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To me, a volunteer hunter of one of the cavalry regiments, the work of our cavalry appears as a series of separate, completely completed tasks, followed by a rest full of the most fantastic dreams of the future. If the infantrymen are day laborers of the war, bearing all its weight on their shoulders, then the cavalrymen are a cheerful wandering artel, with songs, finishing a long and difficult work before in a few days. There is no envy, no competition. “You are our fathers,” the cavalryman says to the infantryman, “behind you are like behind a stone wall.”

I remember it was a fresh sunny day when we approached the border of East Prussia. I participated in the patrol sent to find General M., whose detachment we were to join. He was on the line of battle, but where this line stretched, we did not know exactly. Just as easily as on our own, we could go to the Germans. Already very close, like great blacksmith's hammers, the German cannons thundered, and our volleys roared back at them. Somewhere, convincingly quickly, in its childish and terrible language, the machine gun babbled something incomprehensible.

The enemy airplane, like a hawk over a quail hiding in the grass, stood over our siding and began to slowly descend to the south. I saw his black cross through binoculars.

This day will forever remain sacred in my memory. I was a sentinel and for the first time in the war I felt how my will is strained, right to the physical sensation of some kind of petrification, when you have to drive alone into the forest, where, perhaps, the enemy’s chain lay, gallop across the plowed field and therefore exclude the possibility of a quick retreat , to a moving column to see if it will fire at you. And on the evening of that day, a clear, gentle evening, for the first time, behind a rare copse, I heard the growing rumble of "Hurrah" with which V was taken. The fiery bird of victory that day lightly touched me with its huge wing.

The next day we entered the ruined city, from which the Germans slowly retreated, pursued by our artillery fire. Sloshing in the black sticky mud, we approached the river, the border between the states, where the guns were stationed. It turned out that there was no point in chasing the enemy on horseback: he retreated rebuilt, stopping behind every cover and ready to turn every minute - a completely seasoned wolf, accustomed to dangerous fights. It was only necessary to grope for him in order to give instructions where he was. There were enough trips for this.

Our platoon crossed the river on the shaking hastily made pontoon bridge.

We were in Germany.

I have often thought since then of the profound difference between the aggressive and defensive periods of war. Of course, both are necessary only in order to crush the enemy and win the right to lasting peace, but after all, not only general considerations affect the mood of an individual warrior - every trifle, an accidentally obtained glass of milk, an oblique ray of the sun illuminating a group of trees, and one's own lucky shot sometimes pleases more than the news of a battle won on another front. These highways running in different directions, these groves cleared like parks, these stone houses with red tiled roofs filled my soul with a sweet thirst for striving forward, and the dreams of Yermak, Perovsky and other representatives of Russia, conquering and triumphant, seemed so close to me. Isn't this also the road to Berlin, the magnificent city of soldier culture, which one must enter not with a student's crook in hand, but on a horse and with a rifle over his shoulders?

We went by lava, and I was sentinel again. I drove past trenches abandoned by the enemy, where a broken rifle, tattered bandoliers and whole piles of cartridges were lying around. Here and there red spots were visible, but they did not cause that feeling of embarrassment that seizes us at the sight of blood in peacetime.

There was a farm in front of me on a low hill. The enemy might be hiding there, and I took the rifle off my shoulder and cautiously approached it.

The old man, who had long passed the age of a Landsturmist, timidly looked at me from the window. I asked him where the soldiers were. Quickly, as if repeating a learned lesson, he replied that they had passed half an hour ago, and indicated the direction. He was red-eyed, with an unshaven chin and clumsy hands. Probably, during our campaign in East Prussia, they shot at our soldiers from Montecristo. I didn't believe him and drove on. About five hundred paces behind the farm there was a forest, into which I had to enter, but my attention was attracted by a pile of straw, in which, with a hunter's instinct, I guessed something interesting for me. The Germans could hide in it. If they get out before I see them, they will shoot me. If I see them coming out, I will shoot them. I began to go around the straw, listening sensitively and holding the rifle in the air. The horse snorted, twitched its ears, and obeyed reluctantly. I was so engrossed in my research that I did not immediately pay attention to the rare rattle that was heard from the side of the forest. A light cloud of white dust, rising about five paces from me, attracted my attention. But only when, pitifully singing, a bullet flew over my head, I realized that I was being fired upon, and moreover, from the forest. I turned around at the junction to see what I should do. He galloped back. I had to leave too. My horse immediately rose into a gallop, and as the last impression I remember a large figure in a black overcoat, with a helmet on his head, on all fours, with a bearish grip, crawled out of the straw.

The firing had already died down when I joined the patrol. Cornet was pleased. He opened the enemy without losing a single person. In ten minutes our artillery will be at work. And I was only painfully offended that some people were shooting at me, they challenged me with this, but I did not accept it and turned around. Even the joy of getting rid of danger did not soften this suddenly boiling thirst for battle and revenge. Now I understand why cavalrymen dream of attacks so much. To run into people who, hiding in bushes and trenches, safely shoot prominent riders from afar, make them turn pale from the ever-increasing clatter of hooves, from the sparkle of naked checkers and the formidable appearance of tilted peaks, with their swiftness it is easy to overturn, just blow off, three times the strongest enemy, this - the only justification for the whole life of a cavalryman.

The next day I also experienced shrapnel fire. Our squadron occupied V., which was fiercely fired upon by the Germans. We stood in case of their attack, which never happened. Only until evening, shrapnel sang long and pleasantly all the time, plaster fell from the walls, and in some places houses caught fire. We entered the devastated apartments and boiled tea. Someone even found a terrified inhabitant in the basement who, with the greatest willingness, sold us a recently slaughtered pig. The house in which we ate it, half an hour after our departure, was perforated by a heavy shell. So I learned not to be afraid of artillery fire.

The hardest thing for a cavalryman in war is waiting. He knows that it doesn’t cost him anything to go into the flank of a moving enemy, even to be behind his lines, and that no one will surround him, cut off the path to retreat, that there will always be a saving path along which an entire cavalry division will leave at a light gallop from - under the very nose of a fooled enemy.

Every morning, still dark, we, tangled among the ditches and hedges, got out to the position and spent the whole day behind some hillock, either covering the artillery, or simply keeping in touch with the enemy. It was deep autumn, a blue cold sky, with golden scraps of brocade on sharply blackening branches, but a piercing wind blew from the sea, and we, with blue faces, with reddened eyelids, danced around the horses and thrust stiff fingers under the saddles. Strangely, the time didn't last as long as one might think. Sometimes, in order to keep warm, they went in platoon to platoon and, silently, floundered in whole heaps on the ground. Sometimes we were entertained by shrapnel bursting nearby, some were shy, others laughed at him and argued whether the Germans were shooting at us or not at us. Real languor came only when the lodgers left for the bivouac allotted to us, and we waited for dusk to follow them.

Oh, low, stuffy huts, where chickens cackle under the bed, and a ram has settled under the table; oh tea! which can be drunk only with a bite of sugar, but in no way less than six glasses; oh fresh straw! spread out for sleeping all over the floor - never dreams of any comfort with such greed as about you! And insanely daring dreams that, instead of the traditional answer: “They took away the Germanic whistle”, the hostess will put a pot with a thick coating of cream on the table and that a large scrambled eggs with lard will happily hiss on the stove! And bitter disappointments when you have to spend the night in the hayloft or on sheaves of unmilled bread, with tenacious, prickly ears, shiver from the cold, jump up and leave the bivouac on alarm!

Once we launched a reconnaissance offensive, crossed to the other side of the Sh. River and moved across the plain to a distant forest. Our goal was to make the artillery speak, and it really did. A muffled shot, a drawn-out howl, and a hundred paces from us shrapnel burst like a whitening cloud. The second exploded already in fifty paces, the third - in twenty. It was clear that some senior lieutenant, sitting on a roof or on a tree, to correct the shooting, was tearing himself into a telephone receiver: "To the right, to the right!"

We turned and galloped away.

A new shell exploded right above us, wounding two horses and shooting through my neighbor's overcoat. Where the next ones were torn, we have not seen. We galloped along the paths of a well-groomed grove along the river under the cover of its steep bank. The Germans did not think of firing at the ford, and we were safe without loss. Even the wounded horses did not have to be shot, they were sent for treatment.

The next day, the enemy withdrew somewhat, and we again found ourselves on the other side, this time in the role of outpost.

The three-story brick building, a ludicrous mixture of a medieval castle and a modern apartment building, was almost destroyed by shells.

We nestled downstairs on broken armchairs and couches. At first it was decided not to stick out, so as not to betray their presence. We quietly examined the German books we found right there, wrote letters home on postcards with the image of Wilhelm.

A few days later, on a beautiful, not even cold morning, the long-awaited happened. The squadron commander gathered non-commissioned officers and read the order for our offensive along the entire front. Advancing is always a joy, but advancing on enemy land is a joy multiplied tenfold by pride, curiosity and some kind of immutable feeling of victory. People are jovially seated in the saddles. The horses step up.

The time when the breath spirals from happiness, the time of burning eyes and unaccountable smiles.

To the right, in threes, stretching out like a long snake, we set off along the white roads of Germany, lined with hundred-year-old trees. Residents took off their hats, women with hasty obsequiousness carried out milk. But there were few of them, most fled, fearing retribution for the betrayed outposts, poisoned scouts.

I especially remember an important old gentleman sitting in front of the open window of a large landowner's house.

He was smoking a cigar, but his brows were furrowed, his fingers fiddled nervously with his gray moustache, and his eyes were full of woeful amazement. The soldiers, passing by, timidly glanced at him and exchanged impressions in a whisper: "A serious gentleman, probably a general ... well, and harmful, one must be when he swears ..."

Behind the forest, gunfire was heard - a party of backward German scouts. A squadron rushed there, and everything was silent. Here, several shrapnels exploded above us over and over again. We fell apart, but continued to move forward. The fire has stopped. It was evident that the Germans were retreating decisively and irrevocably. No signal fires were visible anywhere, and the wings of the mills hung in the position that the wind had given them, and not the German headquarters. Therefore, we were extremely surprised when we heard in the distance a frequent, frequent exchange of fire, as if two large detachments had entered into battle with each other. We climbed the hillock and saw a funny sight. There was a burning wagon on the rails of a narrow gauge railway, and these sounds rushed from it. It turned out that it was filled with rifle cartridges, the Germans abandoned it in their retreat, and ours set it on fire. We burst out laughing when we found out what was the matter, but the retreating enemies, probably, puzzled for a long time and intensely who was there bravely fighting the advancing Russians.

Soon, parties of freshly captured prisoners began to come across to meet us.

One Prussian lancer was very funny, who was constantly surprised at how well our cavalrymen ride. He galloped around every bush, every ditch, slowing down his gait during the descents, ours galloped straight and, of course, easily caught him. By the way, many of our residents claim that German cavalrymen cannot mount a horse themselves. For example, if there are ten people on the road, then one person first picks up nine people, and then he sits down from the fence or stump. Of course, this is a legend, but the legend is very characteristic. I myself once saw how a German who flew out of the saddle rushed to run, instead of jumping on his horse again.

It was evening. The stars had already pierced the light haze in some places, and we, having posted guards, set off for the night. Our bivouac was a vast well-maintained estate with cheese dairies, an apiary, exemplary stables, where very good-looking horses stood. Chickens and geese walked around the yard, cows mooed in enclosed spaces, there were only people, no one at all, not even a cowgirl to give the tied animals a drink. But we didn't complain about it. The officers occupied several front rooms in the house, the lower ranks got everything else.

I easily won a separate room for myself, which, judging by the abandoned women's dresses, tabloid novels and sugary postcards, belonged to some housekeeper or maid, chopped wood, kindled the stove and, as I was, in my overcoat, threw myself on the bed and immediately fell asleep. I woke up after midnight from the freezing cold. My stove went out, the window opened, and I went to the kitchen, dreaming of warming myself by the burning coals.

And to top it off, I got some very valuable practical advice. In order not to get cold, never go to bed in an overcoat, but only cover yourself with it.

The next day he was on guard. The detachment moved along the highway, I drove through the field, three hundred paces from it, and I was charged with the duty of inspecting the numerous manors and villages, whether there were any German soldiers or at least Landsturmists, that is, simply men from seventeen to forty-three years old. It was quite dangerous, somewhat difficult, but very exciting. In the very first house I met an idiotic-looking boy, his mother assured me that he was sixteen years old, but he could just as easily be eighteen, or even twenty. Still, I left it, and in the next house, when I was drinking milk, a bullet dug into the door frame two inches from my head.

In the pastor's house, I found only a Lithuanian maid who spoke Polish; she explained to me that the hosts had fled an hour ago, leaving a ready-made breakfast on the stove, and she strongly urged me to take part in its destruction. In general, I often had to enter completely deserted houses, where coffee was boiling on the stove, knitting started on the table, an open book; I remembered the girl who had come into the bears' house, and kept waiting to hear the ominous: "Who ate my soup? Who was lying on my bed?"

Diki were the ruins of the city of Sh. Not a single living soul. My horse trembled timidly as it made its way through the brick-strewn streets, past buildings with gutted insides, past walls with gaping holes, past pipes ready to collapse at any moment. On the shapeless pile of rubble was the only surviving sign "Restaurant". What happiness it was to escape again into the expanse of the fields, to see the trees, to hear the sweet smell of the earth.

In the evening we learned that the offensive would continue, but our regiment was being transferred to another front. Novelty always captivates soldiers... but when I looked at the stars and breathed in the night wind, I suddenly felt very sad to part with the sky, under which I somehow received my baptism of fire.

Southern Poland is one of the most beautiful places in Russia. We drove about eighty versts from the railway station to the point of contact with the enemy, and I managed to admire it to my heart's content. Mountains, the pleasures of tourists, are not there, but what is the use of a lowland mountain dweller? There are forests, there are waters, and that's enough.

Pine forests, planted, and, passing through them, you suddenly see narrow, straight, like arrows, alleys, full of green twilight with a shining gap in the distance, like temples of the affectionate and thoughtful gods of ancient, still pagan Poland. Deer and roe deer are found there, golden pheasants run with a chicken habit, on quiet nights you can hear how a wild boar champs and breaks bushes.

Among the wide shallows of washed-out banks, rivers meander lazily; wide, with narrow isthmuses between them, the lakes glisten and reflect the sky, like mirrors made of polished metal; old mossy mills have quiet dams with gently murmuring streams of water and some kind of pink-red bushes, strangely reminding a person of his childhood.

In such places, whatever you do - love or fight - everything seems significant and wonderful.

These were the days of great battles. From morning until late at night we heard the rumble of cannons, the ruins were still smoking, and here and there groups of inhabitants buried the corpses of people and horses. I was assigned to the flying mail at station K. Trains had already passed by it, although most often under fire. Of the inhabitants, only railway employees remained there; they greeted us with amazing hospitality. Four machinists were arguing for the honor of hosting our little detachment. When at last one gained the upper hand, the rest came to visit him and began to exchange impressions. One should have seen how their eyes burned with delight when they told that shrapnel was torn near their train, zero hit the locomotive. It was felt that only a lack of initiative prevented them from signing up as volunteers. We parted as friends, promised to write to each other, but are such promises ever kept?

The next day, amid the sweet idleness of the late bivouac, when you read the yellow books of the Universal Library, clean your rifle, or simply chat with pretty ladies, we were suddenly ordered to saddle, and just as suddenly, with a variable gait, we immediately covered fifty versts. Sleepy places flashed by one after another, quiet and majestic estates, on the doorsteps of the houses the old women in shawls hastily thrown over their heads sighed, muttering: "Oh, Matka Bozka." And, driving out on the highway from time to time, we listened to the sound of countless hooves, dull as the surf, and guessed that other cavalry units were moving ahead and behind us and that we had a big job ahead of us.

The night was well past half when we bivouacked. In the morning we were replenished with ammunition, and we moved on. The area was deserted: some kind of gullies, stunted firs, hills. We lined up in a line of battle, appointed who should dismount, who should be the horse-breeder, sent patrols ahead and began to wait. Climbing up a hillock hidden by trees, I saw in front of me a space of about a mile. Our outposts were scattered here and there along it. They were so well hidden that I saw most of them only when, firing back, they began to leave. The Germans appeared almost behind them. Three columns came into my field of vision, moving five hundred paces apart.

They walked in dense crowds and sang. It wasn't any particular song, or even our friendly cheers, but two or three notes interspersed with fierce and sullen energy. I did not immediately understand that the singers were dead drunk. It was so strange to hear this singing that I did not notice either the rumble of our guns, or the firing of rifles, or the frequent, fractional clatter of machine guns. A wild "a...a...a..." imperiously subdued my consciousness. I only saw clouds of shrapnel rising above the very heads of the enemies, how the front ranks fell, how others took their place and advanced a few steps to lie down and make room for the next. It looked like a flood of spring waters - the same slowness and steadiness.

But now it's my turn to fight. The command was heard: "Down down ... sight eight hundred ... squadron, cry," and I no longer thought about anything, but only fired and loaded, fired and loaded. Only somewhere in the depths of consciousness lived the confidence that everything would be as it should be, that at the right moment we would be ordered to attack or mount horses, and by one or the other we would bring the dazzling joy of the final victory closer.

Late at night we retired to a bivouac ... to a large estate.

In the gardener's room, his wife boiled a quart of milk for me, I fried sausage in lard, and my dinner was shared with me by my guests: a volunteer whose leg had been crushed by a horse that had just been killed under him, and a sergeant-major with a fresh abrasion on his nose, he was so scratched by a bullet. We had already lit a cigarette and were talking peacefully, when a non-commissioned officer who accidentally wandered over to us said that a patrol was being sent from our squadron. I carefully examined myself and saw that I had slept well, or rather I had dozed off in the snow, that I was full and warm, and that there was no reason for me not to go. True, for the first moment it was unpleasant to leave the warm, cozy room into the cold and deserted yard, but this feeling was replaced by a cheerful revival, as soon as we dived along an invisible road into the darkness, towards the unknown and danger.

The crossing was long, and so the officer let us take a nap, three hours, in some kind of hayloft. Nothing is so refreshing as a short nap, and the next morning we were already quite cheerful, illuminated by a pale, but still sweet sun. We were instructed to observe the region of four versts and report everything that we notice. The terrain was completely flat, and three villages were visible in front of us at a glance. One was occupied by us, nothing was known about the other two.

Rifles in hand, we cautiously drove into the nearest village, drove through it to the end, and, not finding the enemy, drank with a feeling of complete satisfaction fresh milk brought to us by a beautiful, talkative old woman. Then the officer, having called me aside, said that he wanted to give me an independent order to go as a senior over two sentinels to the next village. A trifling assignment, but nevertheless a serious one, considering my inexperience in the art of war, and, most importantly, the first one in which I could show my initiative. Who does not know that in any case, the initial steps are more pleasant than all the others.

I decided not to walk in lava, that is, in a row, at some distance from each other, but in a chain, that is, one after another. In this way, I put people in less danger and got the opportunity to tell the patrol something new sooner. The junction followed us. We drove into the village and from there we noticed a large column of Germans moving about two versts from us. The officer stopped to write a report, I went on to clear my conscience. A steeply curved road led to the mill. I saw a group of people standing quietly around her, and knowing that they always run away, foreseeing a collision in which they might also get a stray bullet, I rode up at a trot to ask about the Germans. But as soon as we exchanged greetings, they scattered with distorted faces, and a cloud of dust rose in front of me, and behind me I heard the characteristic crack of a rifle. I looked back.

On the road I had just passed, a bunch of horsemen and footmen in black, terribly alien-colored overcoats looked at me in amazement. Obviously, I just got noticed. They were about thirty paces.

I realized that this time the danger is really great. The road to the junction was cut off for me, enemy columns were moving from the other two sides. It remained to gallop directly from the Germans, but there was a plowed field far away on which it was impossible to gallop, and I would have been shot ten times before I would have left the sphere of fire. I chose the middle one and, skirting the enemy, rushed in front of his front to the road along which our patrol left. It was a difficult moment in my life. The horse stumbled over frozen clods, bullets whistled past his ears, blew up the ground in front of me and next to me, one scratched the pommel of my saddle. I kept my eyes on the enemies. I could clearly see their faces, confused at the moment of loading, concentrated at the moment of firing. A short, elderly officer, holding out his arm strangely, fired at me with a revolver. This sound stood out with some kind of treble among the rest. Two riders jumped out to block my way. I pulled out a saber, they hesitated. Maybe they were just afraid that their own comrades would shoot them.

All this at that moment I remembered only with visual and auditory memory, but I realized this much later. Then I only held the horse and muttered a prayer to the Mother of God, which I immediately composed and immediately forgotten after the danger had passed.

But here is the end of the arable field - and why did people come up with agriculture?! - here is the ditch, which I take almost unconsciously, here is the smooth road along which I catch up with my passing point with a full quarry. Behind him, ignoring the bullets, an officer reins in his horse. After waiting for me, he also goes to the quarry and says with a sigh of relief: "Well, thank God! It would be terribly stupid if you were killed." I fully agreed with him.

We spent the rest of the day on the roof of a lonely hut, chatting and looking through binoculars. The German convoy we spotted earlier got hit by shrapnel and turned back. But the patrols darted in different directions. Sometimes they collided with ours, and then the sound of shots reached us. We ate boiled potatoes and took turns smoking the same pipe.

The German offensive was halted. It was necessary to investigate what points the enemy had occupied, where he was digging in, where he simply placed outposts. For this, a number of sidings were sent, one of them included me.

On a gray morning we trotted along the high road. Entire convoys of refugees were stretching towards us. The men looked at us with curiosity and hope, the children were drawn to us, the women, sobbing, wailed: "Oh, panychi, don't go there, the Germans will kill you there."

In one village the siding stopped. I had to go further with two soldiers and find the enemy. Right now, our infantrymen dug in behind the outskirts, then a field stretched over which shrapnel was torn, there was a battle at dawn and the Germans retreated, - a small manor blackened further. We trotted towards him.

To the right and to the left, the corpses of the Germans lay on almost every square sazhen. In one minute I counted forty of them, but there were many more. There were also wounded. They somehow suddenly began to move, crawled a few steps and froze again. One sat at the very edge of the road and, holding his head, swayed and groaned. We wanted to pick it up, but decided to do it on the way back.

We made it safely to the farm. Nobody fired at us. But immediately behind the manor they heard the blows of a spade on the frozen ground and some unfamiliar voice. We dismounted, and with my rifle in hand, I crept forward to peer around the corner of the last shed. In front of me rose a small hillock, and on its ridge the Germans were digging trenches. They could be seen stopping to rub their hands and smoke, and the angry voice of a non-commissioned officer or an officer could be heard. A grove darkened to the left, behind which gunfire rushed. It was from there that they shelled the field I had just passed through. I still do not understand why the Germans did not put up any picket in the manor itself. However, in war there are not such miracles.

I kept peeking around the corner of the shed, taking off my cap so that they would take me just for a curious "freeman", when I felt someone's light touch from behind. I quickly turned around. In front of me stood a Polish woman who appeared out of nowhere with a haggard, mournful face. She handed me a handful of small, shriveled apples: "Take it, sir soldier, that is, dobzhe, tsukerno." Every minute they could notice me, fire at me; bullets would fly at her. Clearly, it was impossible to refuse such a gift.

We got out of the manor. Shrapnel tore more and more often on the road itself, so we decided to ride back one by one. I hoped to pick up the wounded German, but in front of my eyes a shell exploded low, low above him, and it was all over.

The next day it was already getting dark and everyone had dispersed into the haylofts and cells of the large estate, when suddenly our platoon was ordered to assemble. The hunters were called to go on foot reconnaissance at night, very dangerous, as the officer insisted. About ten people quickly left at once; the rest, trampling about, announced that they also wanted to go and were only ashamed to ask for it. Then they decided that the platoon commander would appoint hunters. And in this way, eight people were chosen, again more pompous. I was among them.

We rode on horseback to the hussar outpost. Behind the trees they dismounted, left three horsemen and went to ask the hussars how things were going. A mustachioed sergeant-at-arms, hidden in a crater from a heavy shell, said that enemy scouts had come out of the nearest village several times, crept across the field to our positions, and he had already fired twice. We decided to sneak into this village and, if possible, take some scout alive.

The full moon was shining, but, fortunately for us, she kept hiding behind the clouds. After waiting for one of these eclipses, we bent over and ran in single file to the village, but not along the road, but in a ditch running along it. They stopped at the outskirts. The detachment was supposed to stay here and wait, two hunters were invited to go through the village and see what was happening behind it. I went with one reserve non-commissioned officer, formerly a polite servant in some state institution, now one of the bravest soldiers of a squadron considered combat. He is on one side of the street, I am on the other. At the whistle we had to turn back.

Here I am all alone in the middle of a silent, as if lurking village, from behind the corner of one house I run to the corner of the next. Fifteen paces away, a crouching figure flashes to the side. This is my friend. Out of pride, I try to go ahead of him, but it’s still scary to hurry too much. I am reminded of the game of thief wand, which I always play in the summer in the countryside. There is the same bated breath, the same cheerful awareness of danger, the same instinctive ability to sneak up and hide. And you almost forget that here, instead of the laughing eyes of a pretty girl, a playmate, you can only meet a sharp and cold bayonet aimed at you. This is the end of the village. It becomes a little lighter, this is the moon breaking through the loose edge of the cloud; I see in front of me low, dark hillocks of trenches and immediately remember, as if photographing in memory, their length and direction. After all, that's what I came here for. At the same moment, a human figure looms in front of me. She peers at me and whistles softly with some special, obviously conditional, whistle. This is the enemy, a collision is inevitable.

There is only one thought in me, alive and powerful, like passion, like rage, like ecstasy: I am his or he is me! He hesitantly raises his rifle, I know that I can’t shoot, there are many enemies nearby, and I rush forward with my bayonet down. A moment, and there is no one in front of me. Maybe the enemy crouched on the ground, maybe bounced off. I stop and start looking. Something blackens. I approach and touch with a bayonet - no, this is a log. Something blackens again. Suddenly, an unusually loud shot is heard from the side of me, and the bullet howls offensively close in front of my face. I turn around, I have a few seconds at my disposal, while the enemy will change the cartridge in the rifle magazine. But already from the trenches one can hear the nasty spitting of shots - tra, tra, tra, - and the bullets whistle, whine, squeal.

I ran to my squad. I did not feel any particular fear, I knew that night shooting was invalid, and I only wanted to do everything as correctly and better as possible. Therefore, when the moon illuminated the field, I threw myself prone and crawled into the shadow of the houses, it was already almost safe to go there. My comrade, a non-commissioned officer, returned at the same time as me. He had not yet reached the edge of the village when the firing began. We returned to the horses. In a lonely hut, we exchanged impressions, dined on bread and bacon, the officer wrote and sent a report, and we went out again to see if something could be arranged. But, alas! - the night wind tore the clouds to shreds, the round, reddish moon descended over the enemy positions and blinded our eyes. We were visible at a glance, we did not see anything. We were ready to cry with annoyance and, to spite fate, nevertheless crawled towards the enemy. The moon could have disappeared again, or we could have met some crazy scout! However, none of this happened, we were only fired upon, and we crawled back, cursing the lunar effects and the caution of the Germans. Nevertheless, the information we obtained was useful, they thanked us, and for that night I received the St. George Cross.

