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Who is the old woman Izergil in brief. "Old Woman Izergil": genre of work

Fragment of an illustration by S. A. Sorin

Very briefly

An old Romanian woman recalls her turbulent youth and tells two legends: about the son of an eagle, doomed to eternal loneliness for his pride, and about the young man who sacrificed himself to save his native tribe.

The chapter titles are arbitrary and do not correspond to the original. The story is told from the point of view of the narrator, whose name is not mentioned in the story. The memoirs of the old woman Izergil are presented on her behalf.

The narrator met the old woman Izergil while picking grapes in Bessarabia. One evening, while relaxing on the seashore, he talked with her. Suddenly the old woman pointed to the shadow of a low-floating cloud, called it Larra and told “one of the glorious tales told in the steppes.”

The Legend of Larra

Many thousands of years ago, in the “land of the big river” there lived a tribe of hunters and farmers. One day one of the girls of this tribe was carried away by a huge eagle. They looked for the girl for a long time, did not find her and forgot about her, and twenty years later she returned with an adult son, whom she gave birth to from an eagle. The eagle itself, sensing the approach of old age, committed suicide - it fell from a great height onto sharp rocks.

The eagle's son was a handsome guy with cold, proud eyes. He did not respect anyone, but treated the elders as equals. The elders did not want to accept the guy into their tribe, but this only made him laugh.

He approached a beautiful girl and hugged her, but she pushed him away because she was the daughter of one of the elders and was afraid of her father’s wrath. Then the eagle's son killed the girl. They tied him up and began to come up with an “execution worthy of the crime.”

One wise man asked why he killed the girl, and the eagle's son replied that he wanted her, but she pushed him away. After a long conversation, the elders realized that the guy “considers himself the first on earth and sees nothing but himself.” He didn't want to love anyone and wanted to take what he wanted.

For everything a person takes, he pays with himself: with his mind and strength, sometimes with his life.

The elders realized that the eagle’s son was dooming himself to terrible loneliness, decided that this would be the most severe punishment for him, and released him.

The eagle's son was named Larra - the outcast. From then on, he lived “free as a bird,” came to the tribe and kidnapped cattle and women. They shot at him, but could not kill him, because Larra’s body was covered with the “invisible veil of the highest punishment.”

This is how Larra lived for many decades. One day he approached people and did not defend himself. People realized that Larra wanted to die and retreated, not wanting to ease his fate. He hit himself in the chest with a knife, but the knife broke, he tried to smash his head on the ground, but the earth pulled away from him, and people realized that Larra could not die. Since then, he has been wandering the steppe in the form of an ethereal shadow, punished for his great pride.

Memoirs of the old woman Izergil

The old woman Izergil dozed off, and the narrator sat on the shore, listening to the sound of the waves and the distant songs of the grape pickers.

Suddenly waking up, the old woman Izergil began to remember those whom she loved in her long life.

She lived with her mother in Romania on the banks of a river, weaving carpets. At fifteen she fell in love with a young fisherman. He persuaded Izergil to leave with him, but by that time she was already tired of the fisherman - “he just sings and kisses, nothing more.”

Having abandoned the fisherman, Izergil fell in love with a Hutsul - a cheerful, red-haired Carpathian youth from a band of robbers. The fisherman could not forget Izergil and also pestered the Hutsuls. So they were hanged together - both the fisherman and the Hutsul, and Izergil went to watch the execution.

Then Izergil met an important and rich Turk, lived in his harem for a whole week, then got bored and ran away with his son, a dark-haired, flexible boy much younger than her, to Bulgaria. There she was wounded in the chest with a knife by a certain Bulgarian woman, either for her fiance, or for her husband - Izergil no longer remembers.

Izergil left at the convent. The Polish nun who looked after her had a brother in a nearby monastery. Izergil fled to Poland with him, and the young Turk died from an excess of carnal love and homesickness.

The Pole was “funny and mean”; he could hit people with words like a whip. One day he greatly offended Izergil. She took him in her arms, threw him into the river and left.

I never met those I once loved. These are not good meetings, as if they were with the dead.

People in Poland turned out to be “cold and deceitful”; Izergil found it difficult to live among them. In the city of Bochnia, a Jew bought it, “not for himself, but to trade.” Izergil agreed, wanting to earn money and return home. “Rich gentlemen” came to feast with her and showered her with gold.

Izergil loved many, and most of all the handsome nobleman Arcadek. He was young, and Izergil had already lived for four decades. Then Izergil broke up with the Jew and lived in Krakow, she was rich - a big house, servants. Arcadek sought it for a long time, and having achieved it, he abandoned it. Then he went to fight the Russians and was captured.

Izergil, pretending to be a beggar, killed a sentry and managed to rescue her beloved Arcadek from Russian captivity. He promised to love her, but Izergil did not stay with him - she did not want to be loved out of gratitude.

After that, Izergil went to Bessarabia and stayed there. Her Moldavian husband died, and now the old woman lives among the young grape pickers, telling them her tales.

A thundercloud drifted in from the sea, and blue sparks began to appear in the steppe. Seeing them, Izergil told the storyteller the legend of Danko.

The Legend of Danko

In the old days, between the steppe and the impenetrable forest lived a tribe of strong and brave people. One day, stronger tribes appeared from the steppe and drove these people deep into the forest, where the air was poisoned by the poisonous fumes of the swamps.

People began to get sick and die. It was necessary to leave the forest, but behind there were strong enemies, and ahead the road was blocked by swamps and giant trees, creating a “ring of strong darkness” around the people.

People could not return to the steppe and fight to the death, because they had covenants that should not disappear.

Nothing—neither work nor women—exhausts the bodies and souls of people as much as melancholy thoughts do.

Heavy thoughts created fear in the hearts of people. The cowardly words that we must return to the steppe and become slaves of the strongest sounded louder and louder.

And then the handsome young man Danko volunteered to lead the tribe out of the forest. People believed and followed him. Their path was difficult, people died in the swamps and every step was difficult for them. Soon the exhausted tribesmen began to grumble against Danko.

One day a thunderstorm began, impenetrable darkness fell over the forest, and the tribe lost heart. People were ashamed to admit their own powerlessness, and they began to reproach Danko for his inability to manage them.

Tired and angry people began to judge Danko, but he answered that the tribesmen themselves were unable to maintain strength for the long journey and simply walked like a flock of sheep. Then people wanted to kill Danko, and there was no kindness or nobility in their faces anymore. Out of pity for his fellow tribesmen, Danko’s heart flared up with the fire of desire to help them, and the rays of this mighty fire sparkled in his eyes.

Seeing how Danko’s eyes were burning, people decided that he was furious, became wary and began to surround him in order to capture and kill him. Danko understood their intention and felt bitter, and his heart burned even brighter. He “teared his chest with his hands,” tore out his flaming heart, raised it high above his head and led the enchanted people forward, illuminating their path.

Finally, the forest parted and the tribe saw a wide steppe, and Danko laughed joyfully and died. His heart was still burning next to his body. Some cautious person saw this and, frightened by something, “stepped on the proud heart with his foot.” It scattered into sparks and died out.

Sometimes blue sparks appear in the steppe before a thunderstorm. These are the remains of Danko's burning heart.

Having finished the story, the old woman Izergil dozed off, and the narrator looked at her withered body and wondered how many more “beautiful and powerful legends” she knew. Covering the old woman with rags, the narrator lay down next to her and looked for a long time at the sky covered with clouds, while the sea rustled “dullly and sadly” nearby.

The work “Old Woman Izergil,” the genre of which is the subject of this review, is one of the most famous works of the famous Russian writer M. Gorky. It was written in 1894 and became a landmark book in the author’s work, as it marked his transition to romanticism. The peculiarity of this essay is that it consists of three independent parts, united by one common idea.

Features of the first episode

The book “Old Woman Izergil”, the genre of which can be defined as a story, however, is not one in the literal sense of the word. As mentioned above, the work includes three independent parts, which at first glance are in no way connected with each other in terms of plot.

The main character tells the author three stories, the first of which is philosophical. In its content, it is similar to an old legend or an ancient fairy tale. In this case, the writer Gorky turned to typically romantic images. “Old Woman Izergil” is a story that is filled with references to classic works of this genre. The main character of the first part is a typically Byronic hero: he is proud, arrogant, mysterious and despises people, and for this he receives punishment by becoming immortal. This plot is reminiscent of the best examples of 19th century literature.

