Milorad Pavic - Damascus. World literature

“Damascene” M. Pavich read quickly possible for 5 hvilins.

“Damascene” M. Pavich short version

800 everyday workers come to Serbian Osten, and all of them come to the name of Jovan. You can see the smell of temples in the ancient Greek style.

The daughter of Pan Nikolic von Rudka, the trustee of Serbian schools and courts, Atilia wanted the palace to be established before her celebration, and the church to be married. They called out to the brightest everyday people - Jovan Climacus and Jovan Damascene.

Atilia told Damascene about her dreams. No child was born in her, and she will love and grow. And that son has a special feature: a scar that looks like a flattened eye. Damascene had the same scar.

Readers focus on the first “crossroads” and read either about the palace or about the third temple, which will happen at the same time. Jovan, the everyday church worker, shows the chairs of three churches - green (whose plantings of boxwood grow at the same time from the temple and create a new look from it), yellow (with stone) and buzkova (this is the temple in heaven, the temple of the soul).

Apparently the lords reported that the church had ceased to exist because the boxwood had stopped growing. When Nikolich asked why the boxwood was not tall enough, they told him: “Here you have sinned, Mr. Nikolich. So you started shouting about someone who had a piece of bread torn from their mouth. If you repent and calm down, you will turn back the Borg.” And the gentleman rightly rejected the alarm clock.

The palace may well be worth the short supply. Even if Damascus was attacked and wounded, it was his fault. Atilia wants to get rid of him, go to the palace.

The reader again refers to the “crossroads” and can read either about the future or about the bedchamber.

Atilia understands that Damascene encrypted her message in the names of the furniture, in the little ones on the stele. She begins to guess, using a compass and a compass, to guess what place is called, and where to go there. Everything points to one monastery. It’s good to pick up Atilia with the mail there. The daughter writes letters to her father with thoughts about the trip, the locality, the hospitality of the people. At the gateway to the girl's age, a young man, similar to the named Alexander, gets into the carriage and gives a book that is described in exactly the same words as she wrote on the way to the monastery. The book is called “The Life of Major General and Cavalier Simeon, the son of Stefan Pischevich in the rocks of 1744–1784.” Atilia is amazed. Between her and the young man there is a love scene. Atilia seems to be Alexander, she doesn’t mark the severed vulcanized finger in the young man (and the wounded part of Damascus herself).

Milorad Pavic

Damascene

Novella for computer and carpenter's compass

Once, at the end of the 18th century, a certain Turk, a ferryman on the Drina, the same one who boiled chicken eggs for greater preservation in horse urine, surprised and conscientiously counting everyone he transported, informed his superiors that in the Osata area eight hundred Serbian architects had crossed to the Serbian side , masons and carpenters, all eight hundred named Jovan. In a fit of a kind of construction trance, they literally flooded the recent battlefield of the just past Austro-Turkish War. Driven by an equally unprecedented impulse, anticipating great things, architects and masons from Karlovac, Zemun, Sremska Mitrovica, Novi Sad, Osijek, Pančev, Ruma, moved towards them towards the Danube Valley. in a word, some are from the city, and some are straight from the plow. These masons and woodworkers, Engineers, Ubaukunstlers, Ubaugautpmans, carpenters and joiners, as well as finishing and marble craftsmen, bought mules during the day, choosing those that, while they graze grass and drink, use all five senses, because otherwise what this is a mule, and at night they saw themselves standing on the shore of the disappeared sea, and in their dreams it still continued to hum and roll waves of plowed black soil from the north to the south of Pannonia, hitting the mountain range near Belgrade.

In the shortest possible time, they restored both the Mesic monastery and the courtyard of the Vrdnik monastery on an unprecedented scale, erected new churches in the towns of Krneshevci, Stara Pazova, Chortanovci on Fruska Gora and Bukovac, completed the cathedral in the city of Karlovac, the bell tower in Beshka, the temple in Erdevik, the St. Nicholas Church in Iriga. Serbs from Ravnica or Bosnia, and along with them numerous Czechs, Germans and Thracian Vlachs, began to conclude treaties right and left, crowning them with clumsy signatures? cross, Cyrillic or Latin. All eight hundred Jovans from that side of the Drina, all these Stanarevichs, Laushevichs, Vlašići, Aksentievićs, Dmitrievićs, Lanericis, Georgievićs, Wagners, Meisingers, Langsters, Hintenmayers, Bauers, Ebonys, Huskies, Kindles, Blombergers and Hackers, brought their ships loaded with logs and stones, their horses dragging lead, sand and lime, and in their dreams they saw their wives as they were, of course, no longer. The builders did not know how to cry in their sleep, and it was unbearable. They vied with each other to offer their services to lowland landowners and Serbian merchants, extolling their art and proudly listing their titles and recommendations. They, who wore mustaches some in the Constantinople, some in the Viennese, and some in the Pest fashion, undertook unheard-of undertakings in the field of construction in two empires, the Austrian and the Ottoman, receiving for their labor imperial ducats with images of Joseph II and his mother, now old sequins, now new Napoleondors, now silver forints and silver-plated perpers, without, however, refusing either Egyptian dinars, or circumcised and uncircumcised Turkish asprs, and sometimes not disdaining the ancient folars that were in use in Kotor. They built and built, not forgetting to check the authenticity of the coins with red Muscat wine. They built continuously. From fatigue, they at times forgot themselves, their lives, continuing to remember only the smells.

Seeing dreams in five languages and overshadowing themselves with two different crosses, the architects erected new Orthodox churches in the towns of Bachevtsi, Kupinovo, Mirkovtsi, Jakovo, Mihaljevac, Bežanija, near Zemun and Dobrinci. They rinsed their beards in the bags of their horses. They were most willing to take on buildings north of the Usolyanaya Line, which runs along the mountain range near Belgrade, separating the northern salt marshes in those places where the Pannonian Sea used to reach, from the fat southern black soil in those places where there was never sea or salt. . When erecting Serbian churches over salt deposits in the Danube and Sava valleys, they deliberately ate and drank with their eyes squinted so that what they built would stand stronger. They erected new churches in Shida and in the monasteries of Yasko and Kuvezdin.

Then, at the invitation of Metropolitan Karlovatsky, they moved to the fertile lands that are south of the Usolyanaya Line, and there they began to observe their Serbian, Greek and Lutheran fasts, renovating or re-building the monasteries of Krivaya, St. Roman at Raznj, Pambukovica, Rajinovac, Celije. Beating horses in the muzzle with a backhand, as they beat wives, they with their trowels and carpenter's axes went through the Serbian uprising of 1804, for Serbian merchants, trading in pigs, wool, grain and wax, paid for this revolution and in the same way paid for the restoration of the monasteries of Krcmar, Bogovadzha, Racha, on the Drina, Voljavcha, Klisura on the Moravica River and Moravtsi under Mount Rudnik.

Only architects and carpenters, who fed their heavy trucks with salt and flour, restored ancient monasteries that suffered during the Turkish invasion? Manasia, Ravanitsa, Transfiguration and Nicollier. Others at this time were hired to build mansions for the rich nobility.

