Island

In the Mediterranean Sea, between the islands surrounding Greece, one rock has long been known to sailors, rising secluded in the middle of the sea. This rock is remarkable for sailors especially because it serves as a life-saving warning for them from dangerous pitfalls and completely impassable shoals that surround it on all sides for several miles. Therefore, the helmsman, as soon as he sees her in the distance, is already in a hurry to turn the ship in one direction or another in order to avoid a dangerous place. And more than one large vessel, even small boats of fishermen, sometimes carried by a storm from nearby islands into the vicinity of a dangerous rock, always perished there without return, getting stuck in viscous sand or breaking on sharp stones, so that not a single living person, probably, approached the base of the inaccessible cliff - and its top was known only to birds of prey that flew there to eat their prey. But it was not only impossible for people to reach the rock, but also unnecessary, and not even curious. It represented nothing but bare, barren stone, however, quite picturesquely distorted, and in some places watered by thundering, crushing streams, probably flowing from the middle of the rock itself. But why did nature create this useless phenomenon? Or is it necessary for a person, on all the roads of earth and sea, on all paths of life and thinking, to encounter incessant difficulties and dangers, so as not to fall asleep before spending the night in a soul-relaxing carelessness? On that night, when a famous earthquake occurred in Greece, from which many cities were destroyed, many mountains changed their appearance, rivers changed their course, and the islands especially suffered, and to the north of Candia, near Santorino, even a new, unprecedented island was born, then - I think it was in 1573 - some change took place in the stone rock. The shoal around her spread even more; the cliff itself still grew out of the sea and expanded greatly in its volume. After that, about thirty years later, two Greek monks, engaged in fishing, in calm weather, in a light flat-bottomed boat, sailed near the coast of Anatolia. The morning was clear; the sea, like green glass, lay motionless; the fish played on the surface of the water, and they, following its movements, little by little moved away from the shore. But the wind suddenly rose, and the force of the waves carried them even further out to sea. Seeing the danger, they began to work diligently with the oars; but the storm increased; the land disappeared from sight; their boat, jumping on the waves, carried away further and further. The air became dark with clouds; there was nothing around except the torn sea, which seemed to open up to the very bottom behind each wave. Fear, horror and cold penetrated them to their very bones. But they soon felt that it would be both useless and impossible for them to continue their argument with the storm any longer. Saving their strength just in case, they put the oars into the boat and surrendered to the will of God. Meanwhile, they managed to accept confession from each other, received permission, hugged each other, and sang psalms in a quiet but consonant voice, looking, almost indifferently, at their constantly opening grave. For a long time the light boat rushed singing along the roaring sea, being carried away in one direction or the other. Finally, the sun peeked through the clouds; then soon the whole sky cleared, the wind died down, and only the swaying sea continued to wave. Not believing the harmlessness of their long voyage, they began to hope for salvation; but their hope soon disappeared when, looking around them, they noticed that they were far from land, and right in sight of that dangerous rock, which, as they knew, was surrounded on all sides by shoals and stones, and where the sea was irresistibly rushing them. In the middle of the sea they still had the opportunity to accidentally sail to an island or meet a ship. There was no such hope here either; They rushed towards the rock and were apparently already swimming right above the shallows. But here’s another surprise: between the yellow sand, barely covered with water, a dark depression appeared, like a path for a boat in the middle of an impassable sea. They took up the oars again, trying to stay on this narrow strip, which with its dark color was clearly different from the surrounding plain. Little by little the sea path led them to the very bottom of the rock - they were saved. Meanwhile, the day was approaching evening. The sea has calmed down. But it was already too late to return. They decided to pull the boat onto the rocks and, having climbed onto the rock, wait there until the next morning. Along the uneven ledges of huge, broken stones, they somehow climbed to the top of the cliff: but there they found an unexpected sight. The rock, which seemed like a barren stone, was in fact a flourishing, fruitful island. The bare flints that surrounded it on all sides constituted only a high fence, inside of which, in a mysterious recess, hid a vast, green plain, dotted with picturesque hillocks, cut by living streams, dense and varied copses. The tall cedars did not, however, reach the top of the fence. Forests of laurel and date were mixed with olive and lemon trees showered with fruit, with oranges and peaches, with walnut groves, with myrtle bushes and grapevines twining around them. An inexpressible feeling took possession of the rescued companions in the midst of this luxurious nature. Silently they knelt down and for a long time could not find a voice for words, looking at the bright east, illuminated by the setting sun. Having finished the prayer and satisfied their hunger with tree fruits, they went to explore the island. There were no traces of a person anywhere. Everything was wild, but everything was beautiful; a garden built without labor or work; everything is bright and harmonious, everything is filled with beauty and fragrance. Their attention was especially focused on the flow of one beautiful stream, which ran from the top of a small mountain and, picturesquely meandering along it, constantly fell from stone to stone in loud rapids. In one place, where its fall was more significant than others, bending into a wide arc, under which, as if under a transparent blanket, bushes and plants were green, they noticed that under this rainbow arch a round cave had formed, at the entrance overgrown with flexible rods of grapes. Nature, it seemed to them, had deliberately created, in this hot country, this pleasant refuge, and curtained it with a cool stream from the sun, and covered its walls with multi-colored crystals, and covered it with soft moss and thick grass. But something loud came under their feet. It was a woman's bracelet decorated with precious stones. How did he get here? Did a bird bring it in? or was there a person here? But here is a clear sign of a man: a straight Greek sword, all covered with rust. Not far from it is a jasper incense burner, entwined with artificial reliefs, with the remains of fragrant resin and several unburnt coals. Here's another thing: a helmet and men's armor. Beside them, women's necklaces and a forged belt glittered in the grass, and in a dark corner of the cave two white human skeletons lay hugging each other. But the decayed bones, at the first touch, scattered into dust, so that all that remained of them were two small crosses, made of pure gold, and two rings, on which two Greek letters were carved, on one Ι ., on the other N. There was no more inscription. The next day, when the sun rose into the sky, a small boat was already sailing away from the island, along the same dark path. It was easy for travelers, having noticed the road yesterday, to find it again. They soon got out into the open sea and, keeping everything straight, reached one of the islands of the Archipelago. There they boarded a ship and safely arrived at their monastery, keeping a strong secret about their strange discovery throughout the journey. But in the monastery they told everything to the abbot, who, feeling, given the disastrous state of the East, the importance of an independent refuge, also secretly informed the patriarch about it. Thus, the news of the new island was preserved among the selected clergy of the East, and only a few, men of proven life and character, were transmitted along with other important traditions, which were always kept and are still kept intact by a certain part of the Eastern monasticism. Meanwhile, many hermits retired to a secret island, forever hiding there from the light and people. Soon, near the mysterious grotto, in the shadow of a cypress grove, a Greek monastery was founded and a church in the name of St. George was erected, from which the entire island received the same name among those who knew about its existence. Over the course of time, many of the most learned people of Greece and Palestine moved there, so that, finally, the monastery of St. George, although not known to many, nevertheless became one of the first in the East both in terms of the spiritually remarkable people who composed it, and in the wealth of its library, and in its happy location, and most of all - in that special spirit of depth that was supposed to arise in a separate and closed circle of people extraordinary. However, it was not only the monks who inhabited the mysterious rock; many secular families, persecuted by infidels, went there, wanting to hide in eternal solitude rather than exchange their Orthodox homeland for a Latin foreign land. Often, in the Greek Islands or in Constantinople, when some important Phanariot was in danger from the Pasha or the Sultan, for his suspicious commitment to Christians, or a rich merchant, for his enviable treasures, then before trouble overtook the unfortunate man, some unknown passer-by, in torn rags, appeared at the threshold of his home and asked for his hospitality. And having received it, over a cup of honey, he told the owner about his distant wanderings, about the Holy Land, oppressed by the barbarians; about Mount Athos, the lamp of Christian enlightenment in the East; about some holy men hiding in the deserts of Asia and Africa - and meanwhile, secretly conveyed to him the news of the danger and the means prepared for salvation. But to some, especially those