Folk omens on the moon May 24th, 2007
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On the fifth day after the new moon, there is almost always a strong wind.
It will snow on the new moon - it will soon melt.
If a month looks around in three days (that is, it appears in a clear sky), it will be buoyant before the damage, and when it rains for three days, then the whole month is rainy.
If on the fourth day of birth the month is clear, then the whole month is clear; if it is rainy, then the whole month is rainy.
If in winter the moon is paler than usual and multi-colored stripes are seen on it, then expect a strong storm with a snowstorm.
If the young are blown by the wind, the whole month will be windy.
If the young fish are washed with rain, it is rainy all month.
If on the sixth day of the new moon the month appears fiery red, there will be wind.
If the change of the moon (the moon is born) occurs in the morning, the weather will be warm, and if in the evening it will be cold.
What is the weather at the birth of the moon, this will stand for the entire first half of the month; what the weather is on the full moon, this will stand the second half.
When a young month stands on the horn, it is called “tekun” and foreshadows rainy weather.
When the horns of the month are upward, but the lower one is steep, the upper one is gentle, then the first half of the month will be windy in summer, cold in winter; if the upper horn is steep, the lower is deposited, then the same sign applies to the second half of the month.
A month on the hooves - to the cold, on the back - to warmth, rain or snow.
Mlad has not been at home for a long time.
The young month is gentle - the whole month it is raining.
After the birth of the moon, seven days later, the weather changes.
A clear, steep moon in the summer - to the bucket, in the winter - to the cold.
Two dull reddish rings appeared around the moon - before a strong, frost.
If there is a ring around the moon, the weather will be cold and harsh.
If there are two or more circles around the moon, or only one, but foggy and indistinct, then there will be frost.
If the circle around the moon is large at first, and then gradually decreases, then rain or wind will surely be; if the circle expands and then disappears, then wait for good weather.
If a circle is formed close to the moon, it will rain on the next day; if it is far away, in one, two, three days there will be a blizzard in winter.
If the moon is in a large blue circle, there will be a strong wind; if the moon is bordered by a small red circle, then there will be frost.
If a ring appears near the moon and disappears immediately, the weather will deteriorate even before morning.
A ring near the moon - towards the wind; the moon in a reddish circle - also to the wind; pale - to rain, to bad weather.
A reddish circle near the moon, soon disappearing - towards the bucket; two circles or one dull - to frost.
The moon with the environment or with "ears" - to frost.
A month in the blue - to the rain.
A month in a dim haze - to a lingering bad weather.
A garden for about a month - to variable weather.
An iridescent circle near the moon - to the winds and bad weather.
A bright circle near the moon in clear weather foreshadows rain.
Foggy circle for about a month (in winter) - to a blizzard.
During the full moon, a bright and clean month - good weather, dark and pale - rain.
If a circle appears around the moon during the full moon, there will be bad weather by the end of the month.
Three days before the full moon - a change in weather.
Cut the timber on the full moon, cut down on damage - it will rot.
If the moon gets dark as it approaches the horizon, expect rain.
If the month seems large, reddish, it will rain; foggy - the weather will deteriorate; very white and shiny - it will be cold. The greenish month is for rain.
The moon turned red - wait for the wind-shot.
Before the rain, the moon is cloudy or pale, before the bucket it is clear and bright.
With a new moon and with its expiration, the weather changes: damp - dry, warm - frosty, cloudy - clear.
During the new moon, there is rain or snow, on damage - too, the rest of the time - precipitation is random and rare during a full moon. Dark month, bad weather on the new moon - at the end of the month it will rain like a bucket.
If the moon hangs in the sky with its horns down and upside down (last quarter), then it will be cloudy and rainy for a long time.
What the weather is at the expense of the moon, this will continue throughout the quarter.
During the transition (the end of the last quarter and the beginning of a new one), it is mostly bad weather.
It usually rains on the damage.
Before the damage to the moon in three days - a change in weather.
The last quarter of the moon is rotten.
Signs in the sky
When the sun is hot, the sky will turn off, it will start to rain
The sky is blue - for warmth, light - for frost, dark - for a blizzard
The sky is red - either rain or wind
The sky seems to be high - to the bucket
Lamb sky - rain on the doorstep
Before the rain or before the snow, the sky opens up
Clear sky - to frost
If a dark cloud is seen on the southern side of the horizon at sunset in the spring, warm weather should be expected; if the cloud is visible from the north side, then there will be cold weather
If the sunset is clear and the air echoes loudly, the next day will be good.
If the sun sets in the clouds and the echo fades away, it will rain. Glow (glowing clouds) at sunset - to the winds
The sunset is red - the day will be clear
The sunset is clear - the weather will be fine
Sunset in the clouds - wait for the snow in winter
Red evening dawn to the wind, pale to rain
When the sun's rays during sunset are reflected on the other side of the sky, there will be a change in the wind.
The appearance of clouds in the evening in the western half of the sky is a sign of approaching bad weather
At sunset, the sun is red and the dawn is red - towards the wind
When the sun goes down, the sky clouds from the north - to the wind
The sun sets big and red - good weather
Blue evening clouds - to a change in weather
The sun goes down behind a cloud - to the rain, in paints - to the bucket
The sun sets in the fog - to the rain
The sun sets in the clouds - another rainy day
The sun sets on the wall (clouds), the rest of the sky is clear - to rain
The sun sets behind a black cloud - the next day in the morning it rains
The sun sets in summer in the haze, reddish - to drought
The sun sets behind a cloud, without the slightest gap - it will rain tomorrow, and sets red - there will be a storm
The sun, which seems pale at sunset, portends rain
Pure sunset - to the bucket
A clear sky at sunset portends good weather, and covered with clouds - rainy
Bright orange sky at sunset - to strong winds
Other signs
A ring around the moon - towards the wind
Cool month - to the cold
The sun sets red - to the wind
The sun sets in a darkness - it will rain
Wind behind the sun (sunrise) - to windy weather
Red clouds before sunrise - towards the wind; clouds - to the rain; Red clouds at sunset - to the bucket (warm weather) and the wind
Salt damp to bad weather
In the right ear it rings for warmth, in the left ear for the cold
The cat is fast asleep - to the warmth
The cat licks on the body - to bad weather
The cat licks its tail, hides its head - to bad weather
The dog eats grass - to the rain
A dog lying around - to bad weather
Ravens croak will melt - to bad weather
A crow bathes - to bad weather
Jackdaws fly in flocks - towards the rain
Sparrows make nests - to the bucket (warm weather)
Sparrows chirp - to the rain
Swallows fly high - to the bucket (warm weather)
Folk omens, signs of sunset
Folk signs at sunset:
Windless golden evening dawn - for good weather
The dawn will soon burn out - the next day there will be a wind
Evening dawn is red - to the wind
Evening dawn is green - for clear weather
Evening dawns in spring will soon burn out - to the thaw
If the evening dawn is very long, it will rain in a day or two, and if it is short, it will rain soon
If the sunset is clear, it will be clear
If dark clouds appear when the sun goes down - at night or in the morning it rains
If the sun sets in a cloud, it will be cloudy, the weather will go to bad weather, to rain
If in summer the sky turns red at sunset from the north side, there will be frost or cold dew
If the sunset is clear, calm evening dawn, there will be no rain
If the sunset is red, but not in a cloud, it will be clear, windy
If the sun sets big and red, then the weather will be fine the next day.
If on a cloudy day the sun shines brightly before sunset, there will be a prolonged bad weather
If the sun sets with a light scarlet dawn and at this time there are no clouds at sunrise, the weather will be clear
If at sunset, when it is still high, the sky turns red, then on the same evening there will be bad weather
If the sky turns red only after sunset, there will be bad weather in a day or two
If it gets dark immediately after sunset, it will rain
If at sunset the clouds are ringlets - to the rain
If clouds follow him at sunset, expect strong winds
If after sunset in the north the cloud is white - bad weather for a whole month
If at sunset there are reddish clouds on the opposite side of sunset, then it will rain tomorrow
Problem number 1. "Month""And the light shadows thinned
Before the unexpected dawn?
Why did you, month, drove away
And drowned in the bright sky?
Why did the morning ray flash? "
What phenomena does A.S. Pushkin in the poem "The Month"?
Answer:
1. Sunrise
2. Morning dawn
3. Moving the Moon
4. Moon phase - last quarter
Problem number 2. "The clouds of the flying ridge are thinning ..."
"The flying ridge is thinning clouds;
A sad star, an evening star
Your ray has silvered the faded plains
And the dormant bay, and the black rocks of the summit.
What kind of luminary does A.S. Pushkin describe in this poem?
Answer: Venus.
Problem number 3. "Imitation of the Quran"
"The earth is motionless - the vaults of the sky,
Creator, supported by you,
May they not fall on land and water
And they will not overwhelm us with themselves.
You lit the sun in the universe
May it shine on heaven and earth ... "
What did A.S. Pushkin describe with these lines?
Answer. In ancient times, the Earth was believed to be in the center of the world. The concept of the universe was closely intertwined with religious beliefs. By the way, in the notes of the poet himself to this poem there are lines: "Bad physics; but what a bold poetry!"
Problem number 4. "Above me in the clear azure ..."
"Above me in the clear azure
One star shines,
On the right is the dark red west,
Left - pale moon "
Answer.
1. Sunset, twilight
2. The moon is in the full moon phase
3. The asterisk is visible alone, therefore, it is the brightest if it appeared earlier than the others. Since the star shone "above me", it means that it could not be a planet or Sirius, since they do not rise high in mid-latitudes. Most likely it was Vega.
Problem number 5. "There is a sad moon in heaven ..."
"There is a sad moon in heaven
Meets a merry dawn
One is burning, the other is cold.
Dawn shines with a young bride,
The moon before her, as dead, is pale "
What phenomena does A.S. Pushkin in a poem?
Answer.
1. Sunrise
2. Morning dawn
3. The moon is in a transitional phase from the full moon to the last quarter ("sad moon").
Problem number 6. "Egyptian nights"
"But only with morning porphyry
The eternal aurora will shine
I swear - under the mortal ax
The head of the lucky ones will disappear "
Aurora - what is this celestial object and when is it available for observation?
Answer. This is the planet Venus (Aurora) - morning or evening star, tk. the maximum elongation of Venus is 48 °.
Problem number 7. "Egyptian nights"
"And now the day is already hidden,
The golden-horned month is rising.
Alexandrian palaces
Covered by a sweet shadow "
What phase was the moon in, and in what part of the sky will it rise?
Answer. The moon rose shortly after sunset. The positions of the Moon and the Sun in the sky are opposite to each other. The moon was visible in the east. Thus, the Moon was in the form of a fully illuminated disk with barely noticeable damage on its western edge.
Problem number 8. "Liberty"
"When on the gloomy Neva
The midnight star sparkles
And a carefree chapter
Restful sleep is burdensome
A pensive singer is looking
On the menacingly sleeping in the midst of the fog
Desert monument to the tyrant
Abandoned palace ... "
If we assume that this star culminated, then what kind of star could it be?
Answer. Abandoned palace, a monument to a tyrant - Mikhailovsky Castle in St. Petersburg. The star should be bright and visible through the fog. These conditions can be met by 13 bright stars with a magnitude less than - 2m. The stars Sirius, Procyon, Pollux, Betelgeuse, Capella, Rigel, Altair, Vega, Deneb, Aldebaran, Regulus, Rigel - disappear immediately, as they culminate at midnight in winter or summer, and fog happens more often in spring or autumn. Remains - Arcturus and Spica. But Spica has δ = - 11 ° 02 ′, and Arcturus has δ = - 19 ° 19 ′, so there is a high probability that this is Arcturus, the α Bootes star. But if you do not take into account that the star culminated at midnight, then it could be Vega with a high degree of probability.
Problem number 9. "Travel to Arzrum"
"... With sadness I left the water and went back to Georgievsk. Soon the night fell. The clear sky was covered with millions of stars."
Why did the poet write like that? How many stars can you see in the North Caucasus?
Answer. The number of stars does not depend on the place of observation, but depends on the purity of the atmosphere. In the mountains, you can see about 3,000 stars with the naked eye. The poet with these lines showed that in St. Petersburg the observation conditions are much worse than in the mountains of the North Caucasus.
Problem number 10. "Travel to Arzrum"
"We were descending into the valley. The young moon appeared in the clear sky. The evening air was fresh and warm."
In what phase was the moon observed, and in which side of the sky was it visible?
Answer. Young month - The moon immediately after the new moon in the evening is visible in the south-west, in the south - in the phase of the first quarter.
Problem number 11. "Travel to Arzrum"
"The sun went down, but the air was still stifling:
Hot nights!
Alien stars! ...
The moon was shining; everything was quiet; the footfall of my horse was heard alone in the silence of the night. "
Why are the stars alien? What phase was the moon in?
Answer. Due to the change in the latitude of observation (Arzrum - North Caucasus), stars became visible that did not rise in St. Petersburg and Moscow. The moon was in the full moon phase.
Problem number 12. "Eugene Onegin"
"She loved on the balcony
Warn the dawn to rise.
When in a pale sky
The round dance of stars disappears
And quietly the edge of the earth brightens
And, herald of the morning, the wind blows,
And gradually the day rises "
What did the poet describe in these lines?
Answer. Sunrise and morning dawn.
Problem number 13. "Eugene Onegin"
"Night will come; the moon goes around
Watch the distant vault of heaven ... "
And what does the poet describe here in these lines?
Answer. The rotation of the sky during the night. The moon participates in this movement, but in a day it moves to the left by about 15 °.
Problem number 14. "Eugene Onegin"
"But our northern summer,
Southern winters caricature,
Flickers and no: this is known,
We don’t want to admit it.
Already the sky was breathing in autumn,
Less often the sun shone
The day was getting shorter ... "
What phenomenon did A.S. Pushkin?
Answer. Decrease in the height of the Sun at noon in autumn. Differences in the conditions of illumination and heating of the Earth by the Sun determine its climatic zones and the change of seasons.
Problem number 15. "Eugene Onegin"
"She trembled and turned pale,
When is the falling star
I flew across the dark sky
And crumbled - then
Tanya was in a hurry in confusion,
While the star was still rolling
The desire of the heart to whisper to her "
What is a falling star and why did it crumble?
Answer. The shooting stars are meteors. This is the observation of the phenomenon of an outbreak (combustion) of a meteor at an altitude of 70 - 120 km, the brightness of the meteor depends on its mass and velocity, the greater the velocity and mass, the brighter the meteor, for a short time the trail of the particle is visible.
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with. 1
We speak to express our thoughts. Each complete thought is usually expressed in a group of words. These words are closely related. For example: We went down to the valley. The young moon appeared in the clear sky. The evening air was quiet and warm.
There are three complete thoughts in this passage, and each one is expressed in several related words.
A finished thought can be expressed in one word. For example: Warmly. It is getting dark. Here, each word expresses a complete thought.
A combination of words or a single word expressing a complete thought is called a sentence.
In oral speech, a stop (pause) is made between sentences. In writing, one sentence is separated from another by a dot, question or exclamation mark.
Interrogative, exclamation and declarative sentences.
Sentences can be interrogative, exclamatory, declarative.
Interrogative sentence such a proposal is called, which contains a question. Is the library open? Are you ready? What is the weather today? Who's come? What time is it now?
At the end of an interrogative sentence, a question mark is put on the letter.
Exclamation clause such a sentence is called in which the thought is accompanied by some strong feeling (surprise, delight, admiration, etc.). What a beautiful weather! Surprisingly pleasant morning / The airship is flying!
At the end of an exclamation sentence, an exclamation mark is placed on the letter.
A sentence that communicates something and does not contain a question or an exclamation is called narrative. It was dawning. The larks are singing. The first rays of the sun play in the bright river.