Did these new buildings still contain traces of ancient Greek architecture or the Empire style? columns, tympanums, torn pediments. Such are, for example, the palace of the Servijski family in Turkish Kanizsa, or the house of the Czarnoevichs in Orosin, or the mansion of the Tekelia family in Arad, or the villas of the Stratimirovichs in Kulpin, the chambers of the Odescalkas in Iloka, the mansions of the Eltz families in Vukovar, Hadik in Futoga, Gražalković in Sombor or Marcibani in Kamenica. Did the headquarters of the Austrian garrisons that were located on the border acquire a similar appearance? in Petrovaradin, Titel, Zemun, in the cities of Pancevo and Vršac. Did the new masons, on whose guild banners were inscribed a carpenter's compass, deviate from the traditions of their grandfathers and predecessors? from all these lurid tabernacles, ornate cartouches, heavy cornices. Using only rulers and plumb lines, these masters decorated the magistrates' buildings in the cities of Karlovtsi, Temisvar and Kikinda with simple facades with attics and oval cartouches, and then with Empire portals with a classical pediment plane. The case was crowned by the empire-style facades of the Kursaal in Melenzi and the local government building in Bashaida.

Not all the authors of these buildings became known equally. At the dawn of the new, 19th century, the village of Martintsi became famous more than other centers of building art? thanks to one person from a family of hereditary architects, who produced first-class architects from generation to generation. It was master Dimitrie Suvakovic. Beginning in 1808, he and his assistants, the marble makers, built everything that merchants and rich artisans were willing to pay for in the towns of Banovci, Klenak, Adasevac, Besenova, Divosh, Vizich, Grgurevci, Ledinci, Neshtin and Yamina. His motto was and remains: If you want to live happily ever after on earth, do not spare yourself in anything.

“Damascene” M. Pavich summary

800 builders come to the Serbian Osten, all under the name Jovan. They are outstanding craftsmen who build temples in the ancient Greek style.

The daughter of Mr. Nikolic von Rudka, trustee of Serbian schools and judge, Atilia wished that for her wedding a palace would be built where she would live and a church where she would get married. They called the best construction workers - Jovan Climacus and Jovan Damaskin.

Atilia told Damascene about her dreams. It’s as if she had a child, and she loves and raises it. And my son has a special mark: a scar on his closed eye. Damascus had the same scar.

Readers find themselves at the first “crossroads” and read about either a palace or a third temple, which are being built simultaneously. Jovan, the builder of the church, shows drawings of three churches - green (this boxwood planted by him will grow along with the temple and take on the same appearance as it), yellow (made of stone) and lilac (this is the temple in heaven, the temple of the soul).

Then the gentleman was informed that they had stopped building the church because the boxwood had stopped growing. When Nikolic asked why boxwood didn’t grow, he was told: “Where have you sinned, Mr. Nikolic. Then you owe someone who tore a piece of bread from their mouth. When you repent and atone, you will repay the debt.” And the gentleman really owed money to the builders.

The palace is also unfinished. Damascus was attacked and wounded by someone, so he disappeared. Atilia wants to find him and goes to the palace.

The reader again finds himself at a “crossroads” and can read about either the dining room or the bedroom.

Atilia understands that Damascene encrypted a message for her in the names of the furniture and in the drawings on the ceiling. She begins to guess, using a compass and a compass, guesses which places she is being called to, and goes there. Everything points to one monastery. Atilia and her retinue are well received there. The daughter writes a letter to her father with her impressions of the trip, the area, the hospitality of the monks. On the way back, a young man who looks like her fiancé Alexander gets into the girl’s carriage and gives him a book that describes the trip to the monastery in exactly the same words as she wrote. But the book is called “Biography of Major General and Cavalier Simeon, son of Stefan Pischevich in the years 1744-1784.” Atilia is surprised. A love scene takes place between her and the young man. It seems to Atilia that it is Alexander, she does not notice the severed index finger of the young man (and this is exactly the wound Damascus received).

Returning home, Atilia pays off her father's debts and apologizes to the builders; from the signs in the bedroom she again guesses that Damascene is calling her. Calculates the route and goes. The final destination is a monastery, which, it turns out, belongs to her. As a gift, she receives two more wedding rings and... a finger is knocked out in the box.

Pavic Milorad

Damascene

Milorad Pavic

Damascene

Novella for computer and carpenter's compass

Budivnychi

At the end of the 18th century, there was a Turkish poacher on the Drinya, who himself boiled chicken eggs at the end of the line, so that they could be saved longer, with wonder, having completely overreacted and having revealed to their own power that Serbia had lost 800 Serbian stonemen and mulars marched from Osata, and 800 were sent to My name is Jovan. Then the stench of the everyday shawl honked, again, at the battlefield, but the war between Austria and Turkey broke out. They were angry with them like never before in the Danube, empathizing with the great authorities, as well as the people from Karlovci, Zemun, Sremska Mitrovica, Novi Sad, Osijen, Tanchev, Rumi, from the white world and from the black plain. The “engineers”, “dungers”, “baukunstlers”, “baugauptmans”, “everyday and carpenters”, “maormaystri”, “marmuruvalniks” bathed the ponies every day, respectfully wondering how kind they are to graze and sing, to serve everyone. The organs are sensitive to the darkness, because otherwise they would not have been at home, but at night they slept in dreams, it would be impossible to stand on the birch of the cold sea, which in their dreams and in the future there was a noise and a cauldron of black rhilla from day and night Panonia, standing near the Belgrade Mountains.

Because of unspeakable responsibilities, in a very short time the stench arose, or they renovated the Mesic monastery, the cells of the Vrdnik monastery, erected new churches in Krneshevtsi, near Stara Pazova, at Chortanovtsi on Fruska Gora, near Bukovtsi, renovated the Karlovac Cathedral, Church in Bešci, temple in Erdevik , St. Nicholas Church in Ireland. These Serbs from the Rivne and from Bosnia, and at the same time with them the numerous Czechs, Germans and Tsintsars from left and right began to lay out the lands with insignificant signatures in the cross, Cyrillic and Latin. CI 800 Iovanov

because of Driny, ots Stanarevich, Laushevich, Vlašić, Aksentijević, Dmitriević, Lanerić, Georgijević, Vanneri, Maisingeri, Gangsteri, Gintenmaieri, Bowery, Ebeni, Gaski, Kindley, B Lombergeri and Gakeri, carried wood and stone, lead by chovny and carts, sand and dust, and in their dreams they saw their distant squads as they could no longer be at home. They suffered because they couldn’t cry in their dreams. Landlords from the region and traders from Serbia, who navigated the caravan routes between the coming and going, the guards demonstrated their mastery, writing with their titles and recommendations. The wearers of the Istanbul, Viden and Pest cities, the stench of the two kingdoms, in Austria and Turkey, took on incredibly urgent thoughts, pursuing their work with the Tsar's ducats from the images of Josip the Other and his mother i, old zekini and new “Napoleoni”, sribni forint and slaughtered perchers, proteas and Egyptian dinars, uncircumcised and circumcised aspris, and some ancient Kotor folies. They lowered their muscat wine to reconfirm that they had cleaned up the stench and were killing them. They muttered without a trace. In the past, they hardly ever forgot everything about themselves, because of their life they could no longer remember the smells...

The bachachis dreamed of five people and crossed themselves in two ways, creating a stink of new Orthodox churches in Bachevtsi, Kupinovi, Mirkovtsi, Yakovi, Mikhalevtsi, Bezhaniya under Zemun, near Dobrintsy. The stench of miles of beards in horse coats and the best way to go would be on the surface of the “line of salt”, which stretched across the Belgrade mountains, revealing the soil salt marshes, where the Panonian Sea fell, in the rain There has been no black soil, no sea and no salt for ages. On the salty lands, the stinks built Orthodox churches in the Danube and Posavina, and if they drank, they darkened their eyes, so that the murk stood, there were new churches and revived churches in Shida, in the monasteries of Jaska and Kuvezhdina.