The next week was relatively quiet. We saddled in the dark, and on the way to the position I admired every day the same wise and bright death of the morning star against the backdrop of a watercolor-tender dawn. During the day we lay on the edge of a large pine forest and listened to distant cannon fire. The pale sun warmed slightly, the ground was densely covered with soft, strange-smelling needles. As always in winter, I yearned for the life of summer nature, and it was so sweet, peering very closely into the bark of trees, to notice in its rough folds some nimble worms and microscopic flies. They were in a hurry somewhere, doing something, despite the fact that it was December outside. Life glimmered in the forest, as a timid smoldering light glimmers inside a black, almost cold firebrand. Looking at her, I joyfully felt with all my being that large outlandish birds and small birds would return here again, but with crystal, silver and crimson voices, stuffy-smelling flowers would bloom, the world would be flooded with plenty of stormy beauty for the solemn celebration of the magical and sacred Ivan night.

Sometimes we stayed in the forest all night. Then, lying on my back, I spent hours looking at the countless stars clear from the frost and amused myself by connecting them in my imagination with golden threads. At first it was a series of geometric drawings, similar to an unrolled scroll of the Cabal. Then I began to distinguish, as on a woven golden carpet, various emblems, swords, crosses, cups in combinations that were not clear to me, but full of inhuman meaning. Finally, the heavenly beasts were clearly visible. I saw how the Big Dipper, lowering her muzzle, sniffs at someone's trail, how the Scorpion moves its tail, looking for someone to sting. For a moment I was seized by an unspeakable fear that they would look down and see our land there. After all, then it will immediately turn into an ugly piece of dull white ice and rush beyond any orbits, infecting other worlds with its horror. Here I usually asked my neighbor for shag in a whisper, rolled up a cigarette and smoked it with pleasure in my hands - smoking otherwise meant betraying our disposition to the enemy.

Joy awaited us at the end of the week. We were taken to the army reserve, and the regimental priest officiated. They did not force him to go, but there was not a single person in the entire regiment who would not go. In the open field, a thousand people lined up in a slender quadrangle, in the center of which a priest in a golden robe spoke eternal and sweet words, serving a prayer service. It was like field prayers for rain in remote, distant Russian villages. The same vast sky instead of a dome, the same simple and familiar, concentrated faces. We prayed well that day.

It was decided to level the front, retreating thirty versts, and the cavalry was to cover this withdrawal. Late in the evening we approached the position, and immediately from the side of the enemy the light of a searchlight descended upon us and slowly froze, like the gaze of an arrogant person. We drove off, he, sliding along the ground and through the trees, followed us. Then we galloped around the loops and stood behind the village, and for a long time he poked back and forth, hopelessly looking for us.

My platoon was sent to the headquarters of the Cossack division to serve as a link between it and our division. Leo Tolstoy in "War and Peace" chuckles at staff officers and prefers line officers. But I did not see a single headquarters that would leave before the shells began to burst over its premises. The Cossack headquarters was located in the large town of R. The inhabitants fled the day before, the convoy left, the infantry too, but we sat for more than a day, listening to the slowly approaching shooting - it was the Cossacks who were holding up the enemy chains. The tall and broad-shouldered colonel every minute ran up to the telephone and shouted merrily into the receiver: "Well ... excellent ... hold on a little more ... everything is going well ..." And from these words all the manors, ditches and copses occupied Cossacks, poured confidence and calm, so necessary in battle. The young head of the division, the bearer of one of the loudest names in Russia, from time to time went out on the porch to listen to the machine guns and smiled at the fact that everything was going as it should.

We, uhlans, talked to sedate bearded Cossacks, showing at the same time that exquisite courtesy with which cavalrymen of different units treat each other.

By dinner time we heard a rumor that five of our squadron had been taken prisoner. By evening, I already saw one of these prisoners, the rest slept in the hayloft. That's what happened to them. There were six of them in the outpost. Two were standing watch, four were sitting in the hut. The night was dark and windy, the enemies crept up to the sentry and knocked him over. Sometimes he fired a shot and rushed to the horses, he was also knocked over. At once about fifty people broke into the yard and started firing at the windows of the house where our picket was located. One of ours jumped out and, working with a bayonet, broke through to the forest, the rest followed him, but the front fell, stumbling on the threshold, and his comrades fell on him. The enemies, these were the Austrians, disarmed them and sent five people under escort to the Headquarters. Ten people found themselves alone, without a map, in complete darkness, among the confusion of roads and paths.

On the way, an Austrian non-commissioned officer in broken Russian kept asking our people where the "goats", that is, the Cossacks. Ours remained silent with annoyance and finally announced that the “goats” were exactly where they were being led, in the direction of the enemy positions. This had an extraordinary effect. The Austrians stopped and began to argue animatedly about something. It was clear that they did not know the way. Then our non-commissioned officer pulled the sleeve of the Austrian and said encouragingly: "It's okay, let's go, I know where to go." Let's go, slowly bending towards the Russian positions.

In the whitish twilight of the morning, gray horses flashed among the trees - a hussar patrol. "Here comes the goats!" - exclaimed our non-commissioned officer, snatching a rifle from an Austrian. His comrades disarmed the others. The hussars laughed a lot when the uhlans, armed with Austrian rifles, approached them, escorting their newly captured prisoners. Again we went to headquarters, but now Russian. On the way I met a Cossack. "Come on, uncle, show yourself," our people asked. He pulled his hat over his eyes, ruffled his beard with his fingers, squealed and let the horse gallop. Long after this, the Austrians had to be encouraged and reassured.

The next day, the headquarters of the Cossack division and we withdrew about four versts, so that we could only see the factory chimneys of the town of R. I was sent with a report to the headquarters of our division. The road lay through R., but the Germans were already approaching it. I still stuck my head in, suddenly it will be possible to slip through. The officers of the last Cossack detachments coming towards me stopped me with a question - volunteer, where to? - and, having learned, shook their heads doubtfully. Behind the wall of the last house stood a dozen dismounted Cossacks with rifles at the ready. "You won't pass," they said, "they're already firing somewhere." As soon as I moved forward, shots clicked, bullets jumped. Crowds of Germans were moving towards me along the main street, the noise of others was heard in the alleys. I turned around, and the Cossacks followed me, firing several volleys.

On the road, an artillery colonel, who had already stopped me, asked: "Well, didn't you pass?" - "No way, the enemy is already there." - "Did you see him yourself?" - "That's right, myself." He turned to his orderlies: "Firing from all guns in the town." I drove on.

However, I still had to get into the headquarters. Looking at an old map of this county, which happened to be with me, consulting with a comrade - two are always sent with a report - and asking local residents, I approached the village assigned to me in a roundabout way through forests and swamps. We had to move along the front of the advancing enemy, so there was nothing surprising in the fact that when leaving some village, where we had just drunk milk without getting off our saddles, an enemy patrol cut our path at a right angle. He obviously mistook us for sentinels, because instead of attacking us on horseback, he began to quickly dismount to shoot. There were eight of them, and we, turning behind the houses, began to leave. When the shooting died down, I turned around and saw horsemen galloping behind me on the top of the hill - we were being pursued; they realized that there were only two of us.

At this time, shots were again heard from the side, and three Cossacks flew straight at us in a quarry - two young guys with high cheekbones and one bearded man. We collided and held the horses. "What do you have there?" I asked the bearded man. "On foot scouts, about fifty. How about you?" - Eight cavalry. He looked at me, I at him, and we understood each other. There was silence for a few seconds. "Well, let's go, or something!" - suddenly, as if reluctantly, he said, and his own eyes lit up. The big-cheeked guys, who were looking at him with alarm, shook their heads contentedly and immediately began to wrap up their horses. As soon as we climbed the hill we had just left, we saw enemies descending from the opposite hill. My hearing was burned either by a screech or a whistle, at the same time reminiscent of a motor horn and the hiss of a large snake, the backs of the rushing Cossacks flashed before me, and I myself dropped the reins, frantically earned with spurs, only remembering with the highest effort of will that I had to bare my saber. We must have looked very determined, because the Germans took to their heels without any hesitation. They drove desperately, and the distance between us almost did not decrease. Then the bearded Cossack sheathed his saber, raised his rifle, fired, missed, fired again, and one of the Germans raised both arms, swayed and, as if thrown up, flew out of the saddle. A minute later we were already rushing past him.

But everything comes to an end! The Germans turned sharply to the left, and bullets rained down on us. We ran into the enemy chain. However, the Cossacks did not turn back until they caught the slain German's rambling horse. They chased her, ignoring the bullets, as if in their native steppe. "Baturin will come in handy," they said, "a good horse was killed yesterday." We parted over the hill, shaking hands in a friendly way.

I found my headquarters only about five hours later, and not in the village, but in the middle of a forest clearing on low stumps and fallen tree trunks. He also retreated under enemy fire.

I returned to the headquarters of the Cossack division at midnight. I ate cold chicken and went to bed, when suddenly there was a fuss, an order was heard to saddle, and we left the bivouac on alarm. There was an unfathomable darkness. Fences and ditches loomed only when the horse bumped into them or fell through. Waking up, I didn’t even understand the directions. When the branches painfully lashed my face, I knew that we were going through the forest, when water was splashing at our very feet, I knew that we were fording a river. Finally we stopped at a large house. They put the horses in the yard, went into the hall themselves, lit the stubs... and recoiled when they heard the thunderous voice of a fat old priest who came out to meet us in his underwear and with a copper candlestick in his hand. “What is this,” he shouted, “they don’t give me peace even at night! I didn’t get enough sleep, I still want to sleep!”

We murmured timid apologies, but he sprang forward and grabbed the sleeve of the senior officer. "Here, here, here is the dining room, here is the living room, let your soldiers bring straw. Yuzya, Zosya, panama pillows, and get clean pillowcases." When I woke up, it was already light. The headquarters in the next room was doing business, receiving reports and sending out orders, and the owner was raging in front of me: "Get up soon, the coffee will get cold, everyone has long been drunk!" I washed up and sat down for coffee. The priest sat opposite me and severely interrogated me. "Are you a volunteer?" - Volunteer. - "What did you do before?" - "He was a writer." - "Real?" - "I can not judge about this. Still, he was published in newspapers and magazines, published books." "Are you writing any notes now?" - "Writing". His eyebrows parted, his voice became soft and almost pleading: "So, please, write about me, how I live here, how you met me." I sincerely promised him this. "No, you will forget. Yuzya, Zosya, pencil and paper!" And he wrote down for me the name of the county and the village, his first and last name.

But is there anything holding on to the cuff of the sleeve, where cavalrymen usually hide various notes, business, love, and just like that? Three days later I had already lost everything, including this one. And now I am deprived of the opportunity to thank the venerable priest (I don’t know his last name) from the village (I forgot her name) not for a pillow in a clean pillowcase, not for coffee with delicious crumpets, but for his deep affection under severe manners and for the fact that he so vividly reminded me of those amazing old hermits who also quarrel and make friends with night travelers in long-forgotten, but once my favorite novels by Walter Scott.

The front has been levelled. Here and there the infantry fought off the enemy, who imagined that he was advancing on his own initiative, the cavalry was engaged in enhanced reconnaissance. Our patrol was instructed to observe one of these battles and report its development and accidents to the headquarters. We caught up with the infantry in the forest. Little gray soldiers with their huge bags wandered, lost in the background of bushes and pine trunks. Some ate on the go, others smoked, the young ensign waved his cane merrily. It was a tried, glorious regiment that went into battle as if it were ordinary field work; and it was felt that at the right moment everyone would be in their place without confusion, without confusion, and everyone knew perfectly well where he should be and what to do.

The battalion commander, riding on a shaggy Cossack horse, greeted our officer and asked him to find out if there were enemy trenches in front of the village he was advancing on. We were very glad to help the infantry, and a non-commissioned officer's detachment was immediately sent out, which I led. The terrain was surprisingly convenient for cavalry, hills, because of which one could unexpectedly appear, and ravines, through which it was easy to leave.

As soon as I climbed the first hillock, I clicked a shot - it was only the enemy's secret. I took a right and drove on. The binoculars could see the whole field up to the village, it was empty. I sent one person with a report, and with the other three I was tempted to frighten the secret that had fired at us. In order to find out more precisely where he lay down, I again leaned out of the bushes, heard another shot, and then, having outlined a small hillock, rushed straight at him, trying to remain invisible from the side of the village. We rode to the hillock - no one. Am I wrong? No, one of my men, dismounting, picked up a brand new Austrian rifle, another noticed freshly chopped branches on which the Austrian secret had just been lying. We went up the hill and saw three people running at full speed. Apparently, they were mortally frightened by our unexpected horse attack, because they did not shoot and did not even turn around. It was impossible to pursue them, we would have been fired upon from the village, besides, our infantry had already left the forest and we could not stick around in front of its front. We returned to the siding and, sitting on the roof and spreading elms of the old mill, began to watch the battle.

A marvelous sight - the offensive of our infantry. It seemed that the gray field came to life, began to frown, throwing armed people out of its depths onto the doomed village. Wherever his eyes turned, he saw gray figures everywhere, running, crawling, lying. It was impossible to count them. I could not believe that they were separate people, rather it was a whole organism, a creature infinitely stronger and more terrible than dinotheriums and plesiosaurs. And for this creature, the majestic horror of cosmic upheavals and catastrophes was reborn. Like the rumble of earthquakes, gun salvos rumbled and the incessant crackle of rifles, like fireballs, grenades flew and shrapnel burst. Indeed, according to the poet, we were called by the all-good ones, as interlocutors to a feast, and we were spectators of their high spectacles. And I, and an elegant lieutenant with a bracelet on his hands, and a polite non-commissioned officer, and a pockmarked spare, a former janitor, we were witnesses of a scene that most of all resembled the Tertiary period of the earth. I thought only Wells' novels had such paradoxes.

But we were not at the height of the situation and were not at all like the Olympians. When the battle flared up, we worried about the flank of our infantry, loudly rejoiced at its deft maneuvers, in a moment of calm we begged each other for cigarettes, shared bread and lard, and looked for hay for horses. However, perhaps such behavior was the only worthy under the circumstances.

We entered the village when the battle was still in full swing at the other end of it. Our infantry moved from hut to hut, firing all the time, sometimes attacking with hostility. The Austrians also fired, but avoided the bayonet fight, fleeing under the protection of machine guns. We entered the last hut where the wounded gathered. There were ten of them. They were busy with work. The wounded in the hand dragged poles, boards and ropes, the wounded in the leg quickly arranged a stretcher out of all this for their comrade, who had been shot through the chest. A gloomy Austrian, with a throat pierced by a bayonet, sat in a corner, coughing and incessantly smoking cigarettes, which our soldiers twirled for him. When the stretcher was ready, he stood up, grabbed one of the handles and by signs - he could not speak - indicated that he wanted to help carry them. They did not argue with him and only twisted two cigarettes for him at once. We returned a little disappointed. Our hope in the cavalry to pursue the fleeing enemy was not justified. The Austrians settled in the trenches behind the village, and the battle ended there.

These days we have had to work a lot together with the infantry, and we fully appreciated its unshakable stamina and ability to frenzied impulse. For two days I was a witness to the battle ... A small detachment of cavalry sent to communicate with the infantry stopped at the forester's house, two versts from the battlefield, and the battle was in full swing on both sides of the river. It was necessary to descend to it from a completely open sloping hillock, and the German artillery was so rich in shells that it fired at every single rider. The night was no better. The village was on fire, and it was light from the glow, as on the clearest, moonlit nights, when silhouettes are so clearly drawn. Having galloped over this dangerous hillock, we immediately fell into the sphere of rifle fire, and for a horseman, who is an excellent target, this is very inconvenient. I had to huddle behind the huts, which were already starting to catch fire.

The infantry crossed the river on pontoons, and the Germans did the same elsewhere. Our two companies were surrounded on the other side, they made their way to the water with bayonets and swam to join their regiment. The Germans piled machine guns on the church, which did us a lot of harm. A small party of our scouts on the roofs and through the windows of houses crept up to the church, broke into it, threw down machine guns and held out until reinforcements arrived. A continuous bayonet battle was in full swing in the center, and the German artillery bombarded both ours and theirs with shells. On the outskirts, where there was no such turmoil, there were scenes of downright miraculous heroism. The Germans beat off our two machine guns and solemnly took them to them. One of our non-commissioned officers, a machine gunner, grabbed two hand bombs and rushed to cut them off. He ran up about twenty paces and shouted: "Bring the machine guns back, or I'll kill you and myself." Several Germans raised their rifles to their shoulders. Then he threw a bomb that killed three and injured himself. With a bloody face, he jumped close to the enemies and, shaking the remaining bomb, repeated his order. This time the Germans obeyed and brought machine guns in our direction. And he followed them, shouting incoherent curses and pounding the Germans on the backs with a bomb. I met this strange procession already within our quarters. The hero did not allow anyone to touch either the machine guns or the prisoners, he led them to his commander. As if delirious, without looking at anyone, he told about his feat: “I see that they are dragging machine guns. Well, I think I’ll be lost myself, I’ll return the machine guns. began to shout at the deathly pale Germans: "Well, well, go, don't linger!"

It's always nice to move to a new front. At large stations you replenish your stocks of chocolate, cigarettes, books, you wonder where you will arrive - the secrecy of the route is strictly preserved - you dream about the special advantages of the new area, about fruits, about panenki, about spacious houses, you relax, wallowing on the straw of spacious warm cars. Having landed, you are surprised at the landscapes, get acquainted with the character of the inhabitants - the main thing is to find out if they have fat and whether they sell milk - you eagerly memorize the words of a language you have not yet heard. This is a whole sport, rather than others, learn to chat in Polish, Little Russian or Lithuanian.

But returning to the old front is even more pleasant. Because the soldiers are wrongly imagined as homeless, they get used to the shed where they spent the night several times, and to the affectionate hostess, and to the grave of a comrade. We have just returned to our homes and reveled in memories.

Our regiment was given the task of finding the enemy. As we retreated, we inflicted such blows on the Germans that in places they fell behind by a whole march, and in places they even retreated themselves. Now the front was levelled, the retreat was over, it was necessary, technically speaking, to get in touch with the enemy.

Our siding, one of a chain of sidings, galloped merrily along the washed-out spring road, under the brilliant, as if just washed, spring sun. For three weeks we did not hear the whistle of bullets, music, which you get used to like wine - the horses ate, rested, and it was so joyful to try fate again between the red pines and low hills. Shots were already being heard to the right and left: it was our patrols that ran into German outposts. So far, everything was calm before us: birds were fluttering, a dog was barking in the village. However, it was too dangerous to move forward. We had both flanks open. The siding stopped, and I (just promoted to non-commissioned officer) with four soldiers were instructed to inspect the blackened forest to the right. It was my first independent trip - it would be a pity not to use it. We crumbled into lava and walked into the forest with a step. The loaded rifles lay across the saddles, the sabers were pulled out an inch from their scabbards, every minute a tense look took big snags and stumps for hiding people, the wind in the branches rustled just like a human conversation, and besides, in German. We passed one ravine, another, - no one. Suddenly, at the very edge, already outside the area assigned to me, I noticed a house, either a very poor farm, or a forester's lodge.

If the Germans were around at all, they settled there. I quickly had a plan to go around the house with a quarry and, in case of danger, go back into the forest. I placed people on the edge, ordering me to support me with fire. My excitement was transferred to the horse. As soon as I touched her with spurs, she rushed off, spreading herself on the ground and at the same time sensitively obeying every movement of the reins.

The first thing I noticed, galloping behind the house, were three Germans sitting on the ground in the most casual poses; then several saddled horses; then another German, frozen astride the fence, he was obviously about to climb over it when he noticed me. I fired at random and ran on. My people, as soon as I joined them, also fired a volley. But in response, another, much more impressive rifle was heard at us, at least twenty rifles. Bullets whistled overhead, snapped against tree trunks. We had nothing else to do in the forest, and we left. When we climbed the hill beyond the forest, we saw our Germans galloping one by one in the opposite direction. They knocked us out of the forest, we knocked them out of the manor. But since there were four times more of them than us, our victory was more brilliant.

In two days we covered the state of affairs at the front to such an extent that the infantry could launch an offensive. We were on her flank and alternately occupied outposts. The weather has deteriorated badly. A strong wind was blowing, and there were frosts, and I do not know anything harder than the combination of these two climatic phenomena. It was especially bad that night, when the turn came to our squadron. Before reaching the place, I turned blue from the cold and began to intrigue, so that they would not send me to the post, but leave me at the main outpost at the disposal of the captain. I succeeded. In a spacious hut with tightly curtained windows and a heated stove, it was light, warm and cozy. But as soon as I received a glass of tea and began voluptuously warming my fingers about it, the captain said: "It seems that there is too much distance between the second and third posts. Gumilyov, go and see if this is so, and, if necessary, set up an intermediate post." I put down my tea and went out. It seemed to me that I plunged into ice ink, it was so dark and cold.

By feeling I got to my horse, took a guide, a soldier who had already been on duty, and rode out of the yard. It was a little lighter in the field. On the way, my companion told me that some German patrol had slipped through the line of outposts during the day and was now getting confused nearby, trying to break back. As soon as he finished his story, the sound of hooves was heard in front of us in the darkness and the figure of a rider was outlined. "Who goes?" - I shouted and added a lynx. The stranger silently turned his horse and sped away from us. We followed him, drawing our swords and looking forward to the pleasure of bringing the prisoner. Chasing is easier than running. You don’t think about the road, you follow the tracks ... I had already almost overtaken the fugitive, when he suddenly restrained his horse, and I saw on him, instead of a helmet, an ordinary cap. It was our lancer, passing from post to post; and he, just like we did, mistook us for the Germans. I visited the post, eight half-frozen people on top of a forested hill, and set up a way post in the dell. When I re-entered the hut and started on another glass of hot tea, I thought that this was the happiest moment of my life. But, alas, it did not last long. Three times that accursed night I had to go around the posts, and in addition they fired on me - whether the German patrol was lost or not, I don’t know, foot scouts. And every time I did not want to leave the bright hut, from hot tea and talk about Petrograd and Petrograd acquaintances, into the cold, into the darkness, under the shots. The night was restless. We killed a man and two horses. Therefore, everyone breathed more freely when it dawned and it was possible to take the posts back.

The whole outpost with the captain at the head we went to meet the returning posts. I was in front, showing the way, and had almost moved in with the last of them, when the lieutenant, who was riding towards me, opened his mouth to say something, how a volley rang out from the forest, then individual shots, a machine gun rattled - and all this on us. We turned at a right angle and rushed over the first hillock. There was a command: "To the foot formation ... come out ..." - and we lay down along the ridge, vigilantly watching the edge of the forest. Behind the bushes, a bunch of people in bluish-gray overcoats flashed by. We fired a salvo. Several people fell. The machine gun crackled again, shots rang out, and the Germans crawled towards us. The outposts deployed in the whole battle. Here and there a bent figure in a helmet moved out of the forest, quickly glided between the bumps to the first cover, and from there, waiting for his comrades, opened fire. Perhaps a whole company has already advanced three hundred paces towards us. We were threatened with an attack, and we decided to launch a counterattack on horseback. But at this time, two other squadrons of ours rushed from the reserve and, dismounting, entered the battle. The Germans were thrown back by our fire back into the forest. Our machine gun was placed on their flank, and it probably caused them a lot of trouble. But they also got stronger. Their firing increased like a blazing fire. Our chains went on the offensive, but they had to be returned.

Then, like theologians from the Viy, who were entering the battle for a decisive blow, our battery spoke. Guns barked hastily, shrapnel screeched and roared over our heads and exploded in the forest. Russian gunners shoot well. Twenty minutes later, when we again went on the offensive, we found only a few dozen dead and wounded, a bunch of abandoned rifles and one completely intact machine gun. I have often noticed that the Germans, who endure rifle fire so steadfastly, are quickly lost from gun fire.

Our infantry was advancing somewhere, and the Germans in front of us were retreating, leveling the front. Sometimes we also attacked them in order to hasten the cleansing of some important manor or village for us, but more often we just had to note where they had gone. The time was easy and fun. Every day patrols, every evening a quiet bivouac - the retreating Germans did not dare to disturb us at night. Once, even the patrol, in which I participated, gathered at my own risk and fear to drive the Germans out of one farm. All non-commissioned officers took part in the military council. Intelligence has opened convenient approaches. Some old man, whose cow the Germans had taken away and even pulled off his boots from his feet - he was now shod in torn galoshes - undertook to lead us to the flank through the swamp. We thought it over, calculated everything, and it would have been an exemplary battle if the Germans had not left after the first shot. Obviously, they did not have an outpost, but simply an observation post. Another time, while driving through the woods, we saw five incredibly dirty figures with rifles coming out of a dense thicket. These were our infantrymen, who more than a month ago had strayed from their unit and found themselves within the enemy's disposition. They did not get lost: they found a thicker thicket, dug a hole there, covered it with brushwood, with the help of the last match lit a slightly smoldering fire to heat their dwelling and melt the snow in the pots, and began to live as Robinsons, waiting for the Russian offensive. At night, one by one, they went to the nearest village, where at that time there was some kind of German headquarters. The inhabitants gave them bread, baked potatoes, sometimes lard. One day one didn't come back. They spent the whole day hungry, expecting that the one who disappeared under torture would betray their shelter and the enemies were about to come. However, nothing happened: whether the Germans were conscientious, or our soldier turned out to be a hero, is unknown. We were the first Russians they saw. First of all they asked for tobacco. Until now they have smoked the powdered bark and complained that it burns the mouth and throat too much.

In general, such cases are not uncommon: one Cossack swore to me that he played with the Germans at twenty-one. He was alone in the village when a strong enemy patrol entered there. It was too late to run away. He quickly unsaddled his horse, hid the saddle in the straw, put on the zipun he had taken from the owner, and the Germans who entered found him diligently threshing bread in the barn. A post of three men was left in his courtyard. The Cossack wanted to take a closer look at the Germans. He entered the hut and found them playing cards. He joined the players and won about ten rubles in an hour. Then, when the post was removed and the patrol left, he returned to his own. I asked him how he liked the Germans. “Nothing,” he said, “they just play badly, they shout, swear, everyone thinks that they will become obsolete. When I won, they wanted to beat me, but I didn’t give in.” How he didn't give in - I didn't have to find out: we were both in a hurry.

The last trip was especially rich in adventure. We drove through the forest for a long time, turning from path to path, drove around a large lake and were not at all sure that we did not have some enemy outpost left in our rear. The forest ended in bushes, then there was a village. We put forward patrols to the right and left, we ourselves began to observe the village. Whether there are Germans there or not, that is the question. Gradually, we began to move out of the bushes - everything is calm. The village was already no more than two hundred paces away, when a resident jumped out without a hat and rushed towards us, shouting: "Germans, Germans, there are many of them ... run!" And now there was a blast. The resident fell and rolled over several times, we returned to the forest. Now the whole field in front of the village is swarming with Germans. There were at least a hundred of them. We had to leave, but our patrols have not yet returned. Shooting was also heard from the left flank, and suddenly several shots rang out in our rear. It was the worst! We decided that we were surrounded, and exposed our swords, so that, as soon as the sentinels arrived, we could break through in the cavalry. But, fortunately, we soon guessed that there was no one in the rear - it was just explosive bullets exploding, hitting tree trunks. The lookouts on the right have already returned. They lingered because they wanted to pick up the resident who had warned us, but they saw that he had been killed - shot with three bullets in the head and in the back. Finally, the left sentinel rode up. He put his hand to his visor and bravely reported to the officer: "Your Excellency, the German is advancing from the left ... and I am wounded." There was blood on his thigh. "Can you sit in the saddle?" the officer asked. "That's right, while I can!" "Where's the other watchman?" "I don't know, I think he fell." The officer turned to me: "Gumilyov, go see what's wrong with him?" I saluted and rode straight into the shots.