The declarative sentence is pronounced with a lower voice towards the end of the sentence.
In writing, a full stop is put at the end of a declarative sentence.
The main members of the proposal.
Those words in a sentence that answer a question are called members of the sentence.
For example, in the sentence Our family moves from city to country in the summer- six members. Who is moving? - A family. What is the family doing? - Moves. Whose family? - Our. When does it move? - Summer. Where is he moving from? - From the city. Where is he moving? - To the village. The words from and v do not answer questions and therefore are not independent members of the proposal, but are included in those members to which they relate.
The members of the proposal are divided into major and minor. There are two main members of the sentence - the subject and the predicate.
The subject denotes what something is said in a sentence and answers questions who? what?
For example: The rider drove up to the village. Who drove up? Rider(subject). The book is on the table. What lies? - Book (subject).
Predicate denotes what is said about the subject, and answers one of the questions: what does the item do? what is done with him? what is he like? what is he? who is he?
For example: Tourists descended into the valley. What did the tourists do? - Went down(predicate). The old gazebo in the garden has fallen apart completely. What happened to the gazebo? - Fell apart(predicate). The day is clear. What is the day? - Yasen(predicate). Mathematics-science. What is mathematics? - The science(predicate). Pushkin the writer. Who is Pushkin? - Writer(predicate).
Minor members of the proposal.
In addition to the main members, there may be minor ones in the proposal.
The minor members of the sentence explain the predicate, the subject, or one of the minor members.
In a sentence The long wagon train moved slowly along the dusty road subject wagon train, and the predicate was moving; minor members of the proposal: long, slowly, along the dusty road.
Word long explains the subject wagon train showing which train was moving; word slowly explains the predicate was moving and shows how the train was moving; the words on the way to explain the predicate was moving and show where the convoy was moving; word dusty explains the minor member of the sentence on the way to and shows which road the convoy was moving along. The relationship of the members of the proposal to each other can be depicted by the following scheme:
From all that has been said, it becomes clear why the subject and predicate are called the main members of the sentence. Every minor member depends on some other word in the sentence, and the subject and predicate do not depend on any other words and are thus the basis of the whole sentence. Subject and predicate and without secondary members can make up a sentence.
The proposal that consists only from subject and predicate is called simple uncirculated. For example: The wind was rustling.
A sentence in which, in addition to the subject and predicate, there are also minor members is called simple common. For example: The fresh wind briskly rustled in the green leaves.
Definition, addition and circumstance.
Minor members of the proposal, depending on how they explain other members of the proposal, are divided into definitions, additions and circumstances.
By definition is called a minor member of the sentence, which shows a sign of an object and answers the questions: which? her? which the? The definition refers to a noun.
On the clear cab a snowy mountain gleamed white. Which sky? - On a clear(definition). Which mountain? - Snowy(definition). My father works in a factory. Whose Father? - My(definition). Volodya is now six years old. Which year? - Sixth(definition).
Supplement a minor member of the sentence is called, which denotes an object and answers questions of indirect cases: whom? what? to whom? what? whom? what? by whom? how? about whom? about what?
Addition usually refers to a verb.
We study mathematics. Examining what? - Mathematics(addition). The whole country welcomed the Papanin people. Who greeted? - Papanintsev(addition). The meeting sent a greeting telegram to the heroes. Sent what? - Telegram(addition). Sent to whom? - Heroes (addition).
Circumstance is called a minor member of the sentence, which denotes how and under what circumstances (i.e. where? when? why? etc.) the action is performed. The circumstance answers the questions: as? how? where? when? where? where? why? why?
The circumstance usually refers to the verb.
In the summer, the pioneers rested in the camp... When did you rest? - Summer(circumstance). Where did you rest? - in the camp(circumstance).
From the stuffy room we went out into the fresh air. Where did you come from? - From the room(circumstance). Where did you go? - Into the air(circumstance). Due to illness, the student was absent from class. Absent why? - Due to illness(circumstance). The elephant was taken to the show along the streets. Why did they take you? - To show(circumstance). The wind is pitiful and quiet. How did you howl? - Plain and quiet(circumstances).
Simple and complex sentence.
Coherent speech can consist of individual sentences. My horse was ready. I was traveling with a guide. The morning was beating beautifully. The sun was shining. (NS.)
There are four separate, self-contained sentences in this passage. Each of them contains one complete thought and has its own subject and predicate. Such sentences are called simple.
Thoughts expressed in simple sentences can be put in close connection, combined into one complex thought. Then simple sentences expressing these thoughts are combined into one whole complex sentence.
For example, two simple sentences - The wind died down. The sea continued to agitate- can be combined into one complex sentence: The wind died down, the sea continued to agitate. In this complex sentence, two thoughts are opposed to each other.
Simple sentences that make up a complex are connected with special words (a, and, but, when), and in pronunciation they are combined with a voice.
A complex sentence is a sentence that consists of two or more simple sentences expressing one complex thought. For example: My companion was shivering from the cold, and I felt his jaw shaking.(This complex sentence consists of three simple sentences.)
Simple sentences that make up a complex sentence are separated in writing from each other by various punctuation marks.
... From Moscow I went to Kaluga, Belev and Orel, and thus made 200 extra versts; but I saw Ermolova... He lives in Oryol, near which his village is located. I came to him at eight o'clock in the morning and did not find him at home. My cabman told me that Ermolov never visits anyone except his father, a simple, pious old man, that he does not accept only city officials, and that everyone else has free access. An hour later, I came to him again. Ermolov received me with his usual courtesy. At first glance, I did not find in him the slightest resemblance to his portraits, usually painted in profile. The face is round, fiery, gray eyes, gray hair on end. The head of a tiger on a Herculean torso. The smile is unpleasant because it is not natural. When he thinks and frowns, then he becomes beautiful and strikingly resembles a poetic portrait painted by Dov... He was wearing a green Circassian Chekmen. On the walls of his office hung checkers and daggers, monuments to his rule in the Caucasus. He seems to be impatiently enduring his inaction. Several times he began to speak of Paskevich, and always sarcastically; speaking of the ease of his victories, he compared him with Naveen, in front of whom the walls fell from the sound of the trumpets, and called the count of Erivan the count of Erichon. “Let him attack,” said Yermolov, “against a pasha who is not smart, not skillful, but only stubborn, for example, against a pasha who was in charge in Shumla, and Paskevich was gone.” I gave Ermolov words gr. Tolstoy that Paskevich acted so well in the Persian campaign that an intelligent person would only have to act worse in order to distinguish himself from him. Ermolov laughed, but did not agree. “People and costs could be saved,” he said. I think he is writing or wants to write his notes. He is dissatisfied with the History of Karamzin; he would like the fiery pen to depict the transition of the Russian people from insignificance to glory and power. About the notes of the book. Kurbsky said he was con amore. The Germans got it. "In fifty years," he said, "they will think that in the current campaign there was an auxiliary Prussian or Austrian army, led by such and such German generals." I stayed with him for two hours. He was annoyed that he did not remember my full name. He apologized with compliments. The conversation touched on literature several times. About Griboyedov's poems, he says that from reading them - cheekbones hurt. There was not a word about government and politics. I had a way to go through Kursk and Kharkov; but I turned on the straight Tiflis road, sacrificing a good dinner at a Kursk tavern (which is no trifle in our travels) and not curious to visit Kharkov University, which is not worth the Kursk restaurant. The roads to Yelets are terrible. Several times my stroller got stuck in the mud, worthy of the mud of Odessa. It happened to me to travel no more than fifty miles a day. Finally I saw the Voronezh steppes and rolled freely across the green plain. In Novocherkassk I found Count Pushkin, who was also traveling to Tiflis, and we agreed to travel together. The transition from Europe to Asia becomes more sensitive hour by hour: forests disappear, hills are smoothed out, grass thickens and reveals great strength of vegetation; birds are shown, unknown in our forests; eagles sit on the bumps that signify the main road, as if on guard, and proudly look at the travelers; on fat pastures Kalmyks are located near the station huts. At their wagons, their ugly, shaggy horses graze, familiar to you from the beautiful drawings of Orlovsky. The other day I visited a Kalmyk wagon (a checkered fence covered with white felt). The whole family was going to have breakfast. The cauldron was boiled in the middle, and the smoke came out through a hole made in the top of the wagon. A young Kalmyk woman, not bad at all, sewed, smoking tobacco. I sat down beside her. "What is your name?" - ***. - "How old are you?" - "Ten and Eight." - "What are you sewing?" - "Pants". - "Who?" - "Myself". She handed me her pipe and began to eat breakfast. Tea with lamb fat and salt was brewed in a cauldron. She offered me her ladle. I didn’t want to refuse and took a sip, trying not to catch my breath. I don’t think that other folk cuisine could produce anything nastier. I asked for something to eat. I was given a piece of dried mare; I was glad too. Kalmyk coquetry frightened me; I quickly got out of the wagon and drove away from the steppe Circe. In Stavropol, I saw clouds at the edge of the sky that had struck my eyes for exactly nine years. They were all the same, all in the same place. These are the snowy peaks of the Caucasian chain. From Georgievsk I drove to Hot Waters. Here I found a big change: in my day the baths were in hastily built hovels. The springs, for the most part in their primitive form, beat, smoked and flowed down from the mountains in different directions, leaving white and reddish traces on them. We scooped up boiling water with a bark ladle or the bottom of a broken bottle. Nowadays, magnificent baths and houses have been built. The boulevard, lined with stickies, is drawn along the Mashuk declination. Everywhere there are clean paths, green benches, correct flower beds, bridges, pavilions. Keys are finished, lined with stone; police orders are nailed to the walls of the bathtubs; order, cleanliness, beauty everywhere ... I confess: the Caucasian waters are now more comfortable; but I was sorry for their former wild state; I felt sorry for the steep stone paths, bushes and unfenced abysses, over which I used to climb. Sadly I left the water and went back to Georgievsk. Night fell soon. The clear sky was dotted with millions of stars. I rode along the coast of Podkumka. Here, it used to sit with me A. Raevsky, listening to the melody of the waters. The majestic Beshtu appeared blacker and blacker in the distance, surrounded by mountains, his vassals, and finally disappeared into the darkness ... The next day we went further and arrived in Yekaterinograd, which was once the governor's city. The Georgian military road begins from Yekaterinograd; the postal path is terminated. Hire horses to Vladikavkaz. A Cossack and infantry convoy and one cannon are given. The mail is sent twice a week, and the passers-by join it: this is called opportunity. We didn't wait long. The mail arrived the next day, and on the third morning at nine o'clock we were ready to hit the road. At the assembly point, the entire caravan, consisting of five hundred people or about, was connected. They struck the drum. We set off. A cannon rode ahead, surrounded by infantry soldiers. Carriages, chariots, wagons of soldiers moving from one fortress to another followed her; behind them a wagon train of two-wheeled arobs began to screech. Horse herds and herds of oxen ran on either side. Near them galloped Nagai guides in burqas and with lassos. At first I liked all this very much, but soon got tired of it. The cannon moved at a pace, the fuse was smoking, and the soldiers lit their pipes with it. The slowness of our march (on the first day we walked only fifteen miles), the unbearable heat, lack of supplies, restless overnight stays, and finally the incessant skirting of the Nagai arobs made me out of patience. The Tatars take pride in this concealment, saying that they drive around as honest people who have no need to hide. This time it would have been more pleasant for me to travel in a less respectable company. The road is rather monotonous: plain; on the sides of the hills. At the edge of the sky are the peaks of the Caucasus, which are higher and higher every day. Fortresses sufficient for the local area, with a moat that each of us would have jumped in the old days without scattering, with rusty cannons that have not fired since the days of Count Gudovich, with a collapsed rampart along which a garrison of chickens and geese roams. There are several shacks in the fortresses, where you can hardly get a dozen eggs and sour milk. The first remarkable place is the Minaret fortress. Approaching it, our caravan rode along a lovely valley between the mounds overgrown with linden and plane trees. These are the graves of several thousand who died from the plague. Flowers spawned from the tainted ash. The snowy Caucasus shone on the right; a huge, wooded mountain towered ahead; behind it was a fortress. Around it you can see traces of a devastated aul, called Tartartub and once the main one in Big Kabarda. A light, lonely minaret testifies to the existence of a disappeared village. It rises gracefully between heaps of stones, on the banks of a dried-up stream. The inner staircase has not yet collapsed. I climbed up it to the platform, from which the mullah's voice is no longer heard. There I found several unknown names scrawled on bricks by popular travelers. Our road has become picturesque. The mountains stretched above us. On their tops, barely visible herds crawled and seemed like insects. We also discerned a shepherd, perhaps a Russian, who had once been taken prisoner and aged in captivity. We met more mounds, more ruins. Two or three gravestones stood at the edge of the road. There, according to the custom of the Circassians, their riders are buried. A Tatar inscription, an image of a checker, a tanga, carved into stone, were left to the predatory grandchildren in memory of the predatory ancestor. The Circassians hate us. We drove them out of free pastures; their auls were ruined, entire tribes were destroyed. From hour to hour they go deeper into the mountains and from there direct their raids. friendship peaceful Circassians are unreliable: they are always ready to help their violent fellow tribesmen. The spirit of their savage chivalry fell noticeably. They rarely attack the Cossacks in equal numbers, never the infantry and flee when they see a cannon. But they will never miss a chance to attack a weak detachment or a defenseless one. The side here is full of rumors of their atrocities. There is almost no way to pacify them until they are disarmed, like the Crimean Tatars were disarmed, which is extremely difficult to fulfill, due to the hereditary feuds and vengeance of blood prevailing between them. The dagger and saber are members of their body, and the baby begins to wield them before babbling. Their murder is a simple gesture. They keep captives in the hope of ransom, but they treat them with terrible inhumanity, make them work beyond their strength, feed them with raw dough, beat them whenever they want, and put their boys to guard them, who in one word have the right to chop them up with their children's