Читать бесплатно онлайн книгу  Ivan Moshkin, ataman Katorzhnoy. Under the auspices of the Roman Pope

автор Sergey Solovyov

Contents

Preface

This novel is about the extraordinary, but taking place adventures of a completely real person, Ivan Semenovich Moshkin. A challenging time in the mid-seventeenth century for Russia. The time of troubles ended only twenty years ago, a new Romanov dynasty was established on the royal throne. The young sagittarius is captured, and then on the Turkish galley. Seven years after a successful uprising, the young man is released, and with his comrades in misfortune returns home to the Russian kingdom. He was sent to Tula, where he was appointed ataman of the Cossacks in this fortress, which already seems incredible. All his wanderings, adventures, a feat of patience, courage and perseverance, were worthy and reflected in art much, much earlier. This man, without a doubt, is equal in strength and stamina, mind and courage to Stepan Razin, Emelyan Pugachev, Ivan Serko and others, truly national heroes of Russia. He managed to save people, bring home, convince the Roman Pontiff himself to give the former slaves a letter of protection, so that two huge countries of that time — the Holy Roman Empire, the Commonwealth, as well as many Italian possessions would freely let this detachment of Russian people through — about a hundred people. But in those days, tramps on the roads were simply hung without much sentiments and remorse! And the fact that people, simple very poor people wished to return home, brings down the myth of some unthinkable oppression of people in Russia at that time, in 1642. How long yesterday’s slaves who had not seen their native places had to love their land, Russia, in order to wish to leave Rome, where they were offered to stay forever. But, unfortunately, our hero, Ivan Moshkin, did not deserve a memorial plaque in his native cities, Tula and Kaluga, but he deserved a whole relation published in Rome, Italy, of the seventeenth century for his incredible courage.

Prologue

Ivan Semenovich Moshkin walked ahead of the Russian rati with his ertaul, with the city Cossacks from Tula. Before them, traveling, for six flights of arrows, horse-drawn Don Cossacks walked ten or twelve people, the soldiers took care of the enemies, the Polish army. The sovereign was led by the boyar Vasily Vasilyevich Buturlin, and his valiant soldiers were to unite with the Cossacks of Bogdan Khmelnitsky. It was already 7163 (1655), their regiment was marching to distant Lviv when the case near Smolensk ended, and the city again returned to the hand of the Russian tsar from godless Polish paws.

— Voivode orders to stand on a halt, — shouted to the messenger ataman, — Ivan Semenovich, rest, cook porridge!

— And then the case, — answered the seasoned warrior, habitually smoothing his mustache with his index finger, — Trofim, — he turned to Yesaul, — check everyone on the lists, and so that the horse dogs would not let their eyes off the horses! Fedor! — the chieftain turned to another Cossack, — put up guards, but don’t forget about secrets! There, according to more experienced service people, put that with pistols and reference squeaks, locks so that everyone has flint. Well, you know what our service is.

— I will do everything, Ivan Semenovich, I will not miss anything, — and Fedor rode off to dispose.

— With feed as, ataman? ‘asked the elderly petty officer, Evgraf Petrovic.

— For two weeks there is spelt and buckwheat, crackers for a week, bread wine is the same. You, Petrovich, do not give more than half a dog to the Cossacks, the main thing is that they do not suffer from bellies. You yourself know how it happens on hikes. Water, water check. Only in the stream take, do not bring the Lord from the lake or the river. How many of you and I have gone through these battles, more from the belly of our own died than in a saber battle.

— Yes, the chieftain, they came with you from Italy itself, no one died on the road.

— I hope for you, — and Moshkin tapped the old comrades on the shoulder.

“I’ll go.

Again the messenger rode on a hot horse, looking out for the initial people among the Cossacks. But now, I saw the chieftain among the Russian soldiers. The chieftain, eating porridge, laid down a wooden plate and removed the silver spoon, glancing at the messenger with displeasure.

“What’s in there?”

— Boyarin, governor Vasily Vasilyevich Buturlin calls you, Ivan Semenovich!

— This is the case, — and the chieftain famously threw his burnt body into the saddle, and trotted a pedigree stallion after the messenger.

Ataman Katorzhnoy drove past the boyar children who were boiling porridge with their military slaves. They behaved smartly, took care, albeit without armor, but were with sabers and pistols.

— Hello to you, Ivan Semenovich! shouted one slightly overweight landowner, in his forties.

— And to you, Luka Ilyich!

— Come to us, taste porridge, good came out!

— I’ll come in, but the boyar called! I hasten… — and Katorzhnoy drove on.

But here, and the rich tent of the boyar Vasily Vasilyevich, and on guard at the entrance are not just his military slaves, but Moscow residents in white caftans and with swan wings behind their backs, with pistols, with newfangled wheel locks, in iron hats and cuirasses.