As a matter of fact, I was exposed to no greater danger than by remaining in place: the forest was dense, the Germans fired without seeing us, and bullets flew everywhere; at most I could run into their front lines. I knew all this, but it was still very unpleasant to go. The shots became more and more audible, I could even hear the screams of the enemies. Every minute I expected to see the corpse of the unfortunate sentinel mutilated by an explosive bullet and, perhaps, to remain next to him just as mutilated - frequent trips had already shaken my nerves. Therefore, it is easy to imagine my fury when I saw the missing lancer on his haunches, calmly swarming around the dead horse.

"What are you doing here?" - "The horse was killed ... I take off the saddle." - "Hurry up, so-and-so, the whole patrol is waiting for you under bullets." - "Now, now, I'll just get the linen." He came up to me, holding a small bundle in his hands. "Here, hold until I jump on your horse, you can't leave on foot, the German is close." We galloped, escorted by bullets, and all the time he sighed behind me: “Oh, I forgot tea! Oh, pity, there was bread!”

We got back without incident. The wounded man returned to duty after dressing, hoping to get George. But we all often remembered the Pole who was killed for us, and when we occupied this area, we placed a large wooden cross on the site of his death.

Late at night or early in the morning - in any case, it was still quite dark - there was a knock on the window of the hut where I slept: to saddle in alarm. My first move was to put on my boots, the second was to fasten my saber and put on my cap. My arihmedes - in the cavalry messengers are called arihmedes, obviously a spoiled ritknecht - was already saddling our horses. I went outside and listened. Neither a gunfight, nor an indispensable companion of night alarms - the sound of a machine gun, nothing was heard. The worried sergeant-major, running, shouted to me that the Germans had just been driven out of the town of S. and they were hastily retreating along the highway; we will pursue them. For joy, I did several pirouettes, which, by the way, warmed me.

But, alas, the persecution did not turn out quite the way I thought. As soon as we reached the highway, we were stopped and made to wait an hour - the regiments that acted together with us had not yet gathered. Then they advanced about five versts and stopped again. Our artillery began to act. How angry we were that she was blocking our way. Only later did we learn that our division chief had come up with a cunning plan - instead of the usual pursuit and capture of several backward wagons, we would drive a wedge into the line of the retreating enemy and thereby force him to a more hasty retreat. The prisoners later said that we did a lot of harm to the Germans and forced them to roll back thirty miles further than expected, because in a retreating army it is easy to confuse not only the soldiers, but even the highest authorities. But then we did not know this and moved slowly, indignant at ourselves for this slowness.

From the advanced patrols, prisoners were brought to us. They were gloomy, apparently shocked by their retreat. It seems they thought they were going straight for Petrograd. However, honor was clearly saluted not only to officers, but also to non-commissioned officers, and, in response, they pulled themselves to attention.

In one hut, near which we were standing, the owner with pleasure, although, obviously, for the twentieth time, talked about the Germans: the same German sergeant-major stopped at his place both on the offensive and on the retreat. For the first time, he always boasted of his victory and repeated: "Russ kaput, russ kaput!" The second time he appeared in one boot, pulled off the missing one right from the owner’s foot and to his question: “Well, Russ kaput?” - answered with purely German conscientiousness: "No, no, no! No kaput!"

Late in the evening we turned off the highway to go to the bivouac in the area assigned to us. Forward, as always, the lodgers went. How we dreamed of a bivouac! In the afternoon, we learned that the inhabitants managed to hide butter and lard and, in joy, willingly sold it to Russian soldiers. Suddenly, gunshots were heard ahead. What? This is not according to an airplane - airplanes do not fly at night, this is obviously an enemy. We carefully drove into the village assigned to us, and before that we drove in with songs, dismounted, and suddenly a figure in incredibly dirty rags rushed towards us from the darkness. In it we recognized one of our lodgers. They gave him a sip of Madeira, and, having calmed down a little, he told us the following: a mile away from the village there is a large manor estate. The tenants calmly drove into it and were already talking to the manager about oats and sheds when a volley struck. The Germans, shooting, jumped out of the house, leaned out the windows, ran up to the horses. Our rushed to the gate, the gate was already slammed shut. Then the survivors, some who had already fallen, left their horses and ran into the garden. The narrator stumbled upon a stone wall a sazhen high, with a top strewn with broken glass. When he almost climbed on it, a German grabbed his leg. With his free foot, shod in a heavy boot, and with a spur in addition, he hit the enemy right in the face, he fell like a sheaf. Having jumped to the other side, the ragged, bruised lancer lost his direction and ran straight in front of him. He was in the very center of the enemy disposition. The cavalry rode past him, the infantry settled down for the night. He was saved only by darkness and the usual confusion during the retreat, a consequence of our deft maneuver, which I wrote about above. He was, by his own admission, like a drunk and understood his position only when, going up to the fire, he saw about twenty Germans around him. One of them even approached him with a question. Then he turned around, walked in the opposite direction and thus ran into us.

After listening to this story, we thought about it. Sleep was out of the question, and besides, the best part of our bivouac was occupied by the Germans. The situation was further complicated by the fact that our artillery also rode into the village after us to bivouac. We could not drive her back into the field, and we had no right to. No knight is as worried about the fate of his lady as a cavalryman is about the safety of the artillery under his cover. The fact that he can ride off at any moment makes him stay at his post to the end.

We had a faint hope that there was only a small German patrol ahead of us on the estate. We dismounted and went at him with a chain. But we were met by as much rifle and machine-gun fire as at least a few companies of infantry could bring forth. Then we lay down in front of the village so as not to miss at least the scouts who could detect our artillery.

Lying was boring, cold and scary. The Germans, angry with their retreat, fired in our direction every minute, and it is known that stray bullets are the most dangerous. Before dawn everything was quiet, and when at dawn our patrol entered the estate, there was no one there. During the night, almost all the tenants returned. Three were missing, two, obviously, were taken prisoner, and the corpse of the third was found in the courtyard of the estate. Poor fellow, he had just arrived at the position from the reserve regiment and kept saying that he would be killed. He was handsome, slender, and an excellent rider. His revolver was lying about him, and on the body, in addition to the gunshot wound, there were several bayonet wounds. It was evident that he defended himself for a long time until he was pinned. Peace be upon you, dear comrade! All of us who could came to your funeral!

On this day, our squadron was the lead squadron of the column and our platoon was the forward patrol. I did not sleep all night, but the upsurge of the offensive was so great that I felt quite cheerful. I think that at the dawn of mankind, people also lived with nerves, created a lot and died early. I find it hard to believe that a person who dine every day and sleep every night could contribute something to the treasury of the culture of the spirit. Only fasting and vigil, even if they are involuntary, awaken in a person special powers that were dormant before.

Our path lay through the estate, where our lodgers had been fired upon the day before. There, an officer, the head of another section, interrogated the manager about yesterday, a red-haired, with shifty eyes, of unknown nationality. The manager folded his hands with his palms and swore that he did not know how and when the Germans found themselves with him, the officer got excited and pressed on him with his horse. Our commander resolved the issue by telling the interrogator: "Well, to hell with it - they'll sort it out at the headquarters. Let's go further!" Then we looked around the forest; there was no one in it, they climbed a hillock, and the sentinels reported that the enemy was in the manor opposite. There is no need to attack the folvarks in the equestrian formation: they will shoot; we dismounted and were just about to start running when we heard frequent firing. The farmstead had already been attacked before us by a hussar patrol that arrived in time. Our intervention would have been tactless, we could only watch the battle and regret that we were late.

The fight didn't last long. The hussars briskly made a dash and had already entered the farm. Some of the Germans surrendered, some fled, they were caught in the bushes. A hussar, a huge fellow, who was escorting ten timidly huddled prisoners, saw us and prayed to our officer: "Your honor, take the prisoners, and I'll run back, there are still Germans." The officer agreed. "And save the rifles, your honor, so that no one will take them away," the hussar asked. He was promised, and this is because in small cavalry skirmishes the medieval custom persists that the weapon of the vanquished belongs to his conqueror.

Soon more prisoners were brought to us, then more and more. In total, sixty-seven people of real Prussians, active service in addition, were taken away in this farm, and there were no more than twenty takers.

When the path was cleared, we moved on. In the nearest village we were met by Old Believers, colonists. We were the first Russians they saw after a month and a half of German captivity. The old men tried to kiss our hands, the women brought out bowls of milk, eggs, bread and indignantly refused money, the blond children stared at us with such interest that they hardly stared at the Germans. And the most pleasant thing was that everyone spoke pure Russian, which we had not heard for a long time.

We asked how long the Germans had been. It turned out that only half an hour ago the German convoy had left and it would have been possible to overtake it. But as soon as we decided to do this, a messenger from our column jumped up to us with an order to stop. We began to beg the officer to pretend that he had not heard this order, but at that time a second messenger rushed in to confirm the categorical order not to move on in any case.

I had to submit. We chopped spruce branches with checkers and, lying down on them, began to wait for tea to boil in pots. Soon the whole column pulled up to us, and with it the prisoners, who were already about nine hundred people. And suddenly, over this gathering of the entire division, when everyone was exchanging impressions and sharing bread and tobacco, suddenly there was a characteristic howl of shrapnel, and an unexploded shell crashed right among us. The command was heard: "Have your horses! Sit down," and as in autumn a flock of thrushes suddenly breaks off from the thick branches of a mountain ash and flies, making noise and chirping, so we rushed, most of all afraid to break away from our unit. And the shrapnel went on and on. Fortunately for us, almost not a single shell exploded (and German factories sometimes work badly), but they flew so low that they really cut through our ranks. For several minutes we galloped across a rather large lake, the ice cracked and broke into stars, and I think everyone had only one prayer that he would not break.

When we rode the lake, the shooting died down. We formed platoons and returned back. There, a squadron was waiting for us, which was entrusted with guarding the prisoners. It turns out that he never moved, fearing that the prisoners would scatter, and rightly calculating that they would shoot at a larger mass rather than at a smaller one. We began to count the losses - they were not. Only one prisoner was killed and a horse was slightly injured. However, we had to think. After all, we were fired on from the flank. And if we had enemy artillery on our flank, it means that the bag we got into was very deep. We had a chance that the Germans would not be able to use it, because they had to retreat under pressure from the infantry. In any case, it was necessary to find out if there was a retreat for us, and if so, then secure it for ourselves. For this, patrols were sent, and I went with one of them.

The night was dark, and the road was only vaguely white in the depths of the forest. The surroundings were restless. Horses without riders shied away, gunfire was heard far away, someone was moaning in the bushes, but we had no time to pick him up. An unpleasant thing is night reconnaissance in the forest. So it seems that because of each tree a wide bayonet is directed at you and will now strike. Quite unexpectedly and immediately destroying the anxiety of expectation, a cry was heard: "Wer ist da?" - and several shots were fired. My rifle was in my hands, I shot without aiming, still nothing was visible, my comrades did the same. Then we turned and galloped twenty sazhens back.

"Is everyone here?" I asked. Voices were heard: "I'm here"; "I'm here too, I don't know the rest." I made a roll call - everyone turned out. Then we began to think about what to do. True, we were fired upon, but it could easily have been not an outpost, but simply a party of backward infantrymen, who are now running headlong to escape us. In this assumption, I was further strengthened by the fact that I heard the crackling of branches in the forest: the posts would not make such a noise.

We turned around and went in the old direction. At the place where we had a firefight, my horse began to snore and huddle away from the road. I jumped off and, walking a few steps, came across a lying body. Flashing an electric flashlight, I noticed a helmet split by a bullet under a blood-stained face, and further - a bluish-gray overcoat. Everything was quiet. We turned out to be right in our assumption.

We drove another five versts, as we were instructed, and, returning, reported that the road was free. Then they put us on a bivouac, but what a bivouac it was! The horses were not unsaddled, only the girths were released, people slept in overcoats and boots. And in the morning the patrols reported that the Germans had retreated and our infantry was on our flanks.

The third day of the offensive began vaguely. Ahead, a skirmish was heard all the time, the columns stopped every now and then, patrols were sent everywhere. And therefore, it was especially joyful for us to see the infantry coming out of the forest, which we had not seen for several days. It turned out that we, coming from the north, joined forces advancing from the south. Countless gray companies appeared one after another, only to disappear a few minutes later among the copses and hillocks. And their presence proved that the chase was over, that the enemy was stopping and the battle was approaching.

Our patrol was supposed to scout the path for one of the advancing companies and then guard its flank. On the way we met with a dragoon patrol, which was given almost the same task as us. The dragoon officer was wearing a torn boot - a trace of a German pike - he went on the attack the day before. However, this was the only damage received by ours, and the Germans were chopped down by about eight people. We quickly established the position of the enemy, that is, we poked here and there and were fired upon, and then calmly rode to the flank, thinking about boiled potatoes and tea.

But as soon as we left the forest, as soon as our sentinel climbed a hillock, a shot rang out from behind the opposite hillock. We returned to the forest, everything was quiet. The sentinel again appeared from behind the hillock, another shot rang out, this time the bullet grazed the horse's ear. We dismounted, went to the edge of the forest and began to observe. Gradually, a German helmet began to appear from behind the hill, then the figure of a rider - through binoculars I made out a large blond mustache. "Here he is, here he is, the devil with a horn," the soldiers whispered. But the officer was waiting for the Germans to appear more, that it would be useful to shoot one at a time. We took him into sight, looked at him through binoculars, wondered about his social position.

Meanwhile, a lancer, left to communicate with the infantry, arrived and reported that they were withdrawing. The officer himself went to her, and left us to deal with the Germans at our own discretion. Left alone, we took aim, some from the knee, some putting the rifle on the boughs, and I commanded: "Platoon, fire!" At the same moment, the German disappeared, apparently fell over a hillock. Nobody else showed up. Five minutes later I sent two lancers to see if he was dead, and suddenly we saw a whole German squadron approaching us under the cover of hillocks. Here, without any command, the rattle of guns rose. People jumped out on a hillock, from where it was better to see, lay down and fired non-stop. Strange, it didn't even occur to us that the Germans might go on the attack.

And indeed, they turned and rushed back in all directions. We saw them off with fire, and when they rose to the heights, we fired the right volleys. It was joyful to watch how then people and horses fell, and the rest went into the quarry in order to get to the nearest hollow as soon as possible. Meanwhile, two lancers brought the helmet and rifle of the German on whom we fired our first volley. He was killed outright.

Behind us, the battle was raging. Rifles rattled, gun explosions thundered, it was clear that there was a hot deal. Therefore, we were not surprised when a grenade exploded to our left, throwing up a cloud of snow and mud, like a bull poking its horns into the ground with a flourish. We only thought that our infantry line lay nearby. The shells were bursting closer and closer, more and more often, we were not at all worried, and only when he drove up to take us away, the officer said that the infantry had already retreated and it was us who were shelling. The faces of the soldiers immediately brightened up. It is very flattering for a small patrol when heavy shells are spent on it.

On the way, we saw our foot soldiers sullenly emerging from the forest and gathering in groups. "What, fellow countrymen, move away?" I asked them. “They are ordering, but what about us? If only we didn’t leave ... what have we lost behind,” they grumbled with displeasure. But the bearded non-commissioned officer judiciously declared: “No, this authorities judged correctly. There are very many Germans. We can’t hold back without trenches. At this time, another company appeared from our side. "Brothers, the reserve is approaching us, we'll hold out a little longer!" shouted the infantry officer. "And that," the non-commissioned officer, still judicious, said, and, throwing off his rifle from his shoulder, walked back into the forest. The others followed.

Reports of such cases say: under the pressure of superior enemy forces, our troops had to withdraw. The far rear, having read it, is frightened, but I know, I have seen with my own eyes how simply and calmly such waste is committed.

A little further on we met the commander of an infantry division, surrounded by his headquarters, a handsome, gray-haired old man with a pale, tired face. The lancers sighed: "What a gray-haired one, it suits us as grandfathers. For us, young people, war is like that, instead of a game, but the old ones are bad."

The assembly point was appointed in the town of S. Shells rained down on it, but the Germans, as always, chose the church as a target, and it was only necessary to gather at the other end so that the danger was minimized.

From all sides patrols gathered, squadrons approached from positions. Those who came earlier boiled potatoes and boiled tea.

But we did not have to take advantage of this, because we were lined up in a column and taken to the road. Night fell, quiet, blue, frosty. The snow shimmered. The stars seemed to shine through the glass. We were ordered to stop and wait for further orders. And we stood on the road for five hours. Yes, this night was one of the most difficult in my life. I ate bread with snow, dry and it would not go down the throat; dozens of times he ran along his squadron, but it was more tiring than warming; I tried to warm myself near the horse, but its hair was covered with icicles, and the breath froze without leaving the nostrils. Finally, I stopped fighting the cold, stopped, put my hands in my pockets, turned up my collar, and with dull intensity began to look at the blackening hedge and the dead horse, clearly realizing that I was freezing. Already through a dream, I heard the long-awaited command: "To the horses ... sit down." We drove about two versts and entered a small village. It was finally possible to warm up here. As soon as I found myself in the hut, I lay down, without taking off either my rifle or even my cap, and fell asleep instantly, as if thrown into the bottom of the deepest, blackest sleep.

I woke up with a terrible pain in my eyes and a noise in my head, because my comrades, fastening their swords, pushed me with their feet: "Alarm! We are leaving now." Like a sleepwalker, thinking nothing, I got up and went out into the street. Machine guns crackled there, people mounted horses. We hit the road again and started at a trot. My dream lasted exactly half an hour.

We rode all night at a trot, because we had to cover fifty versts before dawn in order to defend the town of K. at the junction of highways. What a night it was! People fell asleep on saddles, and uncontrolled horses ran forward, so that very often you had to wake up in someone else's squadron.

Low-hanging branches lashed at his eyes and knocked off his cap. Sometimes there were hallucinations. So, during one of the stops, looking at a steep, snow-covered slope, I was sure for ten minutes that we had entered some big city, that in front of me was a three-story house with windows, balconies, with shops below. For several hours we rode through the forest. In the silence, broken only by the clatter of hooves and the snoring of horses, the distant howl of a wolf was clearly heard. Sometimes, smelling a wolf, the horses began to tremble all over and reared up. This night, this forest, this endless white road seemed to me like a dream from which it is impossible to wake up. And yet a sense of strange triumph overwhelmed my mind. Here we are, so hungry, exhausted, freezing, having just left the battle, we are going towards a new battle, because we are forced to this by the spirit, which is just as real as our body, only infinitely stronger than it. And to the beat of the horse's trot, rhythmic lines danced in my mind:

The spirit blossoms like a May rose,
Like fire it breaks the darkness
The body, not understanding anything,
Blindly obey him.

It seemed to me that I felt the stuffy aroma of this rose, I saw red tongues of fire.

At ten o'clock in the morning we arrived at the town of K. At first we took up positions, but soon, leaving guards and sentinels, we settled in huts. I drank a glass of tea, ate some potatoes, and, since I still couldn’t get warm, I climbed onto the stove, covered myself with the tattered coat that was lying there, and, shuddering with pleasure, immediately fell asleep. What I dreamed, I don't remember, it must have been something very chaotic, because I was not too surprised to wake up from a terrible roar and a heap of lime falling on me. The hut was full of smoke, which came out through a large hole in the ceiling right above my head. The pale sky was visible through the hole. “Yeah, artillery shelling,” I thought, and suddenly a terrible thought pierced my brain and in an instant threw me off the stove. The hut was empty, the uhlans had left.

This is where I got really scared. I did not know since when I was alone, where my comrades went, apparently not noticing how I climbed onto the stove, and in whose hands the place was. I grabbed my rifle, made sure it was loaded, and ran out the door. The place was on fire, shells were bursting here and there. Every minute I expected to see broad bayonets pointed at me and to hear the menacing cry: "Halt!" But then I heard a clatter and, before I had time to get ready, I saw red horses, a lancer patrol. I ran to him and asked him to give me a lift to the regiment. It was difficult to jump on the croup of a horse in full armor, she did not stand, frightened by artillery explosions, but what a joy it was to realize that I was no longer an unfortunate lost one, but again part of the uhlan regiment, and consequently, of the entire Russian army.

An hour later I was already in my squadron, sitting on my horse, telling my neighbors in the ranks of my adventure. It turned out that an order had suddenly come to clear the place and retreat twenty versts to the bivouac. Our infantry went into the flank of the advancing Germans, and the further they advanced, the worse it would be for them. The bivouac was excellent, the huts were spacious, and for the first time in many days we saw our kitchen and ate hot soup.

One morning the sergeant-major told me: "Lieutenant Ch. is going on a long journey, ask him to go with him."

I obeyed, received consent, and half an hour later I was already galloping along the road next to the officer.

In response to my question, he told me that the siding was really a long one, but that, in all likelihood, we would soon stumble upon a German outpost and be forced to stop. And so it happened. Having traveled about five versts, the head patrols noticed German helmets and, having crept up on foot, counted about thirty people.

Now behind us was a village, quite comfortable, even with the inhabitants. We returned to it, leaving observation, entered the last hut and, of course, put the chicken traditional in all trips to boil. It usually takes about two hours, and I was in a fighting mood. Therefore, I asked the officer for five people to try to get into the rear of the German outpost, scare it, maybe capture prisoners.

The enterprise was unsafe, because if I ended up in the rear of the Germans, then other Germans found themselves in the rear of me ... But two young residents became interested in the enterprise, and they promised to take us by a roundabout way to the Germans themselves.

We thought it over and drove first through the backyards, then down the lowland through the dirty melted snow. The inhabitants walked beside us... We passed a series of empty trenches, magnificent, deep, lined with sandbags.

In a lonely manor, the old man kept calling us to eat scrambled eggs, he moved out and liquidated his farm and, when asked about the Germans, answered that there were a lot of cavalry, apparently several squadrons, behind the lake from a mile away.

Then we saw a wire fence, with one end resting on the lake, and leaving the other ... I left a man at the passage through the wire fence, ordered him to shoot in case of an alarm, and went on with the rest.

It was hard to drive, leaving behind such a barrier with only one passage, which was so easy to block with slingshots. This could be done by any German patrol, and they were circling nearby, this was also said by the inhabitants who saw them half an hour ago. But we too wanted to shell the German outpost.

So we drove into the forest, we knew that it was not wide and that the Germans were now behind it. They are not waiting for us from this side, our appearance will produce panic. We had already taken off our rifles, and suddenly, in complete silence, there was a distant sound of a shot. A thunderous salvo would have frightened us less. We... looked at each other. "It's near the wire," someone said, we guessed without him. "Well, brothers, a volley through the forest and let's go back ... maybe we'll be in time!" - I said. We fired a volley and turned the horses.

That was the jump. Trees and bushes rushed past us, clods of snow flew from under the hooves, a woman with a bucket in her hand by the river looked at us with her mouth wide open in surprise. If we found the passage retracted, we would perish. The German cavalry would have caught us in noon. Boat and wire fence - we saw it from the hill. The passage is open, but our lancer is already on the other side and is shooting somewhere to the left. We looked over there and immediately spurred our horses on. A dozen or two Germans galloped across us. They were the same distance from the wire as we were. They understood where our salvation lies and decided to block our way.

"Peaks for battle, checkers out!" - I commanded, and we continued to rush. The Germans yelled and whirled their lances over their heads. The lancer, who was on the other side, picked up a slingshot to block the passage as soon as we got through. And we really jumped. I heard the heavy snoring and clatter of the leading German horse's hooves, saw the disheveled beard and the menacingly raised pike of its rider. If I were five seconds late, we would have hit each other. But I slipped through the wire, and he rushed past with a flourish.

The slingshot thrown by our lancers lay crooked, but the Germans still did not dare to jump out of the wire fence and began to dismount to open fire on us. We, of course, did not wait for them and returned back through the lowlands. The chicken was already cooked and was very tasty.

Toward evening, a captain with the entire squadron drove up to us. Our observation patrol deployed to outpost, and we, as having worked all day, remained at the main outpost.

The night passed quietly. The next morning the telephone began to sing, and we were informed from the headquarters that a German patrol had been seen from the observation post, heading in our direction. It was worth looking at our faces when the telephone operator told us about it. Not a single muscle moved on them. Finally, the captain remarked: "We should have boiled some more tea." And only then did we laugh, realizing the unnaturalness of our indifference.

However, the German patrol made itself felt. We heard frequent skirmishes on the left, and a lancer came from one of the posts with a report that they had to withdraw. “Let them try to return to their old place,” the captain ordered, “if they fail, I will send reinforcements.” The shooting intensified, and after an hour or two the messenger reported that the Germans had been repulsed and the post had returned. "Well, thank God, there was nothing to raise such a storm!" - followed by a resolution.

I participated in many trips, but I don’t remember such a difficult one as Prince K.’s cornet trip on one of the coldest March days. There was a blizzard and the wind was blowing right at us. Frozen flakes of snow cut his face like glass and did not allow him to open his eyes. Blindly, we drove into the destroyed wire fence, and the horses began to jump and rush about, feeling the pricks. There were no roads, everywhere lay a solid white veil. The horses walked almost belly-deep in the snow, falling into holes, bumping into hedges. And in addition, the Germans could fire at us every minute. We traveled twenty miles in this way.

At the end they stopped. The platoon remained in the village; forward, to examine the neighboring farms, two non-commissioned officers were sent out. I took one of them. The inhabitants definitely said that there were Germans in my farm, but I had to make sure of this. The terrain was completely open, there were no approaches, and therefore we slowly headed in a wide chain straight to the farm. At eight hundred paces they stopped and fired a volley, then another. The Germans fastened, did not shoot, apparently hoping that we would come closer. Then I decided on the last experience - a simulation of flight. At my command, we immediately turned around and rushed back, as if noticing the enemy. If we had not been fired upon, we would have gone to the farm without fear. Fortunately, we were fired upon.

The other siding was less fortunate. He ran into an ambush and had his horse killed. The loss is small, but not when you are twenty miles away from the regiment. We rode back at a walk, so that a pedestrian could keep up with us.

The blizzard subsided, and a severe frost set in. I did not think of getting off and walking, I dozed off and began to freeze, and then to freeze. It felt like I was sitting naked in icy water. I no longer trembled, no longer chattered my teeth, but only quietly and incessantly groaned ...

And we still did not immediately find our bivouac and stood for an hour, numb, in front of the huts, where other lancers drank hot tea - we could see it through the windows.

From that night my troubles began. We advanced, drove the Germans out of the villages, went on patrols, I also did all this, but as in this, now shivering in a chill, now burning in the heat. Finally, after one night, during which, without leaving the hut, I made at least twenty rounds and fifteen escapes from captivity, I decided to take the temperature. The thermometer showed 38.7º C.