Larra's image

This character is the embodiment of pride and extreme contempt for everyone around him. He, being the son of an eagle, considers himself right in everything, does not take into account the opinions of people and does what he wants. Perhaps that is why Gorky put this story in first place. “The Old Woman Izergil” is a work that is built on the principle of ascending from the worst plot to the best. Larra's hero is the embodiment of human pride. The author wanted to present a superman and a superhero, who, nevertheless, turns out to be defeated in the end by his own vice. In connection with the above, it is necessary to remember that the work in question has its own genre characteristics.

The story “Old Woman Izergil” is essentially not such a story in the literal sense of the word, since in idea and narration it resembles an ancient legend or tale. The story of Larra dates back to the ancient times of a semi-primitive society, which gives the story a special charm.

Second story

Half the story about the life of the heroine herself is “Old Woman Izergil”. The heroes of this woman’s story are extraordinary individuals in all respects. This also applies to the narrator herself. From her lips we learn that in her youth she was a very temperamental woman. She was very lively and spontaneous and lived life to the fullest. Her nature craved adventure and thrills. Judging by her words, the heroine loved many men. She abandoned some, for the sake of others she was ready to commit a crime, risk her own life and destiny.

This makes her similar to the heroes she talked about. Those individuals who became the protagonists of her stories also despised danger and were ready to do anything to achieve their goal.

Danko's image

The work “Old Woman Izergil”, the genre of which can be difficult due to the fact that the text contains several different layers of narrative, ends with a beautiful legend about a hero who undertook to lead people out of darkness. Along the way, the travelers had to endure many difficulties, and when people began to grumble, he tore out his heart, illuminated their path and led his companions out of the gloomy and dark forest into freedom and the light. Thus, this hero in the cycle of stories is a real ideal of courage, honor and bravery.

The heroic tone of the narrative makes the work close in spirit to tales and ancient legends, which were also dedicated to great personalities. The latter circumstance must be taken into account when analyzing the work in question. When it comes to its genre, you should remember the above features. And speaking of the fact that the essay is a story, it should be noted that it has become, as it were, a story within a story, since it consists of three different stories. They are united by a common idea - the idea that there is a meaning to human existence. The narrator herself asks this question, and the same problem concerns the heroes of her stories. So, the book “Old Woman Izergil”, the genre of which can be defined as a story in the style of a legend, became one of the best in Gorky’s work.

Maxim Gorky’s story “Old Woman Izergil” was written in 1894, and a few months later it first appeared in print in the periodical “Samara Gazeta”. The first part was published in No. 80 (dated April 16, 1895), the second in No. 89 (dated April 23, 1895), and the third in No. 95 (dated April 27, 1895).

Old woman Izergil is the author’s interlocutor. The story begins with an old woman narrating her life and the men she once loved. Izergil is sure that you need to be able to enjoy life and get pleasure from it in all possible ways. One of the main joys of life is love, not only sublime, platonic, but also, above all, carnal. Without carnal pleasures, without the opportunity to receive pleasure from the body of a loved one, existence loses its charm.

The Legend of Larra

Suddenly Izergil notices a column of dust on the horizon. This is Larra coming. Then the old woman tells a terrible legend about a proud man who was destroyed by the desire to stand out from his own kind and disrespect for his neighbors.

The Story of a Proud Man

Larra's mother was once kidnapped by an eagle. He took the girl to his home. After some time, she returned to her family, bringing with her her son - half man, half eagle. The young man inherited his mother's beauty and his father's pride. He considers himself better than everyone else and disdains his elders.

Larra tried to take possession of one of the girls, but she refused him, fearing her father’s displeasure. Angry, Larra killed the unfortunate woman. Fellow villagers wanted to execute the young man. However, the punishment from above turned out to be even worse: Larra was cursed, becoming neither alive nor dead.

People abandoned the proud man and expelled him from their society. Left alone, Larra realized how wrong he was. The young man wants to die, but he fails. Since then, for many years, Larra has been wandering restless, turning into a shadow.

Seeing strange sparks, Izergil says that this is all that remains of the burning heart of Danko, a man who gave his life for those who were dear to him.

The Danko tribe lived in the steppe from time immemorial. But one day conquerors came and occupied their native land, evicting Danko and his fellow tribesmen into the forest. People cannot return home, but they cannot stay in the forest either - it is too dangerous. The only way out is to go forward. Behind the forest another steppe awaits. Danko volunteers to become a guide.

The road was not easy. People died in poisonous swamps, died of hunger, but continued to move forward. In the end, the tribesmen lost faith in their guide and that they would ever be able to get out of the impenetrable thicket. People decided to kill Danko. Not knowing how else to help them, Danko tore out the flaming heart from his chest and, with its help, illuminated the path for his fellow tribesmen. The people believed the guide again and followed him again. The difficulties have not diminished. Exhausted, tired wanderers still died, but faith no longer left their souls.

The survivors still managed to reach the steppe. Danko did not have to rejoice along with the others. He fell and died. No one noticed the conductor's death. Only one of the tribesmen discovered the heart, which continued to burn near Danko, and crushed it, as if afraid of something. The heart went out, but sparks from it can be seen even now, many years after the events described.

Characteristics

In the image of Larra, the author embodied all anti-human qualities. The origin of the young man is not accidental: he has the appearance of a man, but his behavior is completely asocial. The eagle is a proud, independent bird. It was these character traits that Larra inherited. Pride and independence cannot be called shortcomings. These qualities characterize a courageous, self-confident person who is not afraid of difficulties. Every person should know their own worth and not allow others to humiliate themselves. Pride and independence become flaws when they go beyond the individual.

Larra tries to gain the respect and admiration of her fellow villagers by putting herself above others. In his opinion, he found the easiest and most correct path to honor. The young man's claims are unfounded. He didn't do anything for which he could be loved or simply respected. Beauty is one of Larra’s few advantages. However, even external attractiveness gradually melts away against the background of the ugliness of the soul. Years later, the beautiful body of the eagle's son turned to dust, revealing a "rotten" essence.

The image of the proud Larra is contrasted in the story with the image of Danko. These characters are in no way related to each other, but the author considers it necessary to mention them within one story. As a result, one character becomes a foil to the other.

Danko is a brave, courageous man who possessed the same character traits as Larra: pride and independence. But unlike the eagle's son, Danko's best qualities do not cross the boundaries of his personality. He directs them not against his fellow tribesmen, but for their benefit. Danko invites people to show pride and independence towards the invaders of their homeland. There is no need to ask the occupiers for mercy. We need to find empty land and thereby show our superiority. Danko becomes a guide not because he considers himself somehow better than others. He sees the despair of his fellow tribesmen and takes care of them, realizing that at least one person must remain who has not lost his composure and hope.

The author regretfully mentions human ingratitude. People were not grateful to their guide on the path to happiness, despite the fact that Danko did everything in his power for them. But this was not enough. Then the guide gave away the last thing he had - his heart, which became the only source of light in the most difficult days of the journey. Even after a new homeland was found, the tribesmen did not feel gratitude to their savior. The death of a hero who gave his life for the common good was not noticed. And one of the tribesmen simply destroyed the last thing that was left of the guide.

Analysis of the work

The symbols in the story “Old Woman Izergil” cannot escape the reader’s attention. Danko’s burning heart is a symbol of faith and hope for a better life. Even after the death of the main character, his heart continued to burn with love for people. The ungrateful foot that stepped on the source of light could not destroy it. The sparks remaining from the heart did not disappear or go out. In the same way, good deeds done by those who fought for human happiness, devoting their lives to it, do not disappear or fade away.

People like Larra also leave a lot behind. Their heritage is as antisocial as they themselves are antisocial. Antiheroes who committed crimes against humanity have not faded into obscurity. They are remembered and cursed by many generations who come into this world after their departure, not personally affected by the heinous acts of the criminals. An unkind memory remained about the proud son of the eagle, the symbol of which was a column of dust that did not evoke a good response in any human heart.

Maxim Gorky is known for being at the origins of socialist realism - the new art of the new country of the victorious proletariat. However, this does not mean that he, like many Soviet propagandists, used literature for political purposes. His work is imbued with touching romanticism: beautiful landscape sketches, strong and proud characters, rebellious and lonely heroes, sweet worship of the ideal. One of the author’s most interesting works is the story “Old Woman Izergil”.

The idea for the story came to the author during a trip to southern Bessarabia in the early spring of 1891. The work was included in Gorky’s “romantic” cycle of works, dedicated to the analysis of the original and contradictory human nature, where baseness and sublimity alternately fight with each other, and it is impossible to say for sure which will win. Perhaps the complexity of the issue forced the writer to think about it for a long time, because it is known that this idea occupied the writer for 4 years. “The Old Woman Izergil” was completed in 1895 and published in the Samara Newspaper.