And regardless of the fact that they were hired by the Karlovac metropolitan, the stinks moved to the black lands, to the day before the Sava and Danube, to the day before the salt marshes, adhering to the Serbian, Greek or Lutheran post, until they lived or made from the ruins of the monastery in Krivaya, St. Roman bilya Razhnya , Pambukovica, Rajnovac and Celije. Poling their horses over the grain, as the wives gritted, they passed stinks with a thick and trowel through the Serbian revolution of 1804, asking for the traders of pigs, sheep, bakers and wax, who financed this revolution, gave pennies on Vidbudova monasteries Krcmar, Bogovadzha, Racha on the Drinia, Voljavča, Klisura on Moravicia and Moravci under Rudnik. The yearling horses are in good health, the architects of the old monasteries, who knew the end of the Turkish invasion - Manasia, Ravanitsa, the Transfiguration and Nikole, were inspired by them, and as others were hired to build palaces for the feast. nobility.

And all the new everyday life bore the signs of ancient Greek architecture with columns, tympanums and towering Empire-style palaces of the Serviiskys at the Turkish Kanizsa, the Charnoyevichs at Orosina, the Tekelievs at Arada, Stratimirovich ів at Kulpinі, Odeskalkієvykh in Ilotsі, Єltsovykh at Vukovary, Hadikіv at Futogu, Gorazalkovychі at Sombori, Marcibannikh at Kamenitsa. At the same time, this very same look was observed by the military forces in the places where the Austrian border units were located near Petrovaradin, Titeli, Zemun, Pancheva and Vrshtsia. The new murals carried compasses on their workshop banners, polished ornate tabernacles, pompous cartouches, bulky cornices of their predecessors... Beneath their lines and temples there are simple facades with an oval cartouche, and not y empire portals with a classic tympanon appeared at the magistrates Karlovtsy, Temishvary, Kikindi, right up to the imperial façade of the Kursaal in Melentsy and the municipality in Bashaida.

But not all the stench became famous. At the dawn of the new 19th century, among other centers of everyday life, the village of Marganets became famous among architects, who resembled their homeland, which from generation to generation gave first-class everyday life workers. That is former master Dimitri Shuvakovich. After 1808, the wines had their marmulavniks, which was paid for by merchants and rich craftsmen in Banovtsy, Klenku, Adashevtsi, Beshenovi, Divoshi, Vizich, Grgurevtsi, Ledintsy, Neshtin and Yamina. This motto has been lost:

“If you want to live long and happily on earth, do not spare yourself anything.”

Shuvakovich encouraged one of his famous deputy, Lord Serviysky, to create a one-piece stove with a stone statue of some Greek god in the middle, and another, noble Lord Nikolich of Rudnya, created Next to the palace in the new style, there is a fashionable park with antique marmur urns along the paths.

- What is the stink for? - having drunk Shuvakovich’s deputy.

- You should take your tears away from them.

- Slozi? - Nikolich became angry and drove Shuvakovich away.

Obid

Pan Nikolić von Rudna was the celebrant of the Golden Fleece, the trustee of Serbian schools in Osijek and the judge in Toronto and Sremski župania. At the time of the war with the French and Turks, he gave the Austrian Empire an empty position and bought the Rudna wasteland for the sum of 52,028 forints. In his private life, Mr. Nikolich was a cheerful person - drinking, just drinking a glass, smoothing, just drinking more than two herbs on the table. He is not a human being, but has only one daughter in the name of Atilius, having given birth to a son. And besides, Atilia’s maternal grandfather was teacher Marievsky, a school reformer in Austria and Russia.

A young lady from the Nikolich family relied on her fifteen years of life for the greatest benefit from Orfelin’s “Eternal Calendar” under the scent of what time it was to stand on the spot. Vaughn loved to watch out for how to fly through the birds, small flippers, not otherwise snake eggs, eyes from the chest, and she already managed to instantly put the feathers on her left hand, without obeying her right. Vaughn wore cloth with a Viennese cut - highly cut and covered with the most common woven webs, such as Persian, apparently to the point of panicky relish, small but under a see-through veil, so that it was possible to rouse , where are the women's berries.

“The good two bad hens, they always need some kind of bird to wake them up,” she said, looking at them from the wonder, mutely looking forward. Then she turned her mercilessly finned eyes towards the father. “It doesn’t matter that you ignored Shuvakovich.” What's out of this window? Lis, right? And what I said, it should have been visible! Palace, where will I live if I get married? What are you doing in this century or another? Well, tell me, what are you doing?

On top of the Atilian veil on the Persians there were two harped snowstorms. Between them, hanging on a golden lantern, is Father’s gift—the Geneva anniversary, gifted to the cat’s stones, and from the compass on the gateway.

“You don’t care,” Atilia said, not wanting to cook, but to whom did I tell what could be seen behind that window? The Church in which I will be married. And now Shuvakovich, who are you talking about? I want to finish all your work myself. Go and send me Yagoda.

Thus, Yagoda arose and asked the young lady Atilia to find an architect who would work for Shuvakovich.

“Find me the closest Jovan among these Jovans,” she said to you, and Yagoda, as always, heard little girls.

Once Yagoda began serving in Nikolich, he was taught to dance in advance. We have achieved that for the whole year, muss berry, one day a fresh mouthful of water, the next day a fresh mouthful of crayfish.

“It’s different to wash with crayfish in your mouth and with water in your mouth,” said Mr. Nikolich.

In fact, he worked as one of the 800 mulars and teslars that came from Osata. Only Yagoda greeted him, lady Nikolic tsked, who is the most important everyday life among the Yovans.

- Isn’t this the same one that you traded with the Stratimirovichs?

“No,” the witness murmured, “they are two of the best.” One name was given to Jovan Damascene, who became temples in the hearts of people. That's why he's called Damascene. And the other is behind the church father Jovan Climacus, who scoured the sky with swords. Damascene minds built the most sticky little buildings, and the other was the manager of the built church.

“Bring both of them to me,” Pan Nikolich instructed, “one will be my donka’s palace, and the other will be the church in which my donka will be married.”

In the middle of the Berry, welcome both Jovans for lunch. They were seated near the dining room and they were brought “pestless paprikash” and prunes that were in the cradle for the cradle. There is a pleasant aroma of tutyun. And the table was covered with a splash of monastery vermouth from Fenech. At dinner, they decided to show the little ones to Master Nikolich in a month: Jovan the Elder - to the temple, and Jovan the Younger, of the title of Damascene, to the palace.

“I pay for the skin in advance, otherwise everything may be ready in an instant,” Nikolich said, “a temple without a palace is nothing, and a palace is nothing without a temple.” Obidvi sporudi musyat buti completed in lines. And in a nutshell, marriage... Atilia is already her betrothed. This is Lieutenant Aleksandar, a prominent hero from a good homeland, whose father was a general in the Russian service, but the stink of our family. Aleksandar is about to serve under some prelate in Upper Austria.

One of the everyday workers is an old, jabbering little man, short-armed and such a babbler that, whenever they dared him to speak, his mouth would caress like a fish fluff. Feeling that the church would soon open up for the wedding of the young lady Nikolich, he had forgotten how many of her fates had passed.