I went to the regimental doctor. The doctor ordered to measure the temperature every two hours and lie down, and the regiment marched. I lay down in a hut, where there were two telephone operators, but they were placed with a telephone in the next room, and I was alone. In the afternoon, the headquarters of the Cossack regiment came into the hut, and the commander treated me to Madeira with biscuits. He left half an hour later, and I dozed off again. One of the telephone operators woke me up: "The Germans are advancing, we are leaving now!" I asked where our regiment was, they didn't know.

I went out into the yard. A German machine gun, you can always recognize it by its sound, was already pounding very close. I got on my horse and rode straight from him

It was getting dark. Soon I ran into a hussar bivouac and decided to spend the night here. The hussars gave me tea to drink, brought me straw for sleeping, and even lent me some kind of blanket. I fell asleep, but woke up at midnight, took my temperature, found myself at 39.1º C, and for some reason decided that I definitely needed to find my regiment. Quietly he got up, went out without waking anyone, found his horse and galloped along the road, not knowing where.

It was a fantastic night. I sang, shouted, dangled ridiculously in the saddle, took ditches and barriers for entertainment. Raz ran into our outpost and ardently urged the soldiers of the post to attack the Germans. I met two horse artillerymen who had strayed from their unit. They did not realize that I was in the heat, they were infected by my fun and for half an hour they galloped beside me, filling the air with screams. Then they backed off. The next morning, quite unexpectedly, I returned to the hussars. They took a great interest in me and reprimanded me very much for my nocturnal escapade.

I spent the whole next day wandering around the headquarters: first, divisions, then brigades, and finally, regiments. And a day later I was already lying on a cart that was taking me to the nearest railway station. I went to Petrograd for treatment.

I had to lie in bed for a whole month after that.

Now I want to tell you about the most significant day of my life, about the battle of July 6, 1915. This happened already on a different, completely new front for us. Before that, we had skirmishes and patrols, but the memory of them fades compared to that day.

It had rained heavily the day before. Every time we had to leave the houses, it intensified. So it intensified even when, late in the evening, we were led to relieve the army cavalry sitting in the trenches.

The road went through the forest, the path was narrow, the darkness was complete, you could not see an outstretched hand. If you fell behind even a minute, you had to gallop and stumble upon drooping branches and trunks, until you finally run into the croup of the front horses. More than one eye was hit and more than one face was scratched into blood.

In a clearing - we only groped to determine that it was a clearing - we dismounted. The grooms were supposed to stay here, the rest - to go into the trench. Let's go, but how? Stretching out in single file and tightly clinging to each other's shoulders. Sometimes someone, having stumbled upon a stump or fallen into a ditch, broke away, then those behind him fiercely pushed him forward, and he ran and called out to those in front, helplessly grasping the darkness with his hands. We walked through the swamp and scolded the guide for this, but he was not to blame, our path really lay through the swamp. Finally, after walking about three versts, we bumped into a hillock, from which, to our surprise, people began to crawl out. These were the cavalrymen whom we came to replace.

We asked them how it was for them to sit. Embittered by the rain, they were silent, and only one grumbled under his breath: "But you will see for yourself, the German is shooting, he must go on the attack in the morning." “Pip on your tongue,” we thought, “in such weather, and even an attack!”

In fact, there was no trench. A sharp ridge of a low hill stretched along the front, and a row of cells for one or two people with loopholes for shooting was punched in it. We climbed into these cells, fired several volleys towards the enemy and, having established observation, lay down to take a nap until dawn. It began to get light a little, we were awakened: the enemy makes a dash and digs in, open frequent fire.

I looked into the slit. It was gray and the rain was still pouring down. Two or three paces ahead of me, an Austrian was scurrying about like a mole, sinking into the ground before my eyes. I fired. He sat down in the already dug hole and waved his shovel to show that I had missed. A minute later he leaned out, I fired again and saw another stroke of the shovel. But after the third shot, neither he nor his shovel appeared again.

The other Austrians, meanwhile, had already managed to dig in and fiercely fired at us. I crawled into the cell where our cornet was sitting. We started discussing the situation. There were one and a half squadrons of us, that is, eighty people, Austrians five times more. It is not known if we could hold out in the event of an attack.

So we chatted, trying in vain to light soaked cigarettes, when our attention was attracted by some strange sound, from which our hill trembled, as if a gigantic hammer were striking directly on the ground. I began to peer into the loophole, not too freely, because bullets flew into it every now and then, and finally noticed heavy shells bursting halfway between us and the Austrians. "Hurrah! - I shouted, - this is our artillery covering their trenches."

At the same moment, the frowned face of the captain peeped out to us. "Nothing of the kind," he said, "these are their shortcomings, they are firing at us. Now they will rush to the attack. We were bypassed from the left flank. Move back to the horses!"

Cornet and I, as if from the push of a spring, flew out of the trench. We had a minute or two at our disposal, but it was necessary to warn all people about the withdrawal and send them to the neighboring squadron. I ran along the trenches, shouting: "To the horses ... quick! We are being bypassed!" People jumped out, unbuttoned, dazed, dragging shovels and sabers under their arms, which they had dropped in the trench. When everyone had gone out, I looked out the arrow-slit and absurdly close saw the preoccupied physiognomy of the mustachioed Austrian in front of me, and behind him still others. I fired without aiming and ran as fast as I could to catch up with my comrades.

We had to run a verst across a completely open field, which had turned into a swamp from the incessant rain.

Further there was a hillock, some sheds, a rare forest began. It would be possible to shoot back there; and continue the retreat, judging by the circumstances. Now, in view of the constantly shooting enemy, all that remained was to run, and, moreover, as soon as possible.

I caught up with my comrades immediately over the hill. They could no longer run and, under a hail of bullets and shells, walked with a quiet step, as if walking. It was especially terrible to see the captain, who every minute with a habitual gesture took off his pince-nez and gently wiped the damp glasses with a completely wet handkerchief.

Behind the barn, I noticed a lancer writhing on the ground. "Are you hurt?" I asked him. "Sick ... stomach grabbed!" he groaned in response.

“Here, I found time to get sick!” I shouted in a commanding tone. “Run quickly, the Austrians will pierce you!” He took off and ran; afterwards he thanked me very much, but two days later he was taken away in cholera.

Soon the Austrians also appeared on the hillock. They walked behind us at two hundred paces and then shot, then waved their hands at us, inviting us to surrender. They were afraid to come closer, because their artillery shells were exploding among us. We fired back over our shoulders without slowing down.

To my left, a weeping cry was heard from the bushes: "Uhlans, brothers, help!" I turned around and saw a stuck machine gun, with only one person from the team and an officer left. "Someone take a machine gun," ordered the captain. The end of his words was drowned out by the thunderous explosion of a shell that fell among us. Everyone involuntarily stepped up.

However, the complaint of the machine-gun officer was still in my ears, and, stamping my foot and cursing myself for cowardice, I quickly returned and grabbed the strap. I did not have to repent of this, because in a moment of great danger, something is most needed. The machine gunner turned out to be very thorough. He chatted non-stop as he picked his way, hauling his car out of potholes and unhooking it from tree roots. I chirped no less animatedly. Once a shell crashed five steps away from us. We involuntarily stopped, waiting for a break. I began to count for some reason - one, two, three. When I got to five, I realized that there would be no break. "Nothing this time, we're taking it further ... why linger?" - the machine gunner happily announced to me, - and we continued on our way.

The surroundings were not so good. People fell, some crawled, others froze in place. I noticed a group of soldiers walking a hundred paces, dragging someone, but I could not throw a machine gun to rush to their aid. Later I was told that it was a wounded officer of our squadron. He was shot in the legs and head. When he was picked up, the Austrians opened a particularly fierce fire and wounded several of the carriers. Then the officer demanded to be laid on the ground, kissed and crossed the soldiers who were with him, and resolutely ordered them to escape. We all felt sorry for him. He was the last with his platoon to cover the general retreat. Fortunately, we now know that he is in captivity and recovering.

Finally we reached the forest and saw our horses. Bullets flew here too; one of the horsemen was even wounded, but we all breathed a sigh of relief, lay in chains for about ten minutes, waiting for the other squadrons to leave, and only then mounted our horses.

They retreated at a small trot, threatening to attack the advancing enemy. Our rear sentinel even managed to bring a prisoner. He rode turning around, as he was supposed to, and, noticing between the trunks of an Austrian with a rifle at the ready, rushed at him with a naked saber. The Austrian dropped his weapon and raised his hands. The uhlan made him pick up a rifle - it wouldn't go to waste, it's worth the money - and, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and lower his back, threw him across the saddle like a sheep. To those he met, he proudly announced:

"Here, I took the Knight of St. George prisoner, I'm taking him to the headquarters." Indeed, the Austrian was decorated with some kind of cross.

Only when we approached the village of Z. did we extricate ourselves from the Austrian forest and resume contact with our neighbors. They sent to inform the infantry that the enemy was advancing with superior forces, and decided to hold out at all costs until reinforcements arrived. The chain was located along the cemetery, in front of a rye field, we piled a machine gun on a tree. We did not see anyone and fired directly in front of us at the swaying rye, setting the sight at two thousand paces and gradually lowering it, but our patrols, who saw the Austrians coming out of the forest, claimed that our fire had inflicted heavy losses on them. Bullets all the time fell near us and behind us, throwing out columns of earth. One of these posts clogged my eye, which I had to wipe after a long time.

It was evening. We have not eaten anything all day and longingly awaited a new attack by five times the strongest enemy. The repeated command from time to time was especially depressing: "Lower the sight by a hundred!" This meant that the enemy approached us by the same number of steps.

Turning around, behind me, through the net of fine rain and the advancing twilight, I noticed something strange, as if a cloud was creeping low on the ground. Or was it a shrub, but then why did it get closer and closer? I shared my discovery with my neighbors. They were also perplexed. Finally, one far-sighted one shouted: "This is our infantry coming!" - and even jumped up from joyful excitement. We also jumped up, now doubting, now believing and completely forgetting about the bullets.

Soon there was no room for doubt. We were overwhelmed by a crowd of short stocky bearded men, and we heard encouraging words: "What, brothers, or was it hard? Nothing, we'll arrange everything now!" They ran at a measured pace (so they ran ten miles) and were not at all out of breath, rolling cigarettes as they ran, sharing bread, chatting. It was felt that walking was a natural state for them. How I loved them at that moment, how I admired their formidable power.

Now they hid in the rye, and I heard someone's sonorous voice shouting: "Miron, you bend the flank to the Austrians!" "Okay, let's go," was the answer. And immediately the firing of five hundred rifles burst out. They saw the enemy.

We sent for horsemen and got ready to leave, but I was assigned to be in contact with the infantry. As I approached their chain, I heard a thunderous cheer. But somehow it immediately broke off, and separate cries were heard: "Catch, hold! Ay, it will go away!" - just like in a street scandal. Miron, unknown to me, was at the height of the situation. Half of our infantry, under cover of fire from the rest, went into the flank of the Austrians and cut off one and a half of their battalions. Those hundreds threw down their weapons and dutifully walked to the place indicated by them, to a group of old oaks. In total, eight hundred people were captured that evening, and in addition, the positions lost at the beginning were returned.

In the evening, after harvesting the horses, we met with the returning foot soldiers. “Thank you, brothers,” we said, “without you, we would have been covered!” - "Not on anything," they answered, "how did you hold on before us? Look, after all, how many there were! Your happiness is that they are not Germans, but Austrians." We agreed that it really was happiness.

In those days, our summer retreat was ending. We were no longer retreating from the impossibility of holding out, but on orders received from the headquarters. Sometimes it happened that after a day of fierce fighting, both sides retreated and the cavalry then had to re-establish contact with the enemy.

So it happened on that magnificent, slightly cloudy, but warm and fragrant evening, when we saddled on the alarm of work. For a moment, the thought crossed my mind to take this and other paintings with me. Without subframes, they would take up little space. But I could not guess the plans of the higher authorities; maybe it was decided not to give this area to the enemy for anything.

What would the returning owner think about the lancers then? I went out, plucked an apple from the garden, and, chewing it, drove on.

We were not fired upon, and we returned back. A few hours later I saw a big pink glow and knew what it was. they set fire to the same landowner's house, because it blocked the shelling from our trenches. That's when I bitterly regretted my scrupulousness about pictures.

The night was disturbing - all the time shots, sometimes the crackle of a machine gun. At about two o'clock they pulled me out of the barn, where I slept buried in sheaves, and they said that it was time to go to the trench. In our shift there were twelve people under the command of a lieutenant. The trench was located on the lower slope of the hill, descending to the river. It was well made, but there was no retreat, you had to run uphill through open country. The whole question was whether the Germans would go on the attack that night or the next. The captain we met advised us not to accept the bayonet fight, but we decided the opposite in our minds. Still, there was no way to leave.

When dawn broke, we were already sitting in the trench. From us it was perfectly visible how the Germans made a dash on the other bank, but did not advance, but only dug in. We fired, but rather sluggishly, because they were very far away. Suddenly a cannon roared behind us - we even shuddered in surprise - and the shell, flying over our heads, exploded in the enemy's trench itself. The Germans held firm. Only after the tenth shell, launched with the same accuracy, did we see gray figures running at full speed towards the nearby forest, and white haze of shrapnel above them. There were about a hundred of them, but hardly twenty people were saved.

During such activities, we passed the time until the shift and left merrily, at a trot and one at a time, because some cunning German, obviously an excellent shooter, climbed into our flank and, not visible to us, fired as soon as someone went out into the open. place. He shot through the cape of one, scratched the neck of another. "Look dexterous!" the soldiers spoke of him without any malice. And the elderly venerable ensign on the run would say: "Well, the merry Germans! They stirred up the old man, they forced him to run."

At night we again went to the trenches. The Germans learned that there were only cavalry here, and decided to force the crossing at all costs before the arrival of our infantry. We each took our place and, in anticipation of the morning attack, dozed off, some standing, some squatting down.

Sand from the wall of the trench poured down behind our gates, our legs became numb, the bullets flying at us from time to time buzzed like large, dangerous insects, and we slept, slept sweeter and sounder than on the softest beds. And all the things I remembered were so cute - books read in childhood, sea beaches with buzzing shells, blue hyacinths. The most touching and happy hours are the hours before the battle.

The sentry ran along the trench, deliberately on the legs of the sleeping ones, and, for the sake of fidelity, pushing them with the butt, repeated: "Alarm, alarm." A few moments later, as if to finally wake the sleepers, a whisper went through: "Secrets are running." For a few minutes it was difficult to understand anything. Machine guns rattled, we fired without interruption across the clear strip of water, and the sound of our shots merged with the terribly frequent buzz of German bullets. Little by little, everything began to subside, a command was heard: “Do not shoot,” and we realized that we had beaten off the first attack.

After the first minute of the celebration, we thought about what would happen next. The first attack is usually a trial one, by the strength of our fire the Germans determined how many of us there were, and the second attack, of course, will be decisive, they can put five people against one. There is no retreat, we are ordered to hold on, is there anything left of the squadron?

Absorbed by these thoughts, I suddenly noticed a small figure in a gray overcoat, leaning over the trench and then easily jumping down. In one minute the trench was already teeming with people, like a town square on a market day.

Infantry? I asked.

Infantry. You should be replaced, - two dozen voices answered at once.

And how many of you?

Division.

I could not stand it and began to laugh for real, from the heart. So this is what awaits the Germans, who are now going on the attack in order to crush a single unfortunate squadron. After all, they are now caught with bare hands. I would give a year of my life to stay and see everything that happens. But I had to leave.

We were already mounting our horses when we heard the frequent German firing announcing the attack. There was an ominous silence on our part, and we only looked at each other meaningfully.

The corps to which we were seconded was withdrawing. Our regiment was sent to see if the Germans wanted to cut the road, and if so, to prevent them from doing so. The work is purely cavalry.

We trotted to a village located on the only passable road in that area, and stopped because the head patrol found Germans accumulating in the forest. Our squadron dismounted and lay down in a ditch on both sides of the road.

Here, from the blackened forest in the distance, several horsemen in helmets rode out. We decided to let them get very close, but our secret, put forward, was the first to open fire on them, knocked down one man with a horse, others galloped off. Again it became quiet and calm, as happens only on the warm days of early autumn.

Before that, we had been in reserve for more than a week, and it is not surprising that we played bones. Four non-commissioned officers, including myself, asked the lieutenant for permission to go into the swamp, and then by the edge of the forest into the flank of the Germans and, if possible, frighten them a little. We received a warning not to drown in the swamp and set off.

From tussock to hummock, from bush to bush, from ditch to ditch, we finally, unnoticed by the Germans, reached a copse, about fifty paces from the edge of the forest. Farther on, like a wide bright corridor, stretched a low-cut meadow. According to our considerations, German posts were bound to stand in the copse, but we relied on military happiness and, bending down, quickly ran across the clearing one at a time.

Climbing into the very thicket, rested and listened. The forest was full of indistinct rustles. Leaves rustled, birds chirped, water flowed somewhere. Gradually, other sounds began to stand out, the sound of a hoof digging the ground, the sound of checkers, human voices. We crept like boys playing Mine Reed or Gustave Aymar, one after the other, on all fours, stopping every ten steps. We were now in a completely hostile position. Voices were heard not only ahead of us, but also behind us. But we haven't seen anyone yet.

I will not hide the fact that I was terrified by that fear, which is only with difficulty conquered by the will. Worst of all, I could not imagine the Germans in their natural form. It seemed to me that they, like dwarfs, looked out from under the bushes with evil rat eyes, then huge, like bell towers, and terrible, like Polynesian gods, inaudibly parted the tops of the trees and watched us with an unkind smile. And at the last moment they will shout: "Ah, a, a!" - like adults scaring children. I looked hopefully at my bayonet, as if it were a talisman against sorcery, and thought that first I would put it in a dwarf or a giant, and then let it be what happens.

Suddenly, the one crawling in front of me stopped, and I poked my face into the wide and dirty soles of his boots. From his feverish movements, I realized that he was releasing his rifle from the branches. And over his shoulder in a small dark clearing, about fifteen paces, no further, I saw the Germans. There were two of them, apparently accidentally moving away from their own: one in a soft cap, the other in a helmet covered with a cloth cover. They examined some little thing, a coin or a watch, holding it in their hands. The one in the helmet faced me, and I remembered his red beard and the wrinkled face of a Prussian peasant. The other stood with his back to me, showing stooped shoulders. Both held rifles at their shoulders with fixed bayonets.

Only on the hunt for large animals, leopards, buffaloes, did I experience the same feeling, when anxiety for myself is suddenly replaced by the fear of missing out on magnificent prey. Lying down, I pulled up my rifle, retracted the safety, aimed at the very middle of the torso of the one who was wearing a helmet, and pulled the trigger. The shot reverberated deafeningly through the woods. The German fell on his back, as if from a strong push in the chest, without shouting, without waving his arms, and his comrade, as if he had been waiting for just that, immediately bent over and, like a cat, rushed into the forest. Two more shots rang out above my ear, and he fell into the bushes, so that only his legs were visible.

"And now let's go!" - the platoon commander whispered with a cheerful and excited face, and we ran. The forest around us came to life. Shots rang out, horses galloped, a command was heard in German. We ran to the edge of the forest, but not in the place where we came from, but much closer to the enemy. It was necessary to run across to the copse, where, in all likelihood, there were enemy posts.

After a short discussion, it was decided that I would go first, and if I was wounded, then my comrades, who ran much better than me, would pick me up and carry me away. I marked a haystack for myself halfway through, and reached it without hindrance. Then I had to go straight to the alleged enemy. I went, hunched over, expecting every minute to receive a bullet like the one I had just sent to the unfortunate German. And right in front of me in the copse I saw a fox. The fluffy, reddish-brown animal gracefully and leisurely glided between the trunks. Rarely in my life have I experienced such pure, simple, and intense joy. Where there is a fox, there are probably no people. The path to our retreat is clear.

When we returned to our own, it turned out that we were absent for no more than two hours. The summer days are long, and after resting and talking about our adventures, we decided to go and unsaddle a dead German horse.

She was lying on the road in front of the edge of the forest. From our side, the bushes came quite close to it. Thus, both we and the enemy had cover.

As soon as we leaned out of the bushes, we saw a German bending over the corpse of a horse. He had almost unhooked the saddle we came for. We fired a volley at him, and he, leaving everything, hurriedly disappeared into the forest. From there, too, shots rang out.

We lay down and began to fire at the edge. If the Germans left there, the saddle and everything in the saddle holsters, cheap cigars and cognac, everything would be ours. But the Germans did not leave. On the contrary, they apparently decided that we had gone on the general offensive, and fired without a break. We tried to flank them to divert their attention from the road, they sent reserves there and continued to fire. I think that if they knew that we only came for the saddle, they would gladly give it to us, so as not to start such a story. Finally we spat and left.

However, our boyishness turned out to be very profitable for us. At dawn the next day, when it was possible to expect an attack and when the entire regiment had left, leaving one of our platoons to cover the general withdrawal, the Germans did not budge, perhaps expecting our attack, and in front of their very noses we set fire to the village without hindrance, houses eighty at least. And then they merrily retreated, setting fire to villages, haystacks and bridges, occasionally exchanging fire with enemies who were attacking us and driving cattle that had strayed from the herds in front of them. In the blessed cavalry service, even retreat can be fun.

This time we retreated for a short time. Suddenly the order came to stop, and we disheveled with rifle fire more than one presumptuous German patrol. Meanwhile, our infantry, steadily advancing, cut off the advanced German units. They woke up too late. Some jumped out, abandoning their guns and machine guns, others surrendered, and two companies, unnoticed by anyone, wandered in the forest, dreaming of getting out of our ring one by one at least at night.

Here's how we discovered them. We were scattered in squadrons in the forest in the form of an infantry reserve. Our squadron stood in a large clearing near the forester's house. The officers sat in the house, the soldiers boiled potatoes, boiled tea. Everyone was in the most idyllic mood.

I was holding a glass of tea in my hands and was watching a box of canned food being uncorked, when suddenly I heard a deafening cannon shot. "Just like in a war," I joked, thinking that it was our battery that had left for the position. And the Little Russian, the squadron's amusing man - each unit has its own amusers - threw himself on his back and dangled his arms and legs, representing an extreme degree of fright. However, after the shot, a rattling squeal was heard, like from a sleigh rolling through the snow, and about thirty paces from us, in the forest, shrapnel exploded. Another shot, and the shell passed over our heads.

And at the same time, rifles crackled in the forest and bullets whistled around us. The officer commanded: "To the horses," but the frightened horses were already rushing across the clearing or racing along the road. I hardly caught mine, but for a long time I could not climb it, because it was on a hillock, and I was in a hollow. She was trembling all over, but she stood still, knowing that I would not let her go until I jumped into the saddle. These moments seem like a bad dream to me. Bullets whistle, shrapnel burst, my comrades rush one after another, hiding around the bend, the clearing is almost empty, and I still jump on one leg, trying in vain to put the other in the stirrup. Finally I made up my mind, let go of the reins and, when the horse rushed, in one giant leap I was on her back.

As I rode, I kept looking out for the squadron commander. He was absent. Here are the front ranks, here is the lieutenant, shouting: "All right, all right." I jump up and report: "There is no headquarters captain, your honor!" He stops and says, "Go find him."

As soon as I had gone a few steps back, I saw our huge and overweight captain on horseback on the trumpeter's little bay horse, which buckled under his weight and trembled like a rat. The trumpeter ran beside him, holding on to the stirrup. It turns out that the staff captain's horse sped off at the very first shots and he sat on the first one offered to him.

We drove off a mile, stopped and began to guess what was the matter. It is unlikely that we would have been able to guess if the officer who arrived from the headquarters of the brigade had not told the following: they were standing in the forest without any cover, when a company of Germans unexpectedly passed in front of them. Both of them saw each other perfectly, but did not open hostile actions: ours because there were too few of them, the Germans were completely crushed by their difficult situation. The artillery was immediately ordered to fire into the woods. And since the Germans were hiding only a hundred paces from us, it is not surprising that the shells flew at us too.

At the same time, patrols were sent to catch the Germans scattered in the forest. They surrendered without a fight, and only the bravest tried to escape and got stuck in the swamp. By evening, we completely cleared the forest of them and went to bed with a clear conscience, not fearing any surprises.

After a few days we had great joy. Two uhlans came, captured half a year ago. They were kept in a camp inside Germany. Having decided to run away, they pretended to be sick, ended up in the hospital, and there the doctor, a German citizen, but of foreign origin, took out a map and a compass for them. They went down the chimney, climbed over the wall, and for forty days marched through Germany with a fight.

Yes, with a fight. Near the border, a benevolent resident pointed out to them where the Russians, during their retreat, had buried a large stock of rifles and cartridges. By this time there were already twelve of them. From deep ditches, abandoned rigs, forest pits, they were joined by a dozen more nocturnal inhabitants of modern Germany - escaped prisoners. They dug up their weapons and felt like soldiers again. We chose a platoon leader, our lancer, a senior non-commissioned officer, and went in order, sending out sentinels and engaging in battle with German convoys and patrols.

A marching German battalion stumbled upon them near the Neman and, after a fierce firefight, almost surrounded them. Then they rushed into the river and swam across it, only they lost eight rifles and were very ashamed of it. Still, approaching our positions, they overturned the German outpost blocking their path, and made their way in full force.

As I listened, I kept my eyes on the narrator. He was tall, slender and strong, with delicate and regular features, with a firm gaze and curled blond mustache. He spoke calmly, without frills, in Pushkin's clear language, answering questions with soldierly politeness: "That's right, no way." And I thought how wild it would be to see this man behind a plow or at the lever of a factory machine. There are people born only for war, and there are no fewer such people in Russia than anywhere else. And if they have nothing to do "in the citizenship of the northern power", then they are irreplaceable "in its warlike fate", and the poet knew that this is one and the same.

First published: Chapter I - "Exchange Sheets", No. 14648 dated February 3, 1915.
Chapter II - "Exchange statements", No. 14821 dated May 3, 1915
Chapter III - "Exchange statements", No. 14851 dated May 19, 1915
Chapter IV - "Exchange statements", No. 14881 dated June 3, 1915
Chapter V - "Exchange statements", No. 14887 of June 6, 1915
Chapter VI - "Exchange statements", No. 15137 of October 9, 1915
Chapter VII - "Exchange Gazette", No. 15155 dated October 18, 1915
Chapter VIII - "Exchange statements", No. 15183 of November 1, 1915
Chapter IX - "Exchange Gazette", No. 15189 dated November 4, 1915
Chapter X - "Exchange statements", No. 15225 of November 22, 1915
Chapter XI - "Exchange statements", No. 15253 of December 6, 1915
Chapter XII and XIII - "Exchange statements", No. 15267 and 15269 of December 13 and 14, 1915
Chapter XIV - "Exchange statements", No. 15279 of December 19, 1915
Chapter XV - "Exchange statements", No. 15285 of December 22, 1915
Chapters XVI and XVII - "Exchange statements", No. 15316 of January 11, 1916

Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilyov (1886-1921) Russian poet of the Silver Age, founder of the school of acmeism, translator, literary critic, traveler.

