The image and characteristics of the old woman Izergil in the story "Old Woman Izergil" by M. Gorky: description, life story

Maxim Gorky's romantic story "Old Woman Izergil" was written in 1894. The composition of the work is “a story within a story”. The narration is conducted on behalf of the author and the heroine of the story, the old woman Izergil. Three parts are subject to a common idea: reflection on the true value of human life, the meaning of life, human freedom.

The story "Old Woman Izergil" is studied in the 11th grade literature course. As an acquaintance with the works of Gorky's early work, you can read a summary of the "Old Woman Izergil" chapter by chapter.

main characters

Old Isergil- an elderly woman, the author's interlocutor. He tells about the history of his life, the legends about Danko and Larra. He believes that "everyone is his own destiny."

Larra is the son of a woman and an eagle. He despised people. Punished by people with immortality and loneliness.

Danko- a young man who loves people, "the best of all." He saved people at the cost of his own life, lighting their way out of the forest with a heart torn from his chest.

Other characters

Narrator– retold the stories he heard, worked with the Moldovans at the grape harvest.

Chapter 1

The stories that the author tells his readers, he heard in Bessarabia, working together with the Moldovans at the grape harvest. One evening, having finished working, all the workers went to the sea, and only the author and an elderly woman named Izergil remained to rest in the shade of the grapes.

Evening came, the shadows of the clouds floated across the steppe, and Izergil, pointing to one of the shadows, called her Larra, and told the author an ancient legend.

In one country, where the land is generous and beautiful, a human tribe lived happily. People hunted, grazed herds, rested, sang and had fun. Once, during a feast, an eagle carried off one of the girls. She returned only twenty years later and brought with her a handsome and stately young man. It turned out that all the past years, the stolen tribeswoman lived with an eagle in the mountains, and the young man is their son. When the eagle began to grow old, he rushed from a height onto the rocks and died, and the woman decided to return home.

The son of the king of birds outwardly did not differ from people, only "the eyes were cold and proud." He spoke disrespectfully to the elders, and looked down on other people at all, saying that "there are no more like him."

The elders got angry and ordered him to go wherever he wanted - he had no place in the tribe. The young man approached the daughter of one of them and hugged her. But she, fearing her father's wrath, pushed him away. The eagle's son hit the girl, she fell and died. The young man was seized and tied up. The tribesmen thought for a long time what punishment to choose for him. After listening to the sage, people realized that “the punishment is in himself” and simply let the young man go.

The hero began to be called Larra - "outcast". Larra lived for many years, freely living near the tribe: he stole cattle, stole girls. The arrows of people did not take him, covered with an "invisible cover of the highest punishment." But one day Larra approached the tribe, making it clear to people that he would not defend himself. One of the people guessed that Larra wanted to die - and no one began to attack him, not wanting to alleviate his plight.

Seeing that he would not die at the hands of people, the young man wanted to kill himself with a knife, but he broke. The ground, against which Larra was beating his head, was leaving from under him. Convinced that the son of an eagle could not die, the people of the tribe rejoiced and went away. Since then, left completely alone, the proud young man wanders the world, no longer understanding the language of people and not knowing what he is looking for. "He has no life, and death does not smile on him." So the man was punished for his exorbitant pride.

Wonderful singing reached the interlocutors from the shore.

Chapter 2

The old woman Izergil said that only those who are in love with life can sing so beautifully. She "had enough blood" to live to her age precisely because love was the essence of her life. Izergil told the author about her youth. Before him passed one after another the images of the beloved old woman Izergil.

A fisherman from the Prut, the first love of the heroine. Hutsul hanged by the authorities for robbery. A wealthy Turk, with whose sixteen-year-old son Izergil fled from the harem "out of boredom" to Bulgaria. A little Pole monk, “funny and vile”, whom the heroine picked up and threw into the river for offensive words. “A worthy pan with a hacked face”, who loved exploits (for the sake of him, Izergil refused the love of a man who showered her with gold coins). A Hungarian who left Izergil (he was found in a field with a shot through his head). Arkadek, a handsome gentry, saved by the heroine from captivity, the last love of forty-year-old Izergil.