On August 12, 18**, ten-year-old Nikolenka Irteniev wakes up on the third day after his birthday at seven o'clock in the morning. After the morning toilet, the teacher Karl Ivanovich leads Nikolenka and his brother Volodya to greet their mother, who is pouring tea in the living room, and with their father, who is giving housekeeping instructions to the clerk in his office.

Nikolenka feels in himself a pure and clear love for his parents, he admires them, making accurate observations for himself: “... in one smile lies what is called the beauty of the face: if a smile adds charm to the face, then it is beautiful; if she does not change him, then the face is ordinary; if she spoils it, then it is bad.” For Nikolenka, mother's face is beautiful, angelic. The father, due to his seriousness and severity, seems to the child a mysterious, but undeniably beautiful person who "likes everyone without exception."

The father announces to the boys about his decision - tomorrow he takes them with him to Moscow. All day: studying in classes under the supervision of Karl Ivanovich, upset by the news received, and hunting, on which the father takes the children, and meeting with the holy fool, and the last games, during which Nikolenka feels something like first love for Katenka - everything this is accompanied by a woeful and sad feeling of the impending farewell to his native home. Nikolenka recalls the happy time spent in the village, the courtyard people who are selflessly devoted to their family, and the details of the life lived here appear vividly before him, in all the contradictions that his childish consciousness is trying to reconcile.

The next day at twelve o'clock the carriage and the britzka stood at the entrance. Everyone is busy with preparations for the road, and Nikolenka is especially keenly aware of the discrepancy between the importance of the last minutes before parting and the general fuss that reigns in the house. The whole family gathers in the living room around round table. Nikolenka hugs her mother, cries and thinks of nothing but her grief. Having left for the main road, Nikolenka waves a handkerchief to his mother, continues to cry and notices how tears give him "pleasure and joy." He thinks of his mother, and all Nikolenka's memories are filled with love for her.

For a month now, the father and children have been living in Moscow, in the grandmother's house. Although Karl Ivanovich was also taken to Moscow, new teachers teach the children. On grandmother's name day, Nikolenka writes his first poems, which are read in public, and Nikolenka is especially worried about this moment. He meets new people: Princess Kornakova, Prince Ivan Ivanovich, relatives Ivins - three boys, almost the same age as Nikolenka. When communicating with these people, Nikolenka develops his main qualities: natural subtle observation, inconsistency in his own feelings. Nikolenka often looks at himself in the mirror and cannot imagine that someone can love him. Before going to bed, Nikolenka shares his experiences with his brother Volodya, admits that he loves Sonechka Valakhina, and all the childish genuine passion of his nature is manifested in his words. He admits: "... when I lie and think about her, God knows why I feel sad and I want to cry terribly."

Six months later, my father receives a letter from my mother from the village that she caught a severe cold during a walk, fell ill, and her strength is fading every day. She asks to come and bring Volodya and Nikolenka. Without delay, the father and sons leave Moscow. The most terrible forebodings are confirmed - for the last six days, mother has not gotten up. She can’t even say goodbye to her children - her open eyes no longer see anything ... Mommy dies on the same day in terrible suffering, having only had time to ask for blessings for the children: “Mother of God, don’t leave them!”

The next day, Nikolenka sees her mother in a coffin and cannot come to terms with the idea that this yellow and waxy face belongs to the one whom he loved most in life. The peasant girl, who is brought to the deceased, screams terribly in horror, screams and runs out of Nikolenka's room, struck by the bitter truth and despair before the incomprehensibility of death.

Three days after the funeral, the whole house moves to Moscow, and with the death of her mother, Nikolenka's happy time of childhood ends. Later, when he comes to the village, he always comes to the grave of his mother, not far from which they buried Natalia Savishna, who was faithful to their house until the last days.

Current page: 1 (total book has 13 pages)

Maksim Gorky
(Peshkov Alexey Maksimovich)
Childhood

© Publishing House "Children's Literature". Design of the series, 2002

© V. Karpov. Introductory article, dictionary, 2002

© B. Dekhterev. Drawings, heirs

1868–1936

A book about the poverty and wealth of the human soul

This book is hard to read. Although it would seem that none of us today is surprised by the description of the most sophisticated cruelties in books and on the screen. But all these cruelties are comfortable: they are make-believe. And in M. Gorky's story, everything is for real.

What is this book about? How did the "humiliated and offended" live in the era of the birth of capitalism in Russia? No, this is about people who humiliated and insulted themselves, regardless of the system - capitalism or other "ism". This book is about the family, about the Russian soul, about God. That is, about us.

The writer Alexei Maksimovich Peshkov, who called himself Maxim Gorky (1868-1936), really acquired a bitter life experience. And for him, a man who possessed an artistic gift, a difficult question arose: what should he, a popular writer and an already accomplished person, do - try to forget about a difficult childhood and youth, like a terrible dream, or, once again tearing up his own soul, tell the reader an unpleasant the truth about the "dark kingdom". Maybe it will be possible to warn someone against how it is impossible to live if you are a person. And what about the person who often lives dark and dirty? distract from real life beautiful fairy tales or realize the whole unpleasant truth about your life? And Gorky gives an answer to this question already in 1902 in his famous play “At the Bottom”: “Lie is the religion of slaves and masters, truth is the God of a free man!” Here, a little further, there is an equally interesting phrase: “You must respect a person! .. do not humiliate him with pity ... you must respect!”

It is unlikely that it was easy and pleasant for the writer to recall his own childhood: “Now, reviving the past, I myself sometimes hardly believe that everything was exactly as it was, and I want to dispute and reject a lot - it is too abundant in cruelty dark life"stupid tribe". But the truth is above pity, and after all, I am not talking about myself, but about that close, stuffy circle of terrible impressions in which I lived - and still lives - a simple Russian man.

For a long time in fiction there is a genre of autobiographical prose. This is the story of the author about his own destiny. A writer can present facts from his biography with varying degrees of accuracy. M. Gorky's "Childhood" is a real picture of the beginning of the writer's life, a very difficult beginning. Remembering his childhood, Aleksey Maksimovich Peshkov tries to understand how his character was formed, who and what influence had on him in those early years: thoughts about life, generously enriching my soul in whatever way they could. Often this honey was dirty and bitter, but all knowledge is still honey.

What kind of person main character story - Alyosha Peshkov? He was lucky to be born into a family where his father and mother lived in true love. That is why they did not raise their son, they loved him. This charge of love, received in childhood, allowed Alyosha not to disappear, not to become hardened among the “stupid tribe”. It was very difficult for him, because his soul could not stand human savagery: ".. other impressions only offended me with their cruelty and dirt, arousing disgust and sadness." And all because his relatives and acquaintances are most often senselessly cruel and unbearably boring people. Alyosha often experiences a feeling of acute longing; he is even visited by a desire to leave home with the blinded master Grigory and wander around, begging, just not to see drunken uncles, a tyrant-grandfather and downtrodden cousins. It was hard for the boy also because he had a developed sense dignity: he did not tolerate any violence either towards himself or towards others. So, Alyosha says that he could not stand it when street boys tortured animals, mocked the beggars, he was always ready to stand up for the offended. It turns out that in this life it is not easy for an honest person. And parents and grandmother brought up in Alyosha hatred for all lies. Alyosha's soul suffers from the cunning of his brothers, the lies of his friend Uncle Peter, from the fact that Vanya Tsyganok steals.