Southern Poland is one of the most beautiful places in Russia. We drove about eighty versts from the railway station to the point of contact with the enemy, and I managed to admire it to my heart's content. Mountains, the pleasures of tourists, are not there, but what is the use of a lowland mountain dweller? There are forests, there are waters, and that's enough.

Pine forests, planted, and, driving through them, you suddenly see narrow, straight, like arrows, alleys full of green twilight with a shining gap in the distance - like temples of the affectionate and thoughtful gods of ancient, still pagan Poland. Deer and roe deer are found there, golden pheasants run with a chicken habit, on quiet nights you can hear how a wild boar champs and breaks bushes.

Among the wide shallows of washed-out banks, rivers meander lazily; wide, with narrow isthmuses between them, the lakes glisten and reflect the sky, like mirrors made of polished metal; old mossy mills have quiet dams with gently murmuring streams of water and some kind of pink-red bushes, strangely reminding a person of his childhood.

In such places, whatever you do - love or fight - everything seems significant and wonderful.

These were the days of great battles. From morning until late at night we heard the rumble of cannons, the ruins were still smoking, and here and there groups of inhabitants buried the corpses of people and horses. I was assigned to the flying mail at station K. Trains had already passed by it, although most often under fire. Of the inhabitants, only railway employees remained there; they greeted us with amazing hospitality. Four machinists were arguing for the honor of hosting our little detachment. When at last one gained the upper hand, the rest came to visit him and began to exchange impressions. One should have seen how their eyes burned with delight when they told that shrapnel was torn near their train, a bullet hit the locomotive. It was felt that only a lack of initiative prevented them from signing up as volunteers. We parted as friends, promised to write to each other, but are such promises ever kept?

The next day, amid the sweet idleness of the late bivouac, when you read the yellow books of the Universal Library, clean your rifle, or simply chat with pretty ladies, we were suddenly ordered to saddle, and just as suddenly, with a variable gait, we immediately covered fifty versts. Sleepy little places flashed past one after another, quiet and majestic estates, on the doorsteps of the houses the old women in shawls hastily thrown over their heads sighed, muttering: "Oh, Matka Bozka." And, driving out on the highway from time to time, we listened to the sound of countless hooves, dull as the surf, and guessed that other cavalry units were moving ahead and behind us and that we had a big job ahead of us.

The night was well past half when we bivouacked. In the morning we were replenished with ammunition, and we moved on. The area was deserted: some kind of gullies, stunted firs, hills. We lined up in a line of battle, appointed who should dismount, who should be the horse-breeder, sent patrols ahead and began to wait. Climbing up the hillock and hidden by the trees, I saw in front of me a space of about a mile. Our outposts were scattered here and there along it. They were so well hidden that I saw most of them only when, firing back, they began to leave. The Germans appeared almost behind them. Three columns came into my field of vision, moving five hundred paces apart.

They walked in dense crowds and sang. It wasn't any particular song, or even our friendly cheers, but two or three notes alternating with ferocious and sullen energy. I did not immediately realize that the singers were dead drunk. It was so strange to hear this singing that I did not notice either the rumble of our guns, or the firing of rifles, or the frequent, fractional clatter of machine guns. A wild "a ... a ... a ..." imperiously subdued my consciousness. I only saw clouds of shrapnel rising above the very heads of the enemies, how the front ranks fell, how others took their place and advanced a few steps to lie down and make room for the next. It looked like a flood of spring waters - the same slowness and steadiness.

But now it's my turn to fight. The command was heard: "Lie down ... sight eight hundred ... squadron, fire," and I no longer thought about anything, but only fired and loaded, fired and loaded. Only somewhere in the depths of consciousness lived the confidence that everything would be as it should be, that at the right moment we would be ordered to attack or mount horses, and by one or the other we would bring the dazzling joy of the final victory closer.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Late at night we went to the bivouac. . . . . to a large estate.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

In the gardener's room, his wife boiled a quart of milk for me, I fried sausage in lard, and my dinner was shared with me by my guests: a volunteer whose leg had been crushed by a horse that had just been killed under him, and a sergeant-major with a fresh abrasion on his nose, he was so scratched by a bullet. We had already lit a cigarette and were talking peacefully, when a non-commissioned officer who accidentally wandered over to us said that a patrol was being sent from our squadron. I carefully examined myself and saw that I had slept well, or rather I had dozed off in the snow, that I was full and warm, and that there was no reason for me not to go. True, for the first moment it was unpleasant to leave the warm, cozy room into the cold and deserted yard, but this feeling was replaced by a cheerful revival, as soon as we dived along an invisible road into the darkness, towards the unknown and danger.

The crossing was long, and so the officer let us take a nap, three hours, in some kind of hayloft. Nothing is so refreshing as a short nap, and the next morning we were already quite cheerful, illuminated by a pale, but still sweet sun. We were instructed to observe the region of four versts and report everything that we notice. The terrain was completely flat, and three villages were visible in front of us at a glance. One was occupied by us, nothing was known about the other two.

Rifles in hand, we cautiously drove into the nearest village, drove through it to the end, and, not finding the enemy, drank with a feeling of complete satisfaction fresh milk brought to us by a beautiful, talkative old woman. Then the officer, having called me aside, said that he wanted to give me an independent order to go as a senior over two sentinels to the next village. A trifling assignment, but nevertheless a serious one, considering my inexperience in the art of war, and, most importantly, the first one in which I could show my initiative. Who does not know that in any case, the initial steps are more pleasant than all the others.

I decided not to walk in lava, that is, in a row, at some distance from each other, but in a chain, that is, one after another. In this way, I put people in less danger and got the opportunity to tell the patrol something new sooner. The junction followed us. We drove into the village and from there we noticed a large column of Germans moving about two versts from us. The officer stopped to write a report, I went on to clear my conscience. A steeply curved road led to the mill. I saw a group of people standing quietly around her, and knowing that they always run away, foreseeing a collision in which they might also get a stray bullet, I rode up at a trot to ask about the Germans. But as soon as we exchanged greetings, they scattered with distorted faces, and a cloud of dust rose in front of me, and behind me I heard the characteristic crack of a rifle. I looked back.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

On the road I had just passed, a bunch of horsemen and footmen in black, terribly alien-colored overcoats looked at me in amazement. Obviously, I just got noticed. They were about thirty paces.

I realized that this time the danger is really great. The road to the junction was cut off for me, enemy columns were moving from the other two sides. It remained to gallop directly from the Germans, but there was a plowed field far away on which it was impossible to gallop, and I would have been shot ten times before I would have left the sphere of fire. I chose the middle one and, skirting the enemy, rushed in front of his front to the road along which our patrol left. It was a difficult moment in my life. The horse stumbled over frozen clods, bullets whistled past his ears, blew up the ground in front of me and next to me, one scratched the pommel of my saddle. I kept my eyes on the enemies. I could clearly see their faces, confused at the moment of loading, concentrated at the moment of firing. A short, elderly officer, holding out his arm strangely, fired at me with a revolver. This sound stood out with some kind of treble among the rest. Two riders jumped out to block my way. I pulled out a saber, they hesitated. Maybe they were just afraid that their own comrades would shoot them.

All this at that moment I remembered only with visual and auditory memory, but I realized this much later. Then I only held the horse and muttered a prayer to the Mother of God, which I immediately composed and immediately forgotten after the danger had passed.

But here is the end of the arable field - and why did people come up with agriculture?! - here is the ditch that I take almost unconsciously, here is the smooth road along which I catch up with my siding with a full quarry. Behind him, ignoring the bullets, an officer reins in his horse. After waiting for me, he also goes into the quarry and says with a sigh of relief: “Well, thank God! It would be terribly stupid if you were killed." I fully agreed with him.

We spent the rest of the day on the roof of a lonely hut, chatting and looking through binoculars. The German convoy we spotted earlier got hit by shrapnel and turned back. But the patrols darted in different directions. Sometimes they collided with ours, and then the sound of shots reached us. We ate boiled potatoes and took turns smoking the same pipe.

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with TEYYM YDFY OE MBCHPK, FP EUFSH CH TSD, OB OELPFPTPN TBUUFPSOYY DTHZ PF DTHZB, B GERPYULPK, ​​FP EUFSH PYO ЪB DTHZYN. fBLYN PVTBBPN, S RPDCHETZBM NEOSHHYEK PRBUOPUFY MADEK Y RPMHYUBM CHPNPTSOPUFSH UPPVEYFSH TB'YAEDDH UFP-OYVHDSH OPCHPE. tBYAEED UMEDPCHBM OB OBNY. NSC CHYAEIBMY H DETECHOA Y PFFHDB ЪBNEFIMY VPMSHYHA LPMPOOH ZETNBOGECH, DCHYZBCHYHAUS CHETUFBI CH DCHHI PF OBU. pZHYGET PUFBOPCHYMUS, UFPVSCH OBRYUBFSH DPOEUEOIE, S DMS PUYUFLY UPCHEUFY RPEIIBM DBMSHYE. lTHFP ЪBZYVBCHYBSUS DPTPZB CHEMB L NEMSHOYGE. with HCHYDEM PLPMP OEE LHYULH URPLPKOP UFPCHYI TSYFEMEK Y, OBBS, UFP POY CHUEZDB HDYTBAF, RTEDDCHYDS UFPMLOPCHEOYE, CH LPFPTPN NPCEF DPUFBFSHUS Y YN YBMSHOBS RHMS, TSCHUSHA RPDENGEIBM. OP EDCHB NSCH PVNEOSMYUSH RTYCHEFUFCHYSNNY, LBL SOY U YULBTSEOOSCHNY MYGBNY VTPUYMYUSH CHTBUUSCHROHA, Y RETEDP NOK CHCHYMPUSH PVMBYULP RSHCHMY, B UBDY RPUMSCHYBMUS IBTBLFETOSHCHK FTEUL. with PZMSOHMUS.

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with RPOSM, UFP ABOUT FFPF TB PRBUOPUFSH DEKUFCHYFEMSHOP CHEMYLB. DPTPZB L TB'YAEDH NOE VSCHMB PFTEEBOB, U DCHHI DTHZYI UFPTPO DCHYZBMYUSH OERTYSFEMSHULIE LPMPOOSCH. PUFBCHBMPUSh ULBLBFSH RTSNP PF OENGECH, OP FBN DBMELP TBULYOKHMPUSH CHURBIBOOPE RPME, RP LPFPTPNH OEMSHЪS YDFY ZBMPRPN, Y S DEUSFSH TB VSHM VSH RPDUFTEMEO, RTETSDE YUEN CHSHCHYEM VSHCH PZOS UZHET. with ChSCHVTBM UTEDOEE Y, PZYVBS ChTBZB, RPNYUBMUS RETED EZP ZHTPOFPN L DPTPZE, RP LPFPTPK HYYOM OBY TBYAEDD. FP VSCHMB FTHDOBS NYOHFB NPEK TSOYOY. MPYBDSH URPFSCHLBMBUSH P NETMSHCHE LPNSHS, RHMY UCHYUFEMI NYNP HYEK, CHTSCHCHBMY ENMA RETEDP NOK Y TSDPN UP NOPC, PDOB PGBTBRBMB MHLH NPEZP UEDMB. with OE PFTSCHCHBSUSH UNPFTEM ABOUT CHTBZHR. NOE VSHCHMY SUOP CHYDOSH YI MYGB, TBUFETSOOSCHE H NPNEOF BTTSBOYS, UPUTEDPFPYUEOOSHCH H NPNEOF CHSHCHUFTEMMB. OECHSHCHUPLYK RPTSYMPK PZHYGET, UFTBOOP CHCHFSOHCH THLH, UFTEMSM H NEOS Y TECHPMSHCHETB. FFPF ЪCHL CHSHDEMSMUS LBLYN-FP DYULBOFPN UTEDY PUFBMSHOSHCHI. dChB CHUBDOILB CHSHCHULPYUYMY, YUFPVSH RTEZTBDYFSH NOE DPTPZH. with CHSCHCHBFIM YBYLKH, SING ЪBNSMYUSH. nPTSEF VSHCHFSh, POI RTPUFP RPVPSMYUSH, YUFP YI RPDUFTEMSF YI CE FPCHBTYEY.

CHUE LFP CH FH NYOHFH S BRPNOYM MYYSH TYFEMSHOPK Y UMHIPPCHPK RBNSFSHA, PUPOBM CE LFP NOPZP RPJCE. fPZDB S FPMSHLP RTYDETTSYCHBM MPYBDSH Y VPTNPFBM NPMYFCHH vPZPTPDYGE, FHF TSE NOPA UPYUYOEOOHA Y UBVSHCHFHA RP NYOPCHBOY PRBUOPUFY.

OP CHPF Y LPOEG RBIPFOPNKh RPMA — Y BYUEN FPMSHLP MADY RTYDKHNBMY ENMEDEMYE?! - CHPF LBOBCHB, LPFPTKHA S VETKH RPYUFY VEUUPOBFEMSHOP, CHPF ZMBDLBS DPTPZB, RP LPFPTPK S RPMOSHCHN LBTSHETPN DPZPOSA UCHPK TBBYAEDD. rPBDY OEZP, OE PVTBEBS CHOYNBOIS ABOUT RKHMY, UDETSYCHBEF UCHPA MPYBDSH PZHYGET. DPTSDBCHYUSH NEOS, BY FPTS RETEIPDYF CH LBTSHET Y ZPCHPTYF UP CHADPIPN PVMEZYUEOYS: “Oh, UMBCHB vPZH! VSHMP VSH HTSBUOP ZMHRP, EUMY IN CHBU HVYMY". with CHRPMOE U OIN UZMBUIMUS.

PUFBFPL DOS NShch RTCHEMY ABOUT LTSCHIE PDYOPPLP UFPSEEK IBMHRSCH, VPMFBS Y RPUNBFTYCHBS CH VYOPLMSH. ZETNBOULBS LPMPOOB, LPFPTHA NSCH OBNEFIMY TBOSHIE, RPRBMB RPD YTBROEMSH Y RPCHETOHMB PVTBFOP. ъBFP TBJAEDDCH YOSCHTSMY RP TBBOSHCHN OBRTBCHMEOYSN. RPTPK POI U BMLYCHBMYUSH U OBYNY, Y FPZDB DP OBU DPMEFBM ЪCHHL CHSHUFTEMPCH. NSC EMY CHBTEOKHA LBTFPYLH, RP PYUETEDY LHTYMY PDOKH Y FH CE FTHVLH.

oENEGLPE OBUFHRMEOYE VSCHMP RTYPUFBOCHMEOP. obdp VSCHMP TBUUMEDPCHBFSH, LBLIE RHOLFSCH ЪBOSM OERTYSFEMSH, ZDE ON PLBRSHCHCHBEFUS, ZDE RPRTPUFH RPNEEBEF ЪBUFBCHSHCH. DMS LFPZP CHCHUSCHMBMUS TSD TBYAEDPCH, CH UPUFBCH PDOPZP OYI CHPYEM Y S.

UETEOSHLYN HFTPN NSC ЪBFTKHUYMY RP VPMSHYPK DPTPZE. OBCHUFTEYUKH OBN FSOHMYUSH GEMSHCHE PVPBSHCH VETSEOGECH. nKHTSUYOSCH PZMSDSHCHBMY OBU U MAVPRSCHFUFCHPN Y OBDETSDPK, DEFI FSOKHMYUSH L OBN, TsEOEYOSCH, CHUIMIRSHCHCHBS, RTYUYFBMY: "PK, RBOSHCHUI, OE ETsBKFE FKhDB, ​​FBN ChBU ЪBVSHAF ZETNBOY".

h PDOK CHILDREN TB'YAEDD PUFBOCHYMUS. noe U DChKhNS UPMDBFBNY RTEDUFPSMP RTPEIBFSH DBMSHYE Y PVOBTHTSYFSH OERTYSFEMS. UEKYUBU TSEB PLPMYGEK PLBRSHCHCHBMYUSH OBBY REIPFYOGSC, DBMSHYE FSOHMPUSH RPME, OBD LPFPTSCHN TCHBMYUSH YTBROEMY, FBN ABOUT TBUUCHEFE VSCHM VPK Y ZETNBOGSHCH PFPYMY, - DBMSHYYUETOEM OEVPMSHYBPK. NSCHUSHA OBRTBCHYMYUSH L OENH.

chRTBCHP Y CHMECHP RPYuFY ABOUT LBTsDPK LCHBDTBFOK UBTSEOY CHBMSMYUSH FTHRSCH OENGECH. h PDOH NYOHFH S OBUYUYFBM YI UPTPL, OP YI VSCHMP NOPZP VPMSHYE. VSHCHMY Y TBOOEOSCHE. sing LBL-FP CHOEBROP OBYUYOBMY YIECHEMYFSHUS, RTPRPMBMY OEULPMSHLP YBZPCH Y OBNYTBMY PRSFSH. pDIO LEAVES X UBNPZP LTBS DPTPZY Y, DETSBUSH IB ZPMCHKH, TBULBYUYCHBMUS Y UFPOBM. NSC IPFEMI EZP RPDPVTBFSH, OP TEYYMY UDEMBFSH FFP ABOUT PVTBFOPN RHFY.

DP ZHPMSHCHBTLB NSCH DPUBLBLBMY VMBZPRPMHYuOP. OBU OILFP OE PVUFTEMSM. OP UEKYUBU TSEB ZHPMSHCHBTLPN KHUMSCHYBMY HDBTSCH BUFHRB P NETMKHA ENMA Y LBLPK-FP OYOBLPNSCHK ZPCHPT. NSCH UREYYMYUSH, YS, DETTSB CHYOPCHLKH CH THLBI, RTPLTBMUS CHRETED, YUFPVSCH ChSCHZMSOHFSH Yb-b KhZMB LTBCOEZP UBTBS. RETEDP NOK CHPCHSHCHYBMUS OEPPMSHYPK RTYZPTPL, Y ABOUT ITEVFE EZP ZETNBOGSHCH TSHCHMY PLPRSHCH. CHYDOP VSCHMP, LBL POY PUFBOBCHMYCHBAFUS, YUFPVSCH RPFETEFSH THLY Y BLHTYFSH, UMSCHIEO VSCHM UETDIFSHCHK ZPMPU HOFETB YMY PZHYGETB. chMEChP FENOOYMB TPEB, Yb-b LPFPTPK OEUMBUSH PTHDYKOBS RBMShVB. FP PFFHDB PVUFTEMYCHBMY RPME, RP LPFPTPNH S FPMSHLP UFP RTPEIBM. with DP UYI RPT OE RPOYNBA, RPYUENKH ZETNBOGSHCHOE CHCHUFBCHYMY OILBLLPZP RYLEFB CH UBNPN ZHPMSHCHBTLE. CHRTPUEN, ABOUT CHPKOE VSCCHBAF YOE FBLIE YUHDEUB.

with CHUE ChSCHZMSDSCHCHBM Yb-b HZMB UBTBS, UOSCH ZHTBTSLH, UFPVSCH NEOS RTYOSMY RTPUFP bb MAVPRSHFUFCHHAEEZP "CHPMSHOPZP", LPZDB RPYUKHCHUFCHPCHBM UBDY YUSHE-FP MEZLPE RTYLPUOPCHEOYE. with VSHCHUFTP PVETOKHMUS. reTEDP NOPC UFPSMB OEYCHEUFOP PFLHDB RPSCHYCHYBSUS RPMSHLB U YЪNPTSDEOOOSCHN, ULPTVOSCHN MYGPN. POB RTPFSZYCHBMB NOE RTYZPTYOA NEMLYI, UNPTEEOOSHCHI SVMPL: "CHPSHNY, RBO UPMDBF, FP EUFSH DPVCE, GHLETOP". NEOS LBTsDHA NYOHFH NPZMY OBNEFYFSH, PVUFTEMSFSH; RHMY MEFEMI VSCH Y CH OEE. rPOSFOP, VSCHMP OECHPЪNPTSOP PFLBBFSHUS PF FBLPZP RPDBTLB.

NSCHCHCHVTBMYUSH YJ ZHPMSHCHBTLB. yTBROEMSH TCHBMBUSH YUBEE Y YUBEE Y ABOUT UBNPK DPTPZE, FBL UFP NSC TEYMYMY ULBLBFSH PVTBFOP RPPDYOPYULE. s OBDESMUS RPDPVTBFSH TBOEOPZP OENGB, OP ABOUT NPYI ZMBBI OBD OIN OILP, OILP TB'PTCHBMUS UOBTSD, Y CHUE VSCHMP LPOYUEOP.

ABOUT DTHZPK DEOSH HCE UNETLBMPUSH Y CHUE TBBVTEMYUSH RP UEOPCHBMBN Y LMEFHYLBN VPMSHYPK HUBDShVSCH, LPZDB CHOEBROP VSCHMP CHEMEOP UPVTBFSHUS OBYENH CHPDKH. chshchchbmy PIPFOYLPCH YDFY CH OPYUOKHA REYHA TBCHEDLH, PYUEOSH PRBUOKHA, LBL OBUFBYCHBM PZHYGET.

yuEMPCHEL DEUSFSH RPTBUFPTPROEE CHCHYMY UTBYH; PUFBMSHOSHCHE, RPFPRFBCHYUSH, PYASCHYMY, UFP SING FPTS IPFSF YDFY Y FPMSHLP UFSCHDYMYUSH OBRTBYCHBFSHUS. fPZDB TEYYMYY, UFP CHCHPDOSHK OBOBBYYF PIPFOILPCH. i FBLYN PVTBYPN VSHCHMY CHSHVTBOSCH CHPUENSH YUEMPCHEL, PRSFSH-FBLY RPVPKYUEE. h YUYUME YI PLBBMUS Y S.

NSC ABOUT LPOSI DPEIBMY DP ZHUBTULPZP UFPTPTSECHPZP PITBOOYS. bB DETECSHSHNY UREYYMYUSH, PUFBCHYMY FTPYI LPOCHPDBNY Y RPYMY TBUURTPUYFSH ZKHUBT, LBL PVUFPSF DEMB. Khubfshchk Chbbinuft, Kommersant -Chiccoschk PF FSCMOPZP Uobtsdb, TBULBM, YuFP Yu VMICBKYEK DEULPMSHLP TB Cheshchipdemshulye tbcan, LTBMYush NSC TEYYMY RTPVTBFSHUS CH LFH DETECHOA Y, EUMY CHPNPTSOP, VBVTBFSH LBLPZP-OYVHDSH TBCHEDYUYLB TSYCHSHEN.

UCHEFIMB RPMOBS MHOB, OP, OB GENERAL UYUBUFSH, POB FP Y DEMP ULTSCHCHBMBUSH OB FHYUBNY. ChShTsDBCH PDOP Y FBLYI IBFNEOYK, NShch, UPZOHCHYUSH, ZKHUSHLPN RPVETSBMY L CHILDREN, OP OE RP DPTPZE, B H LBOBCHE, YDHEEK CHDPMSH OEE. x PLPMYGSCH PUFBOCHYMYUSH. pFTSD DPMTSEO VSM PUFBCHBFSHUS ЪDEUSH Y TsDBFSH, DCHN PIPFOYLBN RTEDMBZBMPUSH RTPKFY RP DETECHOE Y RPUNPFTEFSH, YuFP DEMBEFUS ЪB OEA. RPYMY S Y PYO BRBUOPK HOFET-PZHYGET, RTETSDE CHETSMYCHSHCHK UMHTSYFEMSH CH LBLPN-FP LBEOOPN HYUTETSDEOYY, FERETSH PYO YY ITBVTEKYYI UPMDBF UYUYFBAEEZPUS VPECHSHCHN ULBDTPOB. according to RP PDOPC UFPTPOE HMYGSCH, C - RP DTHZPK. RP UCHYUFLH NSC DPMTSOSCH VSCHMY CHPCHTBEBFSHUS OBBD.

ChPF S UPCHUEN PYO RPUTEDY NPMYUBMYCHPK, UMPCHOP RTYFBYCHYEKUS DETECHOY, Yb-b HZMB PDOPZP DPNB RETEVEZBA L HZMH UMEDHAEZP. yBZBI CH RSFOBDGBFY CHVPL NEMSHLBEF LTBDHEBSUS ZHJZHTB. fp npk fpchbtye. y UBNPMAVYS S UFBTBAUSH YDFY CHRETEDY EZP, OP UMYYLPN FPTPRYFSHUS CHUE-FBLY UFTBYOP. noe CHURPNYOBEFUS YZTB CH RBMPYULKH-CHPTCHPYULKH, CH LPFPTHA S CHUEZDB YZTBA MEFPN CH BABY. fBN FP CE ЪBFBEOOPE DSCHIBOIE, FP CE CHEUEMPE UPOBOYE PRBUOPUFY, FP CE YOUFYOLFYCHOPE HNEOYE RPDLTBDSCHCHBFSHUS Y RTSFBFSHUS. y RPYuFY BBVSCHCHBEYSH, YUFP ЪDEUSH CHNEUFP UNEAEYIUS ZMBB IPTPYEOSHLPK DECHKHYLY, FPCHBTYEB RP YZTE, NPTSEYSH CHUFTEFYFSH MYYSH PUFTSHK Y IPMPDOSHK OBRTBCCHMEOOSHK OB FEVS YFSHCHK. CHPF Y LPOEG BABY. uFBOCHYFUS YUKHFSH UCHEFMEE, FFP MKHOB RTPVYCHBEFUS ULCHPЪSH OERMPFOSHK LTBC FKHYUY; S CHYTSH RETED UPVPK OECHSHCHUPLYE, FENOSH VKHZPTLY PLPRCH Y UTBYKH BLRPNYOBA, UMPCHOP ZHPFPZTBZHYTHA CH RBNSFY, YI DMYOKH Y OBRTBCHMEOYE. CHEDSH OB FFYN WITH UADB Y RTYYEM. h FH CE NYOHFH RETEDP NOPC CHSHTYUPCHSHCHCHBEFUUS YUEMPCHEYUEULBS ZHYZHTB. POB CHZMSDSHCHCHBEFUS H NEOS Y FYIPOSHLP UCHYUFYF LBLYN-FP PUPVEOOCHN, PYUECHIDOP HUMPCHOSCHN, UCHYUFPN. FP ChTBZ, UFPMLOPCHEOYE OEIVETSOP.