— Please to Vasily Vasilyevich, expects, — said the boyar servant.

Ivan Semenovich nodded, dismounted, tied the horse to the harness, tried not to rush and keep his back straight, throwing back the canopy, entered the tent. There was no particular luxury in the boyar’s chambers, except for trophy shandals and a tapestry of French work taken in Smolensk. Well, Vasily Vasilyevich ate, of course, on silver, and not from a wooden plate. Moshkin did not break hats in front of the boyar, the chieftain himself, granted by the tsarist will, is now from the initial people.

— Sit down, chieftain. Taste the wine — and Buturlin, without repairing, poured into a silver bowl — Hungarian.

— Thank you, boyar, — and drank a third of the cup.

— And so, for you, — and put on the table something wrapped in a blank canvas.

Mokshin felt the viscous smell of honey, looked at the governor again, and smiled. Well, having opened exactly, I saw a printed gingerbread made of rye flour on honey and with ginger and anise. Favorite delicacy, yes memo about home native!

“Thank you,” Ivan Semenovich said cheerfully, “an extraordinary gift, boyar.” As if I got home.

— We are not far from Gusyatin already, there are no Polish patrols nearby, here, look at the map, — and the initial person laid out the drawing, — on the Zbruch river, and the bridges near the city are suitable, and the castle is not too strong. Try to take them as an outcast, so as not to waste time with us, but to keep up with the arrival of the Polish armies near Lviv. You went hiking more than once, served on the Zasechnaya line, is accustomed to military tricks.

— Order, governor, to give us rope ladders with iron hooks, and we will go to the city without rest. My Cossacks have replaceable horses, there are sixty miles left, we will reach quickly, without hesitation.

“And I’ll follow you, chieftain. I’ll catch you up in a day. Don’t worry, the local army will do soon. There and the Cossacks of Khmelnitsky will help you.

— If only they didn’t interfere, Vasily Vasilyevich. The hetman is very enthusiastic. Dangerous, and lying without measure.

Buturlin only darkened, remembering his embassy and the expectation of the Cossack Rada. How yulil, how Khmelnitsky dodged. And he himself told the sovereign that it would not be bad to put Ivan Serko as a great hetman, he is not angry, not lying and not addicted, but brave desperately and faithful without deception. But Alexei Mikhailovich did not want to interfere in the decisions of the Cossack foreman, but in vain, as time has shown.

— Okay, I will write to Khmelnitsky. Take your ertaul, and do not sack, chieftain.

Ivan Moshkin finished his wine, bowed, left the tent, and trotted the horse into his camp.

— Trofim Petrovich! Then let’s rest! We go as an outcast to Gusyatin, light. With our wagon train, you will leave twenty sensible Cossacks, and the rest on a hike! And now, taste the boyar hotel! — and held out a piece of gingerbread.

— Thank you, — immediately having bitten off half, the Cossack answered.

— Eat come on, otherwise again chew one porridge for a whole month.

— Such fate at us! In an hour we will speak!

— Trofim, appoint the Sentinels, so that ahead of us they would go no more than three flights of arrows!

Four hundred horsemen went into the night, following trampled roads. Squeaks and pistols were loaded, the Cossacks were waiting for a fight with the Poles. Scouts checked beams and ravines, but there was no enemy anywhere. Cossacks trotted, without rest, only changing clockwork horses. So they dozed in the saddles, but nothing, no one fell into the roadside ditches, the soldiers held firm.

But it was not in vain that the watch was sent, it was not in vain that the chieftain was so worried. The Poles are also military affairs, and not simply boasted… In the bushes Trofim and Gray noticed two dragoons, with squeaks at the ready, you can see it was an enemy patrol. Cossacks just looked at each other. The horses were left to Andreike as the youngest. They did not rust, did not give out their owners, only spun their ears, but pulled their muzzles to the horse breeder. He took out two crackers from the bag, sprinkled them with salt and treated his four-legged friends.

Trofim and Andrei sneaked around the bushes, and walked like forest cats — not a single dry bitch flinched, not a small bump crunched. Here it was impossible to make a mistake — the arkan was an indispensable weapon of the Cossack, and both steppe warriors owned it perfectly. Throwing — squeezed scream — and in the mouth of dragoons instead of German sausage, strong fingers stick old rags, and hands behind their backs are knitted with hemp ropes. The day ended well! Loot, horses, weapons and a couple of prisoners. Both were put on the saddle alone and horses and tied tightly with belts.

The prisoners were taken to the chieftain, who knew the Polish language too. Dragun put the ground and Katorzhnaya, wrapping his hat, holding his hands behind his back, not releasing the whip, slowly walked around the Poles.

— Well, what? Who is the castellan of the castle? Where else are the patrols hidden?

The prisoners kept quiet, but looked at the Russians proudly, not lowering their eyes.

“I don’t want to, but I’ll hang you. Do not seek, since so.