So, maybe try to forget about the feeling of dignity and honesty, to become like everyone else? After all, life will be easier! But this is not the hero of the story. He has a keen sense of protest against untruth. Defending himself, Alyosha can even commit a rude trick, as happened when, in revenge for the beaten grandmother, the boy spoiled his grandfather's beloved Saints. Having matured a little, Alyosha enthusiastically participates in street fights. This is no ordinary bullying. This is a way to relieve mental stress - after all, injustice reigns around. On the street, a guy in a fair fight can defeat an opponent, but in ordinary life, injustice most often avoids a fair fight.

People like Alyosha Peshkov are now called difficult teenagers. But if you look closely at the hero of the story, you will notice that this person is drawn to goodness and beauty. With what love he talks about mentally talented people: about his grandmother, Gypsy, about the company of true street friends. He even tries to find the best in his cruel grandfather! And he asks people for one thing - a good human relationship (remember how this hunted boy changes after a heart-to-heart conversation with him of a kind person - Bishop Chrysanthus) ...

In the story, people often insult and beat each other. It is bad when a person's conscious life begins with the death of a beloved father. But it is even worse when a child lives in an atmosphere of hatred: “Grandfather's house was filled with a hot fog of mutual enmity of everyone with everyone; it poisoned adults, and even children took an ardent part in it. Shortly after arriving at the house of his mother's parents, Alyosha received the first truly memorable impression from his childhood: his own grandfather beat him, a small child, half to death. “Since those days, I have had a restless attention to people, and, as if they had skinned me from my heart, it became unbearably sensitive to any insult and pain, my own and someone else’s,” a person no longer recalls one of the most memorable events in his life. first youth.

They did not know any other way of education in this family. The elders humiliated and beat the younger ones in every possible way, thinking that they were gaining respect in this way. But the mistake of these people is that they confuse respect with fear. Was Vasily Kashirin a natural monster? I think not. He, in his own miserable way, lived according to the principle “it was not initiated by us, it will not end with us” (according to which many still live). Some kind of pride even sounds in his teaching to his grandson: “When your own, your own, beats - this is not an insult, but science! Do not give to someone else, but your own - nothing! Do you think they didn't beat me? They beat me, Olesha, so much that you won't even see it in a nightmare. They offended me so much that, look, the Lord God himself looked - wept! And what happened? An orphan, a poor mother's son, but he reached his place - he was made a foreman of the shop, the head of the people.

Is it any wonder that in such a family “the children were quiet, inconspicuous; they are nailed to the ground like dust by rain.” There is nothing strange in the fact that the bestial Jacob and Mikhail grew up in such a family. A comparison with animals arises at the first meeting: “.. the uncles suddenly jumped to their feet and, bending over the table, began to howl and growl at grandfather, baring their teeth plaintively and shaking themselves like dogs ...” And the fact that Yakov plays the guitar, doesn't make him human. After all, his soul longs for this: “If Jacob were a dog, Jacob would howl from morning to night: Oh, I'm bored! Oh, I'm sad." These people do not know why they live, and therefore suffer from mortal boredom. And when one's own life is a heavy burden, there is a craving for destruction. So, Jacob beat his own wife to death (and not immediately, but subtly torturing for years); really harasses his wife Natalia and another monster - Mikhail. Why do they do it? Master Gregory answers this question to Alyosha: “Why? And he, I suppose, doesn’t even know himself ... Maybe he beat him because she was better than him, but he was envious. Kashirins, brother, do not like good things, they envy him, but they cannot accept him, they exterminate him! In addition, before my eyes from childhood, the example of my own father, who brutally beats his mother. And this is the norm! This is the most disgusting form of self-affirmation - at the expense of the weak. People like Mikhail and Yakov really want to look strong and courageous, but deep down they feel flawed. Such, in order to at least briefly feel self-confidence, swagger over loved ones. But in essence they are real losers, cowards. Their hearts, turned away from love, feed not only on unreasonable rage, but also on envy. A brutal war begins between the brothers for their father's good. (After all, the Russian language is an interesting thing! In its first meaning, the word “good” means everything positive, good; in the second, it means junk that you can touch with your hands.) And in this war, all means will fit, up to arson and murder. But even after receiving an inheritance, the brothers do not find peace: you cannot build happiness on lies and blood. Michael, he generally loses all human appearance and comes to his father and mother with one goal - to kill. After all, in his opinion, it is not he himself who is to blame for the fact that life is lived like a pig, but someone else!

Gorky in his book thinks a lot about why a Russian person is often cruel, why he makes his life "gray, lifeless nonsense." And here is one more of his answers to himself: “Russian people, due to the poverty and poverty of their lives, generally love to amuse themselves with grief, play with it like children, and are rarely ashamed to be unhappy. In endless everyday life, grief is a holiday, and fire is fun; from scratch and a scratch is an ornament ... ”However, the reader is not always obliged to trust the direct assessments of the author.

The story is far from talking about poor people (at least, they do not immediately become poorer), their wealth will fully allow them to live like human beings in every sense. But really good people in "Childhood" you will find, rather, among the poor: Grigory, Tsyganok, Good Deed, grandmother Akulina Ivanovna, who came from a poor family. So it's not about poverty or wealth. It is a matter of spiritual and spiritual poverty. After all, Maxim Savvateevich Peshkov did not have any wealth. But that didn't stop him from being an amazingly handsome man. Honest, open, reliable, hard-working, with self-respect, he knew how to love beautifully and recklessly. I didn’t drink wine, which is rare in Russia. And Maxim became the fate of Varvara Peshkova. Not only did he not beat his wife and son, but he did not even think about insulting them. And he remained the brightest memory and an example for his son for life. People envied the happy and friendly Peshkov family. And this muddy envy pushes the geeks Michael and Yakov to kill their son-in-law. But Maxim, who miraculously survived, shows mercy, saving his wife's brothers from certain penal servitude.

Poor, unfortunate Barbara! It was true that God was pleased to give her such a man - the dream of any woman. She managed to escape from that suffocating swamp where she was born and raised, to know true happiness. Yes, it didn't last long! Maxim passed away painfully early. And since then, Barbara's life has gone awry. It happens that the female share is formed in such a way that there is no replacement for that one. It seemed that she could find, if not happiness, then peace with Evgeny Maximov, an educated person, a nobleman. But under his outer veneer, as it turned out, he was hiding a nonentity, no better than the same Yakov and Mikhail.