PE NOOE MYYSH PDOB NSHCHUMSH, TSYCHBS Y NPZHYUBS, LBL UFTBUFSH, LBL VEYEOUFCHP, LBL LLUFB: S EZP YMY PO NEOS! PO OETEYFEMSHOP RPDOYNBEF CHYOFPCHLH, S KOBA, UFP NOE UFTEMSFSH OEMSHЪS, ChTBZPCH NOPZP RPVMYЪPUFY, Y VTPUBAUSH CHRETED U PRHEOOOSCHN YFSHLPN. NZOPCHEOYE, Y RETEDP NOPC OILPZP. NPTSEF VSHCHFSH, CHTBZ RTYUEM ABOUT ENMA, NPTCEF VSHCHFSH, PFULPYUM. with PUFBOBCHMYCHBAUSH Y OBYUYOBA CHUNBFTYCHBFSHUS. uFP-FP UETOEEF. with RTYVMYTSBAUSH Y FTPZBA YFSHLPN, - OEF, LFP - VTECHOP. uFP-FP UETOEEF PRSFSH. ChDTHZ UVPLH PF NEOS TBDBEFUS OEPVSCHUBKOP ZTPNLYK CHSHCHUFTEM, Y RHMS CHPEF PVYDOP VMYLLP RETED NPYN MYGPN. s PVPTBYUYCHBAUSH, CH NPEN TBURPTSEOY OEULPMSHLP UELHOD, RPLB CHTBZ VKhDEF NEOSFSh RBFTPO CH NBZBYOE CHYOPCHLY. oP HCE YB PLPRCH UMSCHYFUS RTPFICHOPE IBTLBOSH CHCHUFTEMPCH - FTB, FTB, FTB, - Y RHMY UCHYUFSF, OPAF, CHYTSBF.

with RPVETSBM L UCHPENH PFTSDH. pUPVEOOPZP UFTBI SOE YURSHCHFSCHCHBM, S OBM, UFP OPYuOBS UFTEMSHVB OEDEKUFCHYFEMSHOB, YNOE FPMSHLP IPFEMPUSH RTPDEMMBFSH CHUE LBL NPTsOP RTBCHYMSHOEE Y MHYUYE. rPFPNKh, LPZDB MHOB PUCHEFYMB RPME, S VTPUIMUS OYULPN Y FBL PFRPM Ch FEOSH DPNPC, FBN HCE YDFY VSCHMP RPYUFY VEIPRBUOP. NPK FPCHBTYE, HOFET-PZHYGET, CHPCHTBFYMUS PDOPCHTENEOOP UP NOPC. ON EEE OE DPYEM DP LTBS DETECHOY, LPZDB OBYUBMBUSH RBMShVB. nSCH CHETOKHMYUSH L LPOSN. h PDYOPLPK IBMHRE PVNEOSMYUSH CHEYUBFMEOYSNNY, RPHTSYOBMY IMEVPN U UBMPN, PZHYGET OBRYUBM Y PFRTBCHYM DPOEYEOIE, Y NSC CHCHYMY PRSFSH RPUNPFTEFSH, OEMSHЪS MY YuFP-OYVKhDSH HUFTPAYFSH. OP, HHH! — OPYOOPC CHEFET CH LMPYUSHS YЪPDTBM FHYUY, LTHZMBS, LTBUOPCHBFBS MKHOB PRHUFIMBUSH OBD OERTYSFEMSHULYNY RPYGYSNY Y UMERYMB OBN ZMBB. OBU VSHCHMP CHYDOP LBL ABOUT MBDPOY, NSC OE CHYDEMY OYUEZP. nSCH ZPFPCHSH VSHCHMY RMBLBFSH U DPUBDSCH Y, VOLUME UHDSHVE, CHUE-FBLY RRPPMMY CH UFPTPOH OERTYSFEMS. mHOB NPZMB CE PRSFSH ULTSCHFSHUS YMY NPZ CE OBN CHUFTEFYFSHUS LBLPK-OYVHDSH YBMSHOPK TBICHEDUYL! pDOBLP OYYUEZP LFPZP OE UMHYUYMPUSH, OBU FPMSHLP PVUFTEMSMMY, Y NSC HRPMY PVTBFOP, RTPLMYOBS MHOOSHE LZHZHELFSHCH Y PUFPPTTSOPUFSH OENGECH. CHUE TSE DPVSCHFSCHE OBNY UCHEDEOIS RTYZPDYMYUSH, OBU VMBZPDBTYMY, Y S RPMHYUYM OB LFH OPYUSH ZEPTZYECHULYK LTEUF.

UMEDHAEBS OEDEMS CHSHCHDBMBUSH UTBCHOYFEMSHOP FYIBS. NShch UEDMBMY EEE H FENOPFE, Y RP DPTPZE L RPYGYY S MAVPCBMUS LBTsDSCHK DEOSH PDOK Y FPC CE NHDTPK Y STLPK ZYVEMSHA HFTEOOOEK CHEDSCH ABOUT ZHPOE BLCHBTEMSHOP-OETSOPZP TBUUCHEFB. DOEN NSC METSBMY ABOUT PRYLE VPMSHYPZP UPUOPCHPZP MEUB Y UMHYBMY PFDBMEOOHA RHYYUOKHA UFTEMSHVKH. UMEZLB RTYZTECHBMP VMEDOPE UPMOGE, ENMS VSCHMB ZHUFP HUFMBOB NSZLNY UFTBOOP RBIOHEYNY YZMBNY. LBB Chuzdb Kommersa, with FPNIMUS RP Tsyoy Methek RTITPDSH, Y FBB UMBDLP VSHMP, UNCHUEN VMILP Chzmzchbsushch Ch LPTH DETHCH, Her Ztkhvshi Lobdli RTPPHILPHELPELPELPHELPELPELPHELP sing LHDB-FP UREYYMYY, UFP-FP DEMBMY, OEUNPFTS ABOUT FP UFP ABOUT DCHPTE UFPSM DEMBVTSH. TSYOSH FERMYMBUSH CH MEUKH, LBL CHOHFTY YUETOPK, RPYUFY IPMPDOK ZPMPCHEYLY FERMYFUS TPVLYK FMEAEIK PZPOEL. zMSDS OF OEE, On Chuen UHEEUFCHPN TBDPUFOP YUHCHUFCHPCHBM, YUFP UADB PRSFSH CHETOHFUS VPMSHYYE DYLPCHYOOSCHE RFYGSCH J RFYGSCH NBMEOSHLYE, OP We ITHUFBMSHOSCHNY, UETEVTSOSCHNY J NBMYOPCHSCHNY ZPMPUBNY, TBURHUFSFUS DHYOP RBIOHEYE GCHEFSCH, NYT CHDPCHPMSH OBMSHEFUS VHTOPK LTBUPFPK LCA FPTTSEUFCHEOOPZP RTBDOPCHBOYS LPMDPCHULPK J UCHSEEOOPK yChBOPChPK OPYUY.

yOPZDB NSC PUFBCHBMYUSH CH MEUKH ABOUT CHUA OPYUSH. fPZDB, METSB ABOUT URYOE, S YUBUBNY UNPFTEM ABOUT VEUYUYUMEOOSCHE SUOSCHE PF NPTPB CHEJDSCH Y VBVBCHMSMUS, UPEDYOSS YI CH CHPPVTBTSEOY BPMPFSCHNY OIFSNY. URETCHB LFP VSHCHM TSD ZEPNEFTYUEULYI YUETFETSEK, RPIPTSYK ABOUT TBCHETOKHFSCHK UCHYFPL lBVBMSCH. rPFPN S OBYUOYOBM TBMYYUBFSH, LBL ABOUT BLBOOPN BPMPFPN LPCHTE, TBMYUOSCHE LNVMENSCH, NEYUY, LTEUFSHCH, YOUNG CH O RPOSFOSHCHI DMS NEOS, OP RPMOSHCHI OYUEMPCHEYUEULPZP UNSHUMB UPYEFBOYSI. oblpoeg schufcheoop chschtyupchshchchbmyush oveuoshche chety. with CHYDEM, LBL vPMSHYBS NEDCHEDYGB, PRHUFYCH NPTDH, RTIOAIYCHBEFUUS L YUSHENKH-FP UMEDH, LBL ULPTRYPO YECHEMYF ICHPUFPN, YEB, LPZP ENH HTSBMYFSH. ABOUT NZOPCHEOSHE NEOS PICHBFSCHCHBM OECHSHCHTB'INSCHK UFTBI, UFP POY RPUNPFTSF CHOY Y BNEFSF FBN GENERAL ENMA. CHEDSH FPZDB POB UTBYH PVTBFYFUS H VEEPPVTBOBOSCHK LHUPL NBFPCHP-VEMPZP MShDB Y RPNYUYFUS CHOE CHUSLYI PTVIF, SBTBTSBS UCHPYN HTSBUPN DTHZYE NYTSCHK. FHF S PVSCHLOPCHEOOP YERPFPN RTPUYM X UPUEDB NBIPTLY, UCHETFSHCHBM GYZBTLKH Y U OBUMBTSDEOYEN CHSHCHLKHTYCHBM HER H THLBI - LHTYFSH YOBYUE OBYUYMP CHCHDBFSH OERTYSFEMA GENERAL TBURPMPTSEOYE.

h LPOGE OEDEMY OBU TsDBMB TBDPUFSH. obu PFCHEMY H TEJETCH BTNYY, Y RPMLPPK UCHSEOOIL UCHCHEMY VVPZPUMHTSEOIE. idfy ob oezp oe rtyokhtsdbmy, op chp chuen rpmlh oj vshchmp oy ppdopzp yuempchchelb, lpfptshchk vshch o rpyem. ABOUT PFLTSCHFPN RPME FSCHUSYUB YuEMPCHEL CHSHUFTPIYMYUSH UFTPKOSHCHN YuEFSCHTEIKHZPMSHOYLPN, CH GEOPTE EZP UCHSEOOIL CH UPMPFPK TYE ZPCHPTYM CHEYOSCHE Y UMBDLYE UMPCHB, UMHTSB NPMEVEO. VSHCHMP RPIPTSE ABOUT RPMECHSHCHE NPMEVOSHCH P DPTsDE H ZMHIYI, DBMELYI THUULYI DETECHOSI. FP CE OEPVYASFOPE OEVP CHNEUFP LKhRPMB, FE CE RTPUFSHCHEY TPDOSHCHE, UPUTEDPFPYEOOSCHE MYGB. NSC IPTPYP RPNPMYMYUSH CH FPF DEOSH.

VSHMP TEYEOP CHSHCHTPCHOSFSH ZHTPOF, PFPKDS CHETUF ABOUT FTYDGBFSH, Y LBCHBMETYS DPMTSOB VSHMB RTYLTSCCHBFSH FFPF PFIPD. rPDOP CHEYUETPN NSC RTYVMYYMYUSH L RPYGYY, Y FPFUBU CE UP UFPTPOSCH OERTYSFEMS ABOUT OBU PRHUFYMUS Y NEDMEOOP BUFSHM UCHEF RTPTSELFPTTB, LBL CHZMSD CHSHCHUPLPNETOPZP YuEMPCHELB. NSCH PFYAEIBMY, ON, ULPMSHЪS RP ENME Y RP DETECHSSN, RPUMEDPCHBM OB OBNY. fPZDB NSCH ZBMPRPN PRYUBMY REFMY Y UFBMY YB DETECHOA, B ON EEE DPMZP FSHCHLBMUS FHDB Y UADB, VEOBDETSOP PFSCHULYCHBS OBU.

NPK CHCHPD VSHCHM PFRTBCHMEO L YFBVKH LBYUSHEK DYCHYYY, YUFPVSCH UMHTSYFSH UCHSHSHHA NETSDH OIN Y OBYEK DYCHYYEK. SWORD fPMUFPK CH "CHPKOE Y NYTE" RPUNEYCHBEFUUS OBD YFBVOSCHNY Y PFDBEF RTEDPYUFEOYE UFTPECHCHN PZHYGETBN. OP SOE CHIDEME O PDOPZP YFBVB, LPFPTSCHK HIPDIM VSHCH TBOSHIE, YUEN UOBTSDSC OBYUYOBMY TCBFSHUS OBD EZP RPNEEEOYEN. LBBYUK YFBB TBBRPMPCSIMUSH VPMSHYPN NEVOPEULE Comrade Zeifemy Vojbmy Eee Oblbokho, PVP HYYM, Reipfb FPCE, OPELEDEMSY VPMSHYEE UHFPLAU OKHAUSEHAUS. tPUMSchK J YYTPLPRMEYUYK RPMLPCHOYL LBTSDHA NYOHFH RPDVEZBM A FEMEZHPOH J CHEUEMP LTYYUBM B FTHVLH "FBL PFMYYUOP BDETTSYFEUSH of the ECE OENOPZP Chueh YDEF IPTPYP" th PF FYI UMPCH RP Chuen ZHPMSHCHBTLBN, LBOBCHBN J RETEMEULBN, BOSFSCHN LBBLBNY, TBMYCHBMYUSH HCHETEOOPUFSH J URPLPKUFCHYE, UFPMSH OEPVIPDYNSCHE W WPA. nPMDPK OBYUBMSHOIL DYCHYYY, OPUIFEMSH PDOK YЪ UBNSHCHI ZTPNLYI ZHBNYMYK tPUUYY, RP CHTENEOBN CHSHCHIPDYM ABOUT LTSCHMShGP RPUMHYBFSH RHMENEFSHCH Y KHMSCHVBMUS FPNKh, UFP CHUE IDEF FBL.

NSCH, HMBOSCH, VEUEDPCHBMY UP UFEROOSCHNY VPTPDBFSCHNY LBBLBNY, RTPSChMSS RTY LFPN FH Y'SHCHULBOOKHA MAVEOPUFSH, U LPFPTPK PFOPUSFUS DTHZ L DTHZH LBCHBMETYUFSHCH TBOGOSCHI YUBUFEK.

l PVEDH DP OB DPYEM UMHI, UFP RSFSH YuEMPCHEL OBYEZP ULBDTPOB RPRBMY CH RMEO. l CHEYUETH WITH HCE CHYDE PDOPZP Yb ffyi rmeooshchi, PUFBMSHOSHCHUSCHRBMYUSH ABOUT UEOPPCHBME. ChPF UFP U OYNY UMHYUMPUSH. yI VSHMP YEUFETP CH UFPTPTSECHPN PITBOOYY. dChPE UFPSMY ABOUT YUBUBI, YUEFCHETP GO AWAY CH IBMKhRE. OPYUSH VSCHMB FENOBS Y CHEFTEOBS, CHTBZY RPDLTBMYUSH L YUBUPCHPNKH Y PRTPLYOKHMY EZP. rPDYUBUPL DBM CHSHCHUFTEM Y VTPUYMUS L LPOSN, EZP FPCE PRTPLYOKHMY. UTBYKH YUEMPCHEL RSFSHDEUSF CHPTCHBMYUSH PE DCHPT Y RTYOSMYUSH RBMYFSH CH PLOB DPNB, ZDE OBIPDYMUS OBY RYLEF. pDIO Y OBYI CHSHCHULPYUM Y, TBVPFBS YFSHLPN, RTPTCHBMUS L MEUKH, PUFBMSHOSHCHE RPUMEDPCHBMY VB OIN, OP RETEDOIK HRBM, BROKHCHYUSH ABOUT RPTPZE, OB OEZP RPRBDBMY Y FPCHBEP. oERTYSFEMY, LFP VSCHMY BCHUFTYKGSCH, PVEEPTHTSYMY YI Y RPD LPOCHPEN FPTS RSFY Yuempchchel PFRTBCHYMY CH YFBV. deusfsh Yuempchel PLBMYUSH PDOY, VEI LBTFSCH, CH RPMOPK FENOPFE, UTEDY RHFBOIGSHCH DPTPZ Y FTPRYOPL.

RP DPTPZE BCHUFTYKULYK HOFET-PJYGET ABOUT MPNBOPN THUULPN SHCHLE CHUE TBUURTBYCHBM OBYI, ZDE "LPY", FP EUFSH LBBLY. OBYY U DPUBDPK PFNBMYUYCHBMYUSH Y OBLPOEG PVYASCHYMY, UFP "LPY" YNEOOP FBN, LHDB YI CHEDHF, CH UFPTPOE OERTYSFEMSHULYI RPYGYK. FP RTPYCHEMP YUTECHSHCHYUBKOSHCHK YZHZHELF. bCHUFTYKGSCH PUFBOPCHYMYUSH Y RTYOSMYUSH P YUEN-FP PTSYCHMEOOP URPTYFSH. SUOP VSCHMP, UFP SING OE OBMY DPTPZY. fPZDB OBY HOFET-PZHYGET RPFSOKHM ЪB THLBCH BCHUFTYKULPZP Y PVPDTYFEMSHOP ULBBM: "OYYUEZP, RPKDEN, S BOBA, LHDB YDFY". rPYMY, NEDMEOOP ЪBZYVBS CH UFPTPOH THUULYI RPYGYK.

h VEMEUSCHI UHNETLBI HFTB UTEDI DETECSHCHECH NEMSHLOKHMY UETCHE LPOY - ZHUBTULYK TBYAEDD. "CHPF Y LPIY!" - CHPULMYLOHM OBY HOFET, CHSCHICHBFSCHCHBS X BCHUFTYKGB CHYOFPCHLH. eZP FPCHBTYEY PVEEPTHTSYMY PUFBMSHOSHCHI. ZHUBTSCH OENBMP UNESMYUSH, LPZDB ChPPTKhTSEOOSCHE BCHUFTYKULYNY CHYOFPCHLBNY HMBOSCH RPDPYMY L OIN, LPOCHPYTHS UCHPYI FPMSHLP YuFP ЪBICHBYOOOSCHI RMEOOSCHI. PRSFSH RPYMY CH YFBV, OP FERESH HCE THUULIK. rP DPTPZE CHUFTEFYMUS LBBL. "OH-LB, DSDS, RPLBTSY UEVS", - RPTPUYMY OBBYY. FPF OBDCHYOKHM ABOUT ZMBB RBRBIKH, CHULMPLPIYM RSFETOEK VPTPDH, CHCHYZOHM Y RHUFIM LPOS CHULBYUSH. dPMZP RPUME LFPZP RTYYMPUSH PVPDTSFSh Y HURPLBYCHBFSH BCHUFTYKGECH.

OB UMEDHAEIK DEOSH YFBV LBBYUSHEK DYCHYYY Y NSC U OYN PFPYMY CHETUFSHCH B YuEFSCHTE, FBL UFP OBN VSHMY CHYDOSH FPMSHLP ZHBVTYUOSCHE FTHVSHCH NEUFEYULB t. dPTPZB METSBMB YUETE t., OP L OEK HCE RPDIPDYMY ZETNBOGSCH. with CHUE-FBLY UHOHMUS, CHDTHZ HDBUFUS RTPULPYUYFSH. edkheye noe obchufteyukh pzhygetshch rpumedoyi lbbyushyi PFTSDPCH PUFBOBCHMYCHBMY NEOS CHPRTPUPN — CHPMSHOPPRTEDEMSAEIKUS, LHDB? - Y, HOBCH, U UPNOOEOYEN RPLBYUYCHBMY ZPMCHPK. bUFEOPA LTBKOEZP DPNB UFPSM DEUSFPL UREIEOOOSCHI LBBLPC U CHIOFPCHLBNY OBZPFPCHE. "Oh RTPEDEFE, - ULBMY SOY, - CHPO HCE ZDE RBMSF." fPMSHLP WITH CHSHCHDCHYOHMUS, LBL BEEMMLBMY CHSHCHUFTEMSHCH, BRTSCHZBMY RHMY. RP ZMBCHOPK KHMYGE DCHYZBMYUSH OBCHUFTEYUKH NOE FPMRSH ZETNBOGECH, CH RETEHMLBI UMSCHYBMUS YKHN DTKHZYI. with RPCHPTPFYM, ЪB NOPC, UDEMBCH OEULPMSHLP ЪBMRCH, RPUMEDCHBMY Y LBBLY.

ABOUT DPTPZE BTFYMMETYKULYK RPMLPCHOYL, HCE PUFBOBCHMYCHBCHYYK NEOS, URTPUYM: “OH UFP, OE RTPEIBMY?” - "OYLBL OEF, FBN HCE OERTYSFEMSH". - “WHAT EZP UBNY CHIDEMY?” - "fBL FPYuOP, UBN". According to RPCHETOKHMUS L UCHPYN PTDYOBTGN: "RBMShVB Y'CHUI PTHDYK RP NEUFEYULKh". with RPEIBM DBMSHYE.

pDOBLP NOE CHUE-FBLY OBDP VSHMP RTPVTBFSHUS CH YFBV. tBZMSDSchChBS UFBTHA LBTFH FPZP HEDB, UMHYUBKOP PLBBCHYHAUS X NEOS, UPCHEFHSUSH We have FPCHBTYEEN DPOEUEOYEN CHUEZDB RPUSCHMBAF DCHPYI J TBUURTBYYCHBS NEUFOSCHI TSYFEMEK C LTHTSOSCHN RHFEN YUETE MEUB J FPRY RTYVMYTSBMUS A HOE OBOBYUEOOPK DETECHOE. dChYZBFShUS RTYIPDYMPUSH RP ZHTPOFH OBUFHRBAEEZP RTPFYCHOYLB, FBL YUFP OE VSCHMP OYYUEZP HDYCHYFEMSHOPZP B FPN, YUFP RTY CHSCHEDE dv LBLPK-OP DETECHHYLY, zde NShch FPMSHLP YUFP, OE UMEBS I leave, OBRYMYUSH NPMPLB, OPL RPD RTSNSCHN HZMPN RETETEBM RHFSH OERTYSFEMSHULYK TBYAED. PO, PYUECHIDOP, RTYOSM OBU b DP PTOSHCHI, RPFPNKh YuFP ChNEUFP FPZP, YuFPVshch BFBLPCHBFSH OBU H LPOOPN UFTPA, OBYUBM VSHCHUFTP UREYYCHBFSHUS DMS UFTEMSHVSHCH. yI VSCHMP ChPUENSH YUEMPCHEL, Y NSCH, UCHETOKHCH ЪB DPNB, UFBMY HIPDYFSH. lPZDB UFTEMSHVB UFYIMB, S PVETOKHMUS Y HCHYDEM OB UPVPK ABOUT THE FOURTH IPMNB ULBYUKHEYI CHUBDOILPCH - OBU RTEUMEDPCHBMY; SING RPOSMY, UFP OBU FPMSHLP DCHPE.

h FP CHTENS UVPLH PRSFSH RPUMSCHYBMYUSH CHCHUFTEMSHCH, Y RTSNP ABOUT OB LBTSHETPN CHSHCHMEFEMY FTY LBBLB - DCHPE NPMPDSCHI, ULKHMBUFSHCHI RBTOEK Y PYO VPTPDBYu. NSC UFPMLOKHMYUSH Y RTYDETTSBMY LPOEK. "UFP FBN X ChBU?" — URTPUYM S VTPPDBYUB. “REYIE TBCHEDUILY, AT RPMUPFOY. b X CBU? - "ChPUENSH LPOOSCHI". PO RPUNPFTEM ABOUT NEOS, SOB OEZP, Y NSC RPOSM DTHZ DTHZB. oEULPMSHLP UELHOD RPNPMYUBMY. "Oh, RPEDEN, UFP MY!" - CHDTHZ UMPCHOP OEIPFS ULBBM PO, B X UBNPZP FBL Y BTsZMYUSH ZMBB. ULHMBUFSHCHE RBTOY, ZMSDECHYE ABOUT OEZP U FTECHPZPK, DPCHPMSHOP FTSIOKHMY ZPMCHPK Y UTBYH UFBMY OBCHPTBYUYCHBFSH LPOEK. EDCHB NSC RPDOSMYUSH ABOUT FPMSHLP UFP PUFBCHMEOOSHK OBNY IPMN, LBL HCHYDEMY CHTBZCH, URHULBCHYIUS U RTPFICHPRMPTSOPZP IPMNB. CDD UMHI PVTSEZ CHYZ OP OE, OE AF UCHYUF, PDOPCHTENEOOP OBRPNYOBAEYK NPFPTOSCHK ZHDPL J YYREOSHE VPMSHYPK NEY, RETEDP Buttons NEMSHLOHMY URYOSCH TCHBOHCHYYIUS LBBLPCH, J C DEA VTPUYM RPCHPDSHS, VEYEOP BTBVPFBM YRPTBNY, FPMSHLP CHSCHUYYN OBRTSTSEOYEN CHPMY CHURPNOYCH, YUFP ECPAT PVOBTSYFSH YBYLH. dPMTSOP VSHCHFSH, X OBU VSHCHM PYUEOSH TEYYFEMSHOSHCHK CHYD, RPFPNKh UFP OENGSCH VE CHUSLPZP LPMEVBOYS RHUFYMYUSH OBHFEL. ZOBMY POY PFYUBSOOP, Y TBUUFPSOIE NETSDH OBNY RPYUFY OE HNEOSHYBMPUSH. fPZDB VPTPDBFShKK LBBL CHMPTSYM CH OPTSOSCH YBYLKH, RPDOSM CHYOFPCHLKH, CHCHUFTEMYM, RTPNBIOHMUS, CHCHUFTEMYM PRSFSH, Y PDYO YY OENGECH RPDOSM PVE THLY, BLBYUBMUS Y, LBPYSHCHOM RPDVK YuETE NYOHFH NSCH HCE OEUMYUSH NYNP OEZP.

OP CHUENKH VSCCHBEF LPOEG! oENGSCH ACCOUNT OF LTHFP CHMECHP, Y OBCHUFTEYUKH OBN RPUSCHRBMYUSH RKHMY. NSCH OBULPYUMY ABOUT OERTYSFEMSHULHA GERSH. pDOBLP LBBLY RPCHETOKHMY OE TBOSHIE, YUEN RPKNBMY VEURPTSDPYUOP OPUICHYHAUS MPYBDSH HVYFPZP OEGB. sing ZPOSMYUSH ЪB OEK, OE PVTBEBS CHOYNBOIS ABOUT RHMY, UMPCHOP CH UCHPEK TPDOPC UFERY. "vBFHTYOH RTYZPDYFUS, - ZPCHPTYMY SING, - X OEZP CHUETB HVYMY DPVTPZP LPOS". NSC TBUUFBMYUSH ЪB VKhZTPN, DTHSEULY RPTsBCH DTHZ DTHZH THLY.

yFBV UCHPK WITH THE OBJECT OF MYYSH YUBUPCH YUETE RSFSH YOE CH DETEKOE, B RPUTEDY MEUOPK RPMSOSCH OB OYLYI ROSI Y UCHBMEOOOSCHI UFCHPMBI DETECHECH. PO FPTS PFPYEM HTS RPD PZOEN OERTYSFEMS.

l YFBVKH LBYUSHEK DYCHYYY WITH CHETOKHMUS H RPMOPYUSH. rPEM IPMPDOK LHTYGSHCH Y MEZ URBFSH, LBL CHDTKhZ BUHEFYMYUSH, RPUMSCHYBMUS RTYLB UEDMBFSH, Y NSC UOSMYUSH U VYCHBLB RP FTECHPZE. vSCHMB WEURTPUCEFOBS FENSCH. ъBVPTSCH Y LBOBCHSCH CHSCHTYUPCHSCHCHBMYUSH MYYSH FPZDB, LPZDB MPYBDSh OBFSCHLBMBUSH OB OYI YMY RTCHBMYCHBMBUSH. URTPUPOPL S DBCE OE TBBYTBM OBRTBCHMEOYS. lPZDB CHEFCHY VPMSHOP IMEUFBMY RP MYGH, OBM, UFP EDEN RP MEUKH, LPZDB X UBNSCHI OPZ RMEULBMBUSH CHPDB, OBM, UFP RETEIPDYN CHVTPD TEL. oblpoeg PUFBOCHYMYUSH X LBLPZP-FP VPMSHYPZP DPNB. lpufbchimy emergency dchpte, Ubni Chpymoy h ueo, kommy pzbtl ... y pfybfohmyush, khumshyb ZtPNPCK ZPMPPU FPMUFPZP UFBTPZP Lueodb, Chechedysp Obchufteyu Chuzenu ilpdu ilpd. “UFP LFP FBLPE, - LTYUBM PO, - NOE Y OPYUSHA OE DBAF RPLPA! with OE CHSHCHURBMUS, WITH EEE IPYUKH URBFSH!