The answer again was silence. Ivan Semenovich nodded to Trofim and Andrei, and the Cossacks dragged the dragoons to the nearest tree. Caftans and boots and hats were stolen — why in vain is it good to disappear. But, the soldiers were stubborn, they did not want to speak, but the Cossacks were also not disposed to spare enemies — and soon two bodies with bare feet swayed on strong ropes.

— Well done Trofim, check if you can find anyone else, — the chieftain ordered in a deaf evil voice.

— Understood, Ivan Semenovich!

Cossacks scattered in front, checking hollows and ravines, bushes and thickets, as usual, as if during the search for the Crimean Tatars. Six more dragoons were slaughtered, but no one else was found on the outskirts of the town.

By dawn they approached Gusyatin, Ivan Semenovich looked into the pipe taken from the battle from the Poles. The castle was small, on a hill, and covered the bridge over the Zbruch River.

But then those who were not expected jumped back, they did not expect. In front of the ataman stood three Cossacks, in picturesque bright clothes. Who is in a caftan made of Turkish fabric, who is in a simple, cloth. But everyone has hats with hats, and everyone has Tatar sabers, with pistols on their belts. Their esaul stood imposingly in front of the ataman Katorzhny, put his hands behind his back, played with a whip.

— Zdrav budi, voivode. So Bogdan asked to say that he was talking with Captain Olshevsky, that he would have surrendered the castle. That’s our business.

“So Rada swore to Tsar and Tsar Alexei Mikhailovich to be at the same time. And hetman Bogdan Khmelnitsky too. And I am the chieftain of the boyar regiment of governor Vasily Vasilyevich Buturlin, and I was ordered to capture Gusyatin according to the sovereign’s word. And not the governor, but the chieftain Ivan Semenovich Katorzhnoy, with me four hundred Don Cossacks.

— Heard about you, I — Yesaul Demyan Golovnya, — and the Cossack looked at each other with smiling comrades, — Ivan Semenovich himself granted. Do not go to the city, bit the hetman, it will be bad.

— I would look for where everything is fine, — Moshkin smiled, — I would serve the pope myself in Rome. Esaul, raise hundreds! Let’s go fast!

Ertaul went on a trot, the Cossacks dismounted in front of the fortress for two shots from squeaking, the horse breeders took their horses away. Ataman saw the Cossacks putting four of their small guns in front of the castle.

— Here, you see, Trofim Anikeevich, — said Katorzhnoy, — and the Cossacks will help us. Expose the squeakers, cover us, instantly turn around here. And I will climb the walls with the Cossacks.

Ataman began to habitually charge his two pistols, removing them by the belt, and cheerfully looked at the initial people.

— Be careful, Ivan Semenovich. At the walls, it’s your business to command people, not to wave your saber.

— Nothing, — answered Katorzhnaya, — I’m not old yet…

But here, the Cossacks ran to the wall with shouts, throwing up hooks from the stairs, and pulling the rope shoots to the walls. From above, the Poles blurted out from the squeaks, but not densely, and out of place, so that they did not hit any of the Russians. The arrows of the Cossacks beat solid and accurately, the cries of the wounded were heard on the syenas. Moshkin turned around, looking at the rows of Cossacks with cannons, and was the first to climb up to the wall, holding his Turkish saber in his right hand. He heard the guns of the Cossacks blurted out, having time to think for the last time, who were they aiming at?

Sovereign Service

Young Sagittarius

“Well done, we have a son,” Semyon Petrovich said to his mother, who only wiped her eyes with a handkerchief. — Yes, you do not twist, not sent to the spot, but in the fortress. I must rejoice. Here, a real sagittarius! ‘and patted his son on the shoulder.

Earlier, ten years ago, the Moshkin family lived in Kaluga, and Ivan was born there. But then my father was sent to serve in the Tula fortress, and the family went here. So they served here now. The place was not bad, and the feed of the sovereign went more, so there was no need to complain.

Ivan Moshkin looked at his new outfit — his mother and father, Eupraxia Kuzminichna and Semyon Petrovich, did it for the second son, who was just turned to the tsar’s service.

The first, Kuzma, was selected for a special position in the Stremyannaya regiment, and now served under Tsar Mikhail Fedorovich, in Moscow itself. And now the young man was torn away from the family, but his mother and father were very happy for the elder. Two more sons, Ustyan and Vasily, grew up, and his father taught everyone in the same way as his father, Pyotr Semenovich, taught him the mind. Everyone studied fire fighting, sabers, spear and berdysh to be controlled.

So all the clothes of the shooter — a caftan made of rough gray cloth, boots, a hat, a belt were with him Vanya especially stuck to an old saber. His father, Semyon Petrovich, from the age of ten taught him to own an old grandfather’s blade. Now Ivan perfectly held his weapon in his hands. The father also trained to shoot, however, from a hunting squeak. But the young sagittarius did not give a mistake one hundred steps, and was turned into the sagittarius order of the city of Tula.