“She still plays with other children,” Gospodar Nikolich reassured him, “she turned fifteen.”

The old master frowned and began to feed the olives in the valley. Another, younger, speaking less. If Pan Nikolich had guessed that the church and palace would be in order here, Damascene pointed his index finger to the right.

Damascus beaded, ale left-handed, with mint castings and a tight black beard with a gold pin. The elbows and wrists are now tied with white khustkas, so as to preserve the patterns. When the stinks attack, the hustkas bloom and smack the enemy - she doesn’t know exactly which side to counter the blow from. A young Damascene, not wearing any shawl or knife. Mayzhe spent the entire hour walking, desperately wanting to, timidly shaking his hands. Over lunch, using shortbread bread and sticks for stuffing the cradle, having made the boat and presented it to the young mistress, she quickly went to the room.

At her father’s meeting and the unification of the guests, Atilia prayed to her breasts. They marveled across their veils at the guests, with their skin on their sides, their little ones with their little eyes, and their charming eyes, with their sparkling green eyes. At the deep destruction of Damascus, he stubbornly called out to Atilia's boat:

- This is for you, garna pannochko.

What did she say:

- To know what kind of woman you are, check before you know her, when she’s tired, when she laughs, or when she starts talking. And it’s necessary, if you still have it. That’s why I don’t like people to marvel at me if I am. Who is there not to love and my horror...

Therefore, she took the boat, went to the stand with the cradles, chose one, with a long zibukh, already filled, and dressed the Damascus.

“Tyutyun, having lain down near the prunes, having removed some of the smell,” she said.

Damascus grabbed the cradle, but Atilia did not let her go. Vaughn turned around and pulled him to the music room for a long time.

Stinks emerged from the spacious room with broken windows. They just came in, jumped off a hefty hort on Damascene, luckily, tied it to a leather chair, kindly greased. Atilia, who was already at the piano, learned the chord. The dog began to jump around, calmed down and glowed in his chair. The piano stands in the middle of the room, silent is the majestic carriage with two lighters. In the new year, the legs and the great black keys were buried. The little ones shone like ivory. Atilia grala. As a result of this fire, everything in the room began to pour, began to roil, boiled in the inevitable heights, and then burst and fell to the ground with a roar. The damascene splashed, the dog began to squawk again, Atilia uncontrollably snatched the gru.

- Are you wondering if I’m playing? - she grinned at Damascene. - There! With these sounds I water the flowers in the garden under the windows. So the stench grows better... And songs are like flowers to love. Like the songs we love. There are other, guilty and precious songs that will love us. We hardly felt any of these songs, because in the world there are so many more songs that can love us than those we love. All the same there is a shortage of books, paintings or Budynkas. Honestly, what can you say about the booths? It’s just that some of them may not love us, and some of them won’t. The alarm clocks are essentially a continuous exchange of pages between the alarm clock and those who are in them. Human lives - great, beautiful and boring leaves. The messiness in them may be similar to a business chat, to a chat between two fierce enemies, to a chat between a ruler and a hired man, between a prisoner and a prisoner, but it can also be a loving chat... . Some are female, and others are human. That's why it's on the right. So I want you to put a booth for me that looks like a love leaf. I know it’s hard to stop lighting the water. Dekomu does not care about the price. Ale you can. I know you can.

- How do you know, shanovna pannochko? - having drunk Damascus and planted a ring of dima with the aroma of prunes on Hortov’s muzzle, he then sneezed.

- How do I know? Well, listen, my panic! When I was past my seventh year, they came to me with thoughts. They are so strong, like motuzzi. Widows went to Thessaloniki, and they were so stuffed, otherwise my ears were pinched from both sides to my head. And above them there are just as strong shadows. And it was so rich that I tried to forget it. Today I forgot not in pounds or kilograms, but in tons. Todi is lucky that I can chew children. I immediately started this business. That same day, just one Thursday after lunch, I came up with thoughts and without putting in my little son three little eyes and began to look at him and love him. Lyubov - what do you learn and what do you train with? After all, love is something that needs to be stolen. If you don’t steal a little time from yourself every day for love, then you won’t lose anything from it. Since I was a year old, I noticed in my dreams that on my forearm there was a scar that looked like a flattened eye. I wash my hair with wine, I kiss my ear, I even caress my hair, I play with him “at the letter”, I show him how to marvel at my bead, we run our butts together here in the clear water, or we will have a hut on Tisya from the sand... I'm taller, shorter, and in my eyes is becoming the eldest behind me. I send him ideas for the beginning, from the beginning to Karlovtsi at the Serbian-Latin school, and then - until Sunday at the military engineering school, so that I become an everyday worker and build the most beautiful palaces... I didn’t study him, but I loved him even harder. I clearly demonstrate what kind of wine is here in the world, and I will move on to the next. To your child...

- What a great story, lady Atiliya, what is the answer to my question, where is your little house and where am I? Hey, maybe your vanished lad will give you a palace?

“We’ll be there,” Atilia said, standing up from behind the piano. She rolled up the sleeve of her Damascus shirt with a tight ruff, and on her forearm a scar with the appearance of a flattened eye became visible.

F irst Intersection

The reader can figure out in what order to read the two sections: the “Third Temple” section, and if you are reading from a computer, then put a “bear” on that word; Or at first the “Palace” section, and then it’s obvious that the word is high. Of course, the reader may not respect my dear reader of the testimony, as it were otherwise.

Third Temple

Accurately on St. Andrew the First-Called, the architect Jovan, nicknamed Climacus, gave the baptism of the new Church of the Entry to Gentleman Nikolich from Rudnya, who placed the name of the lady Atilia, the Vvesnitsa, in the mace. The master himself arranged the place, because here, as he explained, there is only one wind. When Nikolich's chair ignited, the stench occupied the entire table. The Temple of the Mother of God has been built ever since, since the present day a seat has been transferred to the Nikolichs, with their coat of arms above the back.

Pan Nikolich huddled near the armchair and murmured:

- But right there, Jovane, three churches were painted, so exactly the same, and I only painted one!

- So, a chapel for three churches, please, Mr. Nikolich, you only pay for one. Otsya first church, as you see it, daubed with a green color, will not be in front of your eyes in your garden, but will grow on its own.

- That’s it, Jovan, weave nisenitnits! How can a church grow on its own?

- Maybe, and you will quickly learn what you can, Mr. Nikolich. Tomorrow I will send three gardeners, and I will definitely plant boxwood in your garden for this little one. The boxwood grows close to the same splendor with which I am there, in the appointed place of your mother-in-arms, Tisi, an antagonized friend of the church of stone, which is here, for my little one, designated as a yellow barvoy. My gardeners are trying to trim the boxwood, and you can watch all the time to see how much I and my murals and marmalades have poked through there above the Yew. You will see everything from the window - and when the crypt is built, when the vault is erected, when the temple is completed with a bathhouse. May God grant us health and let us begin everything that is required and finish it at once...

- Miraculous and garneau. So tell me, Jovana, why is this third church daubed with boar ink?

- Yep, the point is that it will come out at the end of the day. For there is no distant everyday life without hidden places, and no respect for the temple without wonder.

So, having started Jovan, he stood over the Yew Church of the Presentation of the Virgin Mary, and Pan Nikolich showed Atilia near the window, like the boxwood trees in the garden, trimmings near the view of the church, as far as one could go, silent near the garden alley, with wide doors. Atilia walked by this natural temple, stood in the place before the spring sunrise, and one Monday evening after the first anniversary of the new church, she saw the evening light. Temple made of boxwood and wood.