who were tested, the existence of an unknown island was also revealed. For this reason, the island was divided into two parts: in one there was a monastery, and the monks lived; in the other - families of exiles. On this last part of the island the way of life was quite unusual. The land was common, labor was shared, money was not circulated, luxury was unknown; and meanwhile, all the education of ancient and modern Greece was preserved among the inhabitants in all the depth of its peculiarity, unknown to the West and forgotten in the East. In their activities, physical work was replaced by mental activity. In the meetings there is truthfulness, goodwill and the desire for sublime pleasures of the spirit. There is deep peace and purity in the family circle. In raising children, the development of mental strength without violent tension is hatred of pretense and contempt for the unloving feeling of competition. They highly valued every virtue, every ability; but for their children they would rather prefer their complete absence than, with some dignity, an even more crafty display of it. And they grew up cheerfully, young men strong in spirit and body, virgins bashful, deeply loving and in all the charm of pampered health and Greek beauty. Not infrequently, however, the islanders received news about the rest of the world, and often where help was needed, they secretly sent money from their treasures, which they did not need and were only kept for good deeds and some distant assumptions. They were not disturbed by the outward tinsel of European education, neither by newspaper celebrities, nor by alien gossip; but separated by the sea from the world, united with love for humanity, they always followed with curiosity of heartfelt participation the destinies of enlightenment and peoples, and waited with trepidation whether Greece would rise again, and whether a ray of hope would shine somewhere for the deliverance of Christianity. So it was on an unknown island, in the middle of ignorant lands oppressed by barbarians. Meanwhile, in the enlightened country of humanity, in educated Europe, everything seemed to be going on in its established, solid order. People live as usual, one not caring about the other; everyone thinks, considers, suffers and is consoled for himself. Those few who bear the burden of general concern also follow the usual rules: they look in the past for lessons for the future, judge tomorrow by yesterday; looking at the setting sun, they count on the coming morning. And in fact, their calculations are correct: according to known laws, certain forces play and balance, just as a constant and tailwind plays in sails. But suddenly in the West the order changed: the people became agitated, passions flared up, the throne collapsed, blood was shed, the Church was falling, laws were being broken, the whole order of things was overthrown, a new order was arising and falling again, statutes were replaced by others, everything was shaking, everything was falling, everything was rising and falling again; the ax works day and night, blood flows in rivers, people dance, passions know no bounds, cries of delight are mixed with cries of despair, with the thunder of cannons and drums, with the recall of glory and victories, cries of bloodthirsty atrocity, with deep sighs of deep love for humanity, with the laughter of debauchery and self-forgetfulness. All Europe is trembling from the agitated people; all the kingdoms united against him in war and cannot overcome his intense forces. What will happen to enlightened humanity? On a secluded island, rumors of European coups especially occupied one of the descendants of the ancient Greek emperors, the Phanariot Palaiologos, who had previously served as a dragoman under the Porte and was more experienced than others in the affairs of the West. But this news did not in any way change his peaceful pursuits and his orderly, active life, divided between their friendly society and his small family, which consisted of: his young wife, a little son and a little girl who was being raised by them. Olympias Palaeologus was one of those wives loved by Heaven who apparently bring God's blessing to the soul of their loved one. Pure, correct beauty was only a bright shadow of her bright, inner being. With all the warmth of a full, never-asleep heart, she shared with her husband certain concerns of the day, and arbitrary thoughts of rest, and distant hopes of the future, and barely noticeable thoughts of the heart - and everything in his life, in his heart and in his thoughts, received a new, tempting appearance from her harmonious touch. The inexhaustible depth of their spiritual harmony could only be compared with the deep blue of the warm sky above their quiet island. With common strength, common joyful concerns, they were engaged in the upbringing of their little Alexander - and this feeling also filled a separate place in their hearts, on which lay the thought of the future deliverance of their people. The girl who was brought up by them was the daughter of the Phanariot Nattarra, a sincere friend of Palaeologus and who died a violent death in Constantinople, along with his entire family. Little Elena, saved by the philanthropy of the barbarians, in a small cradle, spattered with the blood of her relatives, was secretly transferred to another city to a poor Christian woman. Soon afterwards, some monk, knowing her father’s previous relationship with Palaeologus, one dark night, put the cradle in a narrow boat and, with a quiet prayer over the beautiful baby, across the calm sea between the shoals and stones, brought her sleeping to the island of St. George. – But in the West, for a long time, the question of the fate of the agitated people was not resolved. Will it shake other kingdoms, or will it burn in its own fire? How will this explosion end? What to hope for? What to fear? And why did Providence send, or at least allow, this terrible phenomenon? What benefit will come from it for humanity? Or was so much blood shed in vain, so many victims laid down, and among the victims so many pure ones? Will better order emerge from the ferment of disorder? From the expensive experiments of devices and laws, will a better device, better laws be born? Or will all this excitement end in one hot page in history, one cold lesson for humanity? Or, perhaps, this blood, these sacrifices are only a terrible punishment for enlightened humanity for lies in its enlightenment, a purifying punishment for a person for the relaxation of his heart’s strength, for the lethargy and limitation of his aspirations, for pretense of faith, for selfish distortion of the sacred, for lack of sympathy for the oppressed, for contempt for the rights of the powerless, for frivolity, for deceit, for effeminacy, for forgetting the lesser brethren Son of Man, for the impoverishment of love?... Resting on a turf bench, in the shade of a laurel grove, one day Paleologus, in a moment of emotional excitement, said to his wife: “For your pure soul, my dear friend, Heaven sends us that unprecedented happiness that others know only in dreams. When your slender hand hugs me, and I look into your deep, shining eyes, then it seems to me that inside my heart another vision is opening, and I see through your entire incorporeal being, and I also see with the same feeling of the heart, as if something beautiful is flowing around us, something protective, dear and incomprehensible. It’s as if the sky is opening above us at this moment. And for some time now a new joy has been added to my happiness. One thought worried me about little Elena when she was brought to us. I always knew that you would love her, that with all the care of a mother you would surround her childhood with the most tender care; but I was afraid that love for our son might involuntarily lead you to at least some difference in feelings for the two children. And I was sad to foresee the consequences of this for the little orphan, knowing how insightful misfortune is and, even more, how suspicious it is. But now I am completely calm. I was again convinced that for you the feeling of virtue is the same as the feeling of nature. I see clearly how inside your heart you do not separate both children, how you love them equally and completely with one mother’s love. It is difficult to express what a sweet feeling this confidence gives me. I often think that if you can see our land from behind the grave, then surely her poor father is praying for you with gratitude, truly with joyful blessings.” “I saw your doubt,” answered Olympias, “and I remained silent, waiting for time to calm you down. How could I not love your friend's daughter? And, however, whoever she is, is it possible not to feel a special attachment to this beautiful child? Look, what meekness, what intelligence in these black, thoughtful eyes! Look how all the future beauty has already appeared on her sweet face these summers! What harmony, what quiet, easy movements, and what a loving heart! However, I will not hide from you that, perhaps, the beginning of my feeling was not entirely disinterested. When they brought her to us, and I took her in my arms while she was still sleeping, and then she opened her big eyes with long, black eyelashes, and stretched out her little hands, and smiled at me with a beautiful smile, then it vividly came to my heart that this child had been sent to us on purpose in order to eventually make our Alexander happy. Since then, this thought has been persistently on my mind, and I involuntarily look at Elena as my daughter, sent to me by God for the joy of our entire family.” “You are telling me my own thought,” answered Paleologus, “and it seems that hope will not deceive us. Look how much childhood friendship grows between them, the basis of future agreement and the guarantee of not a momentary, reasonable love.” Meanwhile, as they spoke, their children, curly-haired and cheerful, ran around them, playing among the blooming laurels. The sun was setting; a quiet gospel sound was heard in the monastery; and their gazes, fixed on the sky, were full of happiness and gratitude. However, this happiness, this quiet life was possible only for them, separated from the world. But for a person surrounded by the constant excitement of interests, fears, worries, pleasures and sufferings of other people, there is no