“Here, now Ivan Moshkin is on our order,” approved the young warrior foreman, Afanasy Petrovich Dulyov, “a reference sagittarius,” he said, looking at his clothes and saber, “but to you, and from the treasury,” he put a squeak in front of him, a sum for cartridges, a stand. Now read the oath, go to the gospel, and sign the book.

Pop Terenty read a prayer, he, and two other new archers, gave him a kiss of the cross. The head, Tikhon Ilyich, put a book in front of them and indicated where to sign. Everyone knew how to read and write, so everyone put their name and nickname.

— Well, now the foremen will see how you are fit for service.

All three took beeping on their shoulders, and went into the courtyard, to a place upholstered in thick boards. Here stood thick poles dug into the ground, ten in number.

— Here, Ivan, Peter and Pavel, charge the squeaks, but on my command — “Pali” shoot at the poles, they will seem like Poles for you.

He came up and marked three poles with chalk. The young men began to charge. First of all, Moshkin examined the castle. Although old, wick, but whole, not broken, good work. He checked the hole at the lock with a pickaxe, cleaned the barrel with a ramrod for order, scored gunpowder from a cartridge, a wad and a bullet, and put a squeak to his leg, and lit a wick on the lock. Peter was also ready, Paul was a little worried, and so that the hat fell from his head.

— Apply! — ordered the foreman, looking at the novikov.

Sagittarius put beeping for deliveries, took a long time to aim. Ivan’s two fingers lay on the launch pad, the smell of a smoldering wick blew into his face.

— Fall!

Moshkin did not immediately hastily press the brace, but looked to ensure that the barrel was accurately aimed at the target, but his ears were already a little deaf from two shots, but now he fired. The poles were not visible in the powder smoke. Ivan put a squeak to his leg, trunk up. Desyatnik Dulyov approached the poles, and chalked the hits. Then he came back.

— Well, then? Ivan Moshkin hit the very middle of his target, Pyotr Avdusin missed, Pavel Noskov hit the edge of a thin log, knocking out thick chips with a bullet. But you are all great, you know the fiery teaching well. You own sabers, yesterday I checked all three, — Dulev expressed himself vividly, — so you will be in line to serve in the orders, or warehouses of the sovereign.

So the young sagittarius began to pull the strap of the servant, and with the eldest, foreman Dulyov, he arrived to guard the warehouses with grain.

The elder led the soldiers to inspect the royal property entrusted to them by service. Solid, tightly knocked down log houses, covered not with straw, but with shingles, well-groomed, with small windows covered with shutters. Doors, oak, made of thick boards, reinforced with strip iron. Everything was strong and fine.

— Look, Ivan, here, barrels of water, buckets of leather and crimson and stairs, if any room suddenly lights up.

— I understood, — the young man noticed, remembering what was said, — we will cope.

— Here is a guard where you can eat, and relax when the turn comes, — and the foreman pointed to a small hut, — the first are Ivan and Peter. Eat for now.

Sagittarius got bread from the collapse, half an onion, and smoked fish. All this is controversial on healthy and young teeth. So the dinner did not take much time, and the servicemen began to serve.

Moshkin rinsed his hands, wiped them with rags, and taking a squeak on his shoulder, took a place next to the gate of the warehouse. Light rain began, draining little by little. The drops did not interfere, only the sagittarius did not sack, covered the castle with burlap.

“What to do,” whispered the service.

It is boring, of course, to go around long barns at night, whose log cabins were illuminated by lanterns hanging in the corners. But they could not disperse the darkness, they just pointed to the buildings. The rain continued, flashes of lightning began to cut through the sky, Ivan crossed himself, just in case. The rain poured more and more, the rumble was heard more and more, lightning often hit not far. Sagittarius did not have time to count to two — he heard thunder, and after two counts lightning sparkled. It hit very close, it even went deaf. And then he noticed that he had a heavenly fire on fire — shingles broke out on the roof. Moshkin with all his feet, dispersing the spray from wet grass, ran to the beat, and began to sober up, raising the guard. Then, he ran after the stairs and crowbar, moved it, and with difficulty holding on to the steps, began to break out the burning shingle and threw it on the ground, then poured a fire under the roof, pouring out one leather bucket of water after one. In a hurry, he did not notice that he burned his hands, tried that his fingers were squeezing as they should, and with pleasure lowered his palms into a barrel of cold water.

Here, rattling with shovels, bugs and crowbars, comrades led by Dulev came running.

— Everything paid off, Afanasy Petrovich! Moshkin shouted.

— Well, that’s all, not all… Now we will bypass everything, but we will check the honor by honor. Antip, Prokhor! You two fix the roof!

“It’s clear,” the hosane Prokhor nodded, “it’s clear. We’ll fix everything.