Naturally, Atilia and her father arrived at about one o'clock on Tisza, and there was a stench here, like the Temple of the Presentation rising in growth near the stone and marmura. With such attention to detail they walked around another place, the palace of Atilia, which was built by Damascus. Prote the architect himself was rarely on duty, and was mute in front of anyone.

There was something wrong here.

One wound of Yagoda dopov to Pan Nikolich:

— The boxwood has stopped growing!

- What’s my business! - he cut open the pan. - I built a temple made of boxwood and paid for it.

But still, having immediately decided to re-examine everything yourself, I reached out to Tisya to see if we can accept the completion of the temple and consecrate it. Prote in the temple by adding less windows and doors, and lower doors. I water floss and marmur.

“This scroll has actually begun to unravel,” thought Pan Nikolich and started to look after his old, overturned scroll. He did not call the senior master of the temple of John the Climacus, in order to confirm the new course of speeches, but punished Yagoda, so that, if necessary, he would remove Climacus’s superior, Damascene, from under the ground. The lord could not have seen the two master-foremen, as they would not have been sworn enemies. The Damascus appeared the next day with his head bandaged. Yogo was injured. The wound under the bandage crooked.

- What happened to the church? - Pan Nikolic sounded nervous.

- You yourself see: they have already stopped murmuring.

- Why did you stop? Why?

“It’s time for Yovanov to leave the church,” said Damascene, “the boxwood stopped growing.”

- All about boxwood and about boxwood! Why do I care about boxwood! - Pan Nikolich hummed. - I paid Yovanov, so that he can kill for stones, and stop killing for stones. How can you get what you have lost?

“Sir, Jovan can easily continue to sculpt the stone, if the boxwood is not taller, which means: not taller than that third temple that you painted with beechwood.” And this stone temple is buried for many inches, and the everyday life on the third temple is visible for many inches...

- What now?

“You have sinned here, Mr. Nikolic.” So you started shouting about someone who had a piece of bread torn from their mouth. If you can guess where you sinned and who you screwed up, repent and repent of your sin, turn back the Borg, then you Jovan will finish the temple.

- Lord, Damascene, will Jovan be the third temple?

- In the sky. The third temple of Yovan will forever be in heaven.

(If you have read the “Palace” section, go to another intersection. Otherwise, go to this section.)

Palace

As it was built, on St. Andrew the First-Called after the obedience of Master Nikolich of Rudnya, the architect Jovan, nicknamed Damascene, gave the little ones to the palace, which was born in the name of Tisi, at the main place, where the wind will always blow in the same direction . In the distance, Atilia, Pan Nikolic and Damascene mocked at the papers with their white khustkas, and the table and the lower wine were stolen from the front room. The mothers were responsible for the little ones in the four colonies from the floor, which trimmed the tympanum, then the great light with a fireplace, and the two lights were especially bright - the open space and the distant bedchamber.

“It’s a good idea, my child,” said Atilia Damaskinova and went straight to the room with the piano and choir. At the door she turned around and added:

- It’s great that you are right in my hopes. And you, my goodness, know what kind of trust it is. Last time I told you: dim, like a leaf of a tree.

Then she showed the valley of her left hand with two rings, the stones of which were turned until pressed, and she inserted them into her eyes. Chaklula what... Later, today Atilia ordered Yagoda to harness the horses and rode with her father to Tisya herself. There shvidko grew a palace. Prote

Damascus and far away were never on weekdays. It was already a year before the stele was within reach of the hand, and Atilia had to exchange a few words with the architect more than once every two days. Unikav її? Once upon a time it just happened out of nowhere. The Damaskan, whooped Pan Nikolic, arrived at Tisi. Rising river for the underworld, Damascene dug up Marmur’s wife’s sculpture. Her hair and eyes were green, and her body was brown, maybe even black. With her bent index finger, the girl beckoned someone to come to her. Damascus, having proponed, put it in the light.

— Shall I indulge the otaku? - Nikolich was amazed, glancing at the ice.

Todi Damascene grabbed the hammer and knocked out the sculpture’s hand. The red water gurgled, the rusty water was silent. And in the middle of the marmur there seemed to be living things, flesh and brushes, like those of a living person, although everything was crushed from natural stone...

If Atilia succeeded, she wanted to kill the old man, but suddenly, Damascus had already taken the figure from the mat. This vision of the sky called for misfortune. For several years now, Atilia has not had the pleasure of keeping “her child,” Damascus, on the birch tree. Nezabar Berry brought muffled news. Viznik speaking like establishments:

- Everything is clear now. It’s not surprising that Damascus always carried a template with him. Walk sensitively, but it will come in handy with the girls and women, and now their names are to take revenge on you and encroach on your head. And yet, without needing to bear the sins on his soul, these days Damascene had already put the house under the roof, adding more furniture, and the next night, when he wanted to spend the night in the new one, he was attacked. The invisible gentleman inconspicuously crept up to Damascus's bed and drove it in, if only there was no mercy, as it could be called that. Before the attack, the unknown did not have dinner, how would the fighters wait before the Hertz. That’s why my stomach began to growl. This woke up Damascene and shook his life. He twisted around from under the table, snatched the knife, ended up getting wounded in the head, and the attackers cut off his index finger. That duck, and Damascene was found with a crooked face...

At this news Atilia and her father immediately hurried to Tisya, but the architect was no longer there. The non-tinkling palace stood near the majestic park, and the mulyari were in a row.

- De Damascene? - Atilia was angry.

- De Damascene? - Pan Nikolic said angrily.

- The boys brought it. Yogo is injured. And we have to ask you, or else you paid us. Behind the river we were paid a three-year job, and in advance we were paid more than a river.

In response to these words, Gospodar Nikolich Rozshalov.

- Listen to me respectfully and spit in my eyes if I dare! You won’t be able to defeat any of the hulks until everyday life is over!

I went home.

In such outbursts, Pan Nikolich never spoke to people who were dissatisfied. Instead of making jokes about his wounded everyday Damascene, he instead called to his rival Jovan Climacus, the head master of the temple, to explain in his report who and what he is, this Damascene.

“Like the Holy Father Damascus, his namesake, your Master Jovan, he will serve with heavenly mathematics, and he will compete with earthly mathematics.” Well, let's face it, how much Origen's holy linguistics differs from grammar on this earth...

- Can you speak a little more about Damascus? - interrupting the head master, Pan Nikolich.

- It’s possible. Damascene knows one great trick. Vin knows how to sleep. He gets up before bedtime, yearns his horses, goes around everyday life and goes through the motions himself. Then, leaning on the house that will be, a bunch of quills stand dozing. Then, after lunch, go to bed and talk about your thoughts, which have settled in the cold under the wall. After dinner, it’s time to lie down and sleep through your part of the night...

And, lest you forget,” the master finished his proclamation, “Damascus conveyed that he will no longer be with you, and sent you this box.

When Pan Nikolich from Rudny opened the box, his index finger lay curled in it.

(If you have not read the “Third Temple” section, go to another section. If you have read it, read further and go to another intersection.)

OTHER CROSS REST

The reader can decide for himself in what order to read the next two sections - first the “Bedroom” section and first the “Remote” section. What choice should you make, which of the two sections will you read for the end of the review?