NS RTPVPTNPFBMY TPVLYE Y'CHYOEOYS, OP PO RTSHCHZOHM CHRETED Y UICCHBFIM b THLBCH UFBTYEZP Y' PZHYGETPCH. "UADB, UADB, CHPF UFPMPCHBS, CHPF ZPUFYOBS, RHUFSH CHBY UPMDBFSCH RTYEUHF UPMPNSCH. аЪС, ъPUS, RPDHYLY RBOBN, DB DPUFBOSHFE YUYUFSHCHE OBCHPMPYULY. lPZDB S RTPUOKHMUS, VSHMP HCE UCHEFMP. yFBV CH UPUEDOK LPNOBFE ЪBOINBMUS DEMPN, RTYOYNBM DPOEUEOYS Y TBUUSCHMBM RTYLBBEBOIS, B RETEDP NOPC VHYECHBM IPSYO: "CHUFBCHBKFE ULTTEE, LPZHE RTPUFSHCHOEF, CHUE HTS DBUCHOP!" with HNSCHMUS Y UEM BL LPLZHE. LUEOD LET'S GO RTPFYCH NEOS Y UHTCHP NEOS DPRTBYCHBM. "WHCH CHPMSHOPPRTEDEMSAEIKUS?" - "dPVTPCHPMEG". - "YuEN RTETSDE BOINBMYUSH?" - "VSCHM RJUBFEMEN". — "OBUFPSEIN?" - “pV LFPN S OE NPZH UHDYFSH. CHUE-FBLY REYUBFBMUS CH ZBEFBI Y TSKHTOBMBI, YODBCHBM LOIZY. - "FERETSH RYIEFE LBLIE-OYVHDSH BRYULY?" - "RYYKH". EZP VTPCHY TBDCHYOKHMYUSH, ZPMPU UDEMBMUS NSZLYN Y RPYUFY RTPUIFEMSHOSCHN: "fBL KhTs, RPTsBMHKUFB, OBRYYYFE PVP NOE, LBL S ЪDEUSH TSYCHKH, LBL CHSHCH UP NOPK RPIOBLPNYMYUSH". with YULTEOOP PVEEBM ENH LFP. "dB OEF, CHSH OBVKhDEFE. аЪС, ЪPUS, LBTBODBY Y VKhNBZKh!” th PO BRYUBM NOE OBCHBOYE HEDDB Y CHILD, UCHPE YNS Y ZHBNYMYA.

OP TBICHE UFP-OYVHDSH DETZYFUS IB PVYMBZPN THLBCHB, LHDB LBCHBMETYUFSH PVSCHLOPCHEOOP RTSYUKhF TBOSCHE BRYULY, DEMPCHSHCHE, MAVPCHOSCHE Y RTPUFP FBL? YuETE FTY DOS S HCE RPFETSM CHUE, Y LFH H FPN YUYUME. th PEF FERETSH With MYYEO CHPNPTSOPUFY PFVMBZPDBTYFSH DPUFPRPYUFEOOPZP RBFETB (OE OBA EZP ZHBNYMYY) dv DETECHOY (BVSCHM ITS OBCHBOYE) OE B RPDHYLH B YUYUFPK OBCHPMPYULE, OE B LPZHE have CHLHUOSCHNY RSCHYLBNY, OP B EZP ZMHVPLHA MBULPCHPUFSH RPD UHTPCHSCHNY NBOETBNY J B AF YUFP Software FBL STLP OBRPNOYM NOE FEI HDYCHYFEMSHOSHCHI UVBTYLPCH-PFYEMSHOYLPCH, LPFPTSHCHE FBL CE UUPTSFUS Y DTHTSBFUUS U OPYUOSCHNY RHFOILBNY CH DBCOP BLVSCHFSHI, OP OELPZDB NOPA MAVINSCHI TPNFOTB ULCHBMShCHI.

ZhTPOF VSCHM CHSCHTPCHEO. LPE-ZDE REIPFB PFVICHBMB RTPFYCHOYLB, CHPPVTBBYCHOYEZP, UFP PO OBUFHRBEF RP UPVUFCHEOOOPK YOIGYBFICHE, LBCHBMETYS BOINBMBUSH HUIMEOOPK TBECHEDLPC. obyenkh tbyaeddkh VSCHMP RPTKHYUEOP OBVMADBFSH bb PDOIN Y FBLYI VPEC Y UPPVEBFSH PV EZP TBCHYFYY Y UMHYUBKOPUFSI H YFBV. NSC OVERVIEW REIPPH H MEUX. nBMEOSHLIE UETSHCHE UPMDBFILY UP UCHPYNY PZTPNOSCHNY UHNLBNY MY CHTBVTPD, FETSSUSH ABOUT ZHPOE LHUFBTOYLB Y UPUOPCHSCHI UFCHPMCH. pDOI ABOUT IPDH BLKHUSCCHBMY, DTHZYE LKHTYMY, NPMPDK RTBRPTEIL CHUEMP RPNBIYCHBM FTPPUFSHA. FP VSHCHM YURSHCHFBOOSCHK, UMBCHOSCHK RPML, LPFPTSCHK CH VPK YEM, LBL ABOUT PVSCHYUOKHA RPMECHHA TBVPPFH; Y YUKHCHUFCHCHBMPUSH, YUFP CH OKHTSOHA NYOHFKH CHUE PLBTSHFUS ABOUT UCHPYI NEUFBI VE RHFBOYGSHCH, VE UHNBFPY Y LBTsDSHK PFMYUOP ЪOBEF, ZDE ON DPMTSEO VSHCHFSH Y UFP DEMBFSH.

vBFBMSHPOOSCHK LPNBODYT CHETIPN ABOUT MPINBFPK LBBYUSHEK MPYBDLLE RPDPTPCHBMUS U OBYYN PZHYGETPN Y RPRTPUYM EZP HOBFSH, EUFSH MY RETED DETECHOEK, ABOUT LPFPTHA PO OBUFHRBM, OERTYSFEMSHUL. NShch VSCHMY PYUEOSH TBDSCH RPNPYUSH REIPFE, J UEKYUBU CE VSCHM CHSCHUMBO HOFET-PZHYGETULYK TBYAED, LPFPTSCHK RPCHEM S. nEUFOPUFSh VSCHMB HDYCHYFEMSHOP HDPVOBS LCA LBCHBMETYY, IPMNSCH, dv-B LPFPTSCHI NPTSOP VSCHMP OEPTSYDBOOP RPLBBFSHUS, J PCHTBZY, RP LPFPTSCHN MEZLP VSCHMP HIPDYFSH.

EDCHB S RPDOSMUS ABOUT RETCHSHCHK RTYZPTPL, EEMLOHM CHSHCHUFTEM - LFP VSCHM FPMSHLP OERTYSFEMSHULYK UELTEF. with CHSM CHRTBCHP Y RTPEIBM DBMSHYE. h VYOPLMSH VSHCHMP CHYDOP CHUE RPME DP CHILD, POP VSHCHMP RHUFP. with RPUMBM PDOPZP YuEMPCHELB U DPOEUEOYEN, B UBN U PUFBMSHOSHCHNY FTENS UPVMBYOMUS RHZOHFSH PVUFTEMSCHYYK OBU UELTEF. VMS FPPZP, YuFPVSH FPURO Khobfsh, House in Knightmes, with UOPCHB Cheshchykhmus Yu Lhufpch, Khumschybm Eee Cryshchufta Fpzdb, OevPMSHIPK RTIZPTPLE, RPNIBMUS OZHP, UFBTBSUSH PUFBCHM NSCH DPUBLBLBMY DP RTYZPTTLB - OILPZP. OEKHTSEMY WITH PYVUS? oEF, CHPF PDYO Y NPYI MADEK, UREYYCHYUSH, RPDPVTBM OPCHEOSHLHA BCHUFTYKULKHA CHYOPCHLKH, DTHZPK OBNEFIYM UCHETSEOBTKHVMEOOSHCHE CHEFCHY, ABOUT LPFPTSCHI FPMSHL UFP METSBM BCHUFTEYKULYK. NSC RPDOSMYUSH ABOUT IPMN Y KHCHYDEMY FTPYI VEZHEYI PE CHUA RTSHCHFSH MADEK. CHYDYNP, YI UNETFEMSHOP RETERHZBMB OBYB OEPTSYDBOOBS LPOOBS BFBLB, RPFPNKh UFP SOY OE UFTEMSMY Y DBTSE OE PVPTBYUCHBMYUSH. rTEUMEDPCHBFSH YI VSCHMP OECHPЪNPTSOP, OBU PVUFTEMSMMY VSCH YЪ CHILDREN, LTPNE FPZP, OBYB REIPFB HCE CHSCHYMB YЪ MEUKH Y OBN OEMSHЪS VSCHMP FPTYUBFSH RETED ITS ZHTPOFPN. NSCH CHETOKHMYUSH L TB'YAEDDH Y, TBUUECHYUSH ABOUT LTSCHIE Y TBCHEUYUFSHCHCHSBI UFBTK NEMSHOYGSHCH, UFBMY OBVMADBFSH IB VPEN.

DYCHOPE ЪTEMYEE - OBUFHRMEOYE OBYEK REIPFSCH. lBBMPUSH, UETPE RPME PTSYMP, OBYUBMP NPTEYFSHUS, CHSHVTBUSCHCHBS YU UCHPYI OEDT CHPPTHTSEOOSCHI MADEK ABOUT PVTEYEOOKHA DETECHHOA. LHDB OY PVTBEBMUS CHZMSD, WHEN WE CHIEVE YOUR LIFE, VEZHEIE, RPMKHEIE, METSBEIE. UPUYUYFBFSH YI VSCHMP OECHPЪNPTSOP. OE CHETIMPUSH, UFP LFP VSCHMY PFDEMSHOSHCHE MADY, UFPEE LFP VSCHM GEMSHOSHCHK PTZBOYN, UHEEUFCHP VEULPOEYUOP UYMSHOEE Y UFTBYOEEE DYOPFETYKHNPC Y RMEYPBCHTPCH. th DMS LFPZP UHEEUFCHB CHP-TPTSDBMUS CHEMYUEFCHEOOOSCHK HTSBU LPUNYUEULYI RECETCHPTTPFCH Y LBFBUFTPZH. LBL ZHM ENMEFTSUEOIK, ZTPIPFBMY PTHDYKOSHCHE YBMRSH Y OEUNPMLBENSCHK FTEUL CHIOFCHPL, LBL VPMYDSCH, MEFBMY ZTBOBFSHCH Y TCHBMBUSH YTBROEMSH. DEKUFCHYFEMSHOP, RP UMPCH RPPFB, OBU RTYCHBMY CHUEVMBZYE, LBL UPVEUEDOILCH OB RIT, Y NSC VSCHMY TYFEMSNY YI CHSHCHUPLYI ITEMYE. y S, Y YY SEOSCHK RPTHUIL U VTBUMEFPN ABOUT THLBI, Y CHETSMYCHSHCHK HOFET, Y TSVPK RBBUOPK, VSHCHYK DCHPTOYL, NSC PLBBMYUSH UCHYDEFEMSNY UGEOSCH, VPMSHYE CHUEZP OBRPNYOBCHYEK FTEFEYOPCHYEK FTEFYUPCHYEK with DKHNBM, UFP FPMSHLP CH TPNBOBI hMMUB VSCCHBAF FBLIE RBTDPPLUSCH.

OP NSHCHOE PLBBMYUSH ABOUT CHSHCHUPFE RPMPTSEOIS Y UPCHUENE VSCHMY RPIPTSY ABOUT PMYNRYKGECH. lPZDB MIC TBZPTBMUS, NShch FTECHPTSYMYUSH B ZHMBOZ OBYEK REIPFSCH, ZTPNLP TBDPCHBMYUSH ITS MPCHLYN NBOECHTBN, B NYOHFH BFYYSHS CHSCHRTBYYCHBMY DTHZ X DTHZB RBRYTPUSCH, J DEMYMYUSH IMEVPN UBMPN, TBSCHULYCHBMY UEOB MPYBDEK LCA. ChRTPYUEN, NPTSEF VSHCHFSH, FBLPE RPCHEDEOYE VSHMP EDYOUFCHEOOOSCHN DPUFPKOSHCHN RTY DBOOSHI PVUFPSFEMSHUFCHBI.

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Around the "Notes of a Cavalryman" - 1914-1915.

Poland, the defense of Petrokov and the first "George".

As mentioned in the previous issue, the Life Guards Ulansky Regiment spent the beginning of November on vacation in Kovno, about which Gumilyov managed to write to Lozinsky, briefly talking about his "baptism of fire" 1 . On November 8, an order was received in the division 2 to start a hasty loading for transfer to another front and, as part of the 2nd Army, proceed to Ivangorod. Loading was scheduled for the next day and began at 7 p.m. on November 9th. The echelon, having passed through Grodno, Bialystok, Malkin, Minsk, Pilyava, arrived on November 12 in Ivangorod located in southern Poland (now Demblin in Poland) 3 . On November 13, the unloading of the echelon was completed 4, after which each detachment was ordered to move under its own power to the combat area near the city of Petrokov. The Uhlan regiment was first transferred to Radom, from where it was sent in march formation to the area of ​​the Kolyushki railway station and the city of Petrokov, around which fierce battles were going on. Chapter III of the Cavalryman's Notes begins with a description of this transition.

Southern Poland is one of the most beautiful places in Russia. We drove about eighty versts from the railway station to the point of contact with the enemy, and I managed to admire it to my heart's content. Mountains, the pleasures of tourists, are not there, but what is the use of a lowland mountain dweller? There are forests, there are waters, and that's enough.

Pine forests, planted, and, driving through them, you suddenly see narrow, straight, like arrows, alleys full of green twilight with a shining gap in the distance - like temples of the affectionate and thoughtful gods of ancient, still pagan Poland. Deer and roe deer are found there, golden pheasants run with a chicken habit, on quiet nights you can hear how a wild boar champs and breaks bushes.

Among the wide shallows of washed-out banks, rivers meander lazily; wide, with narrow isthmuses between them, the lakes glisten and reflect the sky, like mirrors made of polished metal; old mossy mills have quiet dams with gently murmuring streams of water and some kind of pink-red bushes, strangely reminding a person of his childhood.

In such places, whatever you do - love or fight - everything seems significant and wonderful.

These were the days of great battles. From morning until late at night we heard the rumble of cannons, the ruins were still smoking, and here and there groups of inhabitants buried the corpses of people and horses...

Having unloaded on November 13 at the Ivangorod station, the Ulansky regiment immediately proceeded to the city of Radom. The regiment was supposed to take part in the so-called "Petrokovskaya operation" 5 .

Poland, the valley of the river Pilica, along which the uhlans passed

An ancient military fort in the vicinity of Ivangorod. Modern Radom

Further, in order of battle, a march maneuver was carried out from Radom to the area of ​​​​the railway station Kolyushki and the city of Petrokov 6. The Ulans were originally assigned the Kolushki railway station (K. station) as their final destination. These 80 versts of the road through the picturesque plains of southern Poland are described by Gumilyov at the beginning of the chapter. Unfortunately, the author himself did not manage to visit these picturesque places of southern Poland described by Gumilyov, however, he did not want to refuse the idea of ​​accompanying his story with photographs of the places described. Fortunately, network capabilities provided invaluable assistance in this, most of the photographs provided are taken from various sites. 7. From Radom on the first day, November 13, the regiment reached the district of the village of Odrzhivol and stopped for the night at the Potvorovo estate, 8 miles east of Odrzhivol.

Poland, the church in Potvorovo, where the first overnight stay of the Ulansky regiment was .

On November 14, having passed through Podchascha Volya, Kl'vov, Odrzhivol, Novo-Miasto, the Ulansky regiment reached the Rzhechitsy region. Basically, the whole road, like all subsequent events, took place in the valley of the Pilica River and on its banks.

Church in Odriwol, near Novo Miasto, Pilica.

On November 15, moving from Rzhechitsy through Lubokhnya, towards the Kolushki station, the uhlans reached the manor's court of Yankov and Uyazd, located a few miles north of the station, where they stopped for the night. The road passed among the forests, along the valleys of the flat rivers Radomka, Drzhevitsy, Pilica.

Manor house in Uyazde, where, perhaps, there was an overnight stay.

Since November 15, the 2nd Guards. kav. the division entered the temporarily formed Gillenshmidt Cavalry Corps (together with the 1st Guards Cavalry Division, the 13th Cavalry Division, the 5th Don Cossack Division, the Ural Cossack Division and the 2nd Brigade of the Trans-Baikal Cossack Division) eight . The corps was given the following tasks: to fill the gap between the 5th Army located to the north and the 4th Army belonging to the southwestern front, which included Gillenshmidt's cavalry corps; reconnaissance at the Rosenberg-Kalisz front; damage to railway tracks; assistance to our troops in mastering the Czestochowa position 9 .

On November 16, the Ulansky regiment, after preliminary reconnaissance, since the location of the enemy was unknown, arrived at the Kolyushki station described by Gumilyov and settled down for the night in the nearest village of Katarzhinov.

... I was assigned to the flying mail at station K. Trains were already passing by it, although most often under fire. Of the inhabitants, only railway employees remained there; they greeted us with amazing hospitality. Four machinists were arguing for the honor of hosting our little detachment. When at last one gained the upper hand, the rest came to visit him and began to exchange impressions. One should have seen how their eyes burned with delight when they told that shrapnel was torn near their train, a bullet hit the locomotive. It was felt that only a lack of initiative prevented them from signing up as volunteers. We parted as friends, promised to write to each other, but are such promises ever kept?

Kolushki station and local church - modern view .

The enemy was slowly moving away from the station, in the reports of Knyazhevich it is said: “Today I am moving to the Kolyushki district. Parts of the enemy roam in the forests near Kolushki, many prisoners" ten . On November 17-18, the regiment stood in the neighboring village of Katarzhinov, sending out reconnaissance patrols, and on November 18 an urgent telegram was received: “Today Gillenshmidt’s corps is arriving in Petrokov. Since that time, he comes under the direct subordination of the IV Army. November 19 will have a day off. Probably the lancers and horse grenadiers will receive orders tonight or at night. Gillenshmidt was ordered to get in touch with the 5th Army through the 5th Don Cossack Division. eleven . The distance from Kolushki station to Petrokovo, about 50 versts, was covered by the regiment in one night. This transition on the night of 18 to 19 November, Gumilyov describes in the Notes of a Cavalryman. A short bivouac that night was in the villages of Kamotsyn and Litoslav 12 .

The next day, amid the sweet idleness of the late bivouac, when you read the yellow books of the Universal Library, clean your rifle, or simply chat with pretty ladies, we were suddenly ordered to saddle, and just as suddenly, with a variable gait, we immediately covered fifty versts. Sleepy little places flashed past one after another, quiet and majestic estates, on the doorsteps of the houses the old women in shawls hastily thrown over their heads sighed, muttering: "Oh, Matka Bozka." And, driving out on the highway from time to time, we listened to the sound of countless hooves, dull as the surf, and guessed that other cavalry units were moving ahead and behind us and that we had a big job ahead of us.

The night was well past half when we bivouacked. In the morning we were replenished with ammunition, and we moved on.

The next day, November 19, the movement of the lancers towards Petrokov was continued. Horse artillery joined the Ulansky regiment near the village of Grabitsa thirteen . On the same day, the enemy offensive began on Belkhatov, in the direction of Petrokov. The lancers were warned of a possible collision with the enemy. The next two days were sleepless and passed in continuous battles, and the main blow fell on the Ulansky regiment. In "Notes" Gumilyov describes the first clash with the Germans near Petrokov on November 19.

The city of Petrokov, now the Polish city of Piotrkow Tribunalsky.
In the right corner - Petrokov during the war, at the end of 1914.

The area was deserted: some kind of gullies, stunted firs, hills. We lined up in a line of battle, appointed who should dismount, who should be the horse-breeder, sent patrols ahead and began to wait. Climbing up the hillock and hidden by the trees, I saw in front of me a space of about a mile. Our outposts were scattered here and there along it. They were so well hidden that I saw most of them only when, firing back, they began to leave. The Germans appeared almost behind them. Three columns came into my field of vision, moving five hundred paces apart.

They walked in dense crowds and sang. It wasn't any particular song, or even our friendly cheers, but two or three notes alternating with ferocious and sullen energy. I did not immediately realize that the singers were dead drunk. It was so strange to hear this singing that I did not notice either the rumble of our guns, or the firing of rifles, or the frequent, fractional clatter of machine guns. A wild "a...a...a..." powerfully subdued my consciousness. I only saw clouds of shrapnel rising above the very heads of the enemies, how the front ranks fell, how others took their place and advanced a few steps to lie down and make room for the next. It looked like a flood of spring waters - the same slowness and steadiness.

But now it's my turn to fight. The command was heard: "Down down ... sight eight hundred ... squadron, cry," and I no longer thought about anything, but only fired and loaded, fired and loaded. Only somewhere in the depths of consciousness lived the confidence that everything would be as it should be, that at the right moment we would be ordered to attack or mount horses, and by one or the other we would bring the dazzling joy of the final victory closer.

In this part of the Notes of a Cavalryman, I am forced to deviate from the order of chapters in a newspaper publication (and, consequently, in all other publications). The ending of chapter III belongs to a later period and will be given below. Next Chapter IV(and the ending of chapter III) covers the events from 20 to 30 November 1914. At the end of the previous Chapter III and at the beginning of Chapter IV, there is a clear, but apparently accidental violation of the chronological sequence. Perhaps this happened after censorship cuts, but it is also possible that Gumilyov himself, when recording and restoring the events of the extremely eventful day and night of November 20-21, unconsciously stretched the episodes of one day into a number of subsequent days. This is not surprising, given that no one in the regiment slept for several days. The notes were made, for sure, after some time, since the next week was extremely tense, with continuous patrols, clashes with the enemy. The next short rest was given to the detachment only a week later, after November 28th. And even then it is not at all obvious that Gumilyov had time to “take up the pen”, continuing his diary entries.

On the basis of military documents, one can try to reconstruct the following sequence of events (rearranging the fragments of the Notes accordingly). Following the description of the battle in chapter III, before the phrase highlighted on all sides by censored excerpts: "<...> Late at night we went to the bivouac<...>to a big estate <...>"- you should read episode "2" in chapter IV. This episode describes the night from November 20 to 21, when the squadron of uhlans, in which Gumilyov was a member, was sent for reconnaissance to find out the location of the enemy after the battle. The platoon commander mentioned in this chapter - Lieutenant Mikhail Mikhailovich Chichagov, who was mentioned in note "25" of the previous issue in connection with the poem "War" dedicated to him. Chichagov (without a name) is regularly mentioned in other chapters of the Notes, but his name is more often found in military documents. among them, many reports signed by him, sent directly from combat patrols, written on scraps of paper, have been preserved; most likely, Gumilyov also took a direct part in their writing (and delivery). Mzurki - Budkov - Bakers - Monkolice. The report of the hussars about this night says: “At night, an order was received to immediately set out and delay the offensive enemy attack on the city of Petrov before the approach of our infantry. Already at the Belkhatov metro station, a battle was going on, where the Ural division delayed the enemy offensive, which appeared on the Belkhatov-Petrokov highway.<...>To the right of us at vil. Velepole – Sukhnice there was a Ulansky regiment, which withstood the entire onslaught. <...>Guards on the line dd. Mzurki - Budkov - Bakers - Monkolice. The outpost was shelled and Moncolice was occupied. All night there was a skirmish between the enemy and our field guards. During the night, 1 hussar was killed, sent to communicate with the Lancers of the E.V. regiment ... " 14 .

The “artistic” details of this night are from Gumilyov.

The next day it was already getting dark and everyone had dispersed into the haylofts and cells of the large estate, when suddenly our platoon was ordered to assemble. The hunters were called to go on foot reconnaissance at night, very dangerous, as the officer insisted.

About ten people quickly left at once; the rest, trampling about, announced that they also wanted to go and were only ashamed to ask for it. Then they decided that the platoon commander would appoint hunters. And in this way, eight people were chosen, again more pompous. I was among them.

We rode on horseback to the hussar outpost. Behind the trees they dismounted, left three horsemen and went to ask the hussars how things were going. A mustachioed sergeant-at-arms, hidden in a crater from a heavy shell, said that enemy scouts had come out of the nearest village several times, crept across the field to our positions, and he had already fired twice. We decided to sneak into this village and, if possible, take some scout alive.

The full moon was shining, but, fortunately for us, she kept hiding behind the clouds. After waiting for one of these eclipses, we bent over and ran in single file to the village, but not along the road, but in a ditch running along it. They stopped at the outskirts. The detachment was supposed to stay here and wait, two hunters were invited to go through the village and see what was happening behind it. I went with one reserve non-commissioned officer, formerly a polite servant in some state institution, now one of the bravest soldiers of a squadron considered combat. He is on one side of the street, I am on the other. At the whistle we had to turn back.

Here I am all alone in the middle of a silent, as if lurking village, from behind the corner of one house I run to the corner of the next. Fifteen paces away, a crouching figure flashes to the side. This is my friend. Out of pride, I try to go ahead of him, but it’s still scary to hurry too much. I am reminded of the game of thief wand, which I always play in the summer in the countryside. There is the same bated breath, the same cheerful awareness of danger, the same instinctive ability to sneak up and hide. And you almost forget that here, instead of the laughing eyes of a pretty girl, a playmate, you can only meet a sharp and cold bayonet aimed at you. This is the end of the village. It becomes a little lighter, this is the moon breaking through the loose edge of the cloud; I see in front of me low, dark hillocks of trenches and immediately remember, as if photographing in memory, their length and direction. After all, that's what I came here for. At the same moment, a human figure looms in front of me. She peers at me and whistles softly with some special, obviously conditional, whistle. This is the enemy, a collision is inevitable.

There is only one thought in me, alive and powerful, like passion, like rage, like ecstasy: I am his or he is me! He hesitantly raises his rifle, I know that I can’t shoot, there are many enemies nearby, and I rush forward with my bayonet down. A moment, and there is no one in front of me. Maybe the enemy crouched on the ground, maybe bounced off. I stop and start looking. Something blackens. I approach and touch with a bayonet - no, this is a log. Something blackens again. Suddenly, an unusually loud shot is heard from the side of me, and the bullet howls offensively close in front of my face. I turn around, I have a few seconds at my disposal, while the enemy will change the cartridge in the rifle magazine. But already from the trenches one can hear the nasty spitting of shots - thud, thrash, thrash - and the bullets whistle, whine, screech.