— Well done, Vanya. But especially keep quiet about our affairs among the household, you yourself understand, — the foreman began from afar, — the authorities will not praise that the barn caught fire at all. But I will not forget your skill, do not think.

“I understand,” Moshkin nodded.

— That’s right, — Dulev smiled, — it’s time for you to rest. Let’s go.

After that day, the Streltsy service went even better. For his efforts, they gave him two altyn money, and cloth for a caftan. The young man did not know that he had reported the foreman to his head, and kept his mouth shut.

The head, Tikhon Ilyich Trubchev, was pleased with the young warrior, and often put on guard to help the collars of the Tula Kremlin. The time was autumn, but not to stand in the rain, and it was pleasant for Ivan to serve among experienced soldiers.

Sagittarius on the serif line

They were replaced by another foreman, Luka Ryzhov, shortly after dawn. Afanasy Petrovich led Ryzhov to the barns, to surrender the guard. Everything was clean in the gatehouse, and the archers talked with their comrades, only a few looked at Moshkin’s bandaged hand.

— What is it, are you Ivan? Korney Tsybin, an experienced sagittarius from Ryzhov’s people, asked him.

— Burned in the stove. It happens, — the young man smiled.

— Nothing, it’s young. It will heal.

Finally, happy Ivan walked along the path to his native settlement. On the outskirts I met a shepherd, a cheerful Porfiry, already whistling on his indispensable pipe, and his dog, Polkan, was spinning nearby. Cheerful then cheerful, but with a whip controlled — directly passion, the gadfly knocked down a cow from the back, without spoiling the skin.

Father, Semen Petrovich, diligently pretended to be busy with a very important matter — picking the ground with a wooden shovel. I noticed and mat- she just sat on a bench, but went through the wool, cleaning out thorns and grass. There were already many soft and combed fibers in the basket. Vanya added a step, proudly walking with a squeak on his shoulder, two brothers, Ustyan and Vasily, jumped out to meet him, quickly grabbing the elder under his elbows, and dragged him into the house.

— What is it? just cried her mother, Eupraxia Kuzminichna.

— Everything is fine, mother, — Semyon Petrovich smiled, and put a shovel at the gate, — let’s go, we’ll eat ourselves, but we’ll feed Vanka, — come Ivan, put your reservation, my hands and sit at the table.

The mistress of the house overtook the family, and when the men decorously sat down at the table on two benches, facing each other. On the table was a tray of rye pies, warm and smelling incredible. The dishes were also rich, Bukhara, in green enamel, with a wonderful pattern. Then my father bought at the auction, spared no money for a curiosity. As if by itself, a large zhban with cold kvass and wooden buckets for drinking appeared. The servicemen lived well, the windows were taken away with wooden grilles with small pieces of multi-colored glass, others let light through pieces of mica in wooden bindings.

Mugs, too, for this occasion, Eupraxia took out rich, covered with blue water, also Khiva work. And, the mother sat her son down, put in a treat, watched everything — was he tired?

“All is well, mother,” said the matured son.

— Sit down mother, you sing yourself… Everything is fine, that’s how good our Ivan is. Here, look at your older brother, Ustyan and Vasily, how to serve. And there it’s time for Vanya to get married.

Ivan blushed, buried himself in a plate, fiercely began to cake with onions and eggs.

— Eat, Vanechka, — said the mother, laying a treat to her son.

— Nothing, next year we will set up a house for him, he gave his head a place in the wasteland, let’s build, — the satisfied father expected everything, — yes, there are brides, from good families — Avdotya is the daughter of Korney Fedorovich or Praskovya, the daughter of Erofei Vasilyevich. On Sunday, in church, at the service and look at them..

— Yes, too early, father, — Vanyushka doubted, — maybe later? Just serving started and getting married? I haven’t thought about getting married yet.

“But I thought about it. It’s time already.

Ivan fell silent, not wanting to argue with his father in vain, and he did not want to go against his will, he had to talk to his acquaintance, Maryushka. Everything was unclear there. She was a merchant’s daughter, not that Gavrila Alekseevich would be very rich, but nevertheless, the yard will be sick of them, Moshkinsky will be. And who is he so far? Only for the service is turned, and the salary is small, three rubles fifty kopecks a year, and the truth is also bread — eight quarters (a quarter to six pounds) of rye, and even barley, and still oats.

Master lock cases

After lunch, having rested, as it should, Ivan took a screwdriver and an oiler, set about his squeak. He turned away and greased the lock, put the parts in place, making sure that the trigger with the wick went gently and smoothly, then rubbed the trunk, forend and butt lovingly with a rags. It was possible to put in place.

— Ivan? Finished? Let’s go and dig up the garden, “said the father.