Gorky himself was very interested in the work process and was happy with the result. The work expressed his views on the purpose of man and his place in the system of social relations: “Apparently, I will not write anything as harmonious and beautiful as the Old Woman Izergil,” he wrote in a letter to Chekhov. There he also spoke about the literary need to embellish life, to make it brighter and more beautiful on the pages of books, so that people would live in a new way and strive for a high, heroic, sublime calling. Apparently, this goal was pursued by the writer when he wrote his story about a selfless young man who saved his tribe.

Genre, gender and direction

Gorky began his literary career with short stories, so his early work “Old Woman Izergil” belongs precisely to this genre, which is characterized by brevity of form and a small number of characters. The genre features of a parable are applicable to this book - a short instructive story with a clear moral. Likewise, in the writer’s literary debuts, the reader will easily detect an edifying tone and a highly moral conclusion.

Of course, if we are talking about prose works, as in our case, the writer worked in line with the epic genre in literature. Of course, the fairy-tale style of narration (in Gorky’s stories the narration is told on behalf of the heroes who openly narrate their personal history) adds lyricism and poetic beauty to the plot outline of the book, but “Old Woman Izergil” cannot be called a lyrical creation, it belongs to the epic.

The direction within which the writer worked is called “romanticism.” Gorky wanted to build on classical realism and give the reader a sublime, embellished, exceptional world that reality could emulate. In his opinion, admiration for virtuous and beautiful heroes pushes people to become better, braver, and kinder. This opposition of reality and ideal lies the essence of romanticism.

Composition

In Gorky's book the role of composition is extremely important. This is a story within a story: an elderly woman told the traveler three stories: the Legend of Larra, the revelation about the life of Izergil, and the Legend of Danko. The first and third parts are opposed to each other. They reveal the contradiction between two different views of the world: altruistic (selfless good deeds for the benefit of society) and egoistic (actions for the benefit of oneself without taking into account social needs and dogmas of behavior). Like any parable, the legends present extremes and grotesqueries so that the moral is clear to everyone.

If these two fragments are fantastic in nature and do not pretend to be authentic, then the link that is located between them has all the features of realism. This strange structure is where the peculiarities of the composition “The Old Woman Izergil” lie. The second fragment is the heroine’s story about her frivolous, barren life, which passed as quickly as her beauty and youth left her. This fragment immerses the reader in a harsh reality, where there is no time to make the mistakes that Larra made and the narrator herself made. She spent her life on sensual pleasures, but never found true love, and the proud son of the eagle thoughtlessly disposed of himself. Only Danko, having died in his prime, achieved his goal, comprehended the meaning of existence and was truly happy. Thus, the unusual composition itself pushes the reader to draw the right conclusion.

What a story?

Maxim Gorky’s story “Old Woman Izergil” tells how an old southern woman tells three stories to a traveler, and he carefully watches her, supplementing her words with his impressions. The essence of the work is that it contrasts two concepts of life, two heroes: Larra and Danko. The narrator recalls the legends of the places where she comes from.

  1. The first myth is about the cruel and arrogant son of an eagle and a kidnapped beauty - Larra. He returns to the people, but despises their laws, killing the elder's daughter for refusing his love. He is doomed to eternal exile, and God punishes him with the inability to die.
  2. In the interval between the two stories, the heroine talks about her failed life, full of love affairs. This fragment is a listing of the adventures of Izergil, who was once a fatal beauty. She was merciless towards fans, but when she fell in love herself, she was also rejected, although she painted with her life to save her beloved from captivity.
  3. In the third tale, the old woman describes Danko, a brave and selfless leader who led people out of the forest at the cost of his own life, tearing out their hearts and lighting the way for them. Although the tribe did not support his aspirations, he was able to save him, but no one appreciated his feat, and the sparks of his burning heart were trampled on “just in case.”

    4. The main characters and their characteristics

    1. Danko's image- a romantic hero, since he was much higher than society, was not understood, but was proud of the knowledge that he had managed to rise above the routine bustle of life. For many, he is associated with the image of Christ - the same martyrdom for the sake of people. He also felt responsible and was not angry at curses and misunderstandings. He understood that people could not cope without him and would die. His love for them made him strong and omnipotent. Enduring inhuman torment, the mission led its flock to light, happiness and new life. This is a role model for any of us. Everyone can do much more by setting themselves a good goal to help, and not to profit or deceive. Virtue, active love and participation in the fate of the world - this is the true meaning of life for a morally pure person, as Gorky believes.
    2. Larra's image serves as a warning to us: we cannot ignore the interests of others and come to someone else’s monastery with our own rules. We must respect the traditions and morals accepted in society. This respect is the key to peace around and peace in the soul. Larra was selfish and paid for his pride and cruelty with eternal loneliness and eternal exile. No matter how strong and handsome he was, neither one nor the other quality helped him. He begged for death, but people only laughed at him. No one wanted to lighten his burden, just as he did not want this when he came into society. It is no coincidence that the author emphasizes that Larra is not a person, he is, rather, an animal, a savage who is alien to civilization and a reasonable, humane world order.
    3. Old Isergil- a passionate and temperamental woman, she is used to giving herself over to feelings whenever they come, without burdening herself with worries and moral principles. She spent her whole life on love affairs, treated people with indifference and selfishly pushed them around, but a real strong feeling passed her by. To save her lover, she committed murder and certain death, but he answered her with a promise of love in gratitude for her liberation. Then, out of pride, she drove him away, because she did not want to oblige anyone. Such a biography characterizes the heroine as a strong, courageous and independent person. However, her fate was aimless and empty; in her old age she lacked her family nest, so she ironically called herself “cuckoo.”

      4. Subject

      The theme of the story “Old Woman Izergil” is extraordinary and interesting, which is distinguished by a wide range of issues raised by the author.

  • The theme of freedom. All three heroes are independent from society in their own way. Danko drives the tribe forward, not paying attention to their discontent. He knows that his behavior will bring freedom to all these people who now, due to their limitations, do not understand his plan. Izergil allowed herself licentiousness and disregard for others, and in this crazy carnival of passions the very essence of freedom drowned, acquiring a vulgar, vulgar form instead of a pure and bright impulse. In Larra’s case, the reader sees permissiveness, which violates the freedom of other people, and therefore loses value even for its owner. Gorky, of course, is on the side of Danko and the independence that allows an individual to go beyond stereotypical thinking and lead the crowd.
  • Theme of love. Danko had a big and loving heart, but he felt affection not for a specific person, but for the whole world. For the sake of love for him, he sacrificed himself. Larra was full of selfishness, so he could not really experience strong feelings for people. He put his pride above the life of the woman he liked. Izergil was full of passion, but her objects were constantly changing. In her unprincipled rush for pleasure, the true feeling was lost, and in the end it turned out to be unnecessary to the one for whom it was intended. That is, the writer gives preference to holy and selfless love for humanity, rather than its petty and selfish counterparts.
  • The main themes of the story concern the role of man in society. Gorky reflects on the rights and responsibilities of the individual in society, what people should do for each other for common prosperity, etc. The author denies Larra’s individualism, which does not value the environment at all and only wants to consume good, and not give it in return. In his opinion, a truly “strong and beautiful” person should use his talents for the benefit of other, less prominent members of society. Only then will its strength and beauty be true. If these qualities are wasted, as in the case of Izergil, they will quickly fade, including in human memory, never finding worthy use.
  • Path theme. Gorky allegorically depicted the historical path of human development in the Legend of Danko. From the darkness of ignorance and savagery, the human race has moved towards the light thanks to gifted and fearless individuals who serve progress without sparing themselves. Without them, society is doomed to stagnation, but these outstanding fighters are never understood during their lifetime and become victims of cruel and short-sighted brothers.
  • Theme of time. Time is fleeting, and it must be spent with purpose, otherwise its run will not be slowed down by the belated awareness of the futility of existence. Izergil lived without thinking about the meaning of days and years, devoted herself to entertainment, but in the end she came to the conclusion that her fate was unenviable and unhappy.

Idea

The main idea in this work is the search for the meaning of human life, and the writer found it - it consists of selfless and selfless service to society. This point of view can be illustrated with a specific historical example. In an allegorical form, Gorky extolled the heroes of the resistance (underground revolutionaries who even then aroused sympathy in the author), those who sacrificed themselves, leading the people from the wilderness towards a new, happy time of equality and brotherhood. This idea is the meaning of the story “Old Woman Izergil”. In the image of Larra, he condemned all those who thought only about themselves and their profit. Thus, many nobles tyrannized the people, not recognizing the laws and not sparing their inferior fellow citizens - workers and peasants. If Larra recognizes only the dominance of a strong personality over the masses and strict dictatorship, then Danko is a real people's leader, he gives all of himself to save people, without even demanding recognition in return. Such a silent feat was performed by many freedom fighters who protested against the tsarist regime, against social inequality and oppression of defenseless people.