What is surprising in this story is that the author-narrator does not feel hatred for those who crippled his childhood. Little Alyosha learned well the lesson of his grandmother, who said about Yakov and Mikhail: “They are not evil. They are just stupid!” This must be understood in the sense that they are, of course, evil, but also unhappy in their misery. Repentance sometimes softens these withered souls. Yakov suddenly begins to sob, hit himself in the face: “What is this, what? ... Why is this? Scoundrel and scoundrel, broken soul!” Vasily Kashirin, a much smarter and stronger person, suffers more and more often. The old man understands that the unfortunate children have inherited his cruelty, and he complains to God in shock: “In woeful excitement, reaching a tearful howl, he poked his head into the corner, to the icons, beat with a swing in the dry, echoing chest: “Lord, am I a sinner than others? For what?'” However, this tough tyrant deserves not only pity, but also respect. For he never put a stone instead of bread into the outstretched hand of a wicked son or daughter. In many ways, he himself crippled his sons. But he also supported! Saved from military service (which he later regretted bitterly), from prison; dividing the property, he disappeared for days in the workshops of his sons, helping to set up the business. And what about the episode when the brutalized Mikhail and his friends, armed with stakes, break into the Kashirins' house. In these terrible moments, the father is mainly concerned that his son is not hit on the head in a fight. He is also worried about the fate of Barbara. Vasily Kashirin understands that his daughter's life did not work out, and, in fact, gives the last, only to provide for Varvara.

As already mentioned, this book is not only about family life, about everyday life, but also about God. More precisely, about how a simple Russian person believes in God. And in God, it turns out, you can believe in different ways. After all, not only God created man in his own image and likeness, but man constantly creates God according to his own measure. So, for grandfather Vasily Kashirin, a businesslike, dry and tough man, God is a strict overseer and judge. It is precisely and above all that his God punishes and avenges. It is not in vain that grandfather always recounts episodes of the torment of sinners when he recalls the sacred history. Religious institutions Vasily Vasilyevich understands, as a soldier understands the military regulations: to memorize, not to argue and not to contradict. Little Alyosha's acquaintance with Christianity begins in his grandfather's family with cramming prayer formulas. And when the child begins to ask innocent questions about the text, Aunt Natalya interrupts him in fear: “Don't ask, it's worse! Just say after me: “Our Father…”” For a grandfather, turning to God is the strictest, but also a joyful ritual. He knows great amount prayers and psalms by heart and enthusiastically repeats the words of the Holy Scriptures, often without even thinking about what they mean. He, an uneducated person, is already filled with joy by the fact that he speaks not in the rough language of everyday life, but in the sublime order of "divine" speech.

Another God at grandmother Akulina Ivanovna. She is just not an expert on sacred texts, but this does not in the least prevent her from believing passionately, sincerely and childishly naive. For only such can be true faith. It is said: "Unless you turn and become like children, you will not enter the Kingdom of Heaven" (Matt. 18:1). Grandma's God is a merciful intercessor, loving everyone equally. And not at all omniscient and omnipotent, but often crying over the imperfection of the world, and himself worthy of pity and compassion. God for grandmother is akin to a bright and fair hero folk tale. You can turn to him, as to the closest, with your own, intimate: “Barbara would have smiled with what joy! How did she anger you, than more sinful than others? What it is: a young, healthy woman, but lives in sorrow. And remember, Lord, Grigory, his eyes are getting worse ... ”It is such a prayer, albeit devoid of established order, but sincere, it will come to God sooner. And for all her hard life in a cruel and sinful world, grandmother thanks the Lord, who helps people far and near, loves and forgives them.

M. Gorky's story "Childhood" shows us, readers, that it is possible and necessary in the most difficult life conditions not to become hardened, not to become a slave, but to remain a Human.

V. A. Karpov

Childhood

I dedicate to my son

I

In a semi-dark cramped room, on the floor, under the window, lies my father, dressed in white and unusually long; his fingers bare feet strangely splayed, the fingers of gentle hands, quietly placed on the chest, are also crooked; his cheerful eyes are tightly covered with black circles of copper coins, his kind face is dark and frightens me with badly bared teeth.

Mother, half-naked, in a red skirt, is on her knees, combing her father's long, soft hair from her forehead to the back of her head with a black comb, with which I liked to saw through the peels of watermelons; mother continuously says something in a thick, hoarse voice, her gray eyes are swollen and seem to melt, flowing down large drops of tears.

My grandmother is holding my hand - round, big-headed, with huge eyes and a funny, loose nose; she is all black, soft and surprisingly interesting; she, too, is crying, somehow especially and well singing to her mother, trembling all over and pulling me, pushing me to my father; I resist, I hide behind her; I'm scared and embarrassed.

I had never seen the big ones cry, and I did not understand the words repeatedly said by my grandmother:

- Say goodbye to your aunt, you will never see him again, he died, my dear, at the wrong time, at the wrong time ...

I was seriously ill, I had just got to my feet; during my illness - I remember it well - my father fiddled with me cheerfully, then he suddenly disappeared, and his grandmother, a strange person, replaced him.

– Where did you come from? I asked her. She answered:

- From the top, from the Lower, but did not come, but arrived! They don't walk on water, shish!

It was ridiculous and incomprehensible: upstairs, in the house, lived bearded, dyed Persians, and in the basement, an old yellow Kalmyk sold sheepskins. You can ride down the stairs on the railing or, when you fall, roll somersault - I knew that well. And what's with the water? Everything is wrong and funny confused.

- And why am I shish?

“Because you make noise,” she said, also laughing. She spoke kindly, cheerfully, fluently. I made friends with her from the very first day, and now I want her to leave this room with me as soon as possible.

My mother suppresses me; her tears and howls kindled in me a new, unsettling feeling. This is the first time I see her like this - she was always strict, she spoke little; she is clean, smooth and big like a horse; she has a rigid body and terribly strong arms. And now she is somehow unpleasantly swollen and disheveled, everything on her is torn; the hair, lying neatly on the head, in a large light hat, scattered over the bare shoulder, fell on the face, and half of it, braided, dangles, touching the sleeping father's face. I have been standing in the room for a long time, but she never once looked at me, she combs her father's hair and growls all the time, choking with tears.

Black men and a watchman peep in at the door. He angrily shouts:

- Hurry up and clean it up!

The window is covered with a dark shawl; it swells like a sail. One day my father took me on a boat with a sail. Suddenly thunder struck. My father laughed, squeezed me tightly with his knees and shouted:

- Don't worry, Luke!

Suddenly the mother threw herself heavily from the floor, immediately sank down again, rolled over on her back, scattering her hair across the floor; her blind, white face turned blue, and, baring her teeth like a father, she said in a terrible voice:

- Shut the door ... Alexei - out! Pushing me away, my grandmother rushed to the door, shouted:

- Dear ones, do not be afraid, do not touch, leave for Christ's sake! This is not cholera, childbirth has come, have mercy, fathers!

I hid in a dark corner behind a chest and from there watched how my mother wriggled along the floor, groaning and gritting her teeth, and grandmother, crawling around, said affectionately and joyfully:

- In the name of the Father and the Son! Be patient, Varyusha! Holy Mother of God, intercessor...

I'm scared; they fumble around on the floor near the father, hurt him, groan and shout, but he is motionless and seems to be laughing. It went on for a long time - a fuss on the floor; more than once a mother got to her feet and fell again; grandma rolled out of the room like a big black soft ball; then suddenly a child screamed in the darkness.