The young man nodded. He changed clothes, dressed simpler clothes, took a hoe and a spade. You can’t pick the ground with a shovel — it’s wooden, and you need a hoe first. As usual, the two of them first broke solid clods with hoes, and then turned over the rebellious soil with shovels. The hand almost did not hurt, and worked sporingly, but not in a hurry. An hour later, the job was done, and the ridge under the cabbage was ready. Both, father and son, washed the instrument in a barrel of water, and then, Simen Petrovich himself carefully laid everything in the barn. Here stood his pride — a strong and durable workbench made of thick boards, and a perfectly worked vice made of good iron. In addition to service, my father earned good money in the locksmith part — he repaired locks, or even made complex constipation himself, got along with the keys instead of the lost ones.

Fixed and firearms

Ivan was handy, in his father. and the two of them got down to business, and the two boys looked closely, they were trusted while things were easier, so that they themselves would not hurt themselves, and would not break anything due to his oversight.

— Here Vanya, well done, support the spring, I’ll rivet now, and everything will be ready…

— Now, — and the young man intercepted small pliers, and the father pulled the spring into a thin plate.

Then, heating the part to red, riveted, and the lock was ready. It was a big, tricky lock at the door, with a few springs, just the pride of a skilled craftsman. First you had to click on two places in the cunning pattern, and only then the key could open the latch of the constipation. The merchant Fyodor Konyukhin promised as much as ten rubles for the work, but the work was worth it. They spent almost a month working on this beautiful thing. Outside it was an iron patterned door, very beautiful, made for a stone basement with expensive goods.

“They worked well, father,” Ivan said proudly, admiring the delicate work.

— Not bad. Now let’s take our brainchild to the merchant Fyodor Romanovich. I’ll go and cook the cart.

Ustyan and Vasily, the youngest sons, kept their horse, Ogonyok, under the bridle, and Semyon Petrovich and Ivan busily and carefully laid the iron door on the straw in the cart. Corrected everything better, got bogged down. A hammer with two crowbars was also put in the wagon to hang an expensive contraption on the hinges. Vaska ran to open the gates, and managed to hold the dog, grabbing its ear.

— Hey, Druzhok, where are you going? — he reprimanded the hefty dog, — now everyone will return, — and dragged a four-legged friend who no longer rested to his booth.

The dog was good, in vain Druzhok did not bark, but he guarded well, however, he did not like to be alone, he howled terribly when the family went to listen to the service at church.

The youngest son led the horse under the bridle, the wagon slowly rolled along the road, sometimes the cart was shaken on bumps, so Semyon held on to the edge, afraid that the fruit of hard work would fall on the road. At the merchant’s gate stood a worker playing a horn. Naigrysh was not new, but pleasant, so Ivan even listened. But my father interrupted the efforts of the new David, in this pastoral, and shouted:

— Open it! We brought the lock and door to Fyodor Romanovich Kanyushkin. Report to the house.

— He waited, looked at all his eyes, — and began to open the gate, creaking in poorly lubricated loops.

The gates were coordinated conscientiously, Vanya looked at the beautiful and palm thread — lions and unicorns on oak boards. And everything was done smoothly and beautifully, strictly on the same line. The pillars were decorated with a grass pattern, and painted with red and blue paint. Ustyan started the wagon, the merchant went down the stairs, and immediately almost ran up to the luxurious thing. Semyon and Ivan set the door to the basement.

— Zelo is wonderfully executed, craftsman, — and handed over a suede wallet, — now I will open the doors to the underground. Anfim, shine!

The yard hastily brought an oil lantern, and when, angry, the merchant Kanyushkin flooded his feet, he brought two more. Semyon Petrovich nodded his head. So there is enough light.

— Ivan, come on belts. Look who are good and strong.

The son stretched out thick rawhide belts, and hooting for order, the masters of Moshkina began to descend a steep stone staircase. The owner of the house shone ahead, the hardworking Anfim with two lamps closed the procession. Father and son put the door against the wall, next to the opening, Vanya ran for the tool. The iron cloth was placed on a stone, and deftly dressed in loops. The door fit tightly to the forged jamb, Semyon was pleased.

— Let everyone leave, Fedor Romanovich, I have to show how the castle opens. Ivan, leave us.

“Anfim, go away,” the merchant ordered.

Both went upstairs, the servant looked back, but Ivan helped him up, pulling his hand.

— Let’s go, not a trace to look, — said the young craftsman sternly.

— What is there, what kind of witchcraft?

— Cunning skill, — Ivan sentenced, — not knowing, the door cannot be opened.

“Do you know?” — the yard archer urged, — I suppose your father didn’t tell you either?

Moshkin Jr. did not say a word, only famously moved his hat to his right ear. What is there to say? Dad will now show the merchants what and how, and they will close the door with beams so that no one can remove it from the hinges. And so it happened, the work was done, and the merchant brought the icon to the persuaded, Semyon kissed her, crossed himself, and said:

— I won’t tell anyone, Fyodor Romanovich, here you have a holy cross!