sabers. Recently, a peaceful Circassian was caught shooting a soldier. He justified himself by the fact that his gun had been loaded for too long. What to do with such a people? We must, however, hope that the acquisition of the eastern edge of the Black Sea, cutting off the Circassians from trade with Turkey, will force them to come closer to us. The influence of luxury may be conducive to taming them: a samovar would be an important innovation. There is a stronger, more moral means, more consistent with the enlightenment of our age: the preaching of the Gospel. The Circassians very recently adopted the Mohammedan faith. They were carried away by the active fanaticism of the apostles Quran, among whom was Mansur, an extraordinary man, who for a long time resented the Caucasus against Russian rule, finally captured by us and died in the Solovetsky Monastery. The Caucasus awaits Christian missionaries. But it is easier for our laziness to pour out dead letters instead of a living word and send silent books to people who do not know how to read and write. We reached Vladikavkaz, the former Kapkaya, the threshold of the mountains. It is surrounded by Ossetian auls. I visited one of them and went to the funeral. People crowded around the sakli. There was a cart in the yard, harnessed by two oxen. The relatives and friends of the deceased came from all sides and with loud weeping went into the saklya, hitting their foreheads with their fists. The women stood at attention. The dead man was carried out on a cloak ... they put him on a cart. One of the guests took the dead man's gun, blew gunpowder from the shelf and put it near the body. The oxen began to move. The guests followed. The body was to be buried in the mountains, about thirty versts from the aul. Unfortunately, no one could explain these rituals to me. Ossetians are the poorest tribe of the peoples living in the Caucasus; their women are beautiful and, as you can hear, are very supportive of travelers. At the gates of the fortress I met the wife and daughter of an Ossetian prisoner. They brought him lunch. Both seemed calm and bold; however, at my approach, both lowered their heads and covered themselves with their tattered veils... In the fortress I saw Circassian amanats, playful and handsome boys. They play pranks every minute and run from the fortress. They are being kept in a miserable position. They walk about in rags, half-naked, and disgusting filth. On some I saw wooden blocks. It is likely that the amanats released into the wild do not regret their stay in Vladikavkaz. The cannon has left us. We set out with the infantry and the Cossacks. The Caucasus accepted us into its sanctuary. We heard a dull noise and saw the Terek overflowing in different directions. We drove along its left bank. Its noisy waves set in motion the wheels of low Ossetian mills, similar to dog kennels. The further we went into the mountains, the narrower the gorge became. The constrained Terek, with a roar, throws its muddy waves over the cliffs blocking its path. The gorge meanders along its course. The stone soles of the mountains are cut by its waves. I walked on foot and stopped every minute, struck by the gloomy beauty of nature. The weather was cloudy; the clouds stretched heavily around the black peaks. Count Pushkin and Shernval looking at the Terek, they remembered Imatra and gave the advantage the thundering river in the North. But I could not compare with anything the sight ahead of me. Before reaching Lars, I lagged behind the convoy, staring at the huge rocks, between which the Terek was whipping with an inexplicable fury. Suddenly a soldier runs to me, shouting to me from a distance: "Do not stop, your honor, they will kill!" This warning, out of habit, struck me as extremely strange. The fact is that Ossetian robbers, safe in this narrow place, shoot at travelers across the Terek. On the eve of our crossing, they thus attacked General Bekovich, who had galloped through their shots. The ruins of a castle are visible on the rock: they are covered with sakles of peaceful Ossetians, as if by the nests of swallows. We stopped in Lars to spend the night. Then we found a French traveler who frightened us with the road ahead. He advised us to leave the carriages at Kobe and go on horseback. With him we drank for the first time Kakhetian wine from a stinking wineskin, remembering the feasts of the Iliad: Here I found a mutilated list of the "Prisoner of the Caucasus" and, I confess, I read it with great pleasure. All this is weak, young, incomplete; but much has been guessed and expressed correctly. The next morning we set off further. Turkish prisoners worked out the road. They complained about the food given to them. They could not get used to Russian black bread. This reminded me of the words of my friend Sheremetev upon his return from Paris: “It is bad, brother, to live in Paris: there is nothing to eat; You can't ask for black bread! " The Darial post is located seven versts from Lars. The gorge bears the same name. The rocks on both sides stand in parallel walls. It is so narrow, so narrow, writes one traveler, that you not only see, but, it seems, feel the tightness. A piece of sky like a ribbon turns blue over your head. The streams falling from the mountain heights in shallow and splattered streams reminded me of the abduction of Ganymede, a strange painting by Rembrandt. In addition, the gorge is illuminated completely to his taste. In other places, the Terek washes away the very bottom of the rocks, and stones are piled on the road, in the form of a dam. Not far from the post, a bridge is boldly thrown across the river. You stand on it like on a mill. The bridge is shaking all the way, and the Terek is noisy like wheels driving a millstone. The ruins of a fortress are visible on a steep rock opposite Darial. Tradition says that some queen Darius was hiding in it, who gave her name to the gorge: a fairy tale. Darial in ancient Persian means gate. According to Pliny's testimony, the Caucasian gates, mistakenly called the Caspian gates, were located here. The gorge was closed by real gates, made of wood, bound with iron. Under them, writes Pliny, the river Diriodoris flows. A fortress was also erected here to hold off the raids of wild tribes; and so on. Watch the journey Count I. Pototsky whose scholarly research is as entertaining as the Spanish novels. From Darial we went to Kazbek. We saw Trinity gate(an arch formed in the rock by an explosion of gunpowder) - once there was a road under them, but now the Terek flows, often changing its course. Not far from the village of Kazbek, we moved through Crazy beam a ravine that turns into a furious stream during heavy rains. At this time, he was completely dry and loud by his own name. The village of Kazbek is located at the foot of Mount Kazbek and belongs to the prince Kazbek. The prince, a man of about forty-five, taller than the Preobrazhensky wing. We found him in a dukhan (this is the name of the Georgian taverns, which are much poorer and not cleaner than the Russians). In the doorway lay a big-bellied wineskin (ox-fur), spreading out its four legs. The giant pulled a chikhir out of him and asked me several questions, to which I answered with the respect befitting his rank and height. We parted as great friends. Impressions soon dull. Hardly a day passed, and already the roar of the Terek and its ugly waterfalls, already cliffs and abysses did not attract my attention. The impatience to get to Tiflis took possession of me exclusively. I drove past Kazbek as indifferently as I once sailed past Chatyrdag. It is also true that the rainy and foggy weather prevented me from seeing his pile of snow, in the poet's words, supporting the sky . Waited for the Persian prince... At some distance from Kazbek, we came across several carriages and obstructed the narrow road. While the carriages were leaving, the escort officer announced to us that he was seeing off the Persian poet at the court and, at my request, introduced me to Fazil-Khan. With the help of an interpreter, I began a pompous oriental greeting; but how ashamed I felt when Fazil-Khan answered my inappropriate intricacy with the simple, clever courtesy of a decent man! “He hoped to see me in Petersburg; he regretted that our acquaintance would not last long, and so on. " With shame I was compelled to abandon the important, jocular tone and move down to ordinary European phrases. Here is a lesson in our Russian mockery. Ahead I will not judge a man by his lamb hat and on painted nails. Kobi's post is located at the very foot of the Krestovaya mountain, through which we were to cross. We stopped here to spend the night and began to think about how to accomplish this terrible feat: whether to sit down, abandoning the carriages, on Cossack horses, or send for Ossetian oxen? Just in case, on behalf of our entire caravan, I wrote an official request to Mr. Chilyaev, who is in command on the local side, and we went to bed waiting for the carts. The next day, at about 12 o'clock, we heard noise, screams and saw an extraordinary spectacle: 18 pairs of skinny little oxen, compelled by a crowd of half-naked Ossetians, forcibly dragged the light Viennese carriage of my friend O ***. This sight immediately dispelled all my doubts. I made up my mind to send my heavy Petersburg carriage back to Vladikavkaz and ride on horseback to Tiflis. Count Pushkin did not want to follow my example. He preferred to harness a whole herd of oxen into his chaise, laden with supplies of all kinds, and triumphantly cross the snow ridge. We parted, and I went with Colonel Ogarev, who was examining the local roads. The road went through a landslide that collapsed at the end of June 1827. Such cases usually occur every seven years. A huge block, falling down, covered the gorge for a whole verst and dammed the Terek. The sentries below heard a terrible rumble and saw that the river was rapidly shallowing and in a quarter of an hour it had completely subsided and was exhausted. The Terek broke through the landslide not earlier than two hours later. That was how terrible he was! We climbed steeply higher and higher. Our horses were stuck in the loose snow, under which the streams rustled. I was surprised to look at the road and did not understand the possibility of driving on wheels. At that time I heard a dull rumble. “This is a landslide,” Mr. Ogarev told me. I looked around and saw in the side a pile of snow, which was crumbling and slowly sliding down the steep slope. Small landslides are not rare here. Last year, a Russian cabman was driving along Krestovaya Gora. The landslide ended; a terrible lump fell on his cart, swallowed up the cart, horse and peasant, toppled across the road and rolled into the abyss with its prey. We reached the very top of the mountain. There is a granite cross, an old monument, renovated by Yermolov. Here travelers usually get off their carriages and go on foot. Not long ago a foreign consul passed by: he was so weak that he ordered him to be blindfolded; he was led under the arms, and when the bandage was removed from him, then he knelt down, thanked God, and so on, which greatly amazed the guides. The instant transition from the formidable Caucasus to pretty Georgia is delightful. The air of the south suddenly begins to whine at the traveler. From the height of Gut-mountain opens the Kayshaur valley with its inhabited rocks, with its gardens, with its light Aragva, wriggling like a silver ribbon - and all this in a reduced form, at the bottom of a three-verst abyss along which a dangerous road goes. We went down to the valley. The young moon appeared in the clear sky. The evening air was calm and warm. I spent the night on the banks of the Aragva, in the house of Chilyaev. The next day I parted with the amiable host and set off further. This is where Georgia begins. The bright valleys, irrigated by the cheerful Aragvoy, have replaced the gloomy gorges and the formidable Terek. Instead of bare cliffs, I saw green mountains and fruitful trees near me. The plumbing proved the presence of education. One of them struck me with the perfection of optical illusion: the water seems to have its flow up the mountain from the bottom up. I stopped at Paysanaur to change horses. Then I met a Russian officer seeing off the Persian prince. Soon I heard the sound of bells, and a number of cathars (mules), tied to one another and loaded in an Asian way, stretched along the road. I went on foot without waiting for the horses; and half a verst from Ananur, at a turn in the road, he met Khozrev-Mirza. Its crews were standing. He himself looked out of his carriage and nodded his head to me. Several hours after our meeting, the highlanders attacked the prince. Hearing the whistle of bullets, Khozrev jumped out of his carriage, got on his horse and galloped away. The Russians who were with him were surprised at his courage. The fact is that a young Asian, not used to a wheelchair, saw in it more of a trap than a refuge. I reached Ananur without feeling tired. My horses did not come. I was told that it was not more than ten miles to the town of Dushet, and I again set off on foot. But I didn't know that the road went uphill. These ten miles were worth a good twenty. Evening came; I walked forward, climbing higher and higher. It was impossible to get off the road; but in places the clayey mud formed by the springs reached my knee. I was completely tired. The darkness has increased. I heard the howling and barking of dogs and rejoiced, imagining that the city was not far away. But he was wrong: the dogs of Georgian shepherds barked, and jackals howled, ordinary animals in that direction. I cursed my impatience, but there was nothing to do. Finally I saw the lights, and about midnight I found myself at the houses shaded by trees. The first person I met volunteered to take me to the mayor and demanded from me abaz. My appearance at the mayor's, an old Georgian officer, had a great effect. I demanded, firstly, a room where I could undress, secondly, a glass of wine, and thirdly, an abaza for my guide. The governor did not know how to receive me, and looked at me with bewilderment. Seeing that he was in no hurry to fulfill my requests, I began to undress in front of him, asking for an apology de la liberté grandeTRAVEL TO ARZRUMDURING THE HIKE OF 1829
Text source:Collected works of A.S. Pushkin in ten volumes. M .: GIHL, 1960, volume 5. The original is here: Russian Virtual Library. http:// www. rvb. ru/ pushkin/01 text/06 prose/01 prose/0870. htmFOREWORD
Recently I came across a book printed in Paris last 1834 entitled Voyages en Orient entrepris par ordre du Gouvernement Français 1) ... The author, in his own way describing the campaign of 1829, ends his reasoning with the following words: 2) ... Of the poets who were in the Turkish campaign, I knew only about A. S. Khomyakov and A. N. Muravyov. Both were in the army of Count Diebitsch. The first wrote at that time several beautiful lyric poems, the second contemplated his journey to the holy places, which made such a strong impression. But I have not read any satire on the Arzrum campaign. In no way would I have thought that the matter here is about me, if in that very book I had not found my name between the names of the generals of a separate Caucasian corps. Parmi les chefs qui la commandaient (l "armée du Prince Paskewitch) on distinguait le Général Mouravief ... le Prince Géorgien Tsitsevaze ... le Prince Arménien Beboutof ... le Prince Potemkine, le Général Raiewsky, et enfin - Mr Pouchkine ... qui avait quitté la capitale pour chanter les exploits de ses compatriotes 3) ... I confess: these lines of the French traveler, despite the flattering epithets, were much more annoying to me than the abuse of Russian magazines. Seek inspiration always seemed to me a ridiculous and absurd quirk: you will not find inspiration; it itself must find the poet. To come to the war in order to glorify future exploits would be too proud for me, on the one hand, and too obscene, on the other. I do not meddle in military judgments. This is none of my business. Perhaps the bold passage through Sagan-Lu, the movement with which Count Paskevich cut off the seraskir from Osman Pasha, the defeat of two enemy corps within one day, a quick march to Arzrum, all this, crowned with complete success, may be extremely deserving of ridicule in in the eyes of military people (such as, for example, Mr. Fontagnier, the merchant consul, the author of the journey to the East); but I would be ashamed to write satire on the famous commander, who kindly accepted me under the shade of his tent and found time in the midst of his great concerns to show me flattering attention. A person who does not need the protection of the strong values their cordiality and hospitality, because he cannot demand anything else from them. The accusation of ingratitude should not be dismissed as petty criticism or literary abuse. That is why I decided to print this preface and issue my travel notes as all, what I wrote about the 1829 campaign.A. Pushkin.