- Glory to Thee, Lord! Grandma said. - Boy!

And lit a candle.

I must have fallen asleep in the corner - I don't remember anything else.

The second imprint in my memory is a rainy day, a deserted corner of a cemetery; I stand on a slippery mound of sticky earth and look into the pit where my father's coffin was lowered; there is a lot of water at the bottom of the pit and there are frogs - two have already climbed onto the yellow lid of the coffin.

At the grave - me, my grandmother, a wet alarm clock and two angry men with shovels. Warm rain showers everyone, fine as beads.

“Bury it,” said the watchman, walking away.

Grandmother began to cry, hiding her face in the end of her headscarf. The peasants, bending over, hurriedly began to dump the earth into the grave, water splashed; jumping off the coffin, the frogs began to rush to the walls of the pit, clods of earth knocked them to the bottom.

“Go away, Lenya,” said my grandmother, taking me by the shoulder; I slipped out from under her arms, I didn't want to leave.

“What are you, Lord,” my grandmother complained, either about me, or about God, and for a long time she stood in silence, her head bowed; the grave has already leveled to the ground, but it still stands.

The peasants thumped the ground with their shovels; The wind came up and drove away, carried away the rain. Grandmother took me by the hand and led me to a distant church, among many dark crosses.

- You won't cry? she asked as she stepped outside the fence. - I would cry!

“I don't want to,” I said.

“Well, if you don’t want to, you don’t have to,” she said softly.

All this was surprising: I rarely cried and only from resentment, not from pain; my father always laughed at my tears, and my mother shouted:

- Don't you dare cry!

Then we drove along a wide, very dirty street in a droshky, among dark red houses; I asked my grandmother

- Aren't the frogs coming out?

“No, they won’t come out,” she replied. - God be with them!

Neither father nor mother pronounced the name of God so often and relatedly.

A few days later I, grandmother and mother were traveling on a steamer, in a small cabin; my newborn brother Maxim died and lay on the table in the corner, wrapped in white, swaddled with red braid.

Perching on bundles and chests, I look out the window, convex and round, like a horse's eye; muddy, foamy water pours endlessly behind the wet glass. Sometimes she, throwing herself up, licks the glass. I involuntarily jump to the floor.

“Don’t be afraid,” Grandma says, and, lightly lifting me up, soft hands, again puts on nodes.

Above the water - a gray, wet fog; somewhere far away, a dark land appears and disappears again into mist and water. Everything around is shaking. Only the mother, with her hands behind her head, stands leaning against the wall, firmly and motionless. Her face is dark, iron and blind, her eyes are firmly closed, she is silent all the time, and all of her is different, new, even her dress is unfamiliar to me.

Grandmother said to her more than once quietly:

- Varya, would you like something to eat, a little, huh? She is silent and motionless.

My grandmother speaks to me in a whisper, and to my mother - louder, but somehow carefully, timidly and very little. I think she is afraid of her mother. This is understandable to me and very close to my grandmother.

“Saratov,” my mother said unexpectedly loudly and angrily. - Where is the sailor?

Her words are strange, alien: Saratov, sailor. A broad, gray-haired man dressed in blue came in and brought a small box. Grandmother took him and began to lay down his brother's body, laid him down and carried him to the door on outstretched arms, but, being fat, she could only go through the narrow cabin door sideways and hesitated comically in front of her.

- Oh, mother! - shouted the mother, took the coffin from her, and both of them disappeared, and I remained in the cabin, looking at the blue peasant.

- What, your brother left? he said, leaning towards me.

- Who are you?

- Sailor.

- And Saratov - who?

- Town. Look out the window, there it is!

Outside the window the earth was moving; dark, steep, it smoked with mist, resembling a large piece of bread, just cut off from a loaf.

- Where did grandma go?

- Bury a grandson.

Will they bury it in the ground?

– But how? Bury.

I told the sailor how the living frogs had been buried to bury my father. He picked me up in his arms, hugged me tightly and kissed me.

“Oh, brother, you don’t understand anything yet! - he said. - You don’t need to feel sorry for the frogs, the Lord is with them! Have pity on your mother, look how her grief has hurt her!

Above us buzzed, howled. I already knew that it was a steamer, and I was not afraid, but the sailor hurriedly lowered me to the floor and rushed out, saying:

- We must run!

And I also wanted to run away. I went out the door. It was empty in the semi-dark narrow crack. Not far from the door, the copper on the steps of the stairs gleamed. Looking up, I saw people with knapsacks and bundles in their hands. It was clear that everyone was leaving the ship, which meant that I also had to leave.

But when, together with a crowd of peasants, I found myself at the side of the steamer, in front of the bridges to the shore, everyone began to shout at me:

- Whose is it? Whose are you?

- I do not know.

I was pushed, shaken, felt for a long time. Finally, a gray-haired sailor appeared and seized me, explaining:

- This is Astrakhan, from the cabin ...

At a run, he carried me to the cabin, put me on the bundles and left, shaking his finger:

- I'll ask you!

The noise overhead became quieter, the steamer no longer trembled and thumped on the water. The window of the cabin was blocked by some wet wall; it became dark, stuffy, the knots seemed to be swollen, embarrassing me, and everything was not good. Maybe they will leave me forever alone in an empty ship?

Went to the door. It does not open, its brass handle cannot be turned. Taking the bottle of milk, I hit the handle with all my might. The bottle broke, the milk spilled over my legs, leaked into my boots.

Disappointed by the failure, I lay down on the bundles, wept softly and, in tears, fell asleep.

And when he woke up, the ship was thumping and trembling again, the cabin window burned like the sun. Grandmother, sitting next to me, combed her hair and grimaced, whispering something. She had a strange amount of hair, they densely covered her shoulders, chest, knees and lay on the floor, black, shimmering blue. Raising them from the floor with one hand and holding them in the air, she with difficulty inserted a wooden, rare-toothed comb into the thick strands; her lips curled up, her dark eyes sparkled angrily, and her face in this mass of hair became small and comical.

Today she seemed angry, but when I asked why she had such long hair, she said in yesterday's warm and soft voice:

- Apparently, the Lord gave as a punishment - comb them here, damned ones! From my youth, I boasted of this mane, I swear in my old age! And you sleep! It's still early - the sun has just risen from the night ...

- I don't want to sleep!

“Well, don’t sleep otherwise,” she agreed at once, braiding her braid and looking at the sofa, where her mother was lying face up, stretched out like a string. - How did you crack a bottle yesterday? Speak softly!

She spoke, singing the words in a special way, and they were easily strengthened in my memory, like flowers, just as tender, bright, juicy. When she smiled, her pupils, dark as cherries, dilated, flashing with an inexpressibly pleasant light, the smile cheerfully revealed strong white teeth, and, despite the many wrinkles in the dark skin of her cheeks, her whole face seemed young and bright. This loose nose with swollen nostrils and red at the end spoiled him very much. She sniffed tobacco from a black snuffbox adorned with silver. All of her is dark, but she shone from within - through her eyes - with an inextinguishable, cheerful and warm light. She was stooped, almost hunchbacked, very plump, but she moved lightly and dexterously, like a big cat - she is soft and the same as this affectionate beast.