— The Lord is with you, Semyon Petrovich, — and the merchant bowed back, — Eat, on the path?

It was impossible to refuse, and three workers sat down at a rich merchant’s table. Raznosol brought a daughter, Elena Fedorovna. Ivan saw her in the church more than once with his father. The merchant family stood not far from the altar in an honorable place, because the temple was erected by the father of the merchant Kanyushkin, Roman Prokhorovich, without sparing the treasury on a stone building. And the good master put, Kuzma Skinny, a student of Peter the Small, Fryazin.

Beautiful was a girl, a merchant’s daughter, yes stately. Her father did not spare silver for outfits — from Persian silk sundress, ashtray also from silk, everything is dark blue bright, a shirt of a Dutch canvas, a brocade headband, goat skin shoes.

But Ivan was surprised that her prigey, densely whitened face with blush on her cheeks, blackened eyebrows, so often turned to him. And the beauty even quietly told him:

— I baked pies myself…

There has long been a rich merchant for widows. Beloved wife Ulyana Yurievna died of consumption, leaving her daughter in the care of her husband. Fedor Romanovich spoke quietly with Semyon, having time to eat, then they hit his hands, apparently, having agreed.

Ivan himself looked at the prigozhny girl, but did not stare, did not break his eyes. He also looked around the mountain, richly furnished, with an Italian locker, carved chests, and a cunning table with many boxes, apparently, of Venetian work.

The pies were indeed rich, made of wheat sown flour. Such they rarely ate at home, although rye bread was enough. But now, they ate, and the guests bowed decorously, thanks to the owners for the treat.

— Come on, it’s time and honor to know.

— Thank you for your work, Semyon Petrovich, and see, your son will also be a good craftsman.

Elena Fedorovna whispered something to the old cradle, she hastily nodded her head, and the old wrinkled face lit up with a smile. Ivan did not pay attention, or pretended not to.

The moshkins rode home on a cart, and Ivan kept a small basket, which Elena managed to put into his hands at the gate,

— A prigozhaya girl, — Semyon Petrovich uttered thoughtfully, — one heiress, one joy at Fyodor Romanovich. The rest of the children and his wife were taken from him by a reckless woman. So the merchant Kanyukhin was unlucky. Neither conspiracies helped, nor the prayers of Priest Arkady, nor grass. The Lord left only one Elena to comfort the merchant, to see, for zeal in the faith of his father, with the construction of the church. And so, you see, we are returning with a lot of money, we earned ten rubles, — the master rejoiced, — here you, Ustyan and Vasily are ten kopecks, — and counted two dozen silver scales — money.

— Thank you, father, — only the boy could answer.

— So you will understand why mastery to master. And the most good, and silver in Moshna rings.

— Yes, we are in the service of the sovereign? Ivan said.

— Right. Only we are not in great ranks, and our salary is also not great, — said Semyon Petrovich, — and now for five rubles we will put you a new hut, you see, and cover the roof with shingles. Near our estate. And it will be no worse than others that you could marry, and lived no worse than others, with your home! — lead away Semyon Petrovich.

Ivan and not Tsarevich, and Elena Fedorovna Beautiful

Towards evening, when all the household had time to eat, Ustyan heard a quiet knock on the gate, as if they were knocking on it with a small stick. Quietly so, and then two more times. The boy ran up, listened again, but asked how his mother and father taught:

— Who granted? he said deliberately.

— So grandma Lukerya it. Will you open it to me, or what? I’m not Baba Yaga, I won’t eat you, good fellow. And if you open it, here’s a lollipop for you.

Ustyan, of course, was impressed by the cockerel on a stick, and the boy rightly reasoned that an evil person would not scatter lollipops. And he quickly convinced himself that nothing bad would happen, especially since the dog was guarding the house in the booth. And he opened the wooden shutter.

— Here, take it, — and a dry hand stretched out the hotel, — and call Ivan, here, and money to you, — and for sure, the small coin seemed to lie in the palm of your hand.

Ustyan nodded, and the arrow rushed after his brother, and soon dragged his hand to the wicket.

“There he is,” the boy whispered to his grandmother.

Ivan just did not understand why Lukerya came to them? But to say that to an old woman is to offend. He slowly went closer, and bent down:

“What’s wrong, grandma?” How to help? Or our work turned out to be bad, Fedor Romanovich is grinning?

— It is satisfied, the key on a belt hung, walks, rejoices. Everything goes down to the basement, looks at the iron door. That’s not why I’m here… Here, a letter to you. Read it with me.

Ivan unfolded the message, written in lead pencil. Only a few lines:

Hello, Ivan!

Whether it’s bad or not, what I wrote to you is my business. Should have. Even in the church I noticed you a year ago, and now I have decided. Cute or not, unsubscribe without hiding. Elena

Lukerya rested with both hands on the staff, and sighed and waited.