separate destiny and, therefore, no serene happiness. When his mind, alarmed by curiosity, has once come into living contact with the movements of humanity, then he is already forcibly and forever doomed to share its common fate, if not by the work of his hand, then at least by hesitation of the heart, excitement of thoughts, sympathy, addictions, mistakes and, in general, all the suffering of the human race. Then he has only one happiness: if his life, lost for him, is not completely lost for others! – The bloody fire in the West flared up more and more. It’s scary to watch how Heaven punishes the people. But who knows? Perhaps, just as a storm clears the air, so should popular unrest clear the vital atmosphere of humanity? Perhaps the disasters of kingdoms and people are sent to them in order to awaken the dormant powers of the mind, tune the disturbed sounds of the soul into harmony and pull new strings on the weakened heart of a person? Or perhaps these convulsions of people’s life predict only death for the past, without hope for the future? Perhaps, with these terrible movements, obsolete peoples are digging their own graves, preparing a place for the cradle of new ones? But now the problem of Europe is being solved. A man came, thoughtful and stubborn; in the eyes - contempt for people, in the heart - illness and bile; he came alone, without a name, without wealth, without patronage, without friends, without secret conspiracies, without any visible support, without any strength except his own will and cold calculation, and - with calculation and will - he stopped the wheel of revolutions, and bowed his freedom-loving heads before him - and, bowing to him, the people quieted down. And he chained him in chains, and placed him in obedient ranks before him, and turned them beautifully at the sound of drums, and led them with him far from their fatherland, and ordered them to die for his name, for his whims, for the wealth of his low relatives; and the people walked orderly, to the sound of his drums, and died bravely for his whims, and, dying, sent their children to serve him, and blessed his name, and there was no end to the enthusiastic cries! And there were no limits to his power. Kingdoms fell before him - he created new ones; thrones collapsed - he erected others; he gave his laws to foreign peoples; He bent strong rulers in his hallway. All of Europe suffered under his power and called him the Great with horror! Without the right to power - an autocrat; yesterday a commoner lost in the crowd, today - the fate of the entire enlightened world. By what magic did he perform his miracles? When others lived, he counted; when others were amusing themselves in pleasures, he looked all at one goal and counted; others were resting after labors, he folded his hands on his chest and counted; another, in the ecstasy of happiness, would hasten to take advantage of his successes, enjoy his strength, forget himself, although for a moment, on his laurels - he always remembered one calculation and looked at one goal. Neither love, nor wine, nor poetry, nor friendly conversation, nor compassion, nor the splendor of greatness, nor even glory - nothing entertained him: he kept counting, kept moving forward, kept walking along the same road, and kept looking at one goal. His whole life was one mathematical calculation, so one mistake in the calculation could destroy the entire gigantic structure of his life. – Meanwhile, on the island of St. George, an incident occurred, something new in the midst of his monotonous life. A small boat appeared in the sea, sailing towards the island; there were two people sitting in the boat: one a monk, the other in European clothes, never seen before on the island. The monk had long been familiar to the islanders, often moving from the rock to the ground for their needs; but who else? His facial features clearly revealed the Greek; a round hat pulled down over his eyes; the figure is noticeably tall, although it is completely wrapped in a long cloak. They awaited his approach with curiosity and bewilderment. But when the boat approached the cliff, before the European the monk alone ascended the island, asking the assembled inhabitants to, out of caution, hide from the momentary guest, although in the nearby forest. The residents immediately followed the elder’s advice; but many, hiding in the bushes, looked from there with childish curiosity, wondering what would happen? and some children lay down in the thick grass not far from the road itself. Twelve-year-old Alexander was among them. In the midst of noisy European life, seething with a variety of changes, it is difficult to understand how strongly in solitude a person’s curiosity is ignited by the most idle circumstances that in any way disturb the ordinary order of silence. The inhabitants of the island were in this situation. With courageous strength of mind they embraced the deepest considerations of abstract thinking; but the most insignificant phenomenon from living reality was succumbed to with all the sensitivity of a child. That is why, straining their attention, they watched from behind their bushes as the stranger came out onto the island, as he, together with the monk, walked along the road to the monastery, and as they, smiling, looked at each other when Alexander, who was lying in the grass, put his curly head out of it in order to better examine the visitor passing by. Approaching the monastery, the European took off his hat, crossed himself, but, without stopping, ran his way. "Where?" they thought. Their curiosity increased even more when they noticed that the travelers had chosen the road to that remote cypress grove, where hidden in the wilderness of cedars and trees was a small cave of a hermit who had been hiding there from the eyes of people for many years, not opening the doors of his dungeon to anyone. But when the travelers approached it, and the stranger knocked at the entrance, uttering a few words inaudible to them, then, to the surprise of the inhabitants, the iron shutter rattled inside and the door opened. The stranger went up there alone; the accompanying monk stopped at the entrance; the door was locked from the inside again. The stranger remained in the dungeon for a long time; but the inhabitants did not tire of looking there, waiting for his appearance. Finally, he appeared from the cave, and with him the hermit himself, unseen by anyone for so long. The old man was short in stature, and even more bent by fasting and years; a black cassock was girded with a belt, a low Greek hood was on his head, his face was almost overgrown with gray hair; but in his bright eyes shone the freshness of youth, the stamp of a strict life and spiritual purity. From lack of habit, perhaps, or from age, he seemed to have difficulty moving his legs; however, leaning on his staff, he walked without rest with the stranger, accompanying him to the very shore, and said something to him the whole way with visible fervor. The European was silent, occasionally answering. No one heard their curious conversation. Sometimes only individual words of the elder reached those who were closer to the road. These words were: “Greece... God's help... war... chosen man... not ready yet... great thing... for you...”, and the like. Sometimes whole sayings were heard, such as: “state affairs are alien to me, only my heart aches for my brethren.” Or: “there is great danger from the infidels, no less from those of other faiths, but more from our own.” Or again: “a great thing is being prepared; just starting it prematurely is the same as standing for your opponents.” But the longest speech from his conversation, which some managed to catch, was the following: “Stop a little: look at this beautiful island! God still protects him; life there is not like your dirty life; people don't know him; but if they found out, how surprised they would be! And, it seems, why? What's new here? In the soul of every person there is the same invisible, the same lost island, stone outside, paradise inside! Just look for him. Only the soul itself often does not know about it. And it’s even worse if...” Here the elder turned in the other direction, continuing his path, and his words were no longer heard. When he reached the edge of the cliff, the accompanying monk was already below and sitting in the boat, preparing the oars. The old man stopped on the cliff itself, and it was clear that with some special feeling he raised his eyes to the sky, shining with tears, and then pointed with his hand to the other side, where far in the sky, like vague clouds, the mountains of Greece were barely visible. The stranger knelt down and raised his hands to the sky, as if uttering some kind of oath. Then, having received a blessing from the elder, he quickly went down to the sea, got into the boat and, once again bowing to the hermit, sailed away from the shore. The bent old man stood for a long time on the rock, leaning on his staff and not taking his eyes off the receding boat. But when she was completely out of sight, he looked at the sky, wiped his eyes and with quiet steps went into the dungeon, where he again closed himself off from people. Then questions and guesses began on the island; but the only thing the residents could know for sure was that the stranger was a Greek, who, as a child, had known an old man who had previously lived on Mount Athos. – Several years have passed; on the island they stopped talking about this incident a long time ago; but it left an indelible impression on the imagination of young Alexander. Everything that he had heard before from his father about the land beyond the sea, everything that he had read in his books about the life of people and nations, all at once awakened in his mind, everything sparkled with new life and boiled into one motley, brilliant, magical picture, at one glance at the strange overseas clothes, at the slender gait of the stranger, at his European movements. "Who was this Greek?" - he thought. - “What did he come here for? Who revealed our secret to him? How did the old hermit let him in? What does their mysterious conversation mean? What great thing were they talking about?... Oh, many captivating, secret and tempting things must be hidden in the varied lives of people separated from us by this sad sea! What is our poor life compared to their