Peasants and workers, like the Danko tribe, doubted the ideas of the socialists and wanted to continue slavery (that is, not change anything in Russia, but serve the powers that be). The main idea in the story “Old Woman Izergil”, the writer’s bitter prophecy is that the crowd, although it bursts into the light, accepting the sacrifice, but tramples the hearts of its heroes, is afraid of their fire. Likewise, many revolutionary figures were later illegally accused and “eliminated,” because the new government was afraid of their influence and power. The Tsar and his minions, like Larra, were rejected by society, getting rid of them. Many were killed, but even more people who did not accept the great October Revolution were expelled from the country. They were forced to wander without a fatherland and without citizenship, since at one time they proudly and imperiously violated moral, religious and even state laws, oppressing their own people and taking slavery for granted.

Of course, Gorky’s main idea today is perceived much more widely and is suitable not only for revolutionary figures of the past, but also for all people of the present century. The search for the meaning of life is renewed in every new generation, and each person finds it for himself.

Problems

The problems of the story “Old Woman Izergil” are no less rich in content. Here are presented both moral, ethical and philosophical issues that deserve the attention of every thinking person.

  • The problem of the meaning of life. Danko saw him in saving the tribe, Larra - in satisfying pride, Izergil - in love affairs. Each of them had the right to choose their own path, but which of them felt satisfaction from their decision? Only Danko, because he chose correctly. The rest were severely punished for selfishness and cowardice in determining the goal. But how to take a step so as not to regret it later? Gorky is trying to answer this question, helping us to trace for ourselves what meaning of life turned out to be true?
  • The problem of selfishness and pride. Larra was a narcissistic and proud person, so he could not live normally in society. His “paralysis of the soul,” as Chekhov would say, haunted him from the very beginning, and the tragedy was a foregone conclusion. No society will tolerate violation of its laws and principles from an insignificant selfish person who imagines himself to be the navel of the earth. The example of the eagle's son allegorically shows that the one who despises his environment and elevates himself above it is not a man at all, but already half a beast.
  • The problem with an active life position is that many try to counteract it. It comes into conflict with eternal human passivity, reluctance to do or change anything. So Danko came across a misunderstanding in his environment, trying to help and get things moving. However, people were in no hurry to meet him halfway and even after the successful ending of the journey they were afraid of the revival of this activity, trampling on the last sparks of the hero’s heart.
  • The problem with self-sacrifice is that, as a rule, no one appreciates it. People crucified Christ, destroyed scientists, artists and preachers, and none of them thought that they respond to good with evil, and to a feat with betrayal. Using Danko’s example, the reader sees how people treat those who helped them. Black ingratitude settles in the souls of those who accept the sacrifice. The hero saved his tribe at the cost of his life, and did not even receive the respect he deserved.
  • The problem of old age. The heroine has lived to an old age, but now she can only remember her youth, since nothing can happen again. Old woman Izergil has lost her beauty, strength and all the attention of men of which she was once so proud. Only when she was weak and ugly did she realize that she had wasted herself in vain, and it was necessary even then to think about the family nest. And now the cuckoo, having ceased to be a proud eagle, is of no use to anyone and cannot change anything.
  • The problem of freedom in the story is manifested in the fact that it loses its essence and turns into permissiveness.

Conclusion

Old Woman Izergil is one of the most interesting stories from the school literature course, if only because it contains three independent stories that are relevant for all times. The types that Gorky described are not often encountered in life, but the names of his heroes have become household names. The most memorable character is Danko, the image of self-sacrifice. It is precisely conscientious, selfless, heroic service to people that the work teaches through his example. People remember him most of all, which means that a person by nature is drawn to something good, bright and great.

The moral in the story “Old Woman Izergil” is that selfishness and indulgence in one’s own vices will not lead a person to goodness. In this case, society turns away from them, and without it people lose their humanity and remain in painful isolation, where achieving happiness becomes impossible. The work makes us think about how dependent we are on each other, how important it is for us to be together, even if our characters, capabilities and inclinations are different.

Criticism

“If Gorky had been born into a rich and enlightened family, he would not have written four volumes in such a short time... and we would not have seen many undeniably bad things,” wrote the critic Menshikov about the writer’s romantic stories. Indeed, at that time Alexey Peshkov was an unknown, beginning author, so reviewers did not spare his early works. In addition, many did not like the fact that literature, the art of the elite in the Russian Empire, rose to the level of a person from the poorest strata of the population, who, due to his origin, was underestimated by many. The snobbery of the critics was explained by the fact that their shrine was increasingly encroached upon by those whom the respectable gentlemen did not want to see as equals. This is how Menshikov explained his negative reviews:

Our author here and there falls into pretentiousness, into loud, cold gesticulation of words. Such are his imitative works, clearly prompted by poor reading - “Makar Chudra”, “Old Woman Izergil”... ...Gorky cannot stand the economy of feelings

His colleague Yu. Ankhenvald agreed with this critic. He was indignant that the author had spoiled the legends with his elaborate and artificial style:

Gorky's invention is more offensive than anyone else's; his artificiality is worse than anywhere else. It’s even annoying to see how, in his distrust of the natural eloquence of life itself, he sins against it and against himself; he ruins his work with artificiality and does not know how to truthfully draw to the end, to the final effect of the truth.

A.V. Amfitheatrov categorically disagreed with those who did not accept the new talent in literature. He wrote an article where he exalted Gorky's works and explained why his mission in art is so responsible and incomprehensible to many critics.

Maxim Gorky is a specialist in the heroic epic. The author of “Petrel”, “Song of the Falcon”, “Izergil” and countless epics about former people of various denominations, he... achieved that he awakened a sense of human dignity and a proud consciousness of sleeping strength in the most hopeless and lost class of Russian society