CHAPTER ONE
Steppe. Kalmyk wagon. Caucasian waters. Georgian military road. Vladikavkaz. Ossetian funeral. Terek. Darial gorge. Moving through the snowy mountains. First look at Georgia. Plumbing. Khozrev-Mirza. Dusheti governor. ... From Moscow I went to Kaluga, Belev and Orel, and thus made 200 extra versts; but I saw Ermolova... He lives in Oryol, near which his village is located. I came to him at eight o'clock in the morning and did not find him at home. My cabman told me that Ermolov never visits anyone except his father, a simple, pious old man, that he does not accept only city officials, and that everyone else has free access. An hour later, I came to him again. Ermolov received me with his usual courtesy. At first glance, I did not find in him the slightest resemblance to his portraits, usually painted in profile. The face is round, fiery, gray eyes, gray hair on end. The head of a tiger on a Herculean torso. The smile is unpleasant because it is not natural. When he thinks and frowns, then he becomes beautiful and strikingly resembles a poetic portrait painted by Dov ... He was wearing a green Circassian Chekmen. On the walls of his office hung checkers and daggers, monuments to his rule in the Caucasus. He seems to be impatiently enduring his inaction. Several times he began to speak of Paskevich, and always sarcastically; speaking of the ease of his victories, he compared him with Naveen, in front of whom the walls fell from the sound of the trumpets, and called the count of Erivan the count of Erichon. “Let him attack,” said Ermolov, “against a pasha who is not clever, not skillful, but only stubborn, for example, against a pasha who was in charge in Shumla, and Paskevich was gone.” I gave Ermolov words gr. Tolstoy that Paskevich acted so well in the Persian campaign that an intelligent person would only have to act worse in order to distinguish himself from him. Ermolov laughed, but did not agree. "It would be possible to save people and costs," he said. I think he is writing or wants to write his notes. He is dissatisfied with the History of Karamzin; he would like the fiery pen to depict the transition of the Russian people from insignificance to glory and power. About the notes of the book. Kurbsky he said con amore 4) ... The Germans got it. "In fifty years," he said, "they will think that in the current campaign there was an auxiliary Prussian or Austrian army, led by such and such German generals." I stayed with him for two hours. He was annoyed that he did not remember my full name. He apologized with compliments. The conversation touched on literature several times. About Griboyedov's poems, he says that from reading them - cheekbones hurt. There was not a word about government and politics. I had a way to go through Kursk and Kharkov; but I turned on the straight Tiflis road, sacrificing a good dinner at a Kursk tavern (which is no trifle in our travels) and not curious to visit Kharkov University, which is not worth the Kursk restaurant. The roads to Yelets are terrible. Several times my stroller got stuck in the mud, worthy of the mud of Odessa. It happened to me to travel no more than fifty miles a day. Finally I saw the Voronezh steppes and rolled freely across the green plain. In Novocherkassk I found Count Pushkin , who was also traveling to Tiflis, and we agreed to travel together. The transition from Europe to Asia becomes more sensitive hour by hour: forests disappear, hills are smoothed out, grass thickens and reveals great strength of vegetation; birds are shown, unknown in our forests; eagles sit on the bumps that signify the main road, as if on guard, and proudly look at the travelers; on fat pastures Indomitable mares Herds roam proudly. Kalmyks are located near the station huts. At their wagons, their ugly, shaggy horses graze, familiar to you from the beautiful drawings of Orlovsky. The other day I visited a Kalmyk wagon (a checkered fence covered with white felt). The whole family was going to have breakfast. The cauldron was boiled in the middle, and the smoke came out through a hole made in the top of the wagon. A young Kalmyk woman, not bad at all, sewed, smoking tobacco. I sat down beside her. "What is your name?" - ***. -- "How old are you?" - "Ten and Eight". - "What are you sewing?" - "Pants". -- "To whom?" -- "Myself". She handed me her pipe and began to eat breakfast. Tea with lamb fat and salt was brewed in a cauldron. She offered me her ladle. I didn’t want to refuse and took a sip, trying not to catch my breath. I don’t think that other folk cuisine could produce anything nastier. I asked for something to eat. I was given a piece of dried mare; I was glad too. Kalmyk coquetry frightened me; I quickly got out of the wagon and drove away from the steppe Circe. In Stavropol, I saw clouds at the edge of the sky that had struck my eyes for exactly nine years. They were all the same, all in the same place. These are the snowy peaks of the Caucasian chain. From Georgievsk I drove to Hot Waters. Here I found a big change: in my day the baths were in hastily built hovels. The springs, for the most part in their primitive form, beat, smoked and flowed down from the mountains in different directions, leaving white and reddish traces on them. We scooped up boiling water with a bark ladle or the bottom of a broken bottle. Nowadays, magnificent baths and houses have been built. The boulevard, lined with stickies, is drawn along the Mashuk declination. Everywhere there are clean paths, green benches, correct flower beds, bridges, pavilions. Keys are finished, lined with stone; police orders are nailed to the walls of the bathtubs; everywhere there is order, cleanliness, beauty ... I confess: the Caucasian waters are now more comfortable; but I was sorry for their former wild state; I felt sorry for the steep stone paths, bushes and unfenced abysses, over which I used to climb. Sadly I left the water and went back to Georgievsk. Night fell soon. The clear sky was dotted with millions of stars. I rode along the coast of Podkumka. Here, it used to sit with me A. Raevsky, listening to the melody of the waters. The majestic Beshtu looked blacker and blacker in the distance, surrounded by mountains, his vassals, and finally disappeared into the darkness ... The next day we went further and arrived in Yekaterinograd, which was once the governor's city. The Georgian military road begins from Yekaterinograd; the postal path is terminated. Hire horses to Vladikavkaz. A Cossack and infantry convoy and one cannon are given. The mail is sent twice a week, and the passers-by join it: this is called opportunity. We didn't wait long. The mail arrived the next day, and on the third morning at nine o'clock we were ready to hit the road. At the assembly point, the entire caravan, consisting of five hundred people or about, was connected. They struck the drum. We set off. A cannon rode ahead, surrounded by infantry soldiers. Carriages, chariots, wagons of soldiers moving from one fortress to another followed her; behind them a wagon train of two-wheeled arobs began to screech. Horse herds and herds of oxen ran on either side. Near them galloped Nagai guides in burqas and with lassos. At first I liked all this very much, but soon got tired of it. The cannon moved at a pace, the fuse was smoking, and the soldiers lit their pipes with it. The slowness of our march (on the first day we walked only fifteen miles), the unbearable heat, lack of supplies, restless overnight stays, and finally the incessant skirting of the Nagai arobs made me out of patience. The Tatars take pride in this concealment, saying that they drive around as honest people who have no need to hide. This time it would have been more pleasant for me to travel in a less respectable company. The road is rather monotonous: plain; on the sides of the hills. At the edge of the sky are the peaks of the Caucasus, which are higher and higher every day. Fortresses sufficient for the local area, with a moat that each of us would have jumped in the old days without scattering, with rusty cannons that have not fired since the days of Count Gudovich, with a collapsed rampart along which a garrison of chickens and geese roams. There are several shacks in the fortresses, where you can hardly get a dozen eggs and sour milk. The first remarkable place is the Minaret fortress. Approaching it, our caravan rode along a lovely valley between the mounds overgrown with linden and plane trees. These are the graves of several thousand who died from the plague. Flowers spawned from the tainted ash. The snowy Caucasus shone on the right; a huge, wooded mountain towered ahead; behind it was a fortress. Around it you can see traces of a devastated aul, called Tartartub and once the main one in Big Kabarda. A light, lonely minaret testifies to the existence of a disappeared village. It rises gracefully between heaps of stones, on the banks of a dried-up stream. The inner staircase has not yet collapsed. I climbed up it to the platform, from which the mullah's voice is no longer heard. There I found several unknown names scrawled on bricks by popular travelers. Our road has become picturesque. The mountains stretched above us. On their tops, barely visible herds crawled and seemed like insects. We also discerned a shepherd, perhaps a Russian, who had once been taken prisoner and aged in captivity. We met more mounds, more ruins. Two or three gravestones stood at the edge of the road. There, according to the custom of the Circassians, their riders are buried. A Tatar inscription, an image of a checker, a tanga, carved into stone, were left to the predatory grandchildren in memory of the predatory ancestor. The Circassians hate us. We drove them out of free pastures; their auls were ruined, entire tribes were destroyed. From hour to hour they go deeper into the mountains and from there direct their raids. friendship peaceful Circassians are unreliable: they are always ready to help their violent fellow tribesmen. The spirit of their savage chivalry fell noticeably. They rarely attack the Cossacks in equal numbers, never the infantry and flee when they see a cannon. But they will never miss a chance to attack a weak detachment or a defenseless one. The side here is full of rumors of their atrocities. There is almost no way to pacify them until they are disarmed, like the Crimean Tatars were disarmed, which is extremely difficult to fulfill, due to the hereditary feuds and vengeance of blood prevailing between them. The dagger and saber are members of their body, and the baby begins to wield them before babbling. Their murder is a simple gesture. They keep captives in the hope of ransom, but they treat them with terrible inhumanity, make them work beyond their strength, feed them with raw dough, beat them whenever they want, and put their boys to guard them, who in one word have the right to chop them up with their children's sabers. Recently, a peaceful Circassian was caught shooting a soldier. He justified himself by the fact that his gun had been loaded for too long. What to do with such a people? We must, however, hope that the acquisition of the eastern edge of the Black Sea, cutting off the Circassians from trade with Turkey, will force them to come closer to us. The influence of luxury may be conducive to taming them: a samovar would be an important innovation. There is a stronger, more moral means, more consistent with the enlightenment of our age: the preaching of the Gospel. The Circassians very recently adopted the Mohammedan faith. They were carried away by the active fanaticism of the apostles Quran, among whom was Mansur, an extraordinary man, who for a long time resented the Caucasus against Russian rule, finally captured by us and died in the Solovetsky Monastery. The Caucasus awaits Christian missionaries. But it is easier for our laziness to pour out dead letters instead of a living word and send silent books to people who do not know how to read and write. We reached Vladikavkaz, the former Kapkaya, the threshold of the mountains. It is surrounded by Ossetian auls. I visited one of them and went to the funeral. People crowded around the sakli. There was a cart in the yard, harnessed by two oxen. The relatives and friends of the deceased came from all sides and with loud weeping went into the saklya, hitting their foreheads with their fists. The women stood at attention. The dead man was carried out on a cloak ... ... like a warrior taking his rest With his martial cloak around him; 5) put it on the cart. One of the guests took the dead man's gun, blew gunpowder from the shelf and put it near the body. The oxen began to move. The guests followed. The body was to be buried in the mountains, about thirty versts from the aul. Unfortunately, no one could explain these rituals to me. Ossetians are the poorest tribe of the peoples living in the Caucasus; their women are beautiful and, as you can hear, are very supportive of travelers. At the gates of the fortress I met the wife and daughter of an Ossetian prisoner. They brought him lunch. Both seemed calm and bold; however, at my approach, both lowered their heads and covered themselves with their tattered veils... In the fortress I saw Circassian amanats, playful and handsome boys. They play pranks every minute and run from the fortress. They are being kept in a miserable position. They walk about in rags, half-naked, and disgusting filth. On some I saw wooden blocks. It is likely that the amanats released into the wild do not regret their stay in Vladikavkaz. The cannon has left us. We set out with the infantry and the Cossacks. The Caucasus accepted us into its sanctuary. We heard a dull noise and saw the Terek overflowing in different directions. We drove along its left bank. Its noisy waves set in motion the wheels of low Ossetian mills, similar to dog kennels. The further we went into the mountains, the narrower the gorge became. The constrained Terek, with a roar, throws its muddy waves over the cliffs blocking its path. The gorge meanders along its course. The stone soles of the mountains are cut by its waves. I walked on foot and stopped every minute, struck by the gloomy beauty of nature. The weather was cloudy; the clouds stretched heavily around the black peaks. Count Pushkin and Shernval looking at the Terek, they remembered Imatra and gave the advantage the thundering river in the North . But I could not compare with anything the sight ahead of me. Before reaching Lars, I lagged behind the convoy, staring at the huge rocks, between which the Terek was whipping with an inexplicable fury. Suddenly a soldier runs to me, shouting to me from a distance: "Do not stop, your honor, they will kill!" This warning, out of habit, struck me as extremely strange. The fact is that Ossetian robbers, safe in this narrow place, shoot at travelers across the Terek. On the eve of our crossing, they thus attacked General Bekovich, who had galloped through their shots. The ruins of a castle are visible on the rock: they are covered with sakles of peaceful Ossetians, as if by the nests of swallows. We stopped in Lars to spend the night. Then we found a French traveler who frightened us with the road ahead. He advised us to leave the carriages at Kobe and go on horseback. With him we drank for the first time Kakhetian wine from a stinking wineskin, remembering the feasts of the Iliad: And there is wine in goat skins, our delight! Here I found a mutilated list of "Prisoner of the Caucasus" and, I confess, I read it with great pleasure. All this is weak, young, incomplete; but much has been guessed and expressed correctly. The next morning we set off further. Turkish prisoners worked out the road. They complained about the food given to them. They could not get used to Russian black bread. This reminded me of the words of my friend Sheremetev upon his return from Paris: "It is bad, brother, to live in Paris: there is nothing to eat; you cannot ask for black bread!" The Darial post is located seven versts from Lars. The gorge bears the same name. The rocks on both sides stand in parallel walls. It is so narrow, so narrow, writes one traveler, that you not only see, but, it seems, feel the tightness. A piece of sky like a ribbon turns blue over your head. The streams falling from the mountain heights in shallow and splattered streams reminded me of the abduction of Ganymede, a strange painting by Rembrandt. In addition, the gorge is illuminated completely to his taste. In other places, the Terek washes away the very bottom of the rocks, and stones are piled on the road, in the form of a dam. Not far from the post, a bridge is boldly thrown across the river. You stand on it like on a mill. The bridge is shaking all the way, and the Terek is noisy like wheels driving a millstone. The ruins of a fortress are visible on a steep rock opposite Darial. Tradition says that some queen Darius was hiding in it, who gave her name to the gorge: a fairy tale. Darial in ancient Persian means gate. According to Pliny's testimony, the Caucasian gates, mistakenly called the Caspian gates, were located here. The gorge was closed by real gates, made of wood, bound with iron. Under them, writes Pliny, the river Diriodoris flows. A fortress was also erected here to hold off the raids of wild tribes; and so on. Watch the journey Count I. Pototsky whose scholarly research is as entertaining as the Spanish novels. From Darial we went to Kazbek. We saw Trinity gate(an arch formed in the rock by an explosion of gunpowder) - once there was a road under them, but now the Terek flows, often changing its course. Not far from the village of Kazbek, we moved through Crazy beam a ravine that turns into a furious stream during heavy rains. At this time, he was completely dry and loud by his own name. The village of Kazbek is located at the foot of Mount Kazbek and belongs to the prince Kazbek. The prince, a man of about forty-five, taller than the Preobrazhensky wing. We found him in a dukhan (this is the name of the Georgian taverns, which are much poorer and not cleaner than the Russians). In the doorway lay a big-bellied wineskin (ox-fur), spreading out its four legs. The giant pulled a chikhir out of him and asked me several questions, to which I answered with the respect befitting his rank and height. We parted as great friends. Impressions soon dull. Hardly a day passed, and already the roar of the Terek and its ugly waterfalls, already cliffs and abysses did not attract my attention. The impatience to get to Tiflis took possession of me exclusively. I drove past Kazbek as indifferently as I once sailed past Chatyrdag. It is also true that the rainy and foggy weather prevented me from seeing his pile of snow, in the poet's words, supporting the sky . Waited for the Persian prince ... At some distance from Kazbek, we came across several carriages and obstructed the narrow road. While the carriages were leaving, the escort officer announced to us that he was seeing off the Persian poet at the court and, at my request, introduced me to Fazil-Khan. With the help of an interpreter, I began a pompous oriental greeting; but how ashamed I felt when Fazil-Khan answered my inappropriate intricacy with the simple, clever courtesy of a decent man! "He hoped to see me in Petersburg; he regretted that our acquaintance would not last long, and so on." With shame I was compelled to abandon the important, jocular tone and move down to ordinary European phrases. Here is a lesson in our Russian mockery. Ahead I will not judge a man by his lamb hat 1 and on painted nails. 