brilliant life? Lethargic, painful sleep. No, worse than a dream! My dreams are more vivid than my life. They take me to those distant places that I read about in my father’s books; one minute there is richer for the heart than years here. And shouldn’t we already live together with all created humanity, share its labors and joys, help it, perish with it in troubles, drown in pleasures? My God! Will I ever get the desires of my heart?” This desire for another world beyond the sea constantly increased in the soul of the young man, intensified by reading, conversations with his father, solitary dreams, obstacles and all even the indifferent circumstances of life that usually set fire to a sick imagination infected with impossibility. The years passed; but this feeling grew even stronger in him and finally became his dominant state of mind. Thus he reached the age of twenty. – Meanwhile, the enlightened world, which Alexander envied, lay still shackled under the iron heel of its ruler. His power was immense and (surprisingly!) it was all clearly the creation of his head. But in his head, even from birth, one thought crushed all the others: a brilliant and heavy thought, like a royal crown; amazing, like an Egyptian pyramid; but dry and barren, like a bare rock in the middle of the ocean, and cold, like the deep snow of the north, and terribly destructive, like the fire of a huge capital, and colorless, like the music of drums. And just Providence sent him his fate, according to his thoughts. “Why,” thought Alexander, looking at the distant mountains of Greece: “why did my father rejoice when I studied foreign languages? Why did he give me his poisonous books? they poisoned my soul with the seductive presentation of a life impossible for me; they whispered captivating and haunting thoughts to me; they, like a magic carpet, take me to distant lands, seething with news and dangers, tempting with the happiness of diversity, a storm of emotional excitement and the brilliance of artistic tricks. Everything is beautiful, I like everything, everything captivates me in these inaccessible lands; even their vices fill me with curiosity: their unreasonable weaknesses together with gigantic creatures of the mind; their unbridled passions in the midst of an intense desire for structure; their frivolity, their bright arts, their internal contradictions, motley enlightenment, fragile connections, rapid revolutions, every minute activity for the immediate present and at the same time a strange carelessness about the future - all this is new to me, all sophisticated and tempting.” “I feel, I understand that our life on the island is better, cleaner, and more reasonable than theirs, and should, it seems, be happier; but I don’t know why: only in their life I see happiness, but here everything is colorless and empty.” “I find no joy in the circle of my family, nor in the friendly gatherings of our society, nor in certain activities of the day, nor even in the free dreams of the night. Everywhere I am haunted by the anxiety of an impossible desire, everywhere there are the same, persistent thoughts, everywhere melancholy and boredom, and a dream all about one thing!” "No! I can’t stand this painful state any longer! At any cost, I will swim across this green sea, I will find there unseen lands, but long familiar, I will throw myself into the arms of their stormy life, I will drown in their joyful excitement! “I feel sorry for you, my good father! You have placed many hopes on your son! I feel sorry for you, poor mother! All your happiness is in me! Will you endure a difficult separation? And you, beautiful Elena... whom they prepared for me to be a friend of happiness... why did you open your innocent heart to untimely suggestions? What will happen to you? “Dear, dear creatures! My soul breaks at the thought of you. Why has fate placed my heart in this intolerable contradiction? “I myself don’t know what’s going on in me; I have no power over my feelings, I no longer have power over my actions; someone else’s power draws me irresistibly, perhaps to destruction: come what may!” “Who is this who is sneaking between the myrtle trees? A white blanket flashed through the dark greenery. Is that you, Elena? Come to me, my dear sister; tell me a word of consolation from your quiet soul. Restless thoughts alarmed me" “This is not the first time I have noticed, dear brother,” said Elena, “that some hidden grief lies in your heart. I have been meaning to ask you for a long time to share it with me. Only fear held me back, so as not to further disturb your incomprehensible melancholy with words of friendship. Now, thank you! Now I’m happy that you yourself are looking for my participation.” – “Elena! Look there, at the edge of the sky: do you see those distant, barely noticeable clouds? Do you know what these clouds mean? “Yes, Elena! These are the mountains of Greece! Do you know that people live there? - “How can I not know this! They killed my father! – “They killed my father! Not everyone was a murderer. There were also your father’s friends with whom he lived together, shared joy and sorrow, worries and dangers, with whom he prepared hopes for the deliverance of Christians together, thought to act together, do you understand? act!"... - “Your father was his best friend.” – “Elena! life is different there. Everything is boiling there, everything is bright, everything is alive. There the day is not like any other. There is danger, but there is also hope. There is an unknown ahead of life; behind is a memory. There, life is not a machine, calculated in advance. Elena! Haven’t you ever wanted to go there, either in your dreams or in your dreams?” - “My brother! My mother was stabbed to death there. My relatives died there. Here your family surrounded me with love and happiness. Can I understand this desire? My brother, my friend! Leave your distant thoughts. Return your beautiful soul to this happy island, to the quiet circle of your family, also happy before! See how your black thoughtfulness is killing your beautiful father. He lost his bright calm a long time ago, looking at your melancholy. And your mother, whenever you go to this shore, she does not dry her eyes. Look how bitterly they both changed during this difficult time. Dear brother! Have pity on us!” – Elena found many more heartfelt words and friendly convictions in her soul, persuading him to return to his former, calm life. But finally she fell silent, noticing that he had not listened to her for a long time. Then a living, deep sorrow was expressed on her face - the sorrow of friendship, losing a friend, the longing of love, unrequited and despised. Her large, black eyes fixed motionlessly on him; but there were no tears in them; they sparkled with that dry brilliance of suffering that appears in a person’s eyes at the last convulsion of the heart, when either life passes away, or the happiness of life perishes forever. Meanwhile, he stood thoughtful, looking at the distant mountains of Greece. But on this day an important event took place in the house of the Palaiologos. They had long noticed the thoughtfulness, melancholy and, finally, complete despondency of their son. It was not difficult for them to find out the reason for his suffering. It goes without saying that they used all means to cure him. Exhortations, advice, direct and indirect conversations, all kinds of persuasion were put into action; but all without success. His incomprehensible passion only increased and developed especially recently. Finally, convinced that all their efforts were useless, that happiness in a quiet, family circle was no longer possible for him, at least before he satiated his morbid curiosity, Paleologus decided to help him himself. Several times already in public meetings, secretly from Alexander himself, he asked their society to allow him to go to other lands. Society did not agree, believing, and not without reason, that the passionate curiosity of the young man was not worth the danger of the entire island, which could perish from one of his carelessness, from one rash word. But the persistent requests of Paleologus, his guarantees and, finally, his oaths for his son, shook the firmness of his friends. They began to be inclined, although with displeasure, to send Alexander, and on this day they appointed the last meeting to put a final decision on this matter. Olympias Palaeologus shared her husband's thoughts and intentions; but her heart, despite her husband’s convictions, still could not tear itself away from comforting expectations. She thought that her son might still return from his passion; that he would not dare to leave them, to break their happiness based on him; that he would be held back by prudence, affection for them and, perhaps, love for Elena, the love that she assumed in him more of her own free will than due to any special remarks. Therefore, at the time when the father went to the last meeting of the islanders, the mother, not yet losing hope, sent Elena to the shore of the island, instructing her to use the last admonitions of friendship over her son’s sick heart. She expected Elena’s conversation all the more because the latter had never yet spoken to Alexander about this subject. For a long time, Olympias Paleolog remained alone, in timid anticipation. Then she went out onto the porch to see if her husband was coming with hard news, or Elena with joy. Then, returning inside the house, she hurried to take care of some household arrangement, trying to drown out the useless excitement within herself. Then suddenly, shedding bitter tears, she threw herself in front of the Crucifixion, uttering the most ardent prayers. Then she went out again to listen to see if they were coming with news. her anxiety grew more and more intense. She alternated between desperate and joyful thoughts. Finally, tired of her internal efforts, she sat down on the chair under the open window and remained motionless in this position, not noticing the passage of time. Suddenly someone knocked on the door. A shiver ran through her limbs. “This is Elena! - she thought - surely good news, truly joy! And how could I suffer so in vain! How could I doubt him! Elena, my friend, go!” These thoughts ran through her heart all at once and with the speed of lightning. And according to some law of the pre-established disagreement of