“Did you read it?” Write an answer. And then I can’t run back and forth endlessly, the old one hurts, and I held out a pencil.

— At least you need to think…

— Do not answer with your mind, but with your heart. Write, there is no time, — the grandmother was robbed.

Hello Light Elena for many years!

And you are sweet to me and to my heart. Yes, I am much poorer, I would not want to become objectionable to your father. Ivan

The young man rolled up the message and gave it to his grandmother. He wrote, and did not know where to put his hands. And so bad, and so it turned out even worse.

“My heart will be at church service tomorrow Sunday. You must come, loach. And you will offend my berry, like God holy, I leave you with my stick, I pull out my arms and legs.

Ivan hastily nodded, straightening the caftan, and then his hands seemed to open the shirt gates themselves. Who can get hunting with a stick and remain without arms and legs?

— Goodbye, grandmother, — and the young man was not too lazy to bow to a low dear guest.

— Nothing, everything is sweet, — and Lukerya at parting finely crossed the young archer, — if anything, which of the brothers you will send.

Ivan closed the gate, and quietly, in small steps, went home. At the door, on the bench, the Ustyan brothers were sitting with Vasily, enthusiastically engaged in a sweet hotel. The golden cockerel was just melting before our eyes.

“We don’t have a word, Van,” Ustyan promised as an adult. Vasya diligently frowned at his bright eyebrows, and nodded, imitating his father.

The young man nodded, corrected the whirlwinds and slowly, decorously, climbed up the seedling, opened the door and sighed again. In the room, the mother put things in order, knocked on wooden plates and spoons.

— What is not so cheerful? “she said, approaching her son,” or tired?”

“It’s all right, Mother. I’ll go.

“And that’s right. Write it off. And then on Monday again to the service.

Ivan entered his part of the house, and only shook his head. The mother herself is accustomed to military affairs, she knows when it is her son’s turn to appear in the Order. He sat down, began to undress, kept thinking about today, about Elena. And how did it work out? Why did you suddenly like the streletsky son of a merchant daughter? Okay, tomorrow it will be seen whether she laughed at him, or really wants to see him.

***

Sunday day, everyone got up early, especially Eupraxia Kuzminichna, cooked porridge and jelly for a considerable family. Soon everyone gathered. On the table are bread, porridge, jelly on dried raspberries, and boiled chicken eggs. Semyon Petrovich proudly looked at the meal — they live well, better than many. He read the prayer, and everyone sat down at the table, cheerfully pounded with spoons.

Sunday service is like a holiday and everyone dressed for the best. tried to surprise the neighbors. Eupraxia took out renovations from chests and barks, her husband, children and herself. Laying out her clothes, she whispered under her breath:

— why? We live better than others, there is nothing to anger God. And only one little child died, — and she crossed herself, — otherwise the won, the merchant Kanyushkin, would burst from silver, and God read, took the whole family, only left her daughter in consolation, — and sighed sadly.

Finally, I laid out outfits for everyone. Everyone found caftans made of good cloth, Semyon Petrovich even cornflower blue, Van burgundy, Vasya da Ustyan are also good, but gray. All good is still from Polish booty, as Semyon walked at the hand of Kuzma Minin, and he was tarovat to military people. And she herself also has something to wear — and good shoes, and a sundress and a slap in the face of good cloth, raspberry color. Neighbors, Marya da Katya, looked at these updates. Where else do you go besides the temple? And after the service, you can talk with other hostesses, at least you will find out what is being done in the world.

We left the house decorously, leaving our Friend to guard the master’s yard. Semyon Petrovich and Eupraxia Kuzminichnaya marched ahead, and their three sons followed them, Ivan looked after the younger ones so that all the dust would not be found on the road. And you had to go under your feet to look, the cows were kept in every house, and the pastures were outside the city. Nearby, other families walked in front and behind, each dressed in the best dress, so as not to hit the face in front of others.

So they approached the church fence. For the sake of this day, the church headman, Timofey Feoktistovich, dressed simply and deliberately strictly. His assistant in the church held honorable places for the merchant Kanyushkin and his daughter, the streltsy’s head. clerks with families.

Ordinary people became close to their household and acquaintances. The Moshkins also got up, but the place was not bad, everything was visible. Men, of course, were without hats, women in strict headscarves. But here, the Streletsky head Tulupov walked, with his wife and two daughters, clerks with his household, and Fyodor Romanovich with his daughter Elena Fedorovna and certainly bent Lukerya stood behind them.

Ivan looked only at Elena. She was dressed richly, but in clothes of dark colors, on her head was a beautiful scarf, perhaps made of velvet. Now, without blush and whitening, she seemed even more beautiful than the day before. A very cute face, even with small freckles on the nose and cheeks, a big difference with