Interesting? Save it on your wall! I heard these stories near Akkerman, in Bessarabia, on the seashore. One evening, having finished the day's grape harvest, the party of Moldovans with whom I worked went to the seashore, and I and the old woman Izergil remained under the thick shadow of the vines and, lying on the ground, were silent, watching how the silhouettes of those people who went to the sea. They walked, sang and laughed; men bronze, with a lush, black mustache and thick shoulder-length curls, in short jackets and wide trousers; women and girls are cheerful, flexible, with dark blue eyes, also bronze. Their hair, silky and black, was loose, the wind, warm and light, played with it, and tinkled the coins woven into it. The wind flowed in a wide, even wave, but sometimes it seemed to jump over something invisible and, giving rise to a strong gust, blew the women’s hair into fantastic manes that billowed around their heads. This made women strange and fabulous. They moved further and further from us, and night and fantasy dressed them more and more beautifully. Someone was playing the violin... the girl sang in a soft contralto voice, you could hear laughter... The air was saturated with the pungent smell of the sea and the rich fumes of the earth, which had been heavily moistened by rain shortly before evening. Even now, fragments of clouds wandered across the sky, lush, strange shapes and colors, here soft, like puffs of smoke, gray and ash-blue, there sharp, like fragments of rocks, matte black or brown. Between them, dark blue patches of sky, decorated with golden specks of stars, sparkled tenderly. All this - sounds and smells, clouds and people - was strangely beautiful and sad, it seemed like the beginning of a wonderful fairy tale. And everything seemed to stop growing, dying; the noise of voices died away, receding, and degenerated into sad sighs. Why didn’t you go with them? Old woman Izergil asked, nodding her head. Time had bent her in half, her once black eyes were dull and watery. Her dry voice sounded strange, it crunched, as if the old woman was speaking with bones. “I don’t want to,” I answered her. Uh!.. you Russians will be born old. Everyone is gloomy, like demons... Our girls are afraid of you... But you are young and strong... The moon has risen. Her disk was large, blood-red, she seemed to have emerged from the depths of this steppe, which in its lifetime had absorbed so much human flesh and drunk blood, which is probably why it became so fat and generous. Lace shadows from the leaves fell on us, and the old woman and I were covered with them like a net. Over the steppe, to our left, the shadows of clouds, saturated with the blue radiance of the moon, floated, they became more transparent and lighter. Look, Larra is coming! I looked where the old woman was pointing with her trembling hand with crooked fingers, and I saw: shadows were floating there, there were many of them, and one of them, darker and denser than the others, swam faster and lower than the sisters, she was falling from a piece of cloud that swam closer to the ground than others, and faster than them. No one is there! I said. You are blinder than me, old woman. Look, the dark one is running through the steppe! I looked again and again saw nothing but a shadow. It's a shadow! Why do you call her Larra? Because it is him. He has now become like a shadow, nopal He lives for thousands of years, the sun dried his body, blood and bones, and the wind scattered them. This is what God can do to a man for pride!.. Tell me how it was! “I asked the old woman, feeling ahead of me one of the glorious fairy tales told in the steppes. And she told me this fairy tale. “Many thousands of years have passed since this happened. Far beyond the sea, at sunrise, there is a country of a large river, in that country every tree leaf and grass stem provides as much shade as a person needs to hide in it from the sun, which is brutally hot there. That's how generous the land is in that country! A powerful tribe of people lived there, they tended herds and spent their strength and courage hunting animals, feasted after the hunt, sang songs and played with the girls. One day, during a feast, one of them, black-haired and tender as the night, was carried away by an eagle, descending from the sky. The arrows the men shot at him fell, pitiful, back to the ground. Then they went to look for the girl, but didn’t find her. And they forgot about her, just as they forget about everything on earth.” The old woman sighed and fell silent. Her creaky voice sounded as if all forgotten centuries were grumbling, embodied in her chest as shadows of memories. The sea quietly echoed the beginning of one of the ancient legends that may have been created on its shores. “But twenty years later she herself came, exhausted, withered, and with her was a young man, handsome and strong, like she herself twenty years ago. And when they asked her where she was, she said that the eagle took her to the mountains and lived with her there as with his wife. Here is his son, but his father is no longer there; when he began to weaken, he rose high into the sky for the last time and, folding his wings, fell heavily from there onto the sharp ledges of the mountain, crashing to his death on them... Everyone looked in surprise at the eagle’s son and saw that he was no better than them, only his eyes were cold and proud, like those of the king of birds. And they talked to him, and he answered if he wanted, or remained silent, and when the elders of the tribe came, he spoke to them as to his equals. This offended them, and they, calling him an unfeathered arrow with an unsharpened tip, told him that they were honored and obeyed by thousands like him, and thousands twice his age. And he, boldly looking at them, answered that there were no more people like him; and if everyone honors them, he doesn't want to do that. Oh!.. then they got really angry. They got angry and said: He has no place among us! Let him go wherever he wants. He laughed and went wherever he wanted, to one beautiful girl who was looking at him intently; went to her and, approaching, hugged her. And she was the daughter of one of the elders who condemned him. And although he was handsome, she pushed him away because she was afraid of her father. She pushed him away and walked away, and he hit her and, when she fell, he stood with his foot on her chest, so that blood splashed from her mouth to the sky, the girl, sighing, writhed like a snake and died. Everyone who saw this was seized with fear; it was the first time in their presence that a woman had been killed in such a way. And for a long time everyone was silent, looking at her, who lay with her eyes open and her mouth bloody, and at him, who stood alone against everyone, next to her, and was proud, did not lower his head, as if calling punishment on her. Then, when they came to their senses, they grabbed him, tied him up and left him like that, finding that killing him right now was too simple and would not satisfy them.” The night grew and grew stronger, filling with strange, quiet sounds. In the steppe, gophers whistled sadly, the glassy chirping of grasshoppers trembled in the leaves of the grapes, the foliage sighed and whispered, the full disk of the moon, previously blood-red, turned pale, moving away from the earth, turned pale and poured a bluish haze more and more abundantly onto the steppe... “And so they gathered to come up with an execution worthy of the crime... They wanted to tear him to pieces with horses, and this seemed not enough to them; they thought of shooting everyone an arrow at him, but they rejected that too; they offered to burn him, but the smoke of the fire would not allow him to be seen in his torment; They offered a lot and didn’t find anything good enough for everyone to like. And his mother stood on her knees in front of them and was silent, finding neither tears nor words to beg for mercy. They talked for a long time, and then one sage said, after thinking for a long time: Let's ask him why he did this? They asked him about it. He said: Untie me! I won't say tied! And when they untied him, he asked: What do you need? asked as if they were slaves... You heard... said the sage. Why will I explain my actions to you? To be understood by us. You proud one, listen! You will die anyway... Let us understand what you have done. We remain alive, and it is useful for us to know more than we know... Okay, I’ll say it, although I myself may misunderstand what happened. I killed her because, it seems to me, because she pushed me away... And I needed her. But she is not yours! told him. Do you only use yours? I see that every person has only speech, arms and legs... but he owns animals, women, land... and much more... They told him that for everything a person takes, he pays with himself: with his mind and strength, sometimes with his life. And he answered that he wanted to keep himself whole. We talked with him for a long time and finally saw that he considers himself the first on earth and sees nothing but himself. Everyone even became scared when they realized the loneliness he was dooming himself to. He had no tribe, no mother, no cattle, no wife, and he did not want any of this. When the people saw this, they again began to judge how to punish him. But now they did not talk for long, the wise one, who did not interfere with their judgment, spoke himself: Stop! There is punishment. This is a terrible punishment; You wouldn’t invent something like this in a thousand years! His punishment is in himself! Let him go, let him be free. This is his punishment! And then a great thing happened. Thunder thundered from the heavens, although there were no clouds on them. It was the heavenly powers that confirmed the speech of the wise man. Everyone bowed and dispersed. And this young man, who now received the name Larra, which means: rejected, thrown out, the young man laughed loudly after the people who abandoned him, laughed, remaining alone, free, like his father. But his father was not a man... And this one was a man. And so he began to live, free as a bird. He came to the tribe and kidnapped cattle, girls, whatever he wanted. They shot at him, but the arrows could not pierce his body, covered with the invisible veil of the highest punishment. He was dexterous, predatory, strong, cruel and did not meet people face to face. They only saw him from afar. And for a long time, alone, he hovered around people, for many decades. But then one day he came close to the people and, when they rushed at him, did not move and did not show in any way that he would defend himself. Then one of the people guessed and shouted loudly: Don't touch him! He wants to die! And everyone stopped, not wanting to ease the fate of the one who was doing them harm, not wanting to kill him. They stopped and laughed at him. And he trembled, hearing this laughter, and kept looking for something on his chest, clutching at it with his hands. And suddenly he rushed at the people, picking up a stone. But they, dodging his blows, did not inflict a single blow on him, and when he, tired, fell to the ground with a sad cry, they stepped aside and watched him. So he stood up and, picking up the knife that someone had lost in the fight with him, hit himself in the chest with it. But the knife broke; it was as if they had hit a stone with it. And again he fell to the ground and banged his head against it for a long time. But the ground moved away from him, deepening from the blows of his head. He can't die! people said with joy. And they left, leaving him. He lay face up and saw mighty eagles swimming high in the sky like black dots. There was so much melancholy in his eyes that it could have poisoned all the people of the world with it. So, from that time on he was left alone, free, awaiting death. And so he walks, walks everywhere... You see, he has already become like a shadow and will be like that forever! He understands neither the speech of people nor their actions - nothing. And he keeps searching, walking, walking... He has no life, and death does not smile at him. And there is no place for him among people... That’s how the man was struck for his pride!” The old woman sighed, fell silent, and her head, falling on her chest, swayed strangely several times. I looked at her. The old woman was overcome by sleep, it seemed to me. And for some reason I felt terribly sorry for her. She led the end of the story in such a sublime, threatening tone, and yet in this tone there sounded a timid, slavish note. On the shore they began to sing, they sang strangely. First a contralto was heard, he sang two or three notes, and another voice was heard, starting the song from the beginning and the first one kept flowing ahead of him... The third, fourth, fifth entered the song in the same order. And suddenly the same song, again from the beginning, was sung by a choir of male voices. Each voice of the women sounded completely separately, they all seemed like multi-colored streams and, as if rolling down from somewhere above along the ledges, jumping and ringing, joining the thick wave of male voices that smoothly flowed upward, they drowned in it, broke out of it, drowned it out and again one after another they soared, pure and strong, high up. The sound of the waves could not be heard behind the voices...