the soul with life, a law that is repeated more often than is usually thought, she most of all indulged in hope, opening the door to sad news. So in a debilitating illness, at the very last minute of life, there is an unexpected confidence in recovery. But she did not remain deluded for long. It wasn’t the father who came through the door, it was Elena who came in; but the dead pallor of her face, but her strongly open eyes and some strange fossilization in all her features, expressed the truth too clearly. The poor mother did not say, did not ask anything; but she lowered her head and returned to her previous place. Elena also did not break the silence. Alexander returned; but even then no one started a conversation. Finally, the father came: “It’s decided,” he told his wife, “he is allowed to go.” "Alexander! I finally managed to get the consent of our society. Tomorrow you will leave from here. Here, I see, you could not be happy. But look now, look at your mother, look at Helen; Do you see what this separation costs us? Woe to you if you ever forget this feeling or become unworthy of it! God be with you! My blessing and my prayer will always be over you.” "Alexander! I swore an oath for you that our secret will die in your heart. You, I know for sure, will not be a traitor. Just remember that the slightest carelessness here will result in betrayal.” “Remember our faith, our rules, our love.... but why talk? Now words are useless. Don’t forget one thing: your change will kill us; good news about you can still be comforting. Now come with me!” In the excitement of an unexpected feeling, Alexander looked at his father, at his mother, at Elena, and, obeying in bewilderment, followed Palaeologus. They left the house; it was already dark; they walked along the road to the orange grove; ascended into its depths; there, near one noticeably curved tree, two shovels had already been prepared: Paleologus took one, Alexander took the other, and they began to dig the ground; soon the metal began to ring under the shovel; they took out the iron chest; The paleologist opened it and said: “All my treasures brought from Greece are kept here. Here is the gold; Here are the precious stones. I saved them for another purpose... God didn’t want it... Take half of everything. Know that you will have great wealth, rare among people. But know also that every money you throw away unnecessarily will be taken away from the holy cause. No, don’t make excuses! You don’t yet know what money is, you don’t understand the price of your renunciation. I want you to take it. If you have any left, you can bring it back.” They buried the chest again; leveled the ground; sod was laid; took shovels and returned home. The next day, early in the morning, they all went to church together to pray for the departing person. All the people gathered there to participate in prayers for the young man who was cheating on them. But no one came to accompany him from the shore. The sad family walked silently from the church to the place of departure. There, a monk was already waiting for them in the boat, who was supposed to transport Alexander. His farewell to his mother was difficult; words cannot express this feeling. When he began to say goodbye to his father, they hugged tightly, they both sobbed loudly and could not tear themselves away for a long time. Finally, Paleologus blessed him for the last time, and then turned away, trying to stop the excess of his heart movements. But when he came up to say goodbye to Elena, his face expressed so much suffering that his poor mother could not bear the sight and covered her eyes with her hands. "Goodbye! - Elena told him, - goodbye, my brother, my friend! Maybe forever! Be happy! All my life I will pray to God for this. Everything that is dear to me on earth, all my hopes for happiness, you take with you. Now my life, torn and pale, will be warmed only by the thought of you. Yes! Why should I hide any longer what lives so strongly, so eternally in my soul? Maybe this is the last time I look at you.... My dear! Please accept my first declaration of love, lifelong and beyond the grave! Take my oath, in the face of Heaven, in the eternity of this holy feeling!... For God's sake, don't tell me anything!... I don't want to bind you with a word that might snatch your compassion! I ask you to fulfill just one request, out of friendship for the one you call sister.” “Do you know this ruby ​​on my gold chain? I have not parted with him since childhood. He was found in my cradle when I, one of the whole family, God knows why, was saved from murder. This ruby, I know this in my heart, was placed under my pillow by my mother on the day of her death, and she placed it not without prayer, not without desire.... Maybe it’s superstition, maybe it’s a deception of the heart, but I think, I feel, I’m sure that it has a special protective power; take it! If the memory of me is at all dear to you, then promise me, my friend, never to take it off your chest!” And while she was speaking, her tears stopped, her chest became very agitated, her eyes sparkled, the recent pallor disappeared, and her whole face lit up with a bright blush. Once again Alexander hugged his father and mother. Everyone went down the cliff together to accompany him to the boat. He sat down; the monk set sail from the shore; the sea splashed under the oars; the boat sailed further and further from the island. When, finally, she became barely noticeable, a black dot in the sky, then the three remaining threw themselves into each other’s arms and cried for a long time. The monk who was carrying Alexander did not say a word the entire way. The next day their boat landed on one small island of the Archipelago. There was also a monastery there, but instead of the entire population there lived several monks who were engaged in fishing. On the entire surface of the globe, this was the only point that had direct communication with the rock of St. George. The silent monk went ashore with Alexander, led him to the abbot, to whom he handed a letter, and went back in his small boat. Having spent several days in a new place, Alexander set off from there, already in a large and safe boat, to another island, then to a third, and finally reached the solid land of Greece. But, examining the homeland of his ancestors, he was struck by severe despondency. “Where,” he thought, “where are my people, the enlightener of the universe, the guardian of Orthodoxy, a model of education?” He searched in vain. Around him were the slaves of the infidels. But the fruits of slave humiliation were more vile than slavery itself: deception, deceit, robbery, treason, arrogance, meanness, greed for self-interest, ignorance, betrayal, deceit, spiritual filth and stench. And these barbarians were Greeks! For no one, perhaps, could such a discrepancy between low reality and a great name be as palpable as for him, a new young man who came to earth straight from a pure island. He saw more than one present in countries and people; everything that happened seemed present to him; in his books, in his dreams, the ancient and the new were equally close, equally alive, merging into one inseparable picture of the world, into one half-heard tale about the King of the Earth and his adventures. However, not all traces of the past have been erased from the face of the once glorious land. The same sky, the same rivers, the same mountains, here and there living ruins, and the very soil of the earth, made up of the ashes of heroes. The language has changed, but the sounds are familiar, the closeness of the son with his father. Even among the people themselves, despite the abomination of their humiliation, some signs of their former dignity were still preserved. Often unexpectedly, in the midst of ignorance, pure love for beauty flared up; from the depths of barbarity suddenly shone some kind of innate sympathy with lofty, and in difficult times, fearlessness and determination. No! the people have not yet completely perished; the grain of resurrection is still alive in him: his holy, deep attachment to faith. This feeling, for one who understands, has a rich meaning: a sure guarantee of innumerable forces awaiting awakening, irresistible forces, only covered with chains, buried in ignorance, forgotten by indifferent, outside spectators, senseless slanderers of the perishing. But at this time, a new, extraordinary tension was especially noticeable in the Greek people, an expectation of something uncertain, an unprecedented impatience against their overlords, a strange, unconditional agreement among themselves, an instant guesswork without explanation. Often in the square or on the street, gathered in a crowd in front of the windows of their masters, they sang some new songs about the forbidden love of the fatherland, about the sweetness of vengeance, about the triumph of the cross, about the happiness of independence, and all this together with direct, enthusiastic curses of the infidels. And their unfaithful rulers indifferently listened to the musical sounds, not understanding the words, and carelessly smoked tobacco, admiring the consonant singing of their slaves. Then Alexander began to guess what great matter the elder was talking about on the island. But the strange structure of the human heart! On the island, Alexander suffered from a desire to leave; Having left, he was tormented by the thought of the island. It’s as if the distant is closer to the soul than the close; as if thought were more attracted by the absent than by the surrounding present. But his feelings for Elena were even more incomprehensible. He spent his entire life with her, from childhood, and from his first childhood until the last hour of separation, he loved her with the same quiet love, with that bright yearning of the heart with which one loves a sister, a friend, the beautiful creation of the Creator. But at the moment of farewell, the thought: “maybe forever!” suddenly revealed to him the previously unnoticed treasures of her being. It was as if a blindfold had been removed from his vision. Here for the first time he experienced a new feeling; for the first time I realized that in the love of a beautiful creature there is inexpressible happiness; that there is another paint for life; that in the harmony of souls there is a warm essentiality, complete for the