Before her, it was as if I had been sleeping, hidden in the dark, but she appeared, woke me up, brought me to the light, tied everything around me into a continuous thread, weaved everything into multi-colored lace and immediately became a friend for life, closest to my heart, the most understandable and dear person - it was her disinterested love for the world that enriched me, saturating me with strong strength for a difficult life.

Forty years ago steamships sailed slowly; we drove to Nizhny for a very long time, and I remember well those first days of saturation with beauty.

Good weather has set in; from morning to evening I am with my grandmother on deck, under a clear sky, between the banks of the Volga, gilded in autumn, with silks embroidered. Slowly, lazily and resonantly thumping with their plates on the grayish-blue water, a light-red steamer stretches upstream, with a barge in a long tow. The barge is gray and looks like a wood lice. The sun floats imperceptibly over the Volga; every hour everything around is new, everything changes; green mountains - like lush folds on the rich clothes of the earth; cities and villages stand along the banks, as if gingerbread from afar; gold autumn leaf floats on the water.

- You look how good it is! - Grandma says every minute, moving from side to side, and everything is shining, and her eyes are joyfully widened.

Often, looking at the shore, she forgot about me: she stands at the side, arms folded on her chest, smiles and is silent, and there are tears in her eyes. I tug at her dark, floral-heeled skirt.

- Ash? she will startle. - And I seemed to doze off and see a dream.

- What are you crying about?

“This, my dear, is from joy and from old age,” she says, smiling. - I'm already old, for the sixth decade of summer-spring my spread-gone.

And, sniffing tobacco, he begins to tell me some outlandish stories about good robbers, about holy people, about every beast and evil spirits.

She tells fairy tales quietly, mysteriously, bending down to my face, looking into my eyes with dilated pupils, as if pouring into my heart the strength that lifts me. He speaks, sings exactly, and the further, the more fluently the words sound. It is indescribably pleasant to listen to her. I listen and ask:

- And here’s how it was: an old brownie was sitting in the oven, he stuck his paw with noodles, swayed, whimpered: “Oh, mice, it hurts, oh, mice, I can’t stand it!”

Raising her leg, she grabs it with her hands, shakes it in the air and wrinkles her face funny, as if she herself is in pain.

Sailors are standing around - bearded gentle men - they listen, laugh, praise her and also ask:

“Come on, grandma, tell me something else!” Then they say:

- Let's have dinner with us!

At dinner, they treat her with vodka, me with watermelons, melons; this is done secretly: a man rides on the steamboat, who forbids eating fruit, takes it away and throws it into the river. He is dressed like a watchman - with brass buttons - and is always drunk; people hide from him.

Mother rarely comes on deck and keeps aloof from us. She is still silent, mother. Her large, slender body, her dark, iron face, her heavy crown of plaited blond hair—she is all powerful and firm—are remembered to me as if through a mist or a transparent cloud; straight gray eyes, as large as my grandmother's, look out of it distantly and unfriendly.

One day she said sternly:

“People are laughing at you, mother!”

And the Lord is with them! Grandmother answered carelessly. - And let them laugh, for good health!

I remember my grandmother's childhood joy at the sight of the Lower. Pulling my hand, she pushed me to the side and shouted:

- Look, look, how good! Here it is, father, the Lower one! Here he is, Gods! Churches, look at you, they seem to be flying!

And the mother asked, almost crying:

- Varyusha, look, tea, huh? Come on, I forgot! Rejoice!

The mother smiled grimly.

When the steamer stopped in front of the beautiful city, in the middle of the river, closely cluttered with ships, bristling with hundreds of sharp masts, a large boat with many people swam up to its side, hooked to the lowered ladder with a hook, and one by one the people from the boat began to climb onto the deck. In front of everyone, a small, scrawny old man walked quickly, in a long black robe, with a beard as red as gold, with a bird's nose and green eyes.

The story of childhood begins with a tragic event in the life of the protagonist (his name is Alexei) - his father died. Coincidentally, on the day of his father's death, a brother was born to the hero-narrator, who soon died.

The boy is held by the hand by his grandmother, “round, big-headed, with huge eyes and a funny, loose nose; she is all black, soft and surprisingly interesting ... She spoke affectionately, cheerfully, fluently.

Her words for the boy were like "flowers, just as affectionate, bright, juicy."

“Before her, it was as if I was sleeping, hidden in the dark, but she appeared, woke me up, brought me into the light, tied everything around me into a continuous thread, wove everything into multi-colored lace and immediately became a friend for life, closest to my heart, the most understandable and a dear person - it was her disinterested love for the world that enriched me, saturating me with strong strength for a difficult life.

After the death of his father, the mother and son on a steamboat along the Volga moved to their father. This is "a small, lean old man, in a long black robe, with a beard as red as gold, with a bird's nose and green eyes." The boy immediately "felt the enemy in him."

The child did not like his uncles (mother's brothers), and the grandfather's house - small, dimly lit rooms.

Grandfather was a dyer - in the yard and in the house, in vats of multi-colored water, some rags got wet, the smell was sharp and unpleasant.

But the main thing: "Grandfather's house was filled with a hot fog of mutual enmity of everyone with everyone."

The brothers demanded that their father divide the property, they were afraid that the sister who returned with the child would demand her share.

Disgusting fights take place between the grandfather and the brothers, the grandmother tries to reconcile everyone.

The boy feels that the grandfather is angry and offended by everyone.

A real shock for little Alexei, who has never been physically punished, is the cruel Saturday spanking of children.

Leshkin's cousin Sashka was guilty - at the instigation of adults, he slipped a red-hot thimble to his grandfather.

Lyoshka was also guilty - out of boyish curiosity, he thrust a front silk white tablecloth into a vat of blue paint. Grandmother tried to hide this offense from the cruel grandfather. However, Sashka betrays Alexei, hoping that for the denunciation he himself will be able to avoid cruel punishment. Grandfather flogs his grandson Sasha with rods with cruel pleasure. Red stripes swell on the naked body.

Then the turn of punishment comes to Leshka. The boy had never experienced such a thing.

Grandmother and mother are trying to recapture him from his grandfather. Yes, and he himself did not give up so easily: “Fought in his hands, pulling his red beard, bit his finger.”

The grandfather caught the shrew until he lost consciousness, and for several days the boy was very ill.

Alexei realized that his mother was not as strong as he thought - she, like everyone else, is afraid of her grandfather.

Grandfather suddenly comes to his grandson to put up, even asks for forgiveness. Brings gifts, kisses on the forehead.

“You think I didn’t get hit?” Alyosha, they beat me so much that you won't even see it in a nightmare. They offended me so much that, look, the Lord God himself looked - wept!

Grandfather tells his grandson how he was a barge hauler on the Volga, together with his comrades dragged heavy barges along the Volga.