1 This is what Persian hats are called. (Approx. A.S. Pushkin.) Kobi's post is located at the very foot of the Krestovaya mountain, through which we were to cross. We stopped here to spend the night and began to think about how to accomplish this terrible feat: whether to sit down, abandoning the carriages, on Cossack horses, or send for Ossetian oxen? Just in case, on behalf of our entire caravan, I wrote an official request to Mr. Chilyaev, who is in command on the local side, and we went to bed waiting for the carts. The next day, at about 12 o'clock, we heard noise, screams and saw an extraordinary spectacle: 18 pairs of skinny little oxen, compelled by a crowd of half-naked Ossetians, forcibly dragged the light Viennese carriage of my friend O ***. This sight immediately dispelled all my doubts. I made up my mind to send my heavy Petersburg carriage back to Vladikavkaz and ride on horseback to Tiflis. Count Pushkin did not want to follow my example. He preferred to harness a whole herd of oxen into his chaise, laden with supplies of all kinds, and triumphantly cross the snow ridge. We parted, and I went with Colonel Ogarev, who was examining the local roads. The road went through a landslide that collapsed at the end of June 1827. Such cases usually occur every seven years. A huge block, falling down, covered the gorge for a whole verst and dammed the Terek. The sentries below heard a terrible rumble and saw that the river was rapidly shallowing and in a quarter of an hour it had completely subsided and was exhausted. The Terek broke through the landslide not earlier than two hours later. That was how terrible he was! We climbed steeply higher and higher. Our horses were stuck in the loose snow, under which the streams rustled. I was surprised to look at the road and did not understand the possibility of driving on wheels. At that time I heard a dull rumble. "This is a landslide," Mr. Ogarev told me. I looked around and saw in the side a pile of snow, which was crumbling and slowly sliding down the steep slope. Small landslides are not rare here. Last year, a Russian cabman was driving along Krestovaya Gora. The landslide ended; a terrible lump fell on his cart, swallowed up the cart, horse and peasant, toppled across the road and rolled into the abyss with its prey. We reached the very top of the mountain. There is a granite cross, an old monument, renovated by Yermolov. Here travelers usually get off their carriages and go on foot. Not long ago a foreign consul passed by: he was so weak that he ordered him to be blindfolded; he was led under the arms, and when the bandage was removed from him, then he knelt down, thanked God, and so on, which greatly amazed the guides. The instant transition from the formidable Caucasus to pretty Georgia is delightful. The air of the south suddenly begins to whine at the traveler. From the height of Gut-mountain opens the Kayshaur valley with its inhabited rocks, with its gardens, with its bright Aragva, twisting like a silver ribbon - and all this in a reduced form, at the bottom of a three-verst abyss along which a dangerous road goes. We went down to the valley. The young moon appeared in the clear sky. The evening air was calm and warm. I spent the night on the banks of the Aragva, in the house of Chilyaev. The next day I parted with the amiable host and set off further. This is where Georgia begins. The bright valleys, irrigated by the cheerful Aragvoy, have replaced the gloomy gorges and the formidable Terek. Instead of bare cliffs, I saw green mountains and fruitful trees near me. The plumbing proved the presence of education. One of them struck me with the perfection of optical illusion: the water seems to have its flow up the mountain from the bottom up. I stopped at Paysanaur to change horses. Then I met a Russian officer seeing off the Persian prince. Soon I heard the sound of bells, and a number of cathars (mules), tied to one another and loaded in an Asian way, stretched along the road. I went on foot without waiting for the horses; and half a verst from Ananur, at a turn in the road, he met Khozrev-Mirza. Its crews were standing. He himself looked out of his carriage and nodded his head to me. Several hours after our meeting, the highlanders attacked the prince. Hearing the whistle of bullets, Khozrev jumped out of his carriage, got on his horse and galloped away. The Russians who were with him were surprised at his courage. The fact is that a young Asian, not used to a wheelchair, saw in it more of a trap than a refuge. I reached Ananur without feeling tired. My horses did not come. I was told that it was not more than ten miles to the town of Dushet, and I again set off on foot. But I didn't know that the road went uphill. These ten miles were worth a good twenty. Evening came; I walked forward, climbing higher and higher. It was impossible to get off the road; but in places the clayey mud formed by the springs reached my knee. I was completely tired. The darkness has increased. I heard the howling and barking of dogs and rejoiced, imagining that the city was not far away. But he was wrong: the dogs of Georgian shepherds barked, and jackals howled, ordinary animals in that direction. I cursed my impatience, but there was nothing to do. Finally I saw the lights, and about midnight I found myself at the houses shaded by trees. The first person I met volunteered to take me to the mayor and demanded from me abaz. My appearance at the mayor's, an old Georgian officer, had a great effect. I demanded, firstly, a room where I could undress, secondly, a glass of wine, and thirdly, an abaza for my guide. The governor did not know how to receive me, and looked at me with bewilderment. Seeing that he was in no hurry to fulfill my requests, I began to undress in front of him, asking for an apology de la liberté grande 6) ... Fortunately, I found a road trip in my pocket, proving that I was a peaceful traveler and not Rinaldo Rinaldini. The blessed charter immediately had its effect: a room was assigned to me, a glass of wine was brought and an Abaz was given to my guide with a fatherly reprimand for his greed, which is offensive to Georgian hospitality. I threw myself on the sofa, hoping after my feat to fall asleep in a heroic dream: it didn't work! fleas, which are much more dangerous than jackals, attacked me and did not give me rest all night. In the morning my man came to me and announced that Count Pushkin had safely crossed the snowy mountains by oxen and arrived in Dushet. I had to hurry! Count Pushkin and Shernval visited me and offered to set off again together on the road. I left Strangle with the pleasant thought that I was spending the night in Tiflis. The road was just as pleasant and picturesque, although we rarely saw any signs of population. A few versts from Garciscal we crossed the Kura along an ancient bridge, a monument of Roman campaigns, and at a large trot, and sometimes at a gallop, drove to Tiflis, in which, in an inconspicuous way, we found ourselves at about eleven o'clock in the evening.CHAPTER TWO
Tiflis. National baths. Noseless Hassan. Georgian customs. Songs. Kakhetian wine. The cause of the fevers. High cost. Description of the city. Departure from Tiflis. Georgian night. View of Armenia. Double transition. Armenian village. Gergera. Griboyedov. Bezobdal. Mineral key. Storm in the mountains. Overnight in Gumry. Ararat. The border. Turkish hospitality. Kars. Armenian family. Departure from Kars. Count Paskevich's camp. I stopped at a tavern, the next day I went to the glorious Tiflis baths. The city seemed crowded to me. Asian buildings and a bazaar reminded me of Chisinau. Donkeys with reversible baskets ran along the narrow and crooked streets; bullock carts blocked the road. Armenians, Georgians, Circassians, Persians crowded in the wrong square; between them young Russian officials rode on horseback on Karabakh stallions. At the entrance to the baths there was a landlord, an old Persian. He opened the door for me, I entered a vast room and what did I see? More than fifty women, young and old, half-dressed and completely undressed, sitting and standing undressed, dressed on benches placed near the walls. I stopped. “Let's go, let's go,” the owner said to me, “today is Tuesday: Women's Day. Never mind, it doesn't matter.” - "Of course not a problem, - I answered him, - on the contrary." The appearance of the men did not make any impression. They continued to laugh and talk to each other. None of them hurried to cover themselves with their own veiled; none of them stopped undressing. It seemed as though I had entered invisibly. Many of them were really beautiful and lived up to T. Moore's imagination: a lovely Georgian maid, With all the bloom, the freshen "d glow Of her own country maiden" s looks, When warm they rise from Teflis "brooks. LallaRookh 7) ... But I don't know anything more disgusting than Georgian old women: they are witches. The Persian led me into the baths: a hot, iron-sulfur spring poured into a deep bath cut into the rock. I have never met anything more luxurious than the Tiflis baths, neither in Russia nor in Turkey. I will describe them in detail. The owner left me in the care of a Tatar bathhouse attendant. I must confess that he had no nose; this did not prevent him from being a master of his craft. Hassan (as the noseless Tatar was called) began by spreading me out on a warm stone floor; after which he began to break my limbs, pull out the compositions, beat me hard with his fist; I didn't feel the slightest pain, but an amazing relief. (Asian bath attendants are sometimes delighted, jump on your shoulders, slide their feet on your hips and dance squatting down your back, e semper bene) 8) ... After that, he rubbed me for a long time with a woolen mitt and, splashing heavily with warm water, began to wash me with a soapy linen bubble. An inexplicable feeling: hot soap pours over you like air! NB: a woolen mitten and a linen bladder must certainly be taken in a Russian bath: connoisseurs will be grateful for such an innovation. After the bubble, Hassan let me go to the bath; that was the end of the ceremony. In Tiflis I hoped to find Raevsky , but having learned that his regiment had already set out on a campaign, I decided to ask Count Paskevich for permission to come to the army. I stayed in Tiflis for about two weeks and got acquainted with the local society. Sankovsky, the publisher of Tiflis Vedomosti, told me a lot of interesting things about the local region, about Prince Tsitsianov, about A.P. Ermolov, and so on. Sankovsky loves Georgia and foresees a brilliant future for it. Georgia resorted to under the patronage of Russia in 1783, which did not prevent the glorious Aga-Mohamed from taking and ruining Tiflis and taking 20,000 inhabitants into captivity (1795). Georgia passed under the scepter of Emperor Alexander in 1802. Georgians are a warlike people. They have proven their bravery under our banners. Their mental faculties are expected to be more educated. They generally have a cheerful and sociable disposition. On holidays, men drink and walk the streets. Black-eyed boys sing, jump and roll; women dance lezginka. The voice of Georgian songs is pleasant. One of them was translated for me word for word; it seems to have been folded in modern times; it contains some kind of oriental nonsense, which has its own poetic dignity. Here it is for you: Soul newly born in Paradise! A soul created for my happiness! from you, immortal, I expect life. From you, blooming spring, two-week moon, from you, my guardian angel, I expect life from you. You shine with your face and amuse you with a smile. I don't want to have the world; I want your gaze. I expect life from you. A mountain rose refreshed with dew! The chosen favorite of nature! Quiet, hidden treasure! I expect life from you. Georgians do not drink our way and are surprisingly strong. Their wines do not tolerate exportation and soon deteriorate, but on the spot they are beautiful. Kakhetian and Karabakh are worth some Burgon ones. Wine is kept in maranah, huge jugs buried in the ground. They are opened with solemn ceremonies. Recently, a Russian dragoon, secretly tearing off such a jug, fell into it and drowned in Kakhetian wine, as unhappy clarence in a barrel of malaga. Tiflis is located on the banks of the Kura River in a valley surrounded by rocky mountains. They shelter it from all sides from the winds and, glowing in the sun, do not heat, but boil the motionless air. This is the reason for the unbearable heat that reigns in Tiflis, despite the fact that the city is only still under the forty-first degree of latitude. Its very name (Tbiliskalar) means Hot city. Most of the city is built in an Asian way: the houses are low, the roofs are flat. In the northern part, houses of European architecture rise, and regular squares begin to form around them. The bazaar is divided into several rows; the shops are full of Turkish and Persian goods, quite cheap considering the general high cost. Tiflis weapons are highly valued throughout the East. Count Samoilov and V., who were known here as heroes, usually tried their new checkers, with one fell swoop chopping a ram in two or cutting off the head of a bull. In Tiflis, the main part of the population is made up of Armenians: in 1825 there were up to 2,500 families of them here. During the current wars, their number has multiplied. There are up to 1500 Georgian families. Russians do not consider themselves local residents. The military, obeying their duty, live in Georgia, because they are ordered to do so. Young titular councilors come here for the rank of assessor, only a little coveted. Both of them view Georgia as an exile. The Tiflis climate, they say, is unhealthy. The fever here is terrible; they are treated with mercury, which is harmless to use because of the heat. Doctors feed their patients with it without any conscience. General Sipyagin , they say, died because his house doctor, who came with him from St. Petersburg, was frightened by the reception offered by the doctors there, and did not give it to the patient. The local fevers are similar to the Crimean and Moldovan ones and are treated in the same way. Residents drink Kursk water, muddy, but pleasant. In all springs and wells, the water strongly responds with sulfur. However, wine is here in such general use that the lack of water would be invisible. In Tiflis, I was surprised by the cheapness of money. Having crossed two streets in a cab and letting him go after half an hour, I had to pay two rubles in silver. At first I thought he wanted to take advantage of the newcomer's ignorance; but I was told that the price is exactly that. Everything else is expensive in proportion. We went to a German colony and dined there. Drank beer made there, tasted very unpleasant, and paid very dearly for a very poor lunch. In my tavern they fed me just as dearly and badly. General Strekalov , a famous deli, once called me to dine; unfortunately, food was served to him by rank, and at the table were British officers in general's epaulettes. The servants beat me around so hard that I got up from the table hungry. Damn the Tiflis deli! I was anxiously awaiting the resolution of my fate. Finally I received a note from Raevsky. He wrote to me that I should hasten to Kars, because in a few days the army had to go further. I left the next day. I rode on horseback, changing horses at Cossack posts. The earth around me was scorched by the heat. From a distance the Georgian villages seemed to me to be beautiful gardens, but, approaching them, I saw several poor sakel, shaded by dusty poplars. The sun went down, but the air was still stifling: Hot nights! The stars are alien! .. The moon was shining; everything was quiet; the footfall of my horse resounded alone in the silence of the night. I drove for a long time without meeting any signs of housing. Finally I saw a solitary saklya. I started knocking on the door. The owner came out. I asked for water, first in Russian, and then in Tatar. He didn't understand me. Amazing carelessness! thirty versts from Tiflis and on the road to Persia and Turkey, he did not know a word either in Russian or in Tatar. After spending the night at the Cossack post, at dawn I set off further. The road was mountains and forest. I met traveling Tatars; there were several women between them. They sat on horseback, wrapped in veils; all they could see were their eyes and heels. I began to climb Bezobdal, the mountain separating Georgia from ancient Armenia. A wide road, shaded by trees, meanders around the mountain. At the top of Bezobdala, I drove through a small ravine, apparently called the Wolf Gate, and found myself on the natural border of Georgia. I saw new mountains, a new horizon; green cornfields were spreading beneath me. I looked again at the scorched Georgia and began to descend along the sloping slope of the mountain to the fresh plains of Armenia. With indescribable pleasure I noticed that the heat had suddenly diminished: the climate was already different. My man with the pack horses left me behind. I rode alone in a blooming desert surrounded from afar by mountains. Absent-mindedly, I drove past the post where I was supposed to change horses. More than six hours passed, and I began to wonder at the space of the passage. I saw in the side piles of stones, similar to sakli, and went to them. In fact, I came to an Armenian village. Several women in colorful rags were sitting on the flat roof of the underground saklya. I explained myself somehow. One of them went down to the saklya and brought me cheese and milk. After resting for a few minutes, I set off further and on the high bank of the river I saw the Gergera fortress opposite me. Three streams rushed down from the high bank with noise and foam. I moved across the river. Two oxen, harnessed to a cart, climbed the steep road. Several Georgians accompanied the cart. "Where are you from?" I asked them. "From Tehran". - "What are you carrying?" - "Griboeda". It was the body of the murdered Griboyedov, which was taken to Tiflis. I never thought to meet our Griboyedov someday! I parted with him last year in Petersburg before his departure for Persia. He was sad and had strange forebodings. I wanted to calm him down; he said to me: "Vous ne connaissez pas ces gens-lЮ: vous verrez qu" il faudra jouer des couteaux " 9) ... He believed that the cause of the bloodshed would be the death of the Shah and the civil strife of his seventy sons. But the aged Shah is still alive, and Griboyedov's prophetic words came true. He died under the daggers of the Persians, a victim of ignorance and treachery. His disfigured corpse, which had been playing for