soul; that perhaps all life on earth is not worth one minute of this agreement; that for one soul, for one loving creature, among all millions of other beings, there is only one other soul, one other creature that fully corresponds to it; that this one is now in front of him, now giving him her hand and, perhaps, for the last time, but he himself, with a frivolous whim, tears apart this beautiful, now close, elusive after, this mysterious happiness, prepared for them by God Himself.... All these thoughts, not divided into thoughts, but together, as one feeling, lay heavy and sweet on his heart. And he said goodbye to Elena, without understanding why. One more moment, he was ready to stay. But the news of the feeling confused him. Without a thought he continued what he started. He walked to the boat, as if to the place of execution; his head was spinning, his memory froze, his heart sank, but no less than that, he left. There is a deep, as yet unexplored mystery in some moments of human life. Why, for example, does the minute of a first date sometimes put a sharp, indelible mark on all future relationships between two people? Why does a person, at the moment of death, see in his past life something that he had never seen in it before? Why is it that sometimes, in a moment of spiritual emptiness and distraction, suddenly, out of nowhere, a desired thought appears to a person, which he previously searched for a long time and in vain in constant labors of reflection? Why, in a moment of intense grief, does a thought suddenly sometimes tear itself away from its subject, scattering, carried away by the most trivial phenomena, amused by the play of light on the greenery, the sound of the wind, the play of shadows, the patterns of frost on the glass, the sound of wheels on the pavement, the buzz of a fly? But the minute of farewell is especially rich in heartfelt revelations. Often a person does not suspect what blessings are stored around him, and with surprise he learns about them only at the hour when he must tell them: forgive me! How many feelings, how many concepts, how many joys he would have lost if he had not known losses or had not been afraid of them! Perhaps this is why everything in this world is so changeable, so unstable, so elusively momentary, that the human heart does not know how to appreciate what is true, to enjoy the unchangeable and eternal, as soon as the sick person feels the price of health, and only when he recovers does he enjoy this feeling, and the healthy one forgets. Again the law of pre-established disagreement between the soul and life.... Having traveled all over Greece (as Alexander called European Turkey, from old memory), examining everything wonderful on earth and on the islands, he especially tried to delve into the lives of the people he visited, take part in their activities, evaluate the reasons for their activities, the meaning and nature of their work, the goals of their aspirations, and most of all: to understand the basic feeling that everyone carries in the depths of their souls, as a general consequence of their struggle with life, as the result of being. But here all his expectations were deceived. Instead of sympathy for the lives of people, in his heart he found only a feeling of regret for them. Their actions seemed to him unreasonable, their thoughts half-thought out, their intentions mixed, their feelings untrue, their lives torn, their mutual relationships either pitifully reckless or terribly treacherous. But not all people are in this distorted position (he thought), and with this thought he went to Constantinople to board a ship there and sail to the West. But in Constantinople, first of all, he went to the patriarch to receive his blessing. To Alexander's surprise, the patriarch had already been notified about him. However, Alexander was no less surprised by his extraordinary simplicity of address, amid the general pomposity of the Greeks. He received him in a special room, asked him with great sympathy about the island, talked about Greece, about Europe, gave some useful advice, and among other things said: “Unfortunately, you are right, my son! Man is distorted in our poor fatherland; but in enlightened lands he is no better. Such people, such a life as you have on the island, cannot be found anywhere! However, look for yourself; experience is more convincing. Yes! and in another remark you were not mistaken: only, it seems, something new is being prepared among our people, there is some kind of fermentation that portends a change... But I don’t know whether to rejoice at this or be afraid? If anything happens, it will not be without blood; and who knows if it’s beneficial? Before all external changes, I would like to see an internal change, which is possible under all circumstances and, perhaps, even easier under difficult ones. But, perhaps, God will not abandon His people, who have already suffered a lot, a lot! You see: the whole trouble is that the current enlightenment grew under the influence of heresy. From this, lies were planted in him, and lies led to unbelief. What happened? Truth and mind have become enemies. What are you waiting for? But you'll see for yourself! Oh! It would not have been the same if our Orthodox Greece had not been crushed by the infidels! All is the will of God: He knows better where and how to lead man and humanity! Our only business is to pray that He will soften His righteous anger and have mercy on His poor people. However, we suffer, we are killed; but a holy cause, but a holy Church - she is alive and will live. We are not the only Orthodox: next to us there are our brothers who make up a great state, rich in hopes. Before, they too were crushed by the infidels; but now they have woken up, rested, and a new destiny is being prepared for humanity. True, blindness, heresies and errors of unbelief have already found their way to them, and among them the holy truth and intellectual enlightenment are already beginning to come into conflict; but Providence will not deceive: the time will come, It will send them people who will understand the truth, and then everything will change. Then, perhaps, we too can hope to be resurrected to life.... If something happens to us first.... then I ask God for one thing: to let me die fulfilling my duty, and to die with hope, without seeing deception and a new death of my people! “However, this is not soon. Goodbye for now! God bless you. We will not forget you in our prayers, but sometimes remember me. Here's your passport: you'll need it; I prepared it for you first on purpose. Here are more letters from many local Phanariots and bankers to many important people in Europe. You'll need them. The sooner you discover what you are curious to know, the sooner you will be cured of curiosity. Stay here as little as possible; It’s not safe for you to live here for a long time: it’s better to board the first ship - and be with God! When you return to your homeland - and you will surely return - perhaps I will no longer be in the world; Do not forget, however, that there was an old man who predicted that you would lose faith in your thoughts and return back, and who sent you away with blessings and love.” But boarding the ship at that moment was not entirely easy. It so happened that there weren’t many ships in Constantinople, but suddenly there were so many fellow travelers that there was nowhere to put them. This extraordinary desire for Europe was brought about by a change in political circumstances in the West. With difficulty and at an expensive price, Alexander could find a place for himself on a merchant ship, which, although it was heading to Italy, had to make many more deviations on its way. There were many people on the ship of all nations and classes. There were Turks, Greeks, Italians, Germans, French and Poles. There were also women - by the way, two ladies who belonged to one of the European embassies in Constantinople. they returned to their fatherland, bored with life in the East: one was Baroness Ves...., the other was her niece, Countess Elm.... One was young, beautiful; both of noble family and strong connections. they soon noticed Alexander. They liked his youth, his beautiful appearance, his lively mind, his easy conversation, his obvious inexperience in life and his purity of imagination. But his rare knowledge, acquired through solitude, books and passion, forced one to assume in him an extraordinary, careful upbringing and, therefore, also revealed noble birth, and wealth, and all those advantages that the educated world was accustomed to consider the highest virtues, calling them an empty accident. Both ladies showed him keen interest, and soon he became their almost inseparable interlocutor on the ship. they told him about the wonders of their fatherland, about the life of educated peoples, about the pleasures of a chosen society, about the splendor of balls, about the magic of the theater, about freedom and dignity, about the laws of honor, about the rules of combat, about the advantages of the beauty and sex of women, about the weaknesses of some, about remarkable incidents, about some funny and strange adventures, about Rome, about faith, about their importance at the Court, about their famous kinship, rich possessions and countryside. the castle, and the great Napoleon, about coffee with sugar and milk - in a word, about everything that, in their opinion, should have seemed new and curious to him, or could give him a high opinion of them. He listened, asked questions, made his comments, and time passed unnoticed. Their journey lasted quite a long time: the ship, for some trade transactions, had to land at the islands, where it remained for several days; and besides, the opposite wind made the sailing very slow. The Countess possessed the kind of beauty that is usually called majestic, but which can rather be called sensual beauty. Tall, plump and slender, blue eyes, half-closed with black eyelashes, a small face, the expression of which was constantly changing, a small mouth, a nose slightly raised upward with an air of carelessness and frivolity, in his movements a proud expression of dignity, together with a kind of luxurious softness, a clear and velvety voice, in his whole being a fusion of tenderness and strength, greatness and weakness. In a word, the countess belonged to those women whom