The boy did not forget the spanking, but he managed to understand and forgive his grandfather in some way.

And Alexei also struck up a strong friendship with Gypsy, his grandfather's worker. This handsome, good-natured guy put his hand under his grandfather's rod so that the boy would get less. And terrible bloody scars swelled on the arm.

Gypsy and a kind person, and an excellent craftsman.

It turns out that Tsyganok is a foundling, the grandmother picked up the orphan and raised him.

The master was only nineteen years old. An extraordinary entertainer, Tsyganok showed tricks, trained mice and danced. Sometimes a heavy, bear-like grandmother comes out to dance - and her dance is like a poetic story about something sincere.

However, Tsyganok sins with a dangerous trade: his grandfather sends him with a cart to the market - and the guy brings a lot of products. If he spends a ruble, he will steal for five. He does this not out of self-interest, but out of mischief. But if they get caught, they'll beat you to death!

The death of Gypsy is absurd and unexpected: he was crushed by a heavy wooden cross, which the greedy uncles Alexei (Mikhail and Yakov) put on him.

Yakov promised to bring this cross to the grave of his wife, whom he himself brought to death a year ago by cruel treatment. However, out of habit, he put the burden on a trouble-free worker - and Tsyganok died.

The boy's pain is sharp, but time heals wounds.

Aleksey even gets used to the fact that he is whipped in the same way as the other boys in the house, and there is no one to turn his hand to take some of the pain.

A consolation for the boy is daily communication with his grandmother, her conversations with God are confidential requests that all her loved ones become kinder and happier.

A terrible experience for Alexei was a fire - the grandmother in this event appeared as a real heroine, saving property from fire, leading and calming the gelding (horse) Sharap.

The old woman burned her hands, the grandfather felt sorry for her - he was not always angry and strict, a human feeling lived in him.

Time passed - grandfather, grandmother and grandson moved to new house, dividing the property with Mikhail and Yakov.

Alexey hardly sees his mother, she lives separately.

It seems that life has become calmer in a new place, and grandfather and grandmother peacefully recall the past life - and suddenly a rage flares up in the old man again, and in front of the boy he beats his wife with his fist in the face. Scary, creepy...

The house gained a roaring fame; almost every Sunday the boys ran to the gate, joyfully announcing the street:

- At the Kashirins (grandfather's surname) they are fighting again!

Uncle Mikhail came with a drunken scandal, broke windows, destroyed the garden. Uncle Yakov also added his share to the contention. It was bitter for the grandmother that she had such children. She gave birth to eighteen children - the Lord took away the best, but these remained.

In prayer, grandmother found enlightenment and rest for the soul.

“Her God was with her all day, she even talked about him to the animals. It was clear to me that everything easily and obediently submits to this God: people, dogs, birds, bees and grasses; he was equally kind to everything on earth, equally close.

The grandfather, telling his grandson “about the irresistible power of God, always and above all emphasized its cruelty: behold, people have sinned and are drowned, they have sinned again and are burned, their cities are destroyed; behold, God punished people with famine and pestilence, and he is always a sword over the earth, a scourge for sinners.

As if grandfathers God looked from the sky at the sinful earth and sentenced the same thing as the old man Kashirin himself:

- Oh, you-and...

The hard life did not make grandmother cruel, did not take away from her the ability to enjoy the little.

“She cut off the broken wing of the starling she had taken from the cat, and deftly attached a piece of wood to the place of the bitten off leg and, having cured the bird, taught it to speak. It used to stand for a whole hour in front of the cage on the window jamb - such a big, kind animal - and in a thick voice repeats to the impulsive bird, black as coal:

- Well, ask: a starling - porridge!

And after all, she learned the starling: after a while he quite clearly asked for porridge, and when he saw his grandmother, he pulled something similar to - “Dra-as-tui ...”

“As a child, I imagine myself as a beehive, where various simple, gray people carried, like bees, their knowledge and thoughts about life, generously enriching my soul in whatever way they could. Often this honey was dirty and bitter, but all knowledge is still honey,” Gorky writes about the accumulation of experience.

Much gave the boy communication with the lodger, nicknamed the Good Deed. However, this strange man with glasses was a stranger to everyone - even to Grandma. I. this stranger eventually survived.

Of course, Alexey also communicated with his peers. With a crowd of warlike boys, friendship did not work - only fights.

But three brothers-neighbors attracted the attention of Alexei by the fact that they did not quarrel, but were very protective of each other.

One day, the smallest of the brothers fell into a well while playing hide and seek - and Lesha helped save him. Thus began a friendship.

It was a sad friendship, a secret one. The three brothers lived with their father, a colonel, who was very stern, and with a stepmother who did not love them.

Alyosha caught birds for them to keep in cages and told stories he heard from his grandmother.

Alyosha's mother suddenly returns. She lived some kind of life of her own, which caused indignation of the old parents, but somehow everyone reconciles.

The mother begins to teach the boy "civil" (and not church, like his grandfather) literacy. As luck would have it, something strange begins to happen to Alyosha's memory - he misrepresents and alters the words of the poems that his mother teaches. Maybe this is how creativity is awakened?

The mother is angry, it seems to her that her son is rejecting her, and it’s hard for her to live in her grandfather’s house.

She goes to gatherings with cheerful neighbors, but fun does not work out, this is how the boy sees it.

Grandfather and grandmother are trying to marry her to some serious person, but Varvara (Aleksey's mother) gives them a decisive rebuff.

After this story, the mother became the mistress of the house, and the grandfather became invisible.

Mother sends Alexei to study, but the teaching does not last long. The boy fell ill with smallpox.

During an illness, the grandmother tells the boy about his father - a cheerful, handsome and brave man, about how his mother married him against the will of his grandfather.

Grandfather did not want to hear about the apostate daughter for a long time, but in the end he came to terms with her decision.

The Varvara brothers disliked their sister's husband. Once it came to a terrible point: they threw him into the hole in the winter and wanted to drown him, but it didn’t work out. Maxim did not complain to the police, but at the first opportunity he moved with his wife and son to another city - to Astrakhan.

Often the grandmother comes to the boy in the attic, then tells him fairy tales, then - stories from family life. As before, she is affectionate and attentive, only this is bad: she drinks vodka to calm her aching heart.

The mother, beautifully dressed and more and more alien, rarely comes to her son. Alexei feels anxious: he is waiting for a new betrayal from his mother, who has not spoiled him too much with her attention.

So it is: the mother is going to marry a nobleman named Eugene. She is busy with her new life, but promises his son: “You will go with me, you will study at the gymnasium, then you will become a student ...”

The mother leaves with her new husband, leaving Alyosha to live with his grandparents. The grandfather is busy with his grandson in the garden, helps the boy to arrange a hut for himself, consoles him and warns:

- Now you are cut off from your mother, other children will go to her, they will be closer to her than you. Grandma started drinking. Learn to be your own worker, and do not give in to others! Live quietly, calmly, but stubbornly!

A garden, a hut - this joy did not last long in the boy's life. Grandfather sold the house and moved into the basement rooms.