Їdalnya

“A new key means another nasty bug,” Atilia calmed herself, admiring the unfinished room of her palace above the Yew. She vainly joked about Damascene, not so that she could finish her work, but to convince herself that “her child” is capable of disposing of a good sword. Prote meister znik. Navit Yagoda couldn’t find him anywhere. However, Atilia loved wandering around the house, dreaming and marveling at the beautiful speeches recognized for her by Damascene, which lay everywhere in discord. When it appeared that Nibi Damascene had deprived her of a message, such a leaf, she could not believe that she had not said a word of farewell to her. True, today she recovered from her wounds, but she became sicker, so she had to bandage, going to her father’s house again, but she didn’t want to get sick. The master spoke to his father briefly about that other master Jovan, and he told himself.

As if that afternoon, dozing on the slippers in the unfurnished palace, Atilia felt the sounds of the day. The Svetlitsa was filled with various speeches that had not yet been delivered, and one of Nikolich’s servants heard them. He read extensively behind the warehouses from his paper:

- Stiletto, table, two more columns, svichado, another svichado, scarlet, sieve, sill, cloth, mortar...

Then Atilia realized that all the speeches in the room begin with the same sound. Otherwise, Damascus engraved with her “in the letter.” It’s a lie, it didn’t tell anything, except that Damascene remembered, if his father guessed, what if she played like that. Or remembering that she was so fond of “her child” as a little girl. And it destroyed everything. This was a “message” that was so strange that it was impossible to formulate a single word, going from one to the next letter.

Here Atilia suddenly fell asleep. From the rogue she got the key to the distant place and ran there. The distant one shook her head. The walls were bare, but the walls were finished, coated with plaster and gilded. It depicted a blue sky with the Sun, the Moon and the stars. The most important one was the Sontse. It looked like a golden year, which, unfortunately, did not work, having fallen 10 minutes to the tenth. It was even more wonderful in the sky: more than a few sparkles were shining there. Nainizhcha was spinning over the window, where she was lying, not otherwise at the blasphemy, a boat, the same one that Atilia had made from a bread crust and a wooden stick for stuffing a Damascene cradle on that first day at her house.

“Why talk about swimming,” thought Atilia, “otherwise Damascus calls me on the road!” Otherwise, I must follow the dawns directly, so as not to get lost. Ale is unlikely, after all...

And she looked around at the speeches arranged along the wall. At first glance, there was nothing wrong with everything here. Then she suddenly paused and translated them, realizing that things in the future do not all begin with the same letter, as with the Svetlitsa. You could try it. She began to notice the first signs of furnishings from right to left at the entrance, but nothing came of it. Then she began to turn angry to the right, and her heart began to swell with happiness when the message was delivered. It sounded incredible and unconscious, there it was. Initial letters of speeches in a row could be combined into three words.

“An arshin is a hundred miles,” the objects placed near the palace said, and the saying ended in one of the windows and mortars. The message of Damascus, without fail, was in the house. It just had to be read with respect.

- Yagodo! - Atilia boomed joyfully and ordered the bridegrooms to die out as soon as they were from the first to the other star on the stele.

Toy Zniyakov, but listened.

“An arshin and a half,” having removed the wine from the drabine.

- What place is a hundred and fifty miles away? - Atilia asked out of confusion.

“Wonder, how can you be virushit, little lady?” Mi, so bi move, in Adi. If we are destroying it today, who knows where we will go, it may be even further to Belgrade...

“Let’s go, we don’t know anything yet,” Atilia said to herself and again marveled at the Sun at the appearance of the godling. “And how does the godling understand the trace like a compass?”

On her chest, hanging from a golden lanyard, is the year-old compass. Vaughn saw him and was amazed.

- 10 to ten - daytime entry! - she hummed and asked Yagoda: “What is the place a hundred and fifty miles away for an early sunset?”

- Let’s wake up, shanovna pannochka, what else?

- Go away! - Atilia boomed to the youmu.

Stand between the other and the third mirror on the stele was a trifle less than the first two - it was more than an arshin of thirty, which means it was necessary to go another 130 miles from Pest. According to the celestial map of Damascus, Atilia could immediately move without a compass, looking for help from the stars. This other route is just around the corner. This was clearly shown by the stars in the distant sky.

Stand between the third and fourth stars, the ice was a yard long with a ponytail, and that, as Atilia's roars were more precise, was still close to a hundred miles. And again the mirror led them just to set. Only this, the fourth, the star was daubed differently from the others. It was marked in the sky in the shape of a golden cross.

- Harness! - Atilia Yagoda boomed and began to laugh, thinking: “I’m guessing Damascus isn’t sending me to the monastery?”

The very next day she asked her dad for permission to go on the road. He gave her a lacquered and gilded carriage, a berry for the bridegroom, horts and his special thoughts, so that the top would accompany her. The servants were in uniform at Christmas time, and sent one fast walker on a greyhound horse to ride forward on horseback for one day, so that they would find out that there was nothing wrong with Peshti. Atilia put her choir from the music room in her carriage, and they drove off the next day.

At Pest, Atilia spent the night, then at Budima, in a pastry shop in the Church of St. Stephen, she patted a dough, and Yagodi gave the drink to the one hundred and thirty miles on the way to Pest.

- What can you do there? - the confectioner said hello. - Who knows: there’s Viden.

- Get married before Sunday!

So Lady Atilia rode off to the Day, getting ready for what would happen after the Day, and Yagoda was busy with nothing for her, the servants, the horses and the dogs. In Vidnya Atiliya has increased, due to the additions from Damascus and Dalaya, and then the price has risen just on the way. At St. Piolten, the stench rose white from the walls of lustful violins. Above the entrance in gold letters it is written:

"EUSTAHIUS STOSS".

Now Atilia herself was leading the way.

- How far away are you, as far as Lenz, where is this great monastery? - she told the old violin master.

“Avzhezh,” she said to that one. “You’ll be there.” gnedige Fräulein, Kremsmünster!

For five days Atilia sat in the hotel in the town of Kremsmunster and wrote her father’s sheets. I wanted to frequently convey to you the charm of the unforgettable enemies that I had experienced in this place over the past three days.

Love the tattoo!

Kremsmunster lies at the bottom, above the Krems River. Although the place is not large, there were plenty of burnt stone booths here. On one side, a mountain rises above the place, as one can see a great monastery, adorned with a wealth of miraculous decorations. There are members of the Catholic faith who are called Benedictines, and their animal master is called a prelate (which suggests the rank of archimandrite). The place belongs to this monastery. We were still two miles away from approaching the new one, when we showed up, and then the representative of the prelate, the forstmeister (so be moviti, the eldest over the Myslivtsy), rode before us. Vin is in charge of all the land and forests of this place and the monastery, manages the local animal farm, the fish breeding and fishing facility there. Vin galloped ahead, and behind him were four terribly scolded Myslyvs with towels. Having approached, we asked about the elder of our rolls, the fragments of Yagoda in his ceremonial enclave, riding on top ahead of us, then Vidpov, who also wins. Then the forstmeister took the green oxamite cap from the white chinese cap, passing on the vitality of the prelate, and also the promise not to slaughter animals and birds. After this, Yagoda punished that no one dare shoot or catch game with the horts and sing the forstmaster, which he himself is especially compatible with the monastery’s surrogate, and there will be no harm.

Our myslievs were immediately ordered to tie up the dogs. And I punished the slaves for tying them up, and to be honest, if they weren’t tied up, it could have been a lot of harm, because nowhere before have there been so many hares and highly tempting birds and sti many herds of deer and sarns.