the Tehran rabble for three days, was recognized only by his hand, once shot through with a pistol bullet. I met Griboyedov in 1817. His melancholic character, his embittered mind, his good nature, the most weaknesses and vices, the inevitable companions of humanity - everything about him was unusually attractive. Born with an ambition equal to his talents, for a long time he was entangled in the networks of petty needs and obscurity. The abilities of the state man remained unused; the poet's talent was not recognized; even his cold and brilliant courage remained suspicious for a while. Several friends knew his worth and saw a smile of incredulity, that stupid, unbearable smile when they happened to speak of him as an extraordinary person. People believe only in glory and do not understand that between them there may be some Napoleon who did not lead a single ranger company, or another Descartes who did not publish a single line in the Moscow Telegraph. However, our respect for glory comes, perhaps, from pride: after all, our voice is part of glory. Griboyedov's life was darkened by some clouds: a consequence of ardent passions and powerful circumstances. He felt the need to reckon once and for all with his youth and turn his life abruptly. He said goodbye to Petersburg and with idle absent-mindedness, went to Georgia, where he spent eight years in solitary, vigilant pursuits. His return to Moscow in 1824 was a revolution in his life and the beginning of continuous success. His handwritten comedy "Woe from Wit" produced an indescribable effect and suddenly placed him alongside our first poets. For some time later, perfect knowledge of the region where the war began, opened up a new field for him; he was appointed as a messenger. Arriving in Georgia, he married the one he loved ... I don't know anything more enviable than the last years of his stormy life. The very death that befell him in the midst of a bold, uneven battle, had nothing terrible for Griboyedov, nothing weary. She was momentary and beautiful. What a pity that Griboyedov did not leave his notes! It would be the business of his friends to write his biography; but wonderful people disappear with us, leaving no traces behind. We are lazy and incurious ... In Gergera I met Buturlina , who, like me, went to the army. Buturlin traveled with all sorts of whims. I dined with him, as if in Petersburg. We set out to travel together; but the demon of impatience took possession of me again. My man asked me for permission to rest. I went alone, even without a guide. The road was all the same and completely safe. After crossing the mountain and descending into a valley shaded by trees, I saw a mineral spring flowing across the road. Here I met an Armenian priest who was traveling to Akhaltsyk from Erivan. "What's new in Erivan?" I asked him. "There is a plague in Erivan," he answered, "but what to hear about Akhaltsyk?" - "There is a plague in Akhaltsyk," I answered him. Having exchanged this good news, we parted. I rode in the middle of fertile fields and flowering meadows. The harvest flowed, waiting for the sickle. I admired the beautiful land, which fertility became proverbial in the East. In the evening I arrived in Pernik. There was a Cossack post here. The police officer predicted a storm for me and advised me to stay overnight, but I certainly wanted to reach Gumrov on the same day. I had to cross the low mountains, the natural border of the Kara Pashalyk. The sky was covered with clouds; I hoped that the wind, which was getting stronger from hour to hour, would disperse them. But the rain began to drip and fell more and more often. From Pernik to Gumry it is considered 27 versts. I tightened the belts of my burka, put my hood on my cap, and entrusted myself to Providence. More than two hours passed. The rain did not stop. Water poured in streams from my heavy cloak and from my hood, saturated with rain. Finally a cold stream began to make its way behind my tie, and soon the rain soaked me to the last thread. The night was dark; the Cossack rode in front, showing the way. We began to climb the mountains, meanwhile the rain stopped and the clouds cleared away. There were ten versts left to Gumrov. The wind, blowing freely, was so strong that in a quarter of an hour it dried me completely. I didn't think to avoid the fever. Finally I reached the Gumrs around midnight. The Cossack brought me straight to the post. We stopped at a tent, where I was in a hurry to enter. Then I found twelve Cossacks sleeping next to each other. I was given a place; I fell on the cloak, not feeling tired of myself. That day I drove 75 miles. I fell asleep as if killed. The Cossacks woke me up at dawn. My first thought was whether I was lying in a fever. But he felt that, thank God, he was cheerful and healthy; there was no trace of not only illness, but also fatigue. I walked out of the tent into the fresh morning air. The sun was rising. In the clear sky a snowy, two-headed mountain gleamed. "What a mountain?" - I asked, stretching myself, and heard in response: "This is Ararat." How powerful is the effect of sounds! I looked eagerly at the biblical mountain, saw the ark docked to its top with the hope of renewal and life - and a lie and a dove flying out, symbols of execution and reconciliation ... My horse was ready. I went with a guide. The morning was beautiful. The sun was shining. We drove through a wide meadow, on dense green grass, watered with dew and drops of yesterday's rain. Before us shone a river, through which we had to cross. “Here is Arpachai,” the Cossack told me. Arpachai! our border! It was worth Ararat. I rode to the river with an inexplicable feeling. I have never seen a foreign land. The border had something mysterious to me; traveling has been my favorite dream since childhood. For a long time I then led a wandering life, wandering now in the south, now in the north, and never before had I escaped from the bounds of immense Russia. I cheerfully rode into the cherished river, and a kind horse carried me to the Turkish coast. But this coast had already been conquered: I was still in Russia. I still had 75 miles to Kars. By evening I hoped to see our camp. I have not stopped anywhere. Halfway along the road, in an Armenian village built in the mountains on the bank of a river, instead of lunch, I ate the damned churek, Armenian bread, baked in the form of a flatbread half-and-half with ash, about which the Turkish captives grieved so much in the Darial Gorge. I would give dearly for a piece of Russian black bread, which was so disgusting to them. A young Turk, a terrible talker, accompanied me. He chatted in Turkish all the way, not caring whether I understood him or not. I strained my attention and tried to guess it. He seemed to scold the Russians and, accustomed to seeing all of them in uniforms, took me for a foreigner because of my dress. A Russian officer came to meet us. He was driving from our camp and announced to me that the army had already set out from near Kars. I cannot describe my despair: the thought that I would have to return to Tiflis, exhausted in vain in desert Armenia, completely killed me. The officer drove to his side; the Turk began his monologue again; but I was no longer up to him. I changed my pace to a large trot and in the evening arrived in a Turkish village twenty miles from Kars. Jumping off the horse, I wanted to enter the first saklya, but the owner appeared at the door and pushed me away with abuse. I answered his greeting with a whip. The Turk screamed; people gathered. My guide seems to have interceded for me. I was shown a caravanserai; I entered a large saklya, similar to a barn; there was no place where I could distribute a burka. I began to demand a horse. The Turkish foreman came to me. To all his incomprehensible speeches, I answered one thing: verbana at(give me a horse). The Turks did not agree. Finally I thought to show them the money (where I should start). The horse was immediately brought in, and they gave me a guide. I drove through a wide valley surrounded by mountains. Soon I saw Kars, whitening on one of them. My Turk pointed out to me, repeating: Kars, Kars! and let his horse gallop; I followed him, tormented by anxiety: my fate was to be decided in Kars. Here I had to find out where our camp is and whether there will still be an opportunity for me to catch up with the army. Meanwhile the sky was covered with clouds and the rain began again; but I didn't care about him anymore. We entered Kars. Approaching the gate of the wall, I heard a Russian drum: they beat the dawn. The sentry accepted the ticket from me and went to the commandant. I stood in the rain for about half an hour. Finally they let me through. I told the conductor to lead me straight to the baths. We drove along curved and steep streets; the horses were sliding along the bad Turkish pavement. We stopped at a house, which was rather bad looking. These were the baths. The Turk dismounted from his horse and began knocking at the door. Nobody answered. The rain poured down on me. Finally, a young Armenian came out of a nearby house and, having talked with my Turk, called me to his place, speaking in fairly clear Russian. He led me up a narrow staircase to the second dwelling of his house. In a room decorated with low sofas and shabby rugs sat an old woman, his mother. She came up to me and kissed my hand. The son told her to light the fire and prepare dinner for me. I undressed and sat down in front of the fire. The host's younger brother, a boy of about seventeen, entered. Both brothers visited Tiflis and lived there for several months. They told me that our troops had set out the day before and that our camp was 25 versts from Kars. I calmed down completely. Soon the old woman cooked me mutton and onions, which seemed to me the height of the art of cooking. We all went to bed in the same room; I lay down against the dying fireplace and fell asleep in the pleasant hope of seeing Count Paskevich's camp the next day. In the morning I went to inspect the city. The youngest of my hosts took on the role of my Chicheron. Examining the fortifications and the citadel, built on an impregnable rock, I did not understand how we could take possession of Kars. My Armenian interpreted to me how he could do military operations, which he himself witnessed. Noticing in him a desire for war, I invited him to go with me to the army. He immediately agreed. I sent him for the horses. He appeared with an officer who demanded a written order from me. Judging by the Asian features of his face, I didn’t think it was necessary to rummage through my papers and took the first sheet I came across from my pocket. The officer, after examining him importantly, immediately ordered that the horses be brought to the nobility according to the instructions and returned my paper to me; it was a message to a Kalmyk woman, smeared by me at one of the Caucasian stations. Half an hour later I left Kars, and Artemy (as my Armenian was called) was already galloping beside me on a Turkish stallion with a flexible Kurta dart in his hand, with a dagger in his belt, and raving about the Turks and battles. I rode on a land sown with bread everywhere; villages were visible all around, but they were empty: the inhabitants fled. The road was beautiful and paved in swampy places - stone bridges were built across the streams. The land rose noticeably - the advanced hills of the Sagan-lu ridge, the ancient Taurus, began to appear. About two hours passed; I rode up a sloping hill and suddenly saw our camp located on the bank of Kars-chai; in a few minutes I was already in Raevsky's tent.CHAPTER THREE
Crossing through Sagan-lu. Shootout. Camp life. Yazidis. Battle with Seraskir of Arzrum. Exploded Sakla. I arrived on time. On the same day (June 13), the army was ordered to go forward. While dining at Raevsky's, I listened to young generals discussing the movement prescribed by them. General Burtsov he was detached to the left along the large Arzrum road directly opposite the Turkish camp, while all the other army had to go on the right side, bypassing the enemy. At five o'clock the army set out. I rode with the Nizhny Novgorod Dragoon Regiment, talking with Raevsky, whom I had not seen for several years. Night has come; we stopped in a valley where the whole army had a halt. Here I had the honor to be introduced to Count Paskevich. I found the Count at home in front of a bivouac fire, surrounded by his headquarters. He was cheerful and received me kindly. Alien to the art of war, I did not suspect that the fate of the campaign was being decided at that moment. Here I saw our Volkhovsky , dusty from head to toe, overgrown with a beard, worn out by worries. He found time, however, to converse with me as an old friend. Here I saw and Mikhail Pushchin injured last year. He is loved and respected as a glorious comrade and brave soldier. Many of my old friends surrounded me. How they have changed! how quickly time passes! Heu! fugaces, Posthume, Posthume , Labuntur anni ... 10) ... I went back to Raevsky and spent the night in his tent. In the middle of the night I was awakened by terrible screams: one might have thought that the enemy had made an accidental attack. Raevsky sent to find out the cause of the alarm: several Tatar horses that had fallen off the leash were running around the camp, and the Muslims (that is the name of the Tatars who serve in our army) were catching them. At dawn, the army moved forward. We drove up to the mountains overgrown with forest. We drove into the gorge. The dragoons said among themselves: "Look, brother, hold on: just grapeshot is enough." Indeed, the location favored ambushes; but the Turks, distracted in the other direction by the movement of General Burtsov, did not take advantage of their advantages. We safely passed the dangerous gorge and stood on the heights of Sagan-lu ten miles from the enemy camp. The nature around us was gloomy. The air was cold, the mountains were covered with sad pine trees. Snow lay in the ravines. ... nec Armeniis in oris , Amice Valgi, stat glacies iners Menses per omnes ... 11) We had just had time to rest and dine when we heard rifle shots. Raevsky sent to inquire. He was informed that the Turks had started a firefight at our front pickets. I went with Semichev to see a new picture for me. We met a wounded Cossack: he was sitting, staggering in the saddle, pale and bloodied. Two Cossacks supported him. "Are there many Turks?" - asked Semichev. "Felling like a pig, your honor," one of them answered. Having passed the gorge, we suddenly saw on the slope of the opposite mountain up to 200 Cossacks, lined up in lava, and about 500 Turks above them. The Cossacks retreated slowly; the Turks came in with greater audacity, took aim at about 20 paces and, firing, galloped back. Their high turbans, beautiful dolimans and the brilliant dress of horses were in sharp contrast to the blue uniforms and simple harness of the Cossacks. About 15 of our people were already wounded. Lieutenant Colonel Basov sent for help. At this time, he himself was wounded in the leg. The Cossacks were mixed. But Basov got back on the horse and remained with his team. Reinforcements arrived in time. The Turks, noticing him, immediately disappeared, leaving on the mountain the naked corpse of a Cossack, decapitated and chopped off. The Turks send the severed heads to Constantinople, and dip their hands in blood and stamp on their banners. The shots died down. The eagles, the companions of the troops, rose above the mountain, looking out for their prey from a height. At this time, a crowd of generals and officers appeared: Count Paskevich arrived and went to the mountain behind which the Turks disappeared. They were reinforced by 4,000 cavalry hidden in the hollow and in the ravines. From the height of the mountain, a Turkish camp was revealed to us, separated from us by ravines and heights. We got back late. Passing our camp, I saw our wounded, of whom five died that same night and the next day. In the evening I visited the young Osten-Saken wounded on the same day in another battle. I liked camp life very much. The cannon lifted us up at dawn. Sleeping in a tent is surprisingly healthy. At lunch we washed down the Asian barbecue with English beer and champagne, frozen in the Taurian snow. Our society was diverse. The beks of the Muslim regiments gathered in the tent of General Raevsky; and the conversation went through an interpreter. Our army included the peoples of our Transcaucasian regions, and the inhabitants of the lands recently conquered. Between them, I looked with curiosity at the Yazids, who were reputed to be devil worshipers in the East. About 300 families live at the foot of Ararat. They recognized the dominion of the Russian sovereign. Their leader, a tall, ugly man in a red cloak and black hat, sometimes came with a bow to General Raevsky, the commander of all cavalry. I tried to learn from the Yazid the truth about their religion. He answered my questions that the rumor that the Yazidis worship Satan is an empty fable; that they believe in one god; that, according to their law, cursing the devil, it is true, is considered indecent and ignoble, for he is now unhappy, but in time he can be forgiven, for it is impossible to put limits to the mercy of Allah. This explanation calmed me down. I was very glad for the Yazids that they do not worship Satan; and their delusions seemed to me much more forgivable. My man came to the camp three days after me. He arrived with the Wagenburg, who, in the sight of the enemy, successfully united with the army. NB: during the entire campaign, not a single cart from our numerous convoy was captured by the enemy. The order with which the convoy followed the army is truly amazing. On June 17, in the morning, we heard another exchange of fire and two hours later saw the Karabakh regiment returning with Turkish banners with osmosis: Colonel Fridericks dealt with the enemy, who had settled behind the stone rubble, drove him out and drove him away; Osman Pasha, who commanded the cavalry, barely managed to escape. On June 18, the camp moved to a different location. On the 19th, as soon as the cannon woke us up, everything in the camp began to move. The generals went to their posts. The shelves were being built; the officers stood at their platoons. I was left alone, not knowing which way to go, and let the horse go free. I met General Burtsov, who called me to the left flank. "What is the left flank?" - I thought and drove on. I saw General Muravyov , placing the cannons. Soon the Delibashes appeared and whirled in the valley, exchanging fire with our Cossacks. Meanwhile, a dense crowd of their infantry marched through the ravine. General Muravyov ordered to fire. The grape shot was enough in the very middle of the crowd. The Turks hit to the side and disappeared behind the dais. I saw Count Paskevich surrounded by his headquarters. The Turks bypassed our army, separated from them by a deep ravine. The count sent Pushchin to inspect the ravine. Pushchin galloped off. The Turks mistook him for a rider and fired