one can both love and hate, whose mere presence has an electric effect even on the indifferent, about whom the memory is stored in a separate row of the imagination, and whose caresses, as N... said, can strangle the living and animate the dead. Her acquaintance with Alexander became closer and friendlier every day. But many of their companions on the ship, noticing her short treatment of the happy young man, were already beginning to assume much more agreement between them than there actually was. One day the ship landed on one of the islands of the Archipelago. The fellow travelers dispersed throughout the city. Alexander stayed at a country hotel, the ground floor of which was occupied by two ladies. They spent the whole day together, walking around the adjacent garden. When they returned home, the moon had already risen. They sat on the balcony. The conversation became constantly livelier and more frank. They were alone. All around, the shady trees barely moved their leaves. “You cannot understand,” said Countess Alexandra, “what difficult moments the heart of a woman, fettered by secular decency, sometimes endures. Since childhood, she has been a slave of someone else's calculations. She is not allowed to breathe from her heart; a word from the heart is a crime for her. Instead of all the happiness that women of the lower class can enjoy, although they do not know how, we must limit ourselves to one benefit: appearing happy, inspiring envy for those benefits that we do not enjoy! Without having time to look back in life, we must forever subordinate our fate to a stranger, who often remains forever a stranger to the heart. We are told: wealth! nobility! place in society! before we understand what the meaning is behind these sounds. We are caught by the shine, just as this moth can be caught by a candle. And after, along with iron decency, duty, honor and other words appear, not refuted, murderous to the heart, which is for life "... “Poor countess! I feel sorry for you with all my heart!” "Alexander! I see unfeigned sympathy in your eyes; thank you! This is a rare and priceless blessing! I can’t tell you how comforting it is for me to encounter a direct and pure feeling!” "ABOUT! you can be sure of him, Countess. Your friendship is sacred to me...” “Friendship... Alexander! give me your hand... yes, I accept your friendship... Pure, beautiful soul! Not yet spoiled by life, not yet soiled by calculation, not yet distorted by pretense! What desert, what impregnable fortress saved this treasure from the infection of people? Alexander!.. Sit here... I want to see right through this beautiful soul in your eyes... even closer to me... Alexander... tell me... have you ever loved? “Countess,” Alexander answered in a trembling voice, not understanding the reason for his inner agitation, “what you call love, what they write in your books... seems to be an unfamiliar feeling to me. But if deep heartfelt devotion to one being is love, yes! I know her. But why this question? He awakened a heavy feeling in my soul... Countess! tell me about yourself! I’d rather listen to you than answer you.” She kept asking; Alexander was forced to tell his story, of course, without mentioning either the island or anything that could give rise to suspicion about it. But with feeling and fervor he told: how a girl of inexpressible beauty was brought up in his family, how he left the family, consumed by the passion of curiosity, how, once he left, he realized in himself a feeling that he had not noticed before, how since then he has suffered with the thought of his father, about his mother and even more about poor Elena, and how, finally, from the very day of his departure, he sees her every night in his dreams - “so vividly, so clearly,” he said, - “It’s as if my soul is really being transferred to her. The thought that this is not a dream, but a vision, is a true consolation to me. And should I tell you, Countess? I even think that these constant dreams are not born in me from my soul, but are given to me from the outside, directed at me by the power of the talisman that I wear on my chest. Yes, Countess! I tried to take him off, and my dreams about Elena left me with him. I’ll put it on again, and again the same clear dreams...” – Then he showed the countess the ruby ​​that Elena had given him as a farewell. Meanwhile, the countess had already pulled her hand out of his hand, her face had already assumed its former expression of dignity, her head had risen with an air of cold pride, something lively and restless remained in her eyes; but with a smile of condescension she took the ruby, looked at it absentmindedly and, giving it back, said to Alexander: “Yes, maybe, in fact, it has the power of a talisman. However, in any case, your affection for your family is very commendable... This does you a lot of honor... However, dew; it gets cold; let’s go to auntie.” “Beautiful doll! - she thought, entering the living room - and a soul without taste, without meaning, despite her well-read mind, her stupid liveliness. And I could at least for a minute consider him something-mo! This is how maddening a woman is driven by the power of misfortune, the melancholy of spiritual emptiness! After that, blame her when she meets a truly worthy person! Give her the Zarek stone, kill her without her power, you virtuous women! Indeed: your virtue is an enviable thing!” As a result of this conversation, the countess's relationship with Alexander apparently remained the same, but essentially changed in everything. She still continued to show him her participation in friendship, but she no longer sought his participation. The same shortness remained between them, but in this shortness there was such a clear expression of inequality, her superiority and good-natured condescension towards him were so coldly indicated that at the end of the voyage, the comrades of their voyage had already abandoned their mocking assumptions and all the more willingly recognized their mistake, because the beautiful countess completely charmed them with her secular courtesy, intelligent attentiveness to everyone. In Trieste, Alexander said goodbye to the Countess. The ladies went to Vienna, he to Italy. A spectacle awaited Vienna then, the likes of which no city in the world had ever imagined since the creation of the world. The congress was getting ready. The fate of the entire enlightened world was being decided in a brilliant, solemn meeting of all the rulers of the world. Long ago, in ancient Rome, the fate of the universe was also decided. But what did not exist either in Rome or anywhere else was the feeling with which the world awaited the decision of its fate. Now, new events have obscured this recently past time in our memory. But whoever wants to resurrect it in his mind, of course, will admit that there were no such sky-high hopes, there were no such impossible dreams for the good of people and humanity that would not have seemed possible to the peoples who saw the fall of Napoleon who oppressed them. Eternal peace, perfect harmony, universal justice, serene prosperity - all this was among the most moderate, most prudent expectations. The giant has fallen. A mistake has been made. In a magnanimous suicide the ancient capital burned; his squad died in the snows of the North; his royal crown on the head of another; his drums fell silent; his power in the story of school teachers! But not all of fate has yet been accomplished: there is still a naked, hot island on the ocean lurking ahead; but he is already close. There - the torture of bondage, hard labor of petty insults, then death, then - glory! But at the time when he fell, it seems that his glory flew away for a moment from the liberated land; for then not only his friends forgot about him, but also his enemies almost forgot. – A congress is being prepared. From all sides, countless kings, princes, dukes, archdukes, sovereign princes, great generals, profound diplomats, famous beauties, famous scientists, huge rich people, everything that is wonderful in the educated world, gathered in Vienna. But the one who was the soul of the entire movement, who raised the oppressed world, who led the kings and peoples, on whom all hopes and expectations especially rested, on whose young and beautiful head, crowned with an unprecedented crown of universal love and delight, the eyes of all kings and peoples were fixed - the Russian Emperor was still in Paris. But they were waiting for him - and huge, almost fabulous preparations for holidays, parades and all kinds of pleasures and pomp were being prepared for his arrival. True, it was not the time to travel around Italy then. She was in a strange position: neither war nor peace, but all the anxiety of war, all the inaction of the world. However, Venice greatly ignited Alexander’s imagination. Although the songs on her gondolas were already beginning to fall silent, although Napoleon took from her many treasures of art; but it was still enough. Driving through the dark streets of the city, Alexander seemed to be living in a fairy tale, the wonderful, mysterious beginning of which was resolved in a light musical chord. In the same hotel with Alexander was another traveler: it was a young German poet and painter, Leonard von Fuchs, from Dresden, who, having completed his academic course in Germany, decided, to complete his artistic education, to travel around Italy - zu fuss (on foot). His pale face, blond hair, long scattered over his shoulders, a thoughtful look, and at times a quick animation of his face, revealed a dreamy young man, imbued with philosophy, devoted to the arts, in love with classical antiquity. This last trait soon brought him closer to Alexander. Then youth, the ideal aspiration of both and the accidental consonance of souls, brought them closer together in a short time, so that they decided not to part during the entire journey. Alexander learned a lot of new things from his young comrade, but his comments about the paintings were especially valuable to him. He not only explained to Paleologus the differences between various schools and the features of the handwriting of famous masters; but, most importantly, he taught me to appreciate the dignity of artistic beauty, which is half of graceful beauty. Once, in Rome, examining the treasures of the Vatican for the tenth time and taking a