Forstmeister, having said something, ordered his boys to kill two pheasants for us. It didn’t matter at all, because there was much more of it in the grass and on the trees. The Myslivtsy, as ordered, brought a couple of pheasants, the forstmeister handed them over to our viznikov, who drove for miles, said goodbye to Yagoda and quickly galloped with their people to the place, us after him, and in the place they rose to I'll spend the night.

That same evening, the prelate sent two men to ask us all for lunch the next day. The next day, the eleventh, we arrived at the monastery. In the first room, the prelate is already present to us. They brought kava and raki. Whoever eats something, eats something like that. The prelate spoke to us about various speeches, about the war and about the region from which we came, and therefore an hour passed before dinner.

When we arrived until the end, the food was already on the table. The dishes were cut, the table was marmur, the edges were about two and a half inches, and the tops were about two arshins. The table was filled with bright bars, with red, green, blue, white and yellow ones. The edge of the building is on the valley of a wide expanse of gilding. At the center there was a large taril in the size of an arshin. A pipe was inserted before the plate, which came out under the table, and on this pipe there was a whale, twisted and cut. He depicted the whale that forged and then cast out the prophet Jonah from its womb. The whole whale itself, without the plate, we were told, weighed twenty pounds. Luska is on top of the gold. On the inner side of the crown stood two fine circles, one made of silver and the other gilded, and on them were gilded crystal stones and beer pots. Later, wine was distilled in them.

As soon as we sat down at the table, the prelate swirled the plate, and water began to ripple from the whale’s nostrils. The threads were thin, like a goose feather, up to two arshins high, in addition, strings came out of the teeth, and two thin threads flowed from them, like thread.

The stele is decorated with paintings and gold. The paintings depicted different scenes from history. The walls are lined with stone slabs, in one compartment there are marmur nights, and above them in the wall there is a faucet with gilded copper. Cold water flowed from that tap, it was poured into the kelikh and served to the table. During the night, the kelikhs were washed, and the water flowed down to the bottom. The hangings on the doors and windows were made of damask, with gold trims, drapes and braids. At lunchtime the church organ played various songs. The base was made of pea-green boards, interspersed with different colors.

After dinner we went to the prelate’s chambers, where we were treated to malt and cava.

Vranci after these days, the prelate gave me a guide until Sunday, and if needed, then further.

“This is my guarantor, my trusted person,” he added, “you already know this, yesterday he was with us for lunch.”

So it ended, tattoo, in the best possible way, and tomorrow your daughter is flying back to you

Atilia.

Then Atilia leaned back, blinded by the luxury of the prelate. The lieutenant actually accompanied them on a beautiful black horse at the entrance of St. Piolten and treated them to lemonade. Last night Atilia asked for a guarantor to the carriage. Without hesitating the gallop of his horse, he passed the reins to the emerging Berry, pulled his legs from the stirrups and descended to the approach of the carriage.

Hort began to glow and then began to caress herself.

The lieutenant immediately ordered Iz Atiliya and pulled out a book from behind the cuff.

- What is it, sir, lieutenant? - Atilia chuckled.

“Whatever song you want to read, I’m glad to hear you.”

- It’s important for me to stay healthy, sir.

- Read it then.

The hand of an officer in a black mitten with a golden cap on his face handed Atilia a book. The palette read:

"ZHITTEPIS MAJOR GENERAL AND CAVALIER SIMEON,
SINA STEFAN PISCHEVICH
(at Rockah 1744-1784)

Viden 1802"

Atilia lit the book, and the lieutenant showed her where to read. And I read it, more and more marveling. The book literally says:

“...Kremsmunster lies at the bottom, above the Krems River. Although the place is not large, there were plenty of burnt stone booths here. On one side, a mountain rises above the place, as one can see a great monastery, adorned with a wealth of miraculous decorations. There are members of the Catholic faith who are called Benedictines, and their animal master is called a prelate (which suggests the rank of archimandrite). The place belongs to this monastery. We had not yet approached the new one for two miles, when we showed up, and then the representative of the prelate, the forstmeister (so bi moviti, senior over the Myslivites) came before us. Vin is in charge of all the vast land and forests of this place and monastery, manages the local animal farm, the fish breeding and fishing facility. Vin galloped in front, and behind him were four richly scolded Myslyvs with towels...”

Prigolomshena Atilia read the description of that visit to Kremsmunster in 1744. Here, word for word, were described the very things that she had learned and what her father then wrote about. And the deer, and the sardines, and the sustrich from the Forstmaster and his thoughts, and the binding of the Horts, and how the Forstmaster’s people shot the game and presented it to their dissatisfied guests, and a sumptuous dinner at the prelate, common dishes and a marmur table under a fountain with a view of a whale with gold with kindness... I wrote the songs that were written on the organ, and at the end of this section of the book it was written:

“After dinner we again went to the prelate’s chambers, where we were treated to malt and cava.”

With a book in her hand, Atilia spent an hour walking on her seat, the color of her hair upholstered with oxamite. Everything in the book was laid out exactly like the lesson in its noble life.

- By God, did you know this miracle? And who is this Pishchevich? Who is your relative? - Atilia said to her companion, turning over her book with slight apprehension, - there are probably a lot of gifted pheasants being collected. I no longer know who I went to visit the prelate the day before yesterday, just a hundred years ago, and why now I’m leaving Kremsmunster, why I left the books?

“Just from a book, little lady Atiliya,” the guarantor said and translated from Rozmov to another: “In the same way, there weren’t many police officers in Kremsmunster.”

- So, if you wait, let me relax. To be honest, you stunned me... So, in Kremsmunster I was particularly shocked by one panic. Yaky Aleksandar.

- Tell me. Now you’re keeping me healthy, you want to keep me healthy, Pannochka Atilije. Hey, I'm ready.

-Are you right?

- I hear.

“And you must hear,” Atilia said and giggled. “Hai yomu abishcho, who came one morning before me, that Aleksandar, dark, black and shaggy, sat on my bed with flowers and a balachka, and in front of me he was just a fat man.” Piece by piece. The chest. Then the mouth. Turn to me and p_shov sobi. I'm eating, what do you want from me? Just sit on it with the squash, just base it, then burn the water, and again soak your chest, singe your skin. I don’t know what I wanted and when I came... Vrantsya is here and there again, ash, flint, just walking in the door. Sitting on my bed, soaking me all over, knocking me down again. Every day like this. I honestly don’t know what they want from me. How are you guessing, guarantor?

At these words, both of them burst into laughter, and the lieutenant raised Atilia to himself and said:

“I know what I want, I want to woo you, my dear lady Atilia.”

With these words, the guarantor placed Atilia on his knee, taking her load

Donki, Atilia passionately whispered in your ear:

- Dozheni me, dozheni me, I'm a shvidko!

After the carriage, having happily left the carriage at the carriage, the little lady Atilya swelled in the dimensions of her sweetheart:

- Beautiful Alexander, beautiful Alexander, you won’t know me.

She couldn’t realize that her betrothed’s hand, as she was burning, was too small under the mitten to replace the index finger with a thimble.

(If you haven’t read the “Bedroom” section, take on this section. If you have read it, here’s the end of the story for you.)

Sleeping chamber

Hort would have missed it if Atilia didn’t pour music into the room to touch the bottom of the piano. That's how it is in the morning. Atilia did not play. She wrote on the piano and cried. Every hour the dog stopped its lazy occupation and restlessly marveled at its owner.