The money earned for the grandfather's house was lost to the "fathers" in cards.

“Then ... I found myself in Sormovo, in a house where everything was new, the walls without wallpaper, with hemp in the grooves between the logs and with a lot of cockroaches in the hemp. My mother and stepfathers lived in two rooms with windows facing the street, and my grandmother and I lived in the kitchen, with one window on the roof. From behind the roofs, the chimneys of the factory stuck out into the sky like black figurines and smoked thick, curly smoke; the winter wind blew the smoke all over the village; always in our cold rooms there was a greasy smell of burning ...

Grandmother worked as a cook - she cooked, washed the floors, chopped firewood, carried water, she was at work from morning to evening, she went to bed tired, groaning and groaning. Sometimes, having cleaned herself up, she put on a short wadded jacket and, tucking her skirt up high, went to the city.

"See how the old man lives there..."

The mother spoke little to her son, all she did was order:

- Go, give, bring ...

She punished the boy, and for a lively manifestation of feelings she called him a "little animal".

And again, little Alyosha ended up with his grandfather.

“What-oh? - he said, meeting me, and laughed, squealing. - It was said: there is no dearer friend than a dear mother, but now, apparently, let's say: not a dear mother, but an old devil grandfather! Oh you-and ... "

Mother sent Alexei to school, where he played a lot of mischief, for which he was often punished.

But then a good teacher of the law, a bishop, arrived and praised Alyosha, and again a sharp thirst for good appeared in the boy's soul.

But there is no place for Alexei in the family of his mother and stepfather. A brother was born.

“It was a strange boy: clumsy, big-headed, he looked at everything around with beautiful blue eyes, with a quiet smile and as if expecting something. He began to speak unusually early, never cried, living in a continuous state of quiet merriment. He was weak, could hardly crawl, and was very happy when he saw me, asked to be held in my arms, loved to knead my ears with small, soft fingers, which for some reason smelled of violets. He died unexpectedly, not ill; in the morning he was quietly cheerful, as always, and in the evening, during the evangelism for the Vespers, he was already lying on the table. This happened shortly after the birth of the second child, Nicholas.

One day, in front of Alexei's eyes, his stepfather kicks his mother in the chest - and the boy rushes at the scoundrel with a knife. Fighters are separated ...

“Remembering these leaden abominations of wild Russian life, I ask myself for minutes: is it worth talking about this? And, with renewed confidence, I answer myself - it's worth it; for this is a tenacious, vile truth, it has not died to this day ... But through this layer, nevertheless, the bright, healthy and creative victoriously sprouts, the good - human grows, raising an unshakable hope for our rebirth to a light, human life " .

Aleksey returned to his grandfather and grandmother again. He began to try to earn money: he collected rags, bones - it could be sold.

He made friends with the boys, who also tried to somehow get at least some penny. Among the unspoiled and cruel children there were personalities of extraordinary kindness. Here, for example, is a boy nicknamed Vyakhir (Dove).

“He made us laugh and surprised us all with his love for trees and herbs. The settlement, scattered over the sand, was sparsely vegetated; only in some places, in the yards, poor willows, crooked elder bushes, stood out alone, and dry gray blades of grass timidly hid under the fence; if one of us sat on them, the Vyakhir grumbled angrily:

- Well, what are you crushing the grass for? Would you sit by, on the sand, is it all the same to you?

In his presence it was embarrassing to break a branch of a willow, to pluck a blossoming branch of an elderberry, or to cut a willow twig on the banks of the Oka—he was always surprised, shrugging his shoulders and spreading his arms:

- What are you breaking? Damn it!

And everyone was ashamed of his surprise.”

Alexei's mother returned to die with her parents, sick, with a small child - Nikolai. Alexey had to be a nanny to Nikolai - and although the eldest son wanted to run away to his comrades, he still tried to warm his sickly younger brother on the sand and entertain him.

Mother was fading away every day - and died in front of Alyosha.

“A few days after my mother’s funeral, my grandfather told me:

- Well, Lexey, you are not a medal, there is no place for you around my neck, but you go to the people ...

And I went to the people.

It is autobiographical. In it, the writer depicts his childhood, which he tries to embody on the pages of his work, in all details. However, the main point in this work is that the author is trying to explain to his reader about the importance of this time. To do this, the writer uses a technique called "dialectics of the soul."

Now, the author not only pays attention to the actions of the hero Nikolenka, but also to his feelings, which are closely interconnected. As a result, the reader manages to get to know the boy better, to know all his weaknesses and fears. However, the main thing is to know his inner life: what he thinks about, worries about. The writer depicts not just the life of a little hero who is subjected to emotions, Tolstoy depicts the kindness and cruelty that is woven into the lives of heroes.

The reader becomes a witness of warm relations between the boy and his parents, as well as tutor Karl Ivanovich, nanny Natalya Savishna, grandmother and brother. Thanks to their warm word, Nikolenka grows up as a kind boy. The feeling of compassion that is developed in the soul of the hero makes the reader feel for the boy himself.

Reading page after page, the reader comes across a situation where I throw a puppy over a fence or a bird from a nest. This moment not only hurts the soul and mental state of the hero, but also the reader. However, further events take an unexpected turn. Sometimes the boy's attitude towards his family and friends turns out to be unfair and unworthy. So, he thinks badly of the tutor Karl Ivanovich, who is the most kind person on the ground.

At the very beginning of the story "Childhood", the reader sees how Karl Ivanovich tickles his little heel, trying to wake the hero. However, he perceives this as the boredom of a nasty person who specially torments him, because he is in the family youngest child. At the same time, the author depicts the boy's repentance, he realizes that he was wrong and he becomes ashamed.

1. About the work
2. main characters
3. Other heroes
4. Summary
5. Conclusion

1913, Nizhny But in the city. The narration is conducted on behalf of the boy Alyosha Peshkova.

I

My first My memory is the death of my father. I did not understand that my father was no more, but the cry of Varvara's mother ran into my memory. Before that, I was very ill, and grandmother Akulina Ivanovna Kashirina came to us, “round, big-headed, with huge eyes and a funny, loose nose.” Grandmother sniffed tobacco and was all "black, soft", like a bear, with very long and thick hair.

On the day my father died, my mother went into premature labor. After the funeral, my grandmother took me, my mother, and my born brother to Nizhny But in the city. We went on a steamboat. On the way, my little brother died. Grandmother, trying to distract me, told fairy tales, which she knew a great many.

In Nizhny we were met by a lot of people. I met grandfather Vasily Vasilyich Kashirin, a small, scrawny old man "with a beard as red as gold, with a bird's nose and green eyes." Uncle Alyosha, Yakov and Mikhailo, and cousins ​​came with him. I didn’t like my grandfather, “I immediately felt an enemy in him.”

II

The grandfather's family lived in a large house, the lower floor of which was occupied by a dyeing workshop. They lived unfriendly. Mom married without a blessing, and now her uncles demanded her dowry from her grandfather. From time to time the uncles fought. The house "was filled with a hot fog of enmity between everyone and everyone." Our visit only intensified this hostility. Growing up in a friendly family, it was very hard for me.