break from the impressions of the day on a solitary walk outside the city, Alexander said to his friend: “When I compare myself before traveling to Italy and now, I see that a new world has been created in my soul from the wonderful influences of art scattered here. But it’s strange: why couldn’t I foresee it before?” “Because,” Leonard answered, “this world is alive.” “But don’t science, feeling, passion, beauty also live? - Paleolog objected. - However, all this can be understood by a person without experience, by the mere power of reflection. Grace seems to be closest to solitude: it is all an abstract creation of the imagination; Why can’t we guess with our imagination about the world of grace?” “You’re wrong,” Leonard said, “and you’re not the only one. Many people confuse the graceful in the arts with beauty in nature, or with the invention of the imagination; but that's not fair. In addition to beauty, in addition to the first thought, the main feeling in an artist, an elegant work also requires luck in expression. And this is not enough: there still needs to be a gradual development of these successes, a long series of experiments, a whole history of revelation, a concert of uncreated agreements found between expression and the inexpressible. Therefore, the graceful is understandable only in the totality of two creatures. But if a person is gifted with all the abilities by nature, and if he is shown one, only one painting, even if it was the best work of Raphael, or Leonardo de Vinci, then he will not understand the beauty of this painting; I even think that the more perfect she is, the less he will understand her.” “It’s true,” said Paleologus. “In the world of grace, there is inspired surprise,” Leonard continued, “there is some kind of play of chance that constitutes one of its charms. Have you noticed that a happy accident is generally one of the elements of beauty? What is correctly invented by the mind is always cold; What a minute accidentally and unexpectedly adds to an invention is warm and alive.” “Is it not this sympathy of the soul with the unexpected accidents of the moment that constitutes what is called genius?” - asked Palaeologus. “This is what is rightly called a gift or talent; but this is still not enough for genius. If I had to define genius, I would call it clairvoyance of the inexpressible. Look at Raphael: many have expressed the visible no worse than he; but who has more clearly outlined the inexpressible, and who is higher than him? However, in general, art does not express anything, but only designates, hints at something. And it is in vain that an elegant work is called the embodiment of a thought, as is now the fashion to express it. It is only her shadow, her second reflection. It is so little embodied, thought lives so little in these shadows that you can look at a picture for a whole life and not see its main idea, you can listen to music alone for a whole century and not understand its meaning, until you look back, into the depths of your soul, from where this shadow fell on the canvas or strings.” “I don’t understand you,” said Paleologus: “isn’t our body the same shadow of the soul?” Meanwhile, we call the soul in the body incarnate.” “For us, with our way of thinking, this expression is true. But don’t forget, dear friend, that our theorists don’t think like that.” Continuing this conversation, the friends returned home. Leonard, wanting to further explain his thoughts about art, took out his briefcase, which contained a rich collection of his drawings along with small, finely written sheets of paper on which his poems and various thoughts and minute remarks were stored. "Yes! “- he continued to say, turning over the pages of his briefcase: “It’s amazing how in our intelligent and multilateral times so many unfair and one-sided things are said about the elegant.”... “Wait, Leonard! - Paleologus interrupted him: “Whose portrait is this?” "This? This is a portrait of a lady I know; you don’t know her.” “Why do you think that I don’t know her? It seems to me that this is Countess Elm..., with whom I traveled from Constantinople to Trieste.” “Yes, this is Countess Elm...” “Leonard, for what occasion do you have a portrait of her?” “Oh, I’ll tell you this story someday... with all the details... here: I found it! A woman’s philosophical conclusion, listen!” “No, Leonard, I don’t want to listen to your reasoning now; Let's leave that for another time. Now tell me how you know Countess Elm...” “If you’re more curious, please. However, this story is not long. It is only necessary in order... That's how it was. “Four years have passed since then - no, more! now it's five years. How time goes by! I was studying in Jena then... “Not far from Jena lies one of the estates of Countess Elm..., where she sometimes comes for the summer, together with her aunt, Baroness Ves... “I must say that at the university, by the way, I was friendly with one student whose name was Friedrich Wulff. His father is a pastor in R...; is a small town in Wirtenberg. “Friedrich Wulff had one quality in the highest degree: he was a musician, of which there are few, such as will be born for centuries. Only, unfortunately, he was also a poet. Instead of completely abandoning himself to one art, Wulf tried to combine them both: he abandoned his violin and became addicted to the guitar, so that he could play themes for his poems on it from morning to evening. However, it must be admitted that he soon achieved such perfection on the guitar that it is difficult to imagine without having heard him. From his seven strings he was able to extract sounds that could not even be suspected in this poor instrument. I still don’t understand where he got this sweetness, this strength; this extraordinary melodiousness of his playing. He sang his poems with a guitar. His voice was sonorous and expressive. Therefore, you will understand that, despite the mediocrity of the poems, we often listened to them with great pleasure. “Wulf was all about music and his poetry. His knowledge of the sciences was rather mediocre; he went to lectures lazily; however, he also reluctantly shared the fun of his comrades. Almost always thoughtful, with a guitar, he played and invented for himself some special world of dreamy sounds, brilliant words, sophisticated inventions - and lived alone in this world. “He loved me; willingly told me his dreams, played out his fantasies and sang poetry. I admit that in these powers of attorney, despite much that was extravagant, I found a lot of poetry. “His inner life was not so much a collection of feelings as heartfelt guesses. As a child he was unhappy; from a large family, one son is unloved - he early acquired the conviction that real life is not in circumstances, but in thoughts, and that one can hide from the sorrows of life in music and poetry. For this purpose, he began to build himself a church of refuge, as he put it. This church was supposed to unite everything that nourishes and warms the soul, what they seek, desire, where hopes go; everything that serves as the end of the heart's aspirations. And whatever touched his imagination was immediately dressed in facial expressions and turned into words. He believed that for everything in the world there is a special overflow of sounds, and that there is some kind of word, the crown and foundation of all thinking, the key to all secrets, the goal of all the sighs of mankind; that this word is invisible to people because it is stored high in the heart, higher, further than inner vision; that there it lies unburnt, in an eternal fire from the most fiery feelings, from hot thoughts and red-hot images of human imagination; that an airy staircase leads to it, composed of strong thoughts, passionate sounds and heartfelt inspirations; that invisible spirits, light shadows that help the soul, slide and ascend along the steps of this staircase; that everything beautiful on earth is only a pale reflection of one living word, burning at the height of the heart. However, looking at the beautiful things on earth, you can, as if looking into a mirror, guess where the light comes from and where the road to it is. But woe to him,” he said, “who takes the mirror for the truth, if anyone doubts the truth, having been deceived in the mirror!” “I have a portrait of Friedrich in my album, look at it: I consider this piece of paper one of the best in my portfolio.” Then Leonard took out a picture that depicted a German student with flowing hair, which was played by the wind, without a tie and with a guitar in his hands. He is sitting under a tree; Scattered around it is a light grove, whose branches bend in one direction, and several flowering bushes, also crushed by the inducing storm. Part of the sky is covered with clouds, the clouds are rushing in a ridge, but the rays of the sun still brightly illuminate one half of the picture. The other one is already dark. The thunderstorm begins; but it’s clear that it was a beautiful day. A rainbow rises in the distance. All this was noticeable at first glance in Leonard’s painting. But when Paleologus began to look at it in more detail, it suddenly took on a new appearance. Every part of her became especially animated, every stroke of her brush expressed some fantastic object. The clouds were a collection of countless faces and shadows: then a winged woman flies with her hair flowing; that wonderful building falls into pieces, but from its fragments the outlines of new creatures are formed; then mountains woven from various fiiur; giants, snakes, terrible monsters and beautiful maidens, all together, one ghost merges with another, and all together make up one thick, stormy cloud. But not only the sky, not only the clouds, but also the trees were animated. Each branch, bent by the wind, drew an outline of shadows and figures; every gap in the leaves outlined a face or a monster; even the flowers on the bushes, bending towards the ground, denoted some kind of ghost. But in one place, where a ray of sunlight through an opening in the branches fell brightly on fresh greenery, crossing the arc of a distant rainbow and forming a transparent column of light dust, there, barely noticeable to an attentive eye, rose in the depths of the light an airy staircase, dotted with winged shadows. While Paleologue examined the painting, Leonard continued his story...