I ran to my squad. I did not feel any particular fear, I knew that night shooting was invalid, and I only wanted to do everything as correctly and better as possible. Therefore, when the moon illuminated the field, I threw myself prone and crawled into the shadow of the houses, it was already almost safe to go there. My comrade, a non-commissioned officer, returned at the same time as me. He had not yet reached the edge of the village when the firing began. We returned to the horses. In a lonely hut, we exchanged impressions, dined on bread and bacon, the officer wrote and sent a report, and we went out again to see if something could be arranged. But, alas! - the night wind tore the clouds to shreds, the round, reddish moon descended over the enemy positions and blinded our eyes. We were visible at a glance, we did not see anything. We were ready to cry with annoyance and, to spite fate, nevertheless crawled towards the enemy. The moon could have disappeared again, or we could have met some crazy scout! However, none of this happened, we were only fired upon, and we crawled back, cursing the lunar effects and the caution of the Germans. Nevertheless, the information we obtained was useful, they thanked us, and for that night I received the St. George Cross.

Modern Belkhatov, for the battles and reconnaissance around which Gumilyov received his first St. George Cross

For reconnaissance on the night of November 20-21, Gumilyov received his first George Cross. In order No. 181 for the Ulansky regiment of January 13, 1915, it was announced 15: “By Order of the Guards Cavalry Corps dated December 24, 1914 No. 30, for distinction in cases against the Germans, the following are awarded:<...>St. George's crosses of the 4th degree: squadron E.V. non-commissioned officer Nikolai Gumilyov p. 18 No. 134060 ... "In the order, Gumilyov is listed as a non-commissioned officer, although in fact this title was awarded to him by order of the regiment No. 183 of January 15, 1915 of the year: "Ulan from the hunters of Her Majesty's squadron, Nikolai Gumilyov, for distinction, I promote to non-commissioned officers." In order for the regiment No. 286 dated April 28, 1915, “in addition to the order for the regiment<...>dated January 13, No. 181<...>I announce a list of the lower ranks, awarded for differences in cases against the enemy with St. George's crosses and medals, indicating the time of the feats. In the summary table, at number 59, the non-commissioned officer hunter of the EV squadron Nikolai Gumilyov, who was awarded for the cause November 20, 1914 cross 4 degrees №134060 16 .

Two days passed in continuous clashes with the enemy. Gumilyov's squadron constantly participated in reconnaissance patrols. The seriousness of the hostilities is evidenced by the fact that during the battle on November 20, the commander of the Ulansky regiment, Knyazhevich, was introduced to the St. George weapons. The submissions say: “... November 20, 1914, at about 12 noon, the commander of the Guards Cavalry Detachment of His Majesty's Retinue, Major General Gillenshmidt, ordered the commander of the L.-Gd. Ulansky E.V. Regiment to Colonel Knyazhevich to take a position with dismounted lancers near the highway to the city of Petrokov, three hundred steps east of the edge of the forest, between Belkhatov and Velepole, in order to stubbornly delay the further advance of the Germans who threatened Petrokov. At 3 o'clock in the afternoon the enemy began artillery preparation, and at about 4 o'clock in the afternoon, under the cover of strong artillery. fire led a vigorous offensive against the lancers and the neighboring section of the equestrian grenadiers. From my vantage point ahead of the village of Guta, I heard the horns and the shouts of the German infantry (many times the strongest reserve division of the Guards) preparing to attack. Soon a heated battle ensued, during which the commander of the 1st brigade, Major General Lopukhin, was seriously wounded, and the command of the 1st brigade passed to Colonel Knyazhevich. The latter, despite the losses, being exposed to serious personal danger, held out until seven in the evening, after which he led his brigade in order to the 2nd position near the village of Mzurka, where he firmly occupied a number of farms of the planned offensive, which was stopped. The servants with machine guns suffered greatly, why, on the orders of the regiment. Prince Uhlans carried them out in their arms. When it was ordered to withdraw, he himself, until the last minute, remaining at the rear guard and being in great danger, with his example of calmness and diligence, instilled in people full confidence why the withdrawal took place without fuss and without much loss in people and property (machine guns were brilliantly taken out ). The significance of the stubborn defense of Colonel Knyazhevich at the Velepolsky position was expressed in the fact that thanks to it we managed to firmly establish ourselves on the positions of Mzurka - Rokshitsa, which Petrokov defended until December 2, that we did not allow the enemy to wedge into the gap between our two armies ... " 17

During this battle, several lancers were killed, many were wounded. The losses in personnel are mentioned in the order for the Ulansky regiment No. 127 dated 11/20/1914 eighteen . The squadron in which Gumilyov served, judging by the documents, conducted reconnaissance before the battle that day, participated in the battle and conducted reconnaissance after the battle, for which the poet earned his first St. George Cross. A few days later, on November 25, the commander of the 1st brigade and the Cavalry Grenadier Regiment, Major General Lopukhin, died of wounds. nineteen . In chapter III there are many censorship cuts, which, apparently, include the description of the battle itself; only a small fragment remained in the text. After the battle, the Ulansky regiment withdrew to the bivouac in Mzurki. A description of this bivouac and another long-distance siding on November 21 is at the end of Chapter III.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Late at night we went to the bivouac. . . . . . . . to a large estate.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . In the gardener's room, his wife boiled a quart of milk for me, I fried sausage in lard, and my dinner was shared with me by my guests: a volunteer whose leg had been crushed by a horse that had just been killed under him, and a sergeant-major with a fresh abrasion on his nose, he was so scratched by a bullet. We had already lit a cigarette and were talking peacefully, when a non-commissioned officer who accidentally wandered over to us said that a patrol was being sent from our squadron. I carefully examined myself and saw that I had slept well, or rather I had dozed off in the snow, that I was full and warm, and that there was no reason for me not to go. True, for the first moment it was unpleasant to leave the warm, cozy room into the cold and deserted yard, but this feeling was replaced by a cheerful revival, as soon as we dived along an invisible road into the darkness, towards the unknown and danger.

Winter surroundings of Petrokov, bivouac area in Mzurki

The crossing was long, and so the officer let us take a nap, three hours, in some kind of hayloft. Nothing is so refreshing as a short nap, and the next morning we were already quite cheerful, illuminated by a pale, but still sweet sun. We were instructed to observe the region of four versts and report everything that we notice. The terrain was completely flat, and three villages were visible in front of us at a glance. One was occupied by us, nothing was known about the other two.

Rifles in hand, we cautiously drove into the nearest village, drove through it to the end, and, not finding the enemy, drank with a feeling of complete satisfaction fresh milk brought to us by a beautiful, talkative old woman. Then the officer, having called me aside, said that he wanted to give me an independent order to go as a senior over two sentinels to the next village. A trifling assignment, but nevertheless a serious one, considering my inexperience in the art of war, and, most importantly, the first one in which I could show my initiative. Who does not know that in any case, the initial steps are more pleasant than all the others.

I decided not to walk in lava, that is, in a row, at some distance from each other, but in a chain, that is, one after another. In this way, I put people in less danger and got the opportunity to tell the patrol something new sooner. The junction followed us. We drove into the village and from there we noticed a large column of Germans moving about two versts from us. The officer stopped to write a report, I went on to clear my conscience. A steeply curved road led to the mill. I saw a group of people standing quietly around her, and knowing that they always run away, foreseeing a collision in which they might also get a stray bullet, I rode up at a trot to ask about the Germans. But as soon as we exchanged greetings, they scattered with distorted faces, and a cloud of dust rose in front of me, and behind me I heard the characteristic crack of a rifle. I looked back.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . On the road I had just passed, a bunch of horsemen and footmen in black, terribly alien-colored overcoats looked at me in amazement. Obviously, I just got noticed. They were about thirty paces.

I realized that this time the danger is really great. The road to the junction was cut off for me, enemy columns were moving from the other two sides. It remained to gallop directly from the Germans, but there was a plowed field far away on which it was impossible to gallop, and I would have been shot ten times before I would have left the sphere of fire. I chose the middle one and, skirting the enemy, rushed in front of his front to the road along which our patrol left. It was a difficult moment in my life. The horse stumbled over frozen clods, bullets whistled past his ears, blew up the ground in front of me and next to me, one scratched the pommel of my saddle. I kept my eyes on the enemies. I could clearly see their faces, confused at the moment of loading, concentrated at the moment of firing. A short, elderly officer, holding out his arm strangely, fired at me with a revolver. This sound stood out with some kind of treble among the rest. Two riders jumped out to block my way. I pulled out a saber, they hesitated. Maybe they were just afraid that their own comrades would shoot them.

All this at that moment I remembered only with visual and auditory memory, but I realized this much later. Then I only held the horse and muttered a prayer to the Mother of God, which I immediately composed and immediately forgotten after the danger had passed.

But here is the end of the arable field - and why did people come up with agriculture?! - here is the ditch that I take almost unconsciously, here is the smooth road along which I catch up with my siding with a full quarry. Behind him, ignoring the bullets, an officer reins in his horse. After waiting for me, he also goes into the quarry and says with a sigh of relief: “Well, thank God! It would be terribly stupid if you were killed." I fully agreed with him.

We spent the rest of the day on the roof of a lonely hut, chatting and looking through binoculars. The German convoy we spotted earlier got hit by shrapnel and turned back. But the patrols darted in different directions. Sometimes they collided with ours, and then the sound of shots reached us. We ate boiled potatoes and took turns smoking the same pipe.

On November 21-23, the German offensive was suspended. The 1st brigade with the Ulansky regiment retreated to the south and set up a bivouac in Krzhizhanovo. These days there was a strong skirmish, reconnaissance patrols were constantly sent out to find out the location of the enemy. One of these sidings is described in episode "1" of Chapter IV.

The German offensive was halted. It was necessary to investigate what points the enemy had occupied, where he was digging in, where he simply placed outposts. For this, a number of sidings were sent, one of them included me.

On a gray morning we trotted along the high road. Entire convoys of refugees were stretching towards us. The men looked at us with curiosity and hope, the children were drawn to us, the women, sobbing, wailed: “Oh, panychi, don’t go there, the Germans will kill you there.”

In one village the siding stopped. I had to go further with two soldiers and find the enemy. Right now, our infantrymen were digging in behind the outskirts, then a field stretched over which shrapnel was torn, there was a battle at dawn and the Germans withdrew, - then a small farm blackened. We trotted towards him.

To the right and to the left, the corpses of the Germans lay on almost every square sazhen. In one minute I counted forty of them, but there were many more. There were also wounded. They somehow suddenly began to move, crawled a few steps and froze again. One sat at the very edge of the road and, holding his head, swayed and groaned. We wanted to pick it up, but decided to do it on the way back.

We made it safely to the farm. Nobody fired at us. But immediately behind the manor they heard the blows of a spade on the frozen ground and some unfamiliar voice. We dismounted, and with my rifle in hand, I crept forward to peer around the corner of the last shed. In front of me rose a small hillock, and on its ridge the Germans were digging trenches. They could be seen stopping to rub their hands and smoke, and the angry voice of a non-commissioned officer or an officer could be heard. A grove darkened to the left, behind which gunfire rushed. It was from there that they shelled the field I had just passed through. I still do not understand why the Germans did not put up any picket in the manor itself. However, in war there are not such miracles.

I kept peeking around the corner of the barn, taking off my cap so that they would take me just for a curious "freeman", when I felt someone's light touch from behind. I quickly turned around. In front of me stood a Polish woman who appeared out of nowhere with a haggard, mournful face. She handed me a handful of small, shriveled apples: “Take it, sir soldier, that is, dobzhe, tsukerno.” Every minute they could notice me, fire at me; bullets would fly at her. Clearly, it was impossible to refuse such a gift.

We got out of the manor. Shrapnel tore more and more often on the road itself, so we decided to ride back one by one. I hoped to pick up the wounded German, but in front of my eyes a shell exploded low, low above him, and it was all over.

In the future, Gumilyov strictly observed the chronological sequence in the Notes of a Cavalryman, so there will be no more permutations. The "comparatively quiet" week described in episode "3" of Chapter IV is from November 24 to November 30, 1914. At the beginning of this week, the regiment remained in its former positions in the Krzhizhanovo area. But before continuing reading “Notes of a Cavalryman”, a few words about one “lost” letter from Gumilyov to Akhmatova, undated, but written, almost certainly, in this “comparatively quiet week” 20 .

Here is the letter.

<Польша, конец ноября 1914>

My dear Anechka,

finally I can write you quite coherently. I sit in a Polish hut in front of a table on a stool, very comfortable and even cozy. In general, the war reminds me very much of my Abyssinian travels. The analogy is almost complete: the lack of exoticism is covered by stronger sensations. The only sad thing is that the initiative here is not in my hands, and you know how I got used to it. However, it is not difficult to obey me, especially with such a nice immediate superior as mine. I got to know all the officers of my squadron and often visit them. Ca me pose parmi les soldats (This makes me stand out among the soldiers - French - S.E.), although they already treat me well and respectfully. If only there were more fights, I would be quite satisfied with fate. And there is still such a brilliant day ahead as the day of entry into Berlin! It seems that only the “free”, that is, not the military, doubt that it will come. The reports of the main headquarters are striking in their restraint and it is difficult to judge all our successes from them. The Austrians are almost no longer considered enemies, to such an extent they are not warriors, as for the Germans, their cavalry flees in front of ours, our artillery always silences them, our infantry shoots twice as well and infinitely stronger in the attack, just because our bayonet it is screwed on from the beginning of the battle and the soldier shoots with it, while for the Germans and Austrians the bayonet closes the muzzle and therefore it must be put on at the last minute, which is psychologically impossible.

I said that only the freemen have doubts about victory. Isn't this why there is such bitterness against the Germans, such streams of slander against them in newspapers and magazines? Neither in Lithuania nor in Poland have I heard of German atrocities, not a single inhabitant killed or a woman raped. They really take cattle and bread, but, firstly, they also need provisions, and secondly, they need to deprive us of provisions; we do the same, and therefore reproaches to them indirectly fall on us - and this is unfair. We, entering a German house, say "gut" and give sugar to children, they do the same, saying "karosh". The army respects the enemy, I think, and the newspapermen could do the same. And discord is born between the army and the country. And this is not my personal opinion, officers and soldiers think so, exceptions are rare and difficult to explain, or rather, due to the fact that the "nemzeed" was all the time in the rear and read magazines and newspapers.

We will probably soon get into battle again, and into the most interesting one, with the cavalry. So don't worry if you haven't received letters from me for some time, they won't kill me (you know that poets are prophets), and there will be no time to write. If it is possible, after the battle I will send a telegram, do not be alarmed, every telegram will certainly reassure.

Now about my affairs: I sent you several poems, but they must be replaced in the "War", stanzas 4 and 5 about the spirit with the following 21:

Workers walking slowly

On fields soaked in blood

The feat of those who sow and reap glory,

Now, Lord, bless.

Like those who bend over the plow,

Like those who pray and mourn,

Their hearts burn before You

They burn with wax candles.

But to that, O Lord, and strength ... etc.

Man proposes, but God disposes. You have to finish the letter standing and with a pencil.

Here is my address: 102 field office. Everything else is as before.

Yours is always Kolya.

This letter was written in parallel with the continuation of the "Notes of a Cavalryman", also written in the "relatively quiet" week of the end of November 1914. The "Notes" mentions "December". I assume that the local "new style" was meant.

birch has a large relative: there are one hundred and twenty species of birch, and forty of them live in our country. In the north lives a dwarf birch. She is not afraid of harsh winds or bitter frosts. Birch growing in the Far East is called "iron". Its wood is not only strong, but also heavy. In the water, this tree will immediately sink to the bottom.

(According to Yu. Dmitriev)

(The endings of nouns, adjectives and participles; n and nn In suffixes of adjectives and participles; not with verbs and adverbs; distinction not and nor; hyphen in speeches; homogeneous parts of a sentence; participle turns; complex sentences; dash between subject and predicate.)

Control dictation for the IV quarter

The nature of southern Poland Before contact with the enemy was eighty miles

from the railway station, and I managed to admire Southern Poland. Mountains, the pleasures of tourists, are not there, but what is the use of a mountain dweller on the plains?

Pine forests, planted, and, driving through them, you suddenly see narrow, straight, like arrows, alleys. They are full of green twilight, pheasants run there with a chicken habit, on quiet nights you can hear how a wild boar champs and breaks bushes.

Among the wide shallows of washed-out banks, rivers meander lazily; lakes glitter and reflect the sky like polished mirrors bathroom metal. The old mossy windmills have quiet dams with gently murmuring streams of water and some rose-red

a shrub that strangely reminds a person of his childhood.

In places like this, whatever you do- loved or fought everything seems significant and wonderful.

(According to N. Gumilyov)

(Alternating vowels a - o at the root of the word, spelling of prefixes, endings of different parts of speech, suffixes of names with adjectives and participles, spelling of particles. Signs of prefix

knowledge with a single gerund, with a gerund and with

private turns, homogeneous members in a complex sentence.)

Annual dictation

Earth's native breath The fragrant bird cherry blossoms, the bird cherry blossom falls off

and covers the grass with a white cape. A light, summer-like warm breeze caresses the ground. Flower lovers go out of town. Some go straight to familiar places, while others slowly explore the transparent old forests, the heated slopes of the black

forests, looking for unplanted plantations of the most beautiful

gray spring flowers.

Here they are. Two or three broad lanceolate leaves, from the sinus

the stem-peduncle proudly rises, crowned with small

mi snow-white and unusually fragrant bells

mi, languidly hanging on one side.

May lily of the valley! Who does not recognize in him the pearl of spring him forests? A modest, dim flower, but what an amazing power it hides in itself! Wherever a person is, if he sees a lily of the valley, he will definitely remember the spring forest, its shady corners, the blue sky above and suddenly feel the breath of his native

(According to B. Timofeev)

(Spelling of compound nouns, pronouns, adverbs; not with gerunds, verbs, adverbs; suffixes of participles and gerunds; -thea and -tsya in verbs; participial and participle turnovers; complex sentences nia.)

110 REVIEW OF STUDY IN V-VI GRADES

110 SPELLING AND PUNCTUATION(according to the textbook by M. M. Razumovskaya and P. A. Lekant)

Letters Ъ and Ь Embraced in flames, Laurentian Chronicle, funny with

to be idle, to stop at a junction, people laden with willows, on the trail of a wolf, intoxicated with aroma, unbreakable glass, with boyish enthusiasm, white bindweed, notorious villain, make your bed, he's in a hurry to leave, don't cry, the tap is leaking, waterproof raincoat, film crew.

Letters O and Yo after hissing and C Heavy bag, stiff man, light a candle, burnt

a new face, penny ornaments, a new simulator, covered with a raincoat, in our house, a cotton suit, ringing birds, a rosy-cheeked baby, a lattice of the Summer Garden, an overgrown gully, brocade fabric, a narrow perch, a delicious pie, grows over grove, red squirrel, cherry plum compote.

Spelling prefixes Countless roads, unravel the riddle, school teaching

stock, fastidious old man, perform unquestioningly, give change, cook pickle, cherry blossoms, too fast

ro, squint from old age, slowly germinate, the night is quiet

quiet, pursue the enemy, burn to the ground, succeed in everything, put into practice, the boat separated from the shore, the vicissitudes of fate, push away from itself, pretend the window.

Spelling in the roots of the words Biting frost, election committee, bend down low,

settle down in a clearing, caress a child, climb on top

tire, belittle the value, get wet in the rain, taking to the side well, reload the gun, the terms of the numbers, the battle commander she, an overgrown front garden spreading along a lowland, jump over a puddle, lights up at dawn, touching his cry grew up, a wonderful ornament, rinse clothes.

Spelling of verb suffixes, participles, adjectives, nouns

The edge of the table, a leather briefcase, a crystal slipper, a dried straw, a beige suit, ripe berries, odes humor, a frog concert, a tin spoon, a shot wolf, scouting the woods, commanding a parade, studying wash items, be late for work, low-level flight, be no day, published dictionary, lily of the valley smell, low ceiling, watchdog, overcome difficulties, wavering

wind sail.

Spelling of verb endings, nouns, adjectives,

participles The tale of the good fairy, near the prickly hedgehog, between thinning

tops, a knot will crack, saves strength, into the blue sea, to the right

from the road, from the soft sunlight, from the crumbling

at home, a wave splashes, from an impending cloud, the wind whistles, approaching hurricane, the rain will water the earth, as it is said

in benefits, wavering flame, the story of Greece, grows

in greenhouse, rye is quietly shaking, an independent person, onmedical conferences.

Merged-hyphen-separate writing Half a meter of cloth, half a teaspoon, go down to the wardroom

nyu, feature documentary, build a sport

complex, speech by the vice-premier, steel shop, left-hand traffic, visit Komsomolsk-on-Dmur, go in for motorsports, lightly salted cucumbers, fruit and berry syrup, buy In the supermarket, August Starfall, official business style, large music library, sincere

knowledge, mountain rescue expedition.

NOT with different parts of speech Could not see and hear; undeveloped territory; more

the sun not covered by a cloud; without saying anything; unseemly act; the road is not paved; safety glass; to be careless; not big, but small; not armed with knowledge lovek; unreliability of the machine; the book has not been read; not polite vost, but rudeness; dislike for ignorance; this dress not blue; not recognizable by anyone; without knowing happiness; neither

who did not meet; did not quarrel with anyone; nothing bothered.

Summarizing what has been learned by spelling Unfinished work, biography not written, dormant

snow, ignoring the growing rumble of fans,attractive look, level the area, get wettobogganing, verbal portrait, unprincipled work, bechet ny wolf, study non-metals, nothing to do, nothing interesting fair-haired, not at all frightened, not pretending to win, dip crackers in tea.

It's no secret, radio amateur, pale pink dawn, lightly salted soup, loving mother, short-sighted young man, large gathering, twenty-two misfortunes, to help in some way, to agree reluctantly, slurping without salt, there is no need to be sad about the past without waking up early, by no means relevant, he is not in the fifth grade, forced attack of the enemy,

we are excited about what is happening, frozen vegetables, endlessly

my flow, butter pancake, painless operation, fresh frozen berries, bow the banners, oil slick,

bow your head.

Participle and gerundible TURNOVERbI

1. Fog was rising from the river, shrouding the coastal bushes. 2. The low bank strewn with bushes stretches with a smooth slope. Z. Ahead of us are dark blue mountain peaks, pitted wrinkles we, covered with layers of snow, were drawn on the pale sky. 4. A childish cry, repeated by an echo, rumbles through the forests from morning until night. 5. A lone plane, floating at a dizzying height, seems like a destroyer, observed from the bottom of the sea. 6. In the old park, located behind the fence, our th house, there is a maple alley. 7. Randomly wriggling, falling asleep

the women's alley rushes out of the city.

Dash in a simple sentence 1. The whale is the largest animal on earth. 2. Flattery and

cowardice is the worst vice. Z. The houses of the city are like heaps of dirty snow. 4. Poverty is not a vice. 5. Your task is to study well. 6. To love means to believe and hope. 7. Vitya is also a volleyball player. 8. Trumpet case. 9. Misha is my brother. 10. Simplicity is a necessary condition for beauty. 11. The air is clean and fresh. 12. Sincerity of relationships, truth in communication - that's friendship.

Offers with HOMOGENEOUS members

and generalizing words with them

1. The sea is forever and incessantly noisy and splashing. 2. The distant bell will either stop, or ring. Z. The sea catches arrows lightning and extinguishes in its abyss. 4. Three people were dining at the table

century: an old woman, a girl and a guy. 5. In the afternoon, the “brownie” was sitting

quietly, and at night he would crawl out, stomp around all the rooms, fiddle around on

in the attic, chasing rats and mice under the floor and generally amused himself with trifles: throwing grips on the floor, stuffing dishes, filling the house with rustling, creaking, crackling. 6. Quiet sky, motionless mountain ash and white trails- everything was calm, impassive. 7. All species of resinous trees, such as: pine, spruce, fir and

others are called red forest.

Appeals and introductory words 1. He gave the word, and therefore must keep it.

2. So, "I lay under a bush to the side and looked at the boys and at the stars. 3. Countless golden stars seemed to flow quietly in the direction of the Milky Way. 4. Blossom, holy fatherland! shadow of your pet music 6. Oh uncle, why are you saying this?

Punctuation marks

in complex sentences

1. The windows are almost always cold and dim, and for almost a whole winter we did not go anywhere or drive. 2. The last shadows merged, and the haze turned blue, and behind the mound a dead glow dimmed.

3. The forests are still silent, and there is still no one to ring in the sky, and the sunworks wonders, and the rivers become bright. 4. The sea does not foam, the wave does not splash, the trees do not move their leaves. 5. From the evening

they began to prepare: they tightened the straps of the skis and undermined the

drunk. 6. The wind blew - everything trembled, came to life, laughed. 7. Masha I didn't hear the door creak behind me. 8. The quiet morning was full of such freshness, as if the air had been washed with spring water. 9. By the time we got to the village, it was completely dark. 10. I do not undertake to convey what my heart felt when I saw my dear Aksakovo.

Absence of a comma in compound sentences

with common minor member

1. Lightning flashed in the darkness and thunder rumbled. 2. After a thunderstorm everything shone and sparkled and breathed easily. 3. The sun was rising outside and the birds were singing loudly. 4. From the window mountains shine far away and the Dnieper is visible. 5. Here at night the eagle owl hoots and the forest cuckoo wails anxiously. 6. Before the storm, seagulls flew low over the sea, and the trees rustled anxiously along the shore.

Control dictation

The owners of the lake After some time, sounds were heard: the rustling of the

necks, the snapping of duck noses rummaging through roots and grass. Finally, a duck swims out onto the lake. Stopping, she

looks around warily and groans. Her voice is low, rough. Apparently, the old, experienced in life. After a pause, again there is a quack. from somewhere another responds from the wilderness, then a third. A few more swim up to the lake. With every minute their number increases. Now they are drawn to the center, as if to a rally, from all sides. Soon there will be no empty space left on the lake­ the whole surface came to life, turned gray from the birds. How many? A thousand or more? They continue to quack rarely, as if about something pre

warning each other.

(According to A. Novikov-Priboy)

Control dictation, which checks

punctuation skills

The Birth of a Book When a book is born in a writer's mind, he experiences

feeling of happiness approaching...

The excitement of a writer starting a book is akin to the excitement a man who goes into the depths of yet undiscovered countries.

Anxiety and joy are the two most powerful feelings that accompany a writer on his way. Will there be clear and weighty words wa to tell your people about it? Will there be enough will, freshness of feelings, sharpness of thought in order to excite a demanding friend with a book?

The joy of working on a book is the joy of victory over time. me, over space. It seems to me that real pi Sately in the feeling of joy from the finished work there is always a particle of something fabulous. It was as if the writer firmly took his friend by the hand and led him into life, into a country full of events and light.

(According to K. Paustovsky)

Spelling NOT with adverbs in -o and -e Make clumsily, sew loosely, look in disbelief

in, to perform carelessly, to speak out indignantly, it was not extinguished, it was clumsy to run, a little tired, to write sloppily.

Not at all difficult, never fun, no one knows not at all interesting, not at all sweet, far from harmless.

Not much, but little; acted not well, but badly; there was no noise

but, ah quiet.

Summarizing Learned About Spelling NOT

with different parts of speech

Strongly not experiencing; know nothing; indignant look; no one to talk to; unpredictable behavior; take cheap go; irresistibility of conclusions; I don't believe in anything; no one is forgotten; told something interesting; complete ignoramus in music; nonstro gui teacher; it was not the truth, but a lie; unbearable pain;