On Saturdays, grandfather seized grandchildren who had been guilty for a week. This punishment did not pass me by either. I resisted, and my grandfather caught me half to death. Later, when I was resting in bed, my grandfather came to put up. After that, it became clear to me that my grandfather was “not evil and not terrible,” but I could not forget and forgive the beatings. Ivan the Gypsy especially struck me in those days: he put his hand under the rods, and part of the blows went to him.

III

After that, I became very good friends with this funny guy. Ivan Tsyganok was a foundling: his grandmother found him one winter near her house and raised him. He promised to be a good master, and the uncles often quarreled over him: after the partition, everyone wanted to take Gypsy for himself. Despite his seventeen years, Tsyganok was kind and naive. Every Friday he was sent to the market for food, and Ivan spent less and brought more than he should have. It turned out that he was stealing to please the stingy grandfather. Grandmother cursed - she was afraid that one day the Gypsy would be captured by the police.

Soon Ivan died. In the yard of my grandfather lay a heavy oak cross. Uncle Yakov made a vow to take it to the grave of his wife, whom he himself had killed. It fell to the gypsy to carry the butt of this huge cross. The guy overworked and died from bleeding.

IV

Time has passed. Things got worse at home. Saved my soul only grandmother's tales. Grandmother was not afraid of anyone except cockroaches. One evening the workshop caught fire. Risking her life, the grandmother led the stallion out of the burning stable and burned her hands very badly.

V

“By spring, the uncles split up,” and grandfather bought big house, on the ground floor of which there was a tavern. The rest of the rooms were rented out by my grandfather. A dense neglected garden grew around the house, descending into a ravine. My grandmother and I settled in cozy room in the attic. Everyone loved their grandmother and turned to her for advice - Akulina Ivanovna knew many recipes for herbal medicines. She was originally from the Volga. Her mother was “offended” by the master, the girl jumped out of the window and remained crippled. From childhood, Akulina went “around people”, begging for alms. Then her mother, who was a skilled lacemaker, taught her daughter her skill, and when her fame went, the grandfather appeared. Grandfather, being in a good mood, also told me about his childhood, which he remembered “from a Frenchman”, and about his mother, an evil Kalashnitsa woman.

Some time later, my grandfather undertook to teach me to read and write from church books. I turned out to be capable of this, and soon fluently analyzed the church charter. I was rarely allowed to go outside - every time the local boys beat me to the bruises.

VI

Soon our quiet life ended. One evening, uncle Yakov came running and said that uncle Mikhailo was going to kill his grandfather. From that evening on, Uncle Mikhailo appeared every day and made scandals to the delight of the whole street. So he tried to lure his mother's dowry from his grandfather, but the old man did not give up.

VII-VIII

Closer to spring, my grandfather suddenly sold the house and bought another one, "along Kanatnaya Street." The new house also had an overgrown garden with a pit - the remains of a burned-out bathhouse. On the left, Colonel Ovsyannikov was next to us, and on the right, the Bethlenga family. The house was full interesting people. Of particular interest to me was the freeloader, nicknamed the Good Deed. His room was filled with strange things and he was constantly inventing things. I soon became friends with Good Deed. He taught me how to present events correctly, without repeating and cutting off everything superfluous. Grandmother and grandfather did not like this friendship - they considered the freeloader a sorcerer, and the Good Cause had to move out.

IX

I was also very interested in Ovsyannikov's house. In a gap in the fence or from a tree branch, I saw three boys playing in the yard together and without quarrels. One day, while playing hide-and-seek, the younger boy fell into a well. I rushed to help and, together with the older children, pulled the baby out. We were friends until I caught the eye of the colonel. While he was kicking me out of the house, I managed to call the colonel an "old devil", for which I was beaten. Since then, the Ovsyannikovs Jr. and I have communicated only through a hole in the fence.

X

I rarely mentioned my mother. One winter, she returned and settled in the freeloader's room. My mother began to teach me grammar and arithmetic. Life was difficult for me in those days. Often the grandfather quarreled with his mother, tried to force her to a new marriage, but she always refused. The grandmother stood up for her daughter, and one day her grandfather severely beat her. I took revenge on my grandfather by spoiling his favorite saints.

Mother made friends with a neighbor, a military wife, who often had guests from the Bethlengs' house. Grandfather also began to arrange "evenings" and even found the groom's mother - a crooked and bald watchmaker. His mother, a young and beautiful woman, refused him.

XI

“After this story, the mother immediately got stronger, straightened up tightly and became the mistress of the house.” The Maksimov brothers, who migrated to us from the Bethlengs, began to visit her often.

After Christmas time, I had smallpox for a long time. All this time my grandmother took care of me. Instead of a fairy tale, she told me about her father. Maxim Peshkov was the son of a soldier, "who rose to the rank of officer and was exiled to Siberia for cruelty to his subordinates." Maxim was born in Siberia. His mother died and he wandered for a long time. Once in Nizhny Novgorod, Maxim began working for a carpenter and soon became a noble cabinetmaker. My mother married him against the will of my grandfather - he wanted to marry his beautiful daughter to a nobleman.

XII

Soon the mother married the younger Maksimov, Evgeny. I immediately hated my stepfather. Grandmother, out of frustration, began to drink strong wine and was often drunk. In the pit left by the burnt bath, I built myself a shelter and spent the whole summer in it.

In the fall, my grandfather sold the house and told my grandmother that he would no longer feed her. "Grandfather rented two dark rooms in the basement of an old house." Shortly after the move, the mother and stepfather appeared. They said that their house burned down with all the belongings, but the grandfather knew that his stepfather lost and came to ask for money. My mother and stepfather rented a poor apartment and took me with them. My mother was pregnant, and my stepfather cheated the workers by buying half-price credit notes for products that the factory paid instead of money.

I was sent to a school where I didn't like it very much. The children laughed at my poor clothes, and the teachers did not like me. At that time, I often misbehaved and annoyed my mother. Meanwhile, life got harder and harder. Mom gave birth to a son, a strange big-headed boy, who soon died quietly. My stepfather has a mistress. Once I saw how he again beats the pregnant mother in the chest with his thin and long leg. I swung a knife at Yevgeny. Mom managed to push me away - the knife only cut the clothes and slid along the ribs.

XIII

"I'm with my grandfather again." The old man became stingy. He divided the economy into two parts. Now they even brewed tea with their grandmother in turn. In order to earn a living, my grandmother took up embroidery and weaving lace, and I, with a company of children, collected rags and bones, robbed drunkards and stole firewood and sledge "in the forest warehouses along the banks of the Oka." Classmates knew what we were doing, and mocked even more.

When I entered the third grade, my mother moved in with little Nikolai. My stepfather disappeared again. Mom was seriously ill. Grandmother went to the house of a rich merchant to embroider a cover, and grandfather fiddled with Nikolai, often underfeeding the child out of greed. I also liked to play with my brother. My mother died a few months later in my arms, without ever seeing her husband.

After the funeral, my grandfather said that he was not going to feed me, and sent me "to the people."