a volley at him. They all laughed. The count ordered the cannons to be set up and fired. The enemy scattered over the mountain and over the hollow. On the left flank, where Burtsov called me, a hot business was taking place. In front of us (opposite the center) the Turkish cavalry galloped. The count sent General Raevsky against her, who led his Nizhny Novgorod regiment to attack. The Turks have disappeared. Our Tatars surrounded their wounded and quickly undressed them, leaving them naked in the middle of the field. General Raevsky stopped at the edge of the ravine. Two squadrons, separating from the regiment, scurried in pursuit; they were rescued by the colonel Simonic ... The battle died down; Before our eyes, the Turks began to dig the earth and carry stones, strengthening themselves as usual. They were left alone. We got off our horses and began to dine with whatever God sent. At this time, several prisoners were brought to the count. One of them was severely wounded. They were questioned. At about six o'clock the troops were again ordered to march on the enemy. The Turks stirred behind their rubble, received us with cannon shots, and soon began to retreat. Our cavalry was in front; we began to descend into the ravine; the earth broke off and crumbled under the horse's feet. Every minute my horse might fall, and then the Consolidated Uhlan Regiment would have run over me. However, God endured. As soon as we got out onto the wide road that runs in the mountains, all our cavalry galloped at full speed. The Turks fled; Cossacks whipped the guns thrown on the road with whips and rushed past. The Turks threw themselves into ravines on both sides of the road; they no longer fired; at least not a single bullet whizzed past my ears. The first in the pursuit were our Tatar regiments, whose horses are distinguished by their speed and strength. My horse, having bitten the reins, did not lag behind them; I could hold her back with violence. She stopped in front of the corpse of a young Turk lying across the road. He seemed to be about 18 years old, his pale girlish face was not disfigured. His turban lay in the dust; the shaved back of the head was shot through by a bullet. I started walking; Raevsky soon overtook me. He wrote in pencil on a piece of paper a report to Count Paskevich about the complete defeat of the enemy and drove on. I followed him from afar. Night has come. My tired horse lagged behind and stumbled at every step. Count Paskevich ordered not to stop the persecution, and he himself ruled. Our cavalry detachments were overtaking me; I saw Colonel Polyakov, the chief of the Cossack artillery, who played an important role that day, and with him I arrived at the abandoned village, where Count Paskevich was staying, who had stopped pursuing because of the coming night. We found the count on the roof of the underground saklya in front of the fire. Prisoners were brought to him. He asked them questions. Almost all the chiefs were also there. The Cossacks kept their horses in reins. The fire illuminated a picture worthy of Salvator Rosa, the river rustled in the darkness. At this time, the count was informed that gunpowder reserves were hidden in the village and that an explosion should be feared. The count left the saklya with all his retinue. We drove to our camp, which was already 30 miles from the place where we spent the night. The road was full of cavalry. As soon as we arrived at the place, suddenly the sky lit up, as if by a meteor, and we heard a dull explosion. The saklya, which we had left a quarter of an hour ago, was blown up into the air: it contained a supply of gunpowder. The scattered stones crushed several Cossacks. That's all that I managed to see at that time. In the evening I learned that in this battle the seraskir of Arzrum was defeated, which was marching to join Gaki-Pasha with 30,000 troops. Seraskir fled to Arzrum; his army, which had been transferred beyond Sagan-lu, was scattered, the artillery was taken, and Gaki Pasha alone remained in our hands. Count Paskevich did not give him time to give orders.CHAPTER FOUR
The battle with Gaki Pasha. Death of the Tatar Bek. Hermaphrodite. Captive Pasha. Araks. Shepherd's bridge. Gassan-Kale. Hot spring. Hike to Arzrum. Negotiation. Taking Arzrum. Turkish prisoners. Dervish. The next day, at five o'clock, the camp woke up and was ordered to march. Coming out of the tent, I met Count Paskevich, who got up first. He saw me. "étes-vous fatigué de la journée d" hier? "-" Mais un peu, m. le Comte ". -" J "en suis fБché pour vous, car nous allons faire encore une marche pour joindre le Pacha, et puis il faudra poursuivre l" ennemi encore une trentaine de verstes " 12) ... We set off and by the eight o'clock we came to the dais, from which the camp of Gaki Pasha was visible at a glance. The Turks opened harmless fire from all their batteries. Meanwhile, there was a lot of movement in their camp. Fatigue and morning heat forced many of us to dismount and lie down on the fresh grass. I tied the reins around my hand and fell asleep sweetly, waiting for the order to go forward. A quarter of an hour later they woke me up. Everything was in motion. On one side, the columns went to the Turkish camp; on the other, the cavalry was preparing to pursue the enemy. I was about to go for the Nizhny Novgorod regiment, but my horse was limping. I fell behind. The Ulan regiment swept past me. Then Volkhovsky rode in with three cannons. I found myself alone in the wooded mountains. I came across a dragoon who announced that the forest was filled with an enemy. I went back. I met General Muravyov with an infantry regiment. He dispatched one company to the forest to cleanse it. Approaching the hollow, I saw an extraordinary picture. One of our Tatar beks lay under a tree, mortally wounded. His pet was sobbing beside him. Mullah, kneeling, recited prayers. The dying bek was extremely calm and gazed motionlessly at his young friend. About 500 prisoners were gathered in the ravine. Several wounded Turks called me with signs, probably mistaking me for a doctor and demanding help that I could not give them. A Turk came out of the forest, clutching his wound with a bloody rag. The soldiers approached him with the intention of pinning him, perhaps out of philanthropy. But this angered me too much; I stood up for the poor Turk and forcibly brought him, exhausted and bleeding, to a handful of his comrades. They had a colonel Anrep... He smoked amiably from their pipes, even though there were rumors of a plague allegedly opening up in the Turkish camp. The prisoners sat talking calmly among themselves. Almost all were young people. Having rested, we set off further. Bodies were strewn all along the road. About 15 versts I found the Nizhny Novgorod regiment, halted on the bank of the river in the middle of the rocks. The pursuit continued for several more hours. Towards evening we arrived in a valley surrounded by a dense forest, and at last I could get enough sleep, having rode over fifty miles during those two days. The next day, the troops pursuing the enemy were ordered to return to the camp. Then we learned that there was a hermaphrodite between the captives. Raevsky, at my request, ordered him to be brought. I saw a tall, rather fat man with the face of an old snub-nosed chukhka. We examined him in the presence of a doctor. Erat vir, mammosus ut femina, habebat t. non evolutos, p. que parvum et puerilem. Quaerebamus, sit ne exsectus? - Deus, respondit, castravit me 13) ... This disease, known to Hipocrates, according to the testimony of travelers, is often found among nomadic Tatars and among the Turks. Hoss there is a Turkish name for this imaginary hermaphrodite. Our army was in the Turkish camp taken the day before. Count Paskevich's tent stood near the green tent of Gaki Pasha, taken prisoner by our Cossacks. I went to him and found him surrounded by our officers. He sat with his legs tucked under him and smoking a pipe. He seemed about forty years old. Importance and deep serenity was depicted on his beautiful face. Having surrendered to captivity, he asked to be given a cup of coffee and to be relieved of questions. We were standing in the valley. The snowy and wooded Sagan-lu mountains were already behind us. We went forward without meeting the enemy anywhere. The villages were empty. The neighboring side is sad. We saw the Araks, rapidly flowing in its rocky banks. There is a bridge 15 versts from Gassan-Kale, beautifully and boldly built on seven unequal arches. Tradition ascribes its construction to a rich shepherd who died as a hermit at the height of a hill, where to this day they show his grave, shaded by two desert pines. Neighboring villagers flock to her to worship. The bridge is called Chaban-Kapri (shepherd's bridge). The road to Tabriz lies through it. A few steps from the bridge I visited the dark ruins of a caravanserai. I did not find anyone in it except a sick donkey, probably abandoned here by the fleeing villagers. On the morning of June 24, we went to Gassan-Kale, an ancient fortress, occupied by Prince Bekovich the day before. She was 15 versts from the place of our lodging. Long passages tired me. I was hoping to rest; but it turned out differently. Before the cavalry attack, the Armenians living in the mountains came to our camp, demanding protection from the Turks, who drove their cattle three days ago. Colonel Anrep, not understanding well what they wanted, imagined that the Turkish detachment was in the mountains, and with one squadron of the Ulan regiment galloped to the side, letting Raevsky know that 3000 Turks were in the mountains. Raevsky went after him in order to reinforce him in case of danger. I considered myself attached to the Nizhny Novgorod regiment and with great annoyance rode to the liberation of the Armenians. Having traveled about 20 versts, we drove into the village and saw several lagging lancers, who, hurrying, with drawn sabers, were chasing several chickens. Here one of the villagers explained to Raevsky that it was about 3,000 oxen, three days ago driven away by the Turks and which it would be very easy to catch up in two days. Raevsky ordered the uhlans to stop pursuing chickens and sent an order to Colonel Anrep to return. We drove back and, having got out of the mountains, arrived at Gassan-Kale. But in this way we gave a hook 40 miles in order to save the lives of several Armenian chickens, which did not seem funny to me at all. Hassan-Kale is revered as the key of Arzrum. The city is built at the foot of a rock crowned with a fortress. It housed up to a hundred Armenian families. Our camp stood in a wide plain stretching in front of the fortress. Then I visited a round stone structure, in which there is a hot iron-sulfur spring. The round pool is three fathoms in diameter. I swam across it twice and suddenly, feeling dizzy and nauseous, I barely had the strength to reach the stone edge of the spring. These waters are famous in the east, but, not having decent healers, the inhabitants use them at random and, probably, without much success. The Murts River flows under the walls of Gassan-Kale; its banks are covered with iron springs, which gush out from under the stones and flow into the river. They are not as pleasant to the taste as Caucasian narzan, and they taste like copper. On June 25, on the birthday of the emperor, the regiments listened to a prayer service in our camp under the walls of the fortress. At the dinner with Count Paskevich, when they were drinking the health of the sovereign, the count announced a march to Arzrum. At five o'clock in the evening, the army had already set out. On June 26 we stood in the mountains five versts from Arzrum. These mountains are called Ak-Dag (white mountains); they are chalky. White, stinging dust gnawed at our eyes; their sad look made them melancholy. The proximity of Arzrum and the confidence in the end of the campaign consoled us. In the evening, Count Paskevich went to inspect the location. Turkish riders, who had been circling in front of our pickets all day, began to shoot at him. The count several times threatened them with a whip, never ceasing to argue with General Muravyov. Their shots were not answered. Meanwhile, great confusion was taking place in Arzrum. Seraskir, who fled to the city after his defeat, spread a rumor about the complete defeat of the Russians. Following him, the released captives delivered Count Paskevich's appeal to the residents. The fugitives caught Seraskir in a lie. Soon they learned about the rapid approach of the Russians. The people began to talk about surrender. Seraskir and the army thought to defend themselves. There was a mutiny. Several francs were killed by the embittered mob. Deputies from the people and the seraskir came to our camp (on the morning of the 26th); the day was spent in negotiations; at five o'clock in the evening the deputies went to Arzrum, and with them General Prince Bekovich, who knows Asian languages and customs well. The next morning our army moved forward. On the eastern side of Arzrum, at the height of Top-Dag, there was a Turkish battery. The regiments went to her, responding to the Turkish firing with drumbeats and music. The Turks fled and Top Dag was busy. I came there with a poet Yuzefovich... On the abandoned battery we found Count Paskevich with all his retinue. Arzrum with its citadel, with minarets, with green roofs glued to one another, could be seen from the height of the mountain in the hollow. The count was on horseback. In front of him on the ground sat Turkish deputies who had arrived with the keys of the city. But there was excitement in Arzrum. Suddenly a fire flashed on the city rampart, smoke lit up, and the cannonballs flew towards Top-Dag. Several of them swept over the head of Count Paskevich; "Voyez les Turcs," he said to me, "on ne peut jamais se fier Yu eux" 14) ... At this very minute, Prince Bekovich rode up to Top-Dag, who had been in Arzrum for negotiations since yesterday. He announced that the seraskir and the people had long agreed to surrender, but that several disobedient Arnouts, led by Topchi Pasha, had taken possession of the city batteries and rebelled. The generals drove up to the count, asking permission to silence the Turkish batteries. Arzrum dignitaries, sitting under the fire of their own cannons, repeated the same request. The count hesitated for some time; finally gave the order, saying: "They are no longer fooling around." Immediately, the cannons were brought up, they began to shoot, and the enemy's firing gradually subsided. Our regiments went to Arzrum, and on June 27, on the anniversary of the Battle of Poltava, at six o'clock in the evening, the Russian banner flew over the Arzrum citadel. Raevsky went to the city - I went with him; we entered a city that presented an amazing picture. The Turks looked at us sullenly from their flat roofs. The Armenians crowded noisily in the narrow streets. Their boys ran in front of our horses, crossing themselves and repeating: "Christians! Christians! .." We drove up to the fortress, where our artillery entered; with extreme amazement I met my Artemy, who was already driving around the city, despite the strict order that no one should leave the camp without special permission. The streets of the city are narrow and crooked. The houses are quite high. There were a lot of people - the shops were closed. After staying in the city for about two hours, I returned to the camp: the seraskir and four of the captives were already there. One of the Pasha, a lean old man, a terrible bustle, spoke to our generals with liveliness. Seeing me in a tailcoat, he asked who I was. Pushchin gave me the title of poet. Pasha folded his hands on his chest and bowed to me, saying through the translator: “Blessed is the hour when we meet the poet. The poet is the brother of the dervish. about treasures, he is on a par with the rulers of the earth and he is worshiped. " We all fell in love with the Pasha's eastern greeting. I went to have a look at the seraskir. Upon entering his tent, I met his beloved page, a black-eyed boy of about fourteen, in rich Arnout clothes. Seraskir, a gray-haired old man of the most ordinary appearance, sat in deep despondency. A crowd of our officers was near him. Coming out of his tent, I saw a young man, half-naked, in a lamb's hat, with a club in his hand and with fur (outre 15) ) behind your shoulders. He screamed at the top of his lungs. I was told that it was my brother, a dervish, who had come to greet the victors. He was violently driven away.CHAPTER FIVE