Dear Master Jovane,

As you know, my father drove away Damascene and his robotniks without paying them a pittance. Having said that, I don’t want to pay for an unfurnished house. Otherwise it stinks. And your dad won’t pay you any more, because “the boxwood isn’t growing,” as they say.

Through this I feel the darkness, the fragments in my father’s wine. Who knows where and to whom I blame. That’s why I myself will give you the code that you know, and I’ll also give you pennies for Damascus and his robotics - Father’s Borg in front of them. Only you can recognize them on the streets. Neither me nor my companion was spared from the misfortunes on their trail. If you find yourself deprived, hurry up to start the church for the one in whom the church grows with boxwood.

I’m already covered that everything around the upcoming wedding ended so badly. Just look in the evening: the sky is dawn, and above it the whole world has a majestic, all-encompassing thought...

Your yak donka

Atilia.

As soon as the pennies and leaves had been sent, Atilia began to take her father’s horts out for a walk, so that the stench sharpened the claws. It was spring, a fishpond that had been planted long ago in my father’s house, perfumed only by the aroma of the Vratsa, other trees (specially selected for this purpose) were blowing fresh in the afternoon in the sun, and the night flowers were in the sun We lay down on the month, smelling our aroma. Atilia cried over the urns installed along the paths by the unfortunate Shuvakovich to collect tears, hours passed, months passed away. Atilia wanted to let go of her long braid. She finished waiting for the new month, cut her hair and put it under the stone so that the birds would not carry it to their nests.

Now I was checking until I lost my hair. It was felt that the names Alexander had been on a distant campaign, the architects Jovan Damascene and Jovan Climacus had disappeared invisibly, his father did not understand and got along with him immediately, since he was similar to her deceased mother, and he was especially similar to his deceased friend other Maria per week and on holy...

Like the uranium, the berry of the devastation arrived and brought the Lord’s important message:

- Boxwood has fallen over! Boxwood is growing!

It was truly like this: the green temple of the senior master Jovan the Climacus rose again to the sky, if it were so, but it was sung.

“This means that this other temple, made of stone, above Tisa, is the same height,” having completed Nikolich’s crown and at once hastened just to his destination near Ada.

Prote there they were disappointed. It was printed and unfinished and was in the ironing mill. The stones were stolen to the darkness, so that the ice could be seen through the tea leaves, the storms and the clouds fell there, whenever it was daytime.

Skazheniliy Nikolich wanted to dig the hort with his foot, which was spinning in order, but having guessed that the hort would bite his leg, and streamed. He got into the carriage and turned home.

Atilia did not go with him. She sat on the birch of the river and sang loudly:

The other night she came to the palace that was not ready. Near the gallery, on the wall under the columns, a large map of all these parts of Potiss was laid out from glazed casings. The brightly colored bars of scorched clay depict a superfluous land - Hell, the palace over the Tisa, the mountains, the shores of those places in the distance. Below is the map scale in miles. And at the top of the jacket there is a large ball of earthly kuli, pierced with two arrows, which signify the directions of the world.

At the lighthouse with an open stove on one of the windows, she found the keys to the room. And just a little further away was the great wooden compass of Damascus.

- You're amazing, you've forgotten!

It was like-not-like, but a message from someone else, and it drowned Atilia. The bedroom was not locked, so Atilia entered. From the Damascus armchairs she knew that this room was in front of the palace. That Atilia had no idea that she was so big, round, with a luxurious round bed in the middle. The girl, crying, fell into bed.

It was already getting dark, and she decided to spend the night in the palace, she brought in the horta and ordered the servants to bring the evening meal. I was in the middle of a malt, as if I had cried before, she marveled at the chimera's light. My hair was crackling wildly, and the deepest glimpses of old roses were racing through my thoughts and wandering. Two silences were suddenly panting - one small, in the palace, and the other endless outside in the middle of the night, when one is afraid to tell the horts... Then Atilia looked out at the window, of which there were three. One marveled at the Tisa, the river was not visible at night, and the freshness and spirit of the water flowed out all the time. Tisi sensed a presence, barking at her, and Atilia kept the doors closed. Once the key was scraped, the lock didn’t want to be unlocked. If Atilia absolutely did not trust the rights of Damascus, she would have thought that the castle was faulty. And so far away she turned the key, wrapping it around it lustily. Just clicking the lock for the thirtieth time and closing the doors. Atilia began to babble even more. Vona did not know how the doors could be opened again, and she realized with horror that she would lose her bondage in the palace. Once again, on the thirtieth turn of the key, the doors opened without force. Overwhelmed by tears and fear, marveling at the window that overlooked the Tisa, Atilia fell asleep.

France was awakened by the sun. The damascene had roused the bedchamber so that Attila's skin wound could be awakened by the sun. Next to it was a wide circle, otherwise drawn with a compass, a bedchamber. Atilia wondered about the discovery of the compasses and thought:

- I’ll build a compass in the middle of the bed, so that it’s easy on the one on which I’m lying...

And then Atilia called out, having perhaps seen the Damascene compasses between her legs.

“What a Damascene beshketnik,” she thought fleetingly.

Having had a little rest, but unbeknownst to everyone, Atilia renewed her investigation. She got up from the bed, went to the window, bathed in sun, and she dug through the dead. At the garden behind the window stood a dark girl with green hair. With her cursed eyes she marveled at Atilia and beckoned her with the finger of her left hand. Her right hand was smashed.

“This is the statue that dug up Damascene,” Atilia guessed and immediately realized that the sculpture was turned into a furtive circle, without the father’s view, like a messenger from Damascene. direct view of the center lines across from the window to the exit, where is the statue. As I go as far as I need, otherwise it’s gone, maybe I’ll reveal what Damascene still conveys. How far do you need to go?

Atilia wanted to go out into the garden, otherwise she would cross the castle again. Thirty times I tried to turn the key, like the evening clock, so that the doors opened. And then everything became clear to her. This number was in truth the coming words of the Damascus leaf without words.

She came out onto the gallery, approached Malaya, built a Damascene compass at the Tisu bil Adi, like a palace, and circled it with a radius of 30 miles, following the scale of the map. Then from the center we went straight to the exit. Kolo and radius moved into a place that I will call Temishvar. Atilia happily jumped up and hooted at Berry:

- Harness up, let’s hit the road! To Temishvar!

At that place they were shown the tightly walled Church of the Introduction. She immediately recognized her as the little one who had been killed by Jovan Climacus

for dad. The temple is the same as that one, boxwood, only here it was built from stone and marmura, with all its same windows. This is, of course, the church of the head master Jovan, dedicated to the Presentation of the Blessed Virgin Mary to the Temple.

Atilia walked up to the church.

“Come in, come in, panel Atiliya, we’ve been waiting for you for a long time,” the priest said and sat him down on a bench near the church. Above the seats, Atilia painted the emblem of Nikolichiv from Rudnya, her own coat of arms:

The priest gave her a certificate with a seal and a skinned screen. The certificate confirmed the right of Volodinsk to the Church of the Introduction. The last day was seen at the Atilia estate. The screen had two persni.

“A gift from Master Jovan for you and your betrothed,” the priest explained. On the inside side of both rings it was stamped according to letter A.

- Which Jovan? - said Atilia. - There are two of them!

“So there are two faces right there,” he said and chuckled.

(If you haven’t read the “distant” section, then read it now. If you have, then that’s the end of the story for you.)