II

Have you heard anyone else sing like that? Izergil asked, raising her head and smiling with her toothless mouth. I haven’t heard. I've never heard... And you won’t hear. We love to sing. Only handsome men can sing well, handsome men who love to live. We love to live. Look, aren’t those who sing there tired during the day? They worked from sunrise to sunset, the moon rose, and they were already singing! Those who do not know how to live would go to bed. Those to whom life is sweet, here they sing. But health... I started. Health is always enough to live on. Health! If you had money, wouldn't you spend it? Health is the same as gold. Do you know what I did when I was young? I weaved carpets from sunrise to sunset, almost without getting up. I was alive, like a ray of sunshine, and now I had to sit motionless, like a stone. And I sat until all my bones were cracking. And when night came, I ran to the one I loved and kissed him. And so I ran for three months while there was love; I visited him all the nights during this time. And that's how long she lived - she had enough blood! And how much I loved! How many kisses she took and gave!.. I looked into her face. Her black eyes were still dull, they were not revived by the memory. The moon illuminated her dry, cracked lips, her pointed chin with gray hair on it, and her wrinkled nose, curved like an owl's beak. In place of her cheeks there were black pits, and in one of them lay a strand of ash-gray hair that had escaped from under the red rag that was wrapped around her head. The skin on the face, neck and arms is all cut up with wrinkles, and with every movement of old Izergil one could expect that this dry skin would tear all apart, fall apart in pieces and a naked skeleton with dull black eyes would stand before me. She started talking again in her crisp voice: I lived with my mother near Falmi, on the very banks of the Byrlat; and I was fifteen years old when he came to our farm. He was so tall, flexible, black-moustached, cheerful. He sits in the boat and shouts to us so loudly through the windows: “Hey, do you have any wine... and should I eat?” I looked out the window through the branches of the ash trees and saw: the river was all blue from the moon, and he, in a white shirt and a wide sash with the ends loose on the side, stood with one foot in the boat and the other on the shore. And he sways and sings something. He saw me and said: “What a beauty lives here!.. And I didn’t even know about it!” It’s as if he already knew all the beauties before me! I gave him wine and boiled pork... And four days later I gave him all of myself... We all rode in the boat with him at night. He will come and whistle quietly, like a gopher, and I will jump out the window onto the river like a fish. And we go... He was a fisherman from the Prut, and then, when my mother found out about everything and beat me, he tried to persuade me to go with him to Dobrudzha and further, to the Danube rivers. But I didn’t like him then - he just sings and kisses, nothing more! It was already boring. At that time, a gang of Hutsuls walked around those places, and they had friendly people here... So those were having fun. Another waits, waits for her Carpathian young man, thinks that he is already in prison or killed somewhere in a fight, and suddenly he alone, or even with two or three comrades, will fall to her as if from heaven. The rich brought gifts; after all, it was easy for them to get everything! And he feasts with her, and boasts of her before his comrades. And she loves it. I asked one friend who had a Hutsul to show me them... What was her name? I forgot how... I started to forget everything now. Much time has passed since then, you will forget everything! She introduced me to a young man. He was good... He was red, all red - with mustaches and curls! Fire head. And he was so sad, sometimes affectionate, and sometimes, like an animal, he roared and fought. Once he hit me in the face... And I, like a cat, jumped on his chest, and sank my teeth into his cheek... From then on, there was a dimple on his cheek, and he loved it when I kissed it... Where did the fisherman go? I asked. Fisherman? And he... here... He pestered them, the Hutsuls. At first he kept trying to persuade me and threatened to throw me into the water, and then nothing, he pestered them and got another one... They both hanged them together, the fisherman and this Hutsul. I went to see how they were hanged. This happened in Dobruja. The fisherman went to execution, pale and crying, and the Hutsul smoked his pipe. He walks away and smokes, his hands in his pockets, one mustache lies on his shoulder, and the other hangs over his chest. He saw me, took out the phone and shouted: “Goodbye!..” I felt sorry for him for a whole year. Eh!.. It happened to them then, how they wanted to go to the Carpathians to their place. To say goodbye, we went to visit a Romanian, and they were caught there. Only two, but several were killed, and the rest left... Still, the Romanian was paid after... The farm was burned, both the mill and all the grain. Became a beggar. Did you do this? I asked at random. The Hutsuls had many friends, I was not alone... Whoever was their best friend celebrated their funeral... The song on the seashore had already fallen silent, and the old woman was now echoed only by the sound of the sea waves; the thoughtful, rebellious noise was a glorious second story about a rebellious life. The night became softer and softer, and more and more of the blue radiance of the moon was born in it, and the vague sounds of the busy life of its invisible inhabitants became quieter, drowned out by the increasing rustle of the waves... for the wind grew stronger. And I also loved a Turk. He had one in his harem, in Scutari. I lived for a whole week, nothing... But it became boring... all women, women... He had eight of them... All day they eat, sleep and talk stupid things... Or they swear, cluck like chickens ... He was already middle-aged, this Turk. Almost gray-haired and so important, rich. He spoke like a ruler... His eyes were black... Straight eyes... They looked straight into the soul. He loved to pray very much. I saw him in Bucuresti... He walks around the market like a king, and looks so important, so important. I smiled at him. That same evening I was grabbed on the street and brought to him. He sold sandalwood and palm, and came to Bucuresti to buy something. “Are you coming to see me?” says. “Oh yes, I’ll go!” “Okay!” And I went. He was rich, this Turk. And he already had a son, a black boy, so flexible... He was about sixteen years old. With him I ran away from the Turk... I fled to Bulgaria, to Lom Palanka... There, one Bulgarian woman stabbed me in the chest with a knife for my fiancé or for my husband - I don’t remember. I was sick for a long time in the monastery alone. Convent. One girl, a Polish woman, looked after me... and from another monastery, near Artser-Palanka, I remember, a brother, also a nun, came to her... Such... like a worm, kept squirming in front of me... And when I recovered, then I left with him... to his Poland. Wait!.. Where is the little Turk? Boy? He's dead, boy. From homesickness or from love... but he began to dry up, like a fragile tree that has had too much sun... and so everything dried up... I remember, he was lying there, all already transparent and bluish, like a piece of ice, and love still burns in him... And he keeps asking me to bend over and kiss him... I loved him and, I remember, kissed him a lot... Then he became completely ill - he hardly moved. He lies there and so pitifully, like a beggar, asks me to lie next to him and warm him. I went to bed. If you lie with him... he will immediately light up all over. One day I woke up, and he was already cold... dead... I cried over him. Who's to say? Maybe it was I who killed him. I was twice his age then. And she was so strong, juicy... and he what?.. Boy!.. She sighed and - the first time I saw this from her - crossed herself three times, whispering something with dry lips. Well, you went to Poland... I told her. Yes... with that little Pole. He was funny and mean. When he needed a woman, he fawned over me like a cat and hot honey flowed from his tongue, and when he didn’t want me, he cracked me with words like a whip. Once we were walking along the river bank, and he said a proud, offensive word to me. ABOUT! Oh!.. I got angry! I boiled like tar! I took him in my arms and, like a child, he was small, I lifted him up, squeezing his sides so that he turned blue all over. And so I swung and threw him from the bank into the river. He shouted. It was funny to shout like that. I looked at him from above, and he was floundering there in the water. I left then. And I never met him again. I was happy about this: I never met those I once loved. These are not good meetings, as if with the dead. The old woman fell silent, sighing. I imagined people being resurrected by her. Here is a fiery red-haired, mustachioed Hutsul going to die, calmly smoking a pipe. He probably had cold, blue eyes that looked at everything with concentration and determination. Here next to him is a black-mustached fisherman from the Prut; cries, not wanting to die, and on his face, pale from dying anguish, cheerful eyes have dimmed, and his mustache, moistened with tears, sadly drooped at the corners of his twisted mouth. Here he is, an old, important Turk, probably a fatalist and a despot, and next to him is his son, a pale and fragile flower of the East, poisoned by kisses. But the vain Pole, gallant and cruel, eloquent and cold... And they are all just pale shadows, and the one they kissed sits next to me alive, but withered by time, without a body, without blood, with a heart without desires , with eyes without fire, also almost a shadow. She continued: In Poland It became difficult for me. Cold and deceitful people live there. I didn't know their snake language. Everyone is hissing... What are they hissing? It was God who gave them such a snake tongue because they are deceitful. I was walking then, not knowing where, and I saw how they were going to rebel with you Russians. I reached the city of Bochnia. The Jew alone bought me; I didn’t buy it for myself, but to trade with me. I agreed to this. To live you must be able to do something. I couldn’t do anything and I paid for it with myself. But I thought then that if I get some money to return to my place on Byrlat, I will break the chains, no matter how strong they are. And I lived there. Rich gentlemen came to me and feasted with me. It cost them dearly. They fought because of me and went bankrupt. One of them tried to get me for a long time and once did this; came, and the servant followed him with a bag. So the gentleman took that bag in his hands and threw it over my head. Gold coins hit me on the head, and I had fun listening to them ring as they fell to the floor. But I still kicked the master out. He had such a thick, raw face, and a belly like a big pillow. He looked like a well-fed pig. Yes, I kicked him out, although he said that he sold all his lands, houses, and horses in order to shower me with gold. I then loved one worthy gentleman with a chopped up face. His whole face was cut crosswise by the sabers of the Turks, with whom he had recently fought for the Greeks. What a man!.. What are the Greeks to him if he is a Pole? And he went and fought with them against their enemies. They chopped him up, one of his eyes leaked out from the blows, and two fingers on his left hand were also cut off... What are the Greeks to him if he is a Pole? Here's what: he loved exploits. And when a person loves feats, he always knows how to do them and will find where it is possible. In life, you know, there is always room for exploits. And those who do not find them for themselves are simply lazy or cowards, or do not understand life, because if people understood life, everyone would want to leave behind their shadow in it. And then life would not devour people without a trace... Oh, this chopped one was a good man! He was ready to go to the ends of the earth to do anything. Your guys probably killed him during the riot. Why did you go to beat the Magyars? Well, well, shut up!.. And, ordering me to be silent, old Izergil suddenly fell silent herself and began to think. I also knew one Magyar. He left me once, it was in winter, and only in the spring, when the snow melted, they found him in a field with a bullet through his head. That's how! You see, the love of people destroys no less than the plague; if you count no less... What did I say? About Poland... Yes, I played my last game there. I met one nobleman... He was handsome! Like hell. I was already old, oh, old! Was I four decades old? Perhaps that’s what happened... And he was also proud and spoiled by us women. He became dear to me... yes. He wanted to take me so-so right away, but I didn’t give in. I have never been anyone's slave. And I was already done with the Jew, I gave him a lot of money... And I was already living in Krakow. Then I had everything: horses, gold, and servants... He came to me, a proud demon, and kept wanting me to throw myself into his arms. We argued with him... I even, I remember, felt stupid about it. It dragged on for a long time... I took it: he begged me on his knees... But as soon as he took it, he abandoned it. Then I realized that I had become old... Oh, it was not sweet for me! That’s not sweet!.. I loved him, that devil... and he laughed when he met me... he was mean! And he laughed at me with others, and I knew it. Well, it was really bitter for me, I’ll tell you! But he was here, close, and I still admired him. But when he left to fight with you Russians, I felt sick. I broke myself, but I couldn’t break it... And I decided to go after him. He was near Warsaw, in the forest. But when I arrived, I found out that yours had already beaten them... and that he was in captivity, not far from the village. “That means,” I thought, “I won’t see him again!” But I wanted to see it. Well, she began to try to see... She dressed as a beggar, lame, and went, covering her face, to the village where he was. There are Cossacks and soldiers everywhere... It cost me dearly to be there! I found out where the Poles are sitting, and I see that it is difficult to get there. And I needed it. And then at night I crawled to the place where they were. I crawl through the garden between the ridges and see: a sentry is standing on my road... And I can already hear the Poles singing and talking loudly. They sing one song... to the mother of God... And he sings there too... My Arcadek. I felt sad because I thought that people had crawled after me before... but here it is, the time has come, and I crawled like a snake on the ground after the man and, perhaps, crawled to my death. And this sentry is already listening, leaning forward. Well, what should I do? I got up from the ground and walked towards him. I don’t have a knife, nothing except my hands and my tongue. I regret that I didn’t take a knife. I whisper: “Wait!..” And he, this soldier, had already put a bayonet to my throat. I tell him in a whisper: “Don’t prick, wait, listen, if you have a soul!” I can’t give you anything, but I ask you...” He lowered the gun and also whispered to me: “Get away, woman! let's go! What do you want?" I told him that my son was locked here... “You understand, soldier, son! You're someone's son too, right? So look at me - I have one just like you, and there he is! Let me look at him, maybe he will die soon... and maybe you will be killed tomorrow... will your mother cry for you? And it will be hard for you to die without looking at her, your mother? It’s hard for my son too. Have pity on yourself and him, and me, mother!..” Oh, how long it took me to tell him! It was raining and getting us wet. The wind howled and roared, and pushed me first in the back, then in the chest. I stood and swayed in front of this stone soldier... And he kept saying: “No!” And every time I heard his cold word, the desire to see that Arcadek flared up in me even hotter... I spoke and looked at the soldier with my eyes - he was small, dry and kept coughing. And so I fell to the ground in front of him and, hugging his knees, still begging him with hot words, knocked the soldier to the ground. He fell into the mud. Then I quickly turned his face to the ground and pressed his head into the puddle so that he would not scream. He didn’t scream, but just kept floundering, trying to throw me off his back. I pressed his head deeper into the mud with both hands. He suffocated... Then I rushed to the barn, where the Poles were singing. “Arcadek!..” I whispered into the cracks in the walls. They are quick-witted, these Poles, and when they heard me they didn’t stop singing! Here are his eyes against mine. “Can you get out of here?” “Yes, through the floor!” he said. “Well, go now.” And then four of them crawled out from under this barn: three and my Arcadek. “Where are the sentries?” asked Arcadek. “There lies there!..” And they walked quietly, bending towards the ground. It was raining and the wind was howling loudly. We left the village and walked through the forest in silence for a long time. They walked so quickly. Arcadek held my hand, and his hand was hot and trembling. Oh!.. I felt so good with him while he was silent. These were the last minutes - good minutes of my greedy life. But then we came out into the meadow and stopped. All four of them thanked me. Oh, how they told me something for a long time and a lot! I listened to everything and looked at my master. What will he do to me? And so he hugged me and said so important... I don’t remember what he said, but it turned out that now, in gratitude for the fact that I took him away, he would love me... And he knelt before me, smiling and said to me: “My queen!” What a lying dog he was!.. Well, then I kicked him and hit him in the face, but he recoiled and jumped up. Terrible and pale, he stands before me... Those three are also standing, all gloomy. And everyone is silent. I looked at them... I then felt I remember only very bored, and such laziness attacked me... I told them: “Go!” They, the dogs, asked me: “Will you go back there and show us our way?” That's how vile they are! Well, they left after all. Then I went too... And the next day yours took me, but soon released me. Then I saw that it was time for me to start a nest; I would live as a cuckoo! I have become heavy, and my wings have weakened, and my feathers have become dull... It's time, it's time! Then I left for Galicia, and from there to Dobruja. And I’ve been living here for about three decades now. I had a husband, a Moldavian; died about a year ago. And here I live! I live alone... No, not alone, but with those over there. The old woman waved her hand towards the sea. Everything was quiet there. Sometimes some short, deceptive sound was born and died immediately. They love me. I tell them a lot of different things. They need it. They are all still young... And I feel good with them. I look and think: “Here I am, there was a time, I was the same... Only then, in my time, there was more strength and fire in a person, and that’s why life was more fun and better... Yes!..” She fell silent. I felt sad next to her. She was dozing, shaking her head, and quietly whispering something... maybe she was praying. A cloud rose from the sea, black, heavy, with harsh outlines, resembling a mountain range. She crawled into the steppe. Shreds of clouds fell from its top, rushed ahead of it and extinguished the stars one after another. The sea was noisy. Not far from us, in the grape vines, they kissed, whispered and sighed. Deep in the steppe a dog howled... The air irritated the nerves with a strange smell that tickled the nostrils. From the clouds, thick flocks of shadows fell to the ground and crawled along it, crawled, disappeared, appeared again... In place of the moon, only a cloudy opal spot remained, sometimes it was completely covered by a bluish patch of cloud. And in the distance of the steppe, now black and terrible, as if hidden, hiding something within itself, small blue lights flashed. Here and there they appeared for a moment and went out, as if several people, scattered across the steppe far from each other, were looking for something in it, lighting matches, which the wind immediately extinguished. These were very strange blue tongues of fire, hinting at something fabulous. Do you see sparks? Izergil asked me. Those blue ones? “I said, pointing to the steppe. Blue? Yes, it’s them... So, they still fly! Well, well... I don't see them anymore. I can't see much now. Where do these sparks come from? I asked the old woman. I had heard something before about the origin of these sparks, but I wanted to listen to old Izergil talk about the same thing. These sparks are from Danko’s burning heart. There was a heart in the world that once burst into flames... And these sparks came from it. I'll tell you about it... Also an old fairy tale... Old, everything is old! Do you see how much everything there is in the old days?.. But now there is nothing like that - no deeds, no people, no fairy tales like in the old days... Why?.. Come on, tell me! You won't say... What do you know? What do you all know, young people? Ehe-he!.. You should look at the old days with vigilance - all the answers will be there... But you don’t look and don’t know how to live because... I don’t see life? Oh, I see everything, even though my eyes are bad! And I see that people don’t live, but try everything on, try it on and spend their whole lives on it. And when they rob themselves, having wasted time, they will begin to cry at fate. What is fate here? Everyone is their own destiny! I see all sorts of people these days, but there are no strong ones! Where are they?.. And there are fewer and fewer handsome men. The old woman thought about where the strong and beautiful people had gone from life, and, thinking, looked around the dark steppe, as if looking for an answer in it. I waited for her story and remained silent, afraid that if I asked her about anything, she would again get distracted. And so she began the story.