Arzrum. Asian luxury. Climate. Cemetery. Satirical poetry. Seraskir Palace. Harem of Turkish Pasha. Plague. Death of Burtsov. Departure from Arzrum. Return trip. Russian magazine. Arzrum (incorrectly called Arzerum, Erzrum, Erzron) was founded around 415, during the time of Theodosius II, and was named Theodosiopolis. No historical memory is associated with his name. I only knew about him that here, according to the testimony Haji Baba, were presented to the Persian ambassador, in satisfaction of some insult, calf ears instead of human ears. Arzrum is revered as the main city in Asian Turkey. It counted up to 100,000 inhabitants, but it seems that the number is too increased. The houses are stone, the roofs are covered with turf, which gives the city an extremely strange look when you look at it from a height. The main overland trade between Europe and the East is through Arzrum. But few goods are sold in it; they are not posted here, which I noticed and Turnfor, who writes that in Arzrum a patient may die for the inability to get a spoonful of rhubarb, while whole bags of it are in the city. I do not know of an expression that would be more meaningless than words: Asian luxury. This saying was probably born during the Crusades, when the poor knights, leaving the bare walls and oak chairs of their castles, saw for the first time red sofas, colorful carpets and daggers with colored stones on the hilt. Now we can say: Asian poverty, Asian disgusting, and so on. But luxury is, of course, belonging to Europe. In Arzrum, no money can buy what you find in the small shop of the first district town of the Pskov province. The Arzrum climate is harsh. The city is built in a ravine that rises 7,000 feet above the sea. The mountains surrounding it are covered with snow for most of the year. The land is treeless, but fruitful. It is irrigated with many springs and is crossed by water pipelines from everywhere. Arzrum is famous for its water. The Euphrates flows three miles from the city. But there are many fountains everywhere. Everyone has a tin ladle hanging on a chain, and good Muslims drink and do not boast. The timber is delivered from Sagan-lu. Many ancient weapons, helmets, armor, sabers were found in the Arzrum arsenal, probably rusting from the time of Godfred. Mosques are low and dark. There is a cemetery outside the city. Monuments usually consist of pillars, decorated with a stone turban. The tombs of two or three pashas are more intricate, but there is nothing elegant in them: no taste, no thought ... One traveler writes that he found a tower clock from all Asian cities in one Arzrum, and those were spoiled. The innovations initiated by the Sultan have not yet penetrated into Arzrum. The army also wears its picturesque oriental attire. There is a rivalry between Arzrum and Constantinople, as between Kazan and Moscow. Here is the beginning of a satirical poem composed by the Janissary Aminom-Oglu... Istanbul giaurs are glorified today, And tomorrow they will crush a forged fifth, Like a sleeping snake, And they will go away - and so they will leave, Istanbul fell asleep before disaster. Istanbul renounced the prophet; In it, the Cunning West darkened the truth of the ancient East. Istanbul for the sweets of vice Plea and saber changed. Istanbul is unaccustomed to the sweat of battle And drinks wine during prayer hours. In him the pure heat of faith is extinguished, In him the wives walk through the cemeteries, Old women are sent to the crossroads, And those men are brought into harems, And the bribed eunuch sleeps. But not such is Arzrum mountainous, Our multi-road Arzrum; We do not sleep in shameful luxury, We do not scoop up a rebellious cup In wine, debauchery, fire and noise. We fast: with a stream of sober Holy water they give us drink; In a crowd of fearless and frisky Dzhigits, our djigits fly into battle. Our harems are inaccessible, The eunuchs are strict, incorruptible, And the wives sit quietly there. I lived in the seraskyr palace in the rooms where the harem was located. All day I wandered through countless passages, from room to room, from roof to roof, from staircase to staircase. The palace seemed plundered; Seraskir, assuming to flee, took out of him what he could. The sofas were stripped, the carpets were removed. When I walked around the city, the Turks called me and showed me their tongue. (They take every franc for a doctor.) This bothered me, I was ready to answer them in kind. I spent my evenings with an intelligent and kind Sukhorukov ; the similarity of our occupations brought us closer together. He talked to me about his literary assumptions, about his historical research, once begun by him with such zeal and success. The limitations of his desires and demands are truly touching. It is a pity if they are not fulfilled. The Seraskira Palace presented an eternally lively picture: where the gloomy Pasha silently smoked in the midst of his wives and dishonorable youths, there his winner received reports of the victories of his generals, handed out pashalyks, talked about new novels. Mushsky Pasha came to Count Paskevich to ask him for the place of his nephew. Walking through the palace, an important Turk stopped in one of the rooms, spoke a few words with liveliness and then fell into thoughtfulness: in this very room his father was beheaded at the behest of the seraskir. Here are the real oriental impressions! Glorious Bey-Bulat, the thunderstorm of the Caucasus, came to Arzrum with two foremen of the Circassian villages, who were outraged during the last wars. They dined with Count Paskevich. Bey-damask is a man of about thirty-five, short and broad-shouldered. He does not speak Russian or pretends not to speak. His arrival in Arzrum made me very happy: he was already my guarantee in a safe journey through the mountains and Kabarda. Osman Pasha, taken prisoner at Arzrum and sent to Tiflis together with the seraskir, asked Count Paskevich for the safety of the harem he left in Arzrum. In the early days, he was forgotten. One day at dinner, talking about the silence of a Muslim city occupied by 10,000 troops and in which not one of the residents ever complained about the violence of a soldier, the count remembered Osman Pasha's harem and ordered Mr. Abramovich to go to the pasha's house and ask his wives , whether they are satisfied and whether there was any insult to them. I asked permission to accompany Mr. A. We set off. Mr. A. took with him a Russian officer, whose history is curious. At the age of 18 he was captured by the Persians. He was saved, and for over 20 years he served as a eunuch in the harem of one of the Shah's sons. He talked about his misfortune, about his stay in Persia with touching innocence. Physiologically, his testimony was precious. We came to the house of Osman Pasha; we were ushered into an open room, very neatly, even tastefully decorated - inscriptions taken from the Koran were inscribed on the colored windows. One of them struck me as very intricate for a Muslim harem: it befits you to bind and untie. They brought us coffee in cups set in silver. An old man with a respectable white beard, the father of Osman Pasha, came on behalf of the wives to thank Count Paskevich, but Mr. in the absence of a spouse, everyone is happy. As soon as the Persian prisoner had time to translate all this, the old man, as a sign of indignation, clicked his tongue and announced that he could not agree to our demand, and that if the Pasha, upon his return, found out that other men had seen his wives, then he too, the old man, and orders all the servants of the harem to cut off their heads. The ministers, among whom there was not a single eunuch, confirmed the old man's words, but Mr. A. was unshakable. "You are afraid of your pasha," he told them, "and I am my seraskir and I dare not disobey his orders." There was nothing to do. We were led through a garden where two skinny fountains gushed. We approached a small stone building. The old man stood between us and the door, carefully unlocked it, not letting go of the latch, and we saw a woman, covered from head to yellow shoes with a white veil. Our translator repeated the question to her: we heard the mumble of a seventy-year old woman; Mr. A. interrupted her: "This is the pasha's mother," he said, "and I have been sent to the wives, bring one of them"; everyone was amazed at the guess of the giaurs: the old woman left and a minute later returned with a woman covered in the same way as she was, - from under the cover came a pleasant young voice. She thanked the count for his attention to poor widows and praised the way the Russians were treated. Mr. A. had the skill to enter into further conversation with her. Meanwhile, looking around me, I suddenly saw a round window just above the door and in this round window five or six round heads with curious black eyes. I was about to inform Mr. A. about my discovery, but the heads nodded, blinked, and several fingers began to threaten me, letting me know that I should be silent. I obeyed and did not share my find. They were all pleasant faces, but there was not a single beauty; the one who talked at the door with Mr. A. was probably the mistress of the harem, the treasury of hearts, the rose of love — at least that's what I imagined. Finally, Mr. A. stopped his inquiries. The door closed. The faces in the window disappeared. We looked around the garden and the house and returned very pleased with our embassy. Thus, I saw a harem: a rare European succeeded. Here is the basis for an oriental romance. The war seemed over. I was going on my way back. On July 14 I went to the public bath and was not happy with life. I cursed the uncleanness of the sheets, the bad servant, and so on. How can one compare the baths of Arzrum with those of Tiflis! Returning to the palace, I learned from Konovnitsyna , who was on guard that a plague opened in Arzrum. The horrors of quarantine immediately presented itself to me, and on the same day I decided to leave the army. The thought of the presence of the plague is very unpleasant from habit. Wanting to blot out this impression, I went for a walk around the bazaar. Stopping in front of the gunsmith's shop, I began to examine a dagger, when suddenly someone hit me on the shoulder. I looked around: behind me was a terrible beggar. He was pale as death; tears flowed from his red, festering eyes. The thought of the plague flashed through my mind again. I pushed the beggar away with an inexplicable feeling of disgust and returned home very unhappy with my walk. Curiosity, however, prevailed; the next day I went with the doctor to the camp where the plague victims were. I did not dismount and took the precaution of standing downwind. A patient was taken out of the tent; he was extremely pale and staggered like a drunkard. Another patient lay unconscious. After examining the plague man and promising the unfortunate man a speedy recovery, I noticed two Turks who were taking him out by the arms, undressing him, feeling him, as if the plague was nothing more than a runny nose. I confess that I was ashamed of my European timidity in the presence of such indifference and quickly returned to the city. On July 19, when I came to say goodbye to Count Paskevich, I found him greatly distressed. The sad news was received that General Burtsov was killed near Bayburt. It was a pity for the brave Burtsov, but this incident could have been disastrous for our entire small army, which went deep into a foreign land and was surrounded by hostile peoples who were ready to rebel at the rumor of the first failure. So the war was resumed! The count invited me to witness further undertakings. But I was in a hurry to Russia ... The Count gave me a Turkish saber as a souvenir. It is kept by me as a monument of my wandering following the brilliant hero through the conquered deserts of Armenia. On the same day I left Arzrum. I drove back to Tiflis along the road already familiar to me. Places, until recently revived by the presence of 15,000 troops, were silent and sad. I moved over to Sagan-lu and could hardly recognize the place where our camp was. I passed a three-day quarantine in Gumry. Again I saw Bezobdal and left the elevated plains of cold Armenia for sultry Georgia. I arrived in Tiflis on the 1st of August. Here I stayed for several days in a kind and cheerful company. I spent several evenings in the gardens with the sound of Georgian music and songs. I went further. My crossing over the mountains was remarkable for me in that a storm caught me near Kobe at night. In the morning, passing by Kazbek, I saw a wonderful sight. White dangling clouds were pulled over the top of the mountain, and secluded monastery , illuminated by the rays of the sun, seemed to float in the air, carried by the clouds. Mad Balka also appeared to me in all its grandeur: the ravine, filled with rainwater, surpassed in its ferocity the Terek itself, which immediately roared menacingly. The banks were torn to pieces; huge stones were displaced and blocked the stream. Many Ossetians worked out the road. I crossed safely. Finally I drove out of the narrow gorge into the expanse of the wide plains of Great Kabarda. I found in Vladikavkaz Dorokhova and Pushchina. Both went to the waters to be treated for the wounds they received on their current campaigns. I found Russian magazines on the desk at Pushchin's. , was an analysis of one of my compositions. In it, they scolded me and my poems in every possible way. I began to read it aloud. Pushchin stopped me, demanding that I read with great mimicry. You need to know that the analysis was embellished with the usual undertakings of our criticism: it was a conversation between the clerk, the pastry shop and the proof-reader of the printing house, the Sanity of this little comedy. Pushchin's demand seemed so amusing to me that the annoyance caused by reading the magazine article completely disappeared, and we burst out laughing from the bottom of our hearts. This was my first greeting in my dear fatherland.Notes (edit)
(S.M. Petrov)
Travel to Arzrum during the 1829 campaign
(P. 412)
In 1829, Pushkin traveled to Transcaucasia and was in the Russian army of Paskevich, which acted against Turkey, the war with which began in 1828. During the war, the Russian army captured a significant territory in the northeastern part of Turkey, including the ancient Armenian fortress city Arzrum (Erzurum). During the trip, Pushkin kept travel notes that formed the basis of the essays. In 1830, an excerpt from these notes was published in the Literaturnaya Gazeta under the title "The Georgian Military Road". Completely "Journey to Arzrum" was written, apparently in 1835, published in "Sovremennik" in January 1836. Ermolov Alexey Petrovich (1772-1861) - Russian general, hero of the Patriotic War of 1812.Since 1816 - commander-in-chief in the Caucasus. In 1827 Ermolov was dismissed by Nicholas I and lived for the most part on his Oryol estate. ... a portrait painted by Dov.- Portrait of Ermolov by Dow from the Military Gallery in 1812 in the Winter Palace. ... words gr. Tolstoy- Count F. I. Tolstoy, nicknamed "American" (see about him in vol. 1, p. 575
).
... I found Count Pushkin.- V.A.Musin-Pushkin (1798-1854) was a member of the Northern Society of the Decembrists; after the suppression of the uprising, he was transferred from the guard to the army Petrovsky regiment. "Indomitable mares"- a quote from Ryleev's thought "Peter the Great in Ostrogozhsk" (1823). Shernval E. K. - Officer of the General Staff under Paskevich; brother of V. A. Musin-Pushkin's wife. "... a river thundering in the North."- In Derzhavin's ode "Waterfall"(1794) there are lines: And you, oh mother of waterfalls!
The river in the North is thundering. "And there is wine in goat skins, our delight!"- a verse from the third song of Homer's Iliad, translated by E. Kostrov. Count I. Pototsky - traveler, writer and historian, author of novels from Spanish life and a book in French "Travel in the steppes of Astrakhan" (Paris, 1829). "... supporting the sky."- In D. Davydov's poem "Half-Soldier" (1826) there are the following lines: He does not take his eyes off the Caucasus,
Where the sky supports
Kazbek is a pile of snow. They were waiting for the Persian prince.- The arrival in Russia of the Persian heir Khozrev Mirza was caused by an attack on the Russian embassy in Tehran on January 30, 1829, during which A.S. Griboyedov died. ... I was hoping to find Raevsky.- NN Raevsky Jr. commanded a cavalry brigade in Paskevich's army. "Soul recently born ..."- poems from the "Spring Song" by the Georgian poet Dimitri Tumanishvili (died in 1821). ... poor Clarence- English Duke George Clarence, drowned by his brother King Edward IV in a barrel of wine (1478). Count Samoilov N. A. (died in 1842) - officer, cousin of N. N. Raevsky. General Sipyagin Nikolai Martemyanovich (1785-1828) - military governor of Tiflis. General Strekalov S.S. (1782-1856) - military governor of Tiflis after the death of Sipyagin. Buturlin N.A. (1801-1867) - Adjutant of the Minister of War Count Chernyshev. General Burtsov I. G. (1794-1829) - Decembrist. After a year of imprisonment in the fortress in 1827, he was transferred to the Caucasus. Volkhovsky V.D. (1798-1841) - a friend of Pushkin's in the Lyceum, served in Paskevich's headquarters. Mikhail Pushchin(1800-1869) - brother of Pushkin's lyceum friend, exiled to the Caucasus as a soldier for participating in the Decembrist case. By the time Pushkin arrived, he was already an officer. "Heu! Fugaces, Posthum, Posthum ..."- a verse from the ode of the 14th Horace (Book II). "... the dog Armeniis in oris"- a verse from the 9th ode of Horace (book II). Semichev N.N. (1792-1830) - Decembrist; after six months of imprisonment in the fortress, he was transferred to the Caucasus. Pushkin himself took part in the battle described below (June 14, 1829). In the "History of military operations in Asian Turkey in 1828 and 1829." NI Ushakov says: “In a poetic impulse, he immediately jumped out of the headquarters, got on a horse and instantly found himself at the outposts. when Pushkin, inspired by the courage so characteristic of a recruit-soldier, seizing one of the killed Cossacks after a lance, rushed against the enemy horsemen "(St. Petersburg 1836, Part II, pp. 305-306). Osten-Sacken- Officer of the Nizhny Novgorod Dragoon Regiment. General Muravyov Nikolai Nikolaevich (1794-1866) - at that time the immediate superior of N.N. Raevsky. Simonic I.O. (died in 1850) - commander of the Georgian grenadier regiment. Anrep P. P. (died in 1830) - Commander of the Consolidated Uhlan Regiment. Yuzefovich Mikhail Vladimirovich (1802-1889) - Adjutant of N.N. Raevsky. He left memories of his meetings with Pushkin in the Caucasus. Haji Baba - character from the novel by the English writer Morier "The Adventures of Haji Baba Ispagansky" (1824-1828). This refers to the episode when the Persian ambassador, passing through Arzrum, caught the runner who had robbed him and demanded that his ears be cut off. The servants deceived the ambassador and served veal instead of human ears. Turnfor J.-P. (1656-1708) - French botanist and traveler, author of the book "A report on the voyage to the East". Amin-Oglu- a fictional person; poems were written by Pushkin. Sukhorukov V.D. (1795-1841) - officer, was close to the Decembrists; collected materials on the history of the Don Cossack army. Bey-Bulat- the head of the rebellious mountain tribes in the Caucasus. In 1829 he went over to the side of the Russians. Konovnitsyn P.P. (1803-1830) - Decembrist, was demoted to the ranks and sent to the Caucasus. In 1828 he was promoted to junior officer. Secluded monastery- the old church Tsminda Sameba, also described in verse. "Monastery on Kazbek"
, 1829.
Dorokhov R. I. (died in 1852) - in 1820 he was demoted to the soldier "for riot" and a duel. In 1829 he was promoted to officer for bravery. A poem by Pushkin is dedicated to him "Happy are you in adorable fools"
, 1829.
The first article that came across to me- article by NI Nadezhdin in the "Bulletin of Europe", 1829, about "Poltava". 1)
Voyages to the East undertaken on behalf of the French government (French).
2)
One poet, remarkable for his imagination, in so many glorious deeds, which he witnessed, found a plot not for a poem, but for satire (French).
3)
Among the chiefs who commanded it (the army of Prince Paskevich) were General Muravyov ... Georgian Prince Chichevadze ... Armenian Prince Bebutov ... Prince Potemkin, General Raevsky and, finally, Mr. Pushkin ... who left the capital to sing the feats of his compatriots (French).
4)
with enthusiasm (Italian).
5)
... like a resting warrior in his battle cloak (English).
6)
for such great liberty (French).
7)
a charming Georgian maiden with a bright blush and fresh ardor, which is the case on the faces of the virgins of her country when they leave the Tiflis springs heated up. Lalla Rook (eng.).
8)
and great (Italian).
9)
You don't know these people yet: you will see that it comes to knives. (French).
10)
Alas, O Postumus, Postumus, the fleeting years rush by ... (lat.)
11)
..and the Armenian land, friend Valgius, is not covered with motionless ice all year round ... (lat.).
12)
Aren't you tired after yesterday? - A little bit, Mr. Count. - I'm sorry for you, because we have one more crossing to catch up with the pasha, and then we will have to pursue the enemy for another thirty miles (French).
13)
It was a man with a female breast, embryonic sex glands, and a small and childish organ. We asked him if he had been castrated. - God, he answered, castrated me (lat.).
14)
See what the Turks are ... you can never trust them (French).
15)
wineskin (French).