in an undertone, and, stopping each other's speech in mid-sentence, listened intently to see if the enemies were attacking? 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. Without 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? - She!
And they hid in niches under the gates or, with their heads down, silently ran past her, and the patrol leaders warned her sternly: “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: "Husband?" - No. - Brother? - Son. The husband was killed thirteen days ago, and this one is today. And, rising from her knees, the mother of the murdered 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 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, curse him, and curse 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 became your enemy, or open the gates for me, I will go to him ... They answered: “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 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!
- Yes! - she said. - This is 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 told 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 ones! “Where every stone knows and remembers you as a child,” she said. “Stones are dumb unless a man makes 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. “The one who destroys is as glorious as the one 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. From the black peaks of the mountains, clouds descended into the valley and, like winged horses, flew to the city, doomed to death. “Perhaps we will attack him at night,” her son said, “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. His 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, lay down on her knees and closed his eyes, saying: “I love only glory and you, for the fact that you gave birth to me the way I am. - What about women? she asked, leaning over him. - There are a lot 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 children?" - 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 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 into 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.
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 another, a 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 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.
Fifteen thousand round tents are spread out in the valley in a wide fan, all of them are like tulips, and above each, hundreds of silk flags flutter like fresh flowers.
And in the middle of them - the tent of Gurugan-Timur - like a queen among her friends. It is about four corners, a hundred steps on the sides, three spears in height, its middle is on twelve golden columns the thickness of a man, on top of its blue dome, it is all of black, yellow, blue stripes of silk, five hundred red cords attached it to the ground so that it does not rise into the sky, four silver eagles are at its corners, and under the dome, in the middle of the tent, on a dais, is the fifth, invincible Timur-Gurugan himself, the king of kings.
Maksim Gorky
THE LEGEND ABOUT THE MOTHER AND TIMUR
From the cycle "Tales of Italy"
Let's glorify the woman - Mother, inexhaustible source all-conquering life!
Here we will talk about the iron Timur-lenge, the lame leopard, about Sahib-i-Kirani - a happy conqueror, about Tamerlane, as the infidels called him, about a man who wanted to destroy the whole world.
For fifty years he walked the earth, his iron foot crushed cities and states, like an elephant's foot anthills, red rivers of blood flowed from his paths in all directions; he built tall towers from the bones of conquered peoples; he destroyed life, arguing in his strength with Death, he took revenge on her for taking his son Dzhigangir; scary man- he wanted to take away all the sacrifices from her - may she die of hunger and longing!
From the day his son Dzhigangir died and the people of Samarkand met the victor of the evil jetts dressed in black and blue, sprinkling dust and ashes on their heads, from that day until the hour of the meeting with Death in Otrar, where she overcame him, - thirty years Timur he never smiled - so he lived, closing his lips, bowing his head to no one, and his heart was closed to compassion for thirty years!
Let us glorify in the world a woman - Mother, a single force before which Death obediently bows! Here the truth will be told about the Mother, about how the servant and slave of Death, the iron Tamerlane, the bloody scourge of the earth, bowed before her.
This is how it was: Timur-bek was feasting in the beautiful valley of Kanigul, covered with clouds of roses and jasmine, in the valley, which the poets of Samarkand called "Love of Flowers" and from where you can see the blue minarets of the great city, the blue domes of mosques.
Fifteen thousand round tents are spread out in the valley in a wide fan, all of them are like tulips, and above each, hundreds of silk flags flutter like fresh flowers.
And in the middle of them - the tent of Gurugan-Timur - like a queen among her friends. It is about four corners, a hundred steps on the sides, three spears in height, its middle is on twelve golden columns the thickness of a man, on top of its blue dome, it is all of black, yellow, blue stripes of silk, five hundred red cords attached it to the ground so that it does not rise into the sky, four silver eagles are at its corners, and under the dome, in the middle of the tent, on a dais, is the fifth, invincible Timur-Gurugan himself, the king of kings.
He is wearing a wide robe of sky-colored silk, it is showered with grains of pearls - no more than five thousand large grains, yes! On his gray head white hat with a ruby on a sharp top, and sways, sways - this bloody eye sparkles, looking around the world ...
On the ground, on carpets that no longer exist, there are three hundred golden jugs of wine and everything that is needed for the feast of kings, musicians are sitting behind Timur, no one is next to him, at his feet are his blood, kings and princes, and chiefs of troops , and closest to him is the drunken Kermani-poet, the one who once, to the question of the destroyer of the world:
Kermani! How much would you give for me if I was being sold? - answered the sower of death and horror:
- Twenty-five askers.
- But this is the price of only my belt! Timur exclaimed in surprise.
- I only think about the belt, - answered Kermani, - only about the belt, because you yourself are not worth a penny!
This is how the poet Kermani spoke to 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.
Let us glorify the poets who have one god - a beautifully spoken, fearless word of truth, that's who god is for them - forever!
And now, in the hour of fun, revelry, proud memories of battles and victories, in the noise of music and folk games in front of the king’s tent, where countless colorful jesters jumped, strongmen fought, rope dancers bent, making them think that there were no bones in their bodies, competing in the dexterity to kill, warriors fenced and there was a performance with elephants, which were painted red and green colors, making this some - terrible and funny - others, - at this hour of joy for Timur's people, drunk from fear of him, from pride in his glory, from fatigue of victories, and wine, and koumiss, - at this crazy hour, suddenly, through the noise Like lightning through a cloud, the cry of a woman, the proud cry of an eagle, flew to the ears of the victorious Bayazet Sultan, a sound familiar and akin to his offended soul - offended by Death and therefore cruel to people and life.
He ordered to find out who was screaming there with a voice without joy, and they told him that some woman had appeared, she was covered in dust and tatters, she seemed crazy, spoke Arabic and demanded - she demanded! - to see him, the ruler of the three countries of the world.
Bring her! - said the king.
And there was a woman in front of him - barefoot, in shreds of clothes faded in the sun, her black hair was loose to cover bare chest, her face is like bronze, and her eyes are imperious, and the dark hand extended to Timur did not tremble.
Did you defeat Sultan Bayazet? she asked.
- Yes I. I have defeated many and him, and I am not yet tired of victories. What do you say about yourself, woman?
- Listen! - she said. - Whatever you do, you are only a person, and I am Mother! You serve death, I serve life. You are guilty before me, and now I have come to demand that you atone for your guilt - they told me that your motto is "Strength is in justice" - I do not believe this, but you must be fair to me, because I am Mother !
The king was wise enough to feel the power of their bold words, he said:
- Sit down and talk, I want to listen to you!
She sat down - as she found it convenient - in a close circle of kings, on a carpet, and this is what she said:
- I'm from near Salerno, it's far away, in Italy, you don't know where! My father is a fisherman, my husband is also, he was handsome as happy man- It was I who gave him happiness! And I also had a son - the most beautiful boy on earth ...
“Like my Jigangir,” the old warrior said quietly.
- The most beautiful and smart boy is my son! He was already six years old when Saracen pirates came ashore to us, they killed my father, husband and many more, and kidnapped the boy, and now I have been looking for him on earth for four years. Now you have it, I know it, because Bayazet's soldiers captured the pirates, and you defeated Bayazet and took everything from him, you must know where my son is, you must give him to me!
Everyone laughed, and then the kings said - they always consider themselves wise!
- She is insane! - said the kings and friends of Timur, his princes and commanders, and everyone laughed.
Only Kermani looked at the woman seriously, and with great surprise Tamerlane.
- She is mad as a Mother! - quietly said the drunken poet Kermani; and the king, the enemy of the world, said:
- Woman! How did you come from this country, unknown to me, through the seas, rivers and mountains, through the forests? Why did animals and people - who are often more evil than the worst animals - not touch you, because you walked, even without weapons, the only friend of the defenseless, who does not betray them, as long as they have strength in their hands? I need to know all this in order to believe you and so that surprise before you does not prevent me from understanding you!
Let us glorify the woman - Mother, whose love knows no barriers, whose breast fed the whole world! Everything beautiful in a person - from the rays of the sun and from Mother's milk - that's what saturates us with love for life!
She said to Timur-Gurugan:
- I met only one sea, there were many islands and fishing boats on it, but if you are looking for your favorite, a fair wind blows. Rivers are easy to cross for those who were born and raised on the seashore. Mountains? I didn't see mountains.
Drunk Kermani said cheerfully:
- A mountain becomes a valley when you love!
- There were forests along the road, yes, it was! Boars, bears, lynxes and terrible bulls met, with their heads lowered to the ground, and leopards looked at me twice, with eyes like yours. But after all, every animal has a heart, I spoke to them, as to you, they believed that I was Mother, and they left, sighing, - they felt sorry for me! Don't you know that animals also love children and know how to fight for their life and freedom no worse than people?
Yes, woman! Timur said. - And often - I know - they love more, fight harder than people!
“People,” she continued, like a child, for every Mother is a hundred times a child in her soul, “people are always the children of their mothers,” she said, “after all, everyone has a Mother, every one of someone’s son, even you , old man, you know this - a woman gave birth, you can refuse God, but you will not refuse this, old man!
Yes, woman! exclaimed Kermani, the fearless poet. - So, - from a gathering of bulls - there will be no calves, without the sun flowers do not bloom, without love there is no happiness, without a woman there is no love, without a Mother - there is neither a poet nor a hero!
And the woman said:
- Give me my child, because I am a Mother and I love him!
Let's bow to the woman - she gave birth to Moses, Mohammed and the great prophet Jesus, who was put to death by the evil ones, but - as Sherifeddin said - he will rise again and come to judge the living and the dead, it will be in Damascus, in Damascus!
Let us worship the One who tirelessly gives birth to the great! Aristotle is Her son, and Firdusi, and sweet as honey, Saadi, and Omar Khayyam, like wine mixed with poison, Iskander and blind Homer are all Her children, they all drank Her milk, and She brought everyone into the world by the hand when they were no taller than a tulip - all the pride of the world - from Mothers!
And then the gray-haired destroyer of cities, the lame tiger Timur-Gurugan, thought, and was silent for a long time, and then said to everyone:
- Men tangri cooli Timur! I, the servant of God Timur, say what follows! Here - I have lived, for many years now, the earth is groaning under me, and for thirty years I have been destroying the harvest of death with this hand - in order to destroy it in order to avenge my son Dzhigangir, because she extinguished the sun of my heart! They fought with me for kingdoms and cities, but - no one, ever - for a man, and a man had no price in my eyes, and I did not know who he was and why on my way? It was I, Timur, who said to Bayazet, having defeated him: “O Bayazet, as you can see, states and people are nothing before God, look - he gives them to the power of people like us: you are crooked, I am lame!” So I said to him when they brought him to me in chains and he could not stand under their weight, so I said, looking at him in misfortune, and I felt life as bitter as wormwood, the grass of the ruins!
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-bek 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 the eternal truth, we - stronger than death, we who continuously give the world sages, poets and heroes, we who sow in it everything for which it is glorious!
(Tashriflar: umumiy 2 867, bugungi 1)