III

“In the old days, only people lived on earth; impenetrable forests surrounded the camps of these people on three sides, and on the fourth there was the steppe. These were cheerful, strong and brave people. And then one day a difficult time came: other tribes appeared from somewhere and drove the former into the depths of the forest. There were swamps and darkness there, because the forest was old, and its branches were so densely intertwined that the sky could not be seen through them, and the rays of the sun could hardly make their way to the swamps through the thick foliage. But when its rays fell on the water of the swamps, a stench rose, and people died from it one after another. Then the wives and children of this tribe began to cry, and the fathers began to think and fell into depression. It was necessary to leave this forest, and for this there were two roads: one back, there were strong and evil enemies, the other forward, there stood giant trees, tightly hugging each other with powerful branches, sinking gnarled roots deep into the tenacious silt swamps. These stone trees stood silent and motionless during the day in the gray twilight and moved even more densely around people in the evenings when the fires were lit. And always, day and night, there was a ring of strong darkness around those people, as if it was going to crush them, but they were accustomed to the expanse of the steppe. And it was even more terrible when the wind beat on the tops of the trees and the whole forest hummed dully, as if it was threatening and singing a funeral song to those people. These were still strong people, and they could have gone to fight to the death with those who had once defeated them, but they could not die in battle, because they had covenants, and if they had died, they would have disappeared with them from lives and covenants. And so they sat and thought in the long nights, under the dull noise of the forest, in the poisonous stench of the swamp. They sat, and the shadows from the fires jumped around them in a silent dance, and it seemed to everyone that these were not shadows dancing, but the evil spirits of the forest and swamp were triumphant... People still sat and thought. But nothing, neither work nor women, exhausts the bodies and souls of people as much as melancholy thoughts do. And people weakened from thoughts... Fear was born among them, fettered their strong hands, horror was born by women crying over the corpses of those who died from the stench and over the fate of the living, chained by fear, and cowardly words began to be heard in the forest, at first timid and quiet, and then louder and louder... They already wanted to go to the enemy and bring him their will as a gift, and no one, frightened by death, was afraid of slave life... But then Danko appeared and saved everyone alone.” The old woman obviously often talked about Danko’s burning heart. She spoke melodiously, and her voice, creaky and dull, clearly depicted before me the noise of the forest, among which unfortunate, driven people were dying from the poisonous breath of the swamp... “Danko is one of those people, a handsome young man. Beautiful people are always brave. And so he says to them, his comrades: Do not turn a stone from the path with your thoughts. If you do nothing, nothing will happen to you. Why do we waste our energy on thoughts and melancholy? Get up, let's go into the forest and go through it, because it has an end - everything in the world has an end! Let's go! Well! Hey!.. They looked at him and saw that he was the best of all, because a lot of strength and living fire shone in his eyes. Lead us! they said. Then he led..." The old woman paused and looked into the steppe, where the darkness was thickening. The sparkles of Danko's burning heart flared up somewhere far away and seemed like blue airy flowers, blooming only for a moment. “Danko led them. Everyone followed him together and believed in him. It was a difficult path! It was dark, and at every step the swamp opened its greedy rotten mouth, swallowing people, and the trees blocked the road with a mighty wall. Their branches intertwined with each other; the roots stretched everywhere like snakes, and every step cost a lot of sweat and blood to those people. They walked for a long time... The forest became more and more dense, and their strength became less and less! And so they began to grumble against Danko, saying that it was in vain that he, young and inexperienced, led them somewhere. And he walked ahead of them and was cheerful and clear. But one day a thunderstorm burst over the forest, the trees whispered dully, menacingly. And then it became so dark in the forest, as if all the nights had gathered in it at once, as many as there had been in the world since he was born. Little people walked between large trees and in the menacing noise of lightning, they walked, and, swaying, the giant trees creaked and hummed angry songs, and lightning, flying over the tops of the forest, illuminated it for a minute with blue, cold fire and disappeared just as quickly, how they appeared, scaring people. And the trees, illuminated by the cold fire of lightning, seemed alive, stretching out gnarled, long arms around the people leaving the captivity of darkness, weaving them into a thick network, trying to stop people. And from the darkness of the branches something terrible, dark and cold looked at those walking. It was a difficult journey, and the people, tired of it, lost heart. But they were ashamed to admit their powerlessness, and so they fell in anger and anger at Danko, the man who walked ahead of them. And they began to reproach him for his inability to manage them, that’s how! They stopped and, under the triumphant noise of the forest, in the midst of trembling darkness, tired and angry, they began to judge Danko. “You,” they said, “are an insignificant and harmful person for us!” You led us and tired us, and for this you will die! You said: “Lead!” and I drove! Danko shouted, standing against them with his chest. I have the courage to lead, that’s why I led you! And you? What did you do to help yourself? You just walked and didn’t know how to save your strength for a longer journey! You just walked and walked like a flock of sheep! But these words infuriated them even more. You will die! You will die! they roared. And the forest hummed and hummed, echoing their cries, and lightning tore the darkness to shreds. Danko looked at those for whom he had labored and saw that they were like animals. Many people stood around him, but there was no nobility on their faces, and he could not expect mercy from them. Then indignation boiled in his heart, but out of pity for the people it went out. He loved people and thought that maybe they would die without him. And so his heart flared up with the fire of desire to save them, to lead them to an easy path, and then the rays of that mighty fire sparkled in his eyes... And when they saw this, they thought that he was furious, which is why his eyes flared up so brightly, and they became wary , like wolves, expecting that he would fight them, and began to surround him more tightly so that it would be easier for them to grab and kill Danko. And he already understood their thought, which is why his heart burned even brighter, for this thought of theirs gave birth to melancholy in him. And the forest still sang its gloomy song, and the thunder roared, and the rain poured... What will I do for people?! Danko shouted louder than thunder. And suddenly he tore his chest with his hands and tore out his heart from it and raised it high above his head. It burned as brightly as the sun, and brighter than the sun, and the whole forest fell silent, illuminated by this torch of great love for people, and the darkness scattered from its light and there, deep in the forest, trembling, fell into the rotten mouth of the swamp. The people, amazed, became like stones. Let's go! Danko shouted and rushed forward to his place, holding his burning heart high and illuminating the way for people. They rushed after him, fascinated. Then the forest rustled again, shaking its peaks in surprise, but its noise was drowned out by the tramp of running people. Everyone ran quickly and boldly, carried away by the wonderful spectacle of a burning heart. And now they died, but they died without complaints or tears. But Danko was still ahead, and his heart was still burning, burning! And then suddenly the forest parted before him, parted and remained behind, dense and silent, and Danko and all those people immediately plunged into a sea of ​​sunlight and clean air, washed by rain. There was a thunderstorm there, behind them, above the forest, and here the sun was shining, the steppe was sighing, the grass was shining in the diamonds of the rain and the river was sparkling golden... It was evening, and from the rays of the sunset the river seemed red, like the blood that flowed in a hot stream from Danko's torn chest. The proud daredevil Danko cast his gaze forward at the expanse of the steppe; he cast a joyful glance at the free land and laughed proudly. And then he fell and died. People, joyful and full of hope, did not notice his death and did not see that his brave heart was still burning next to Danko’s corpse. Only one cautious person noticed this and, fearing something, stepped on the proud heart with his foot... And then it, scattered into sparks, died out...” That's where they come from, the blue sparks of the steppe that appear before a thunderstorm! Now, when the old woman finished her beautiful fairy tale, the steppe became terribly quiet, as if she too was amazed by the strength of the daredevil Danko, who burned his heart for people and died without asking them for anything as a reward for himself. The old woman was dozing. I looked at her and thought: “How many more fairy tales and memories remain in her memory?” And I thought about Danko’s great burning heart and about human imagination, which created so many beautiful and powerful legends. The wind blew and exposed from under the rags the dry chest of the old woman Izergil, who was falling asleep more and more deeply. I covered her old body and lay down on the ground next to her. It was quiet and dark in the steppe. The clouds kept crawling across the sky, slowly, boringly... The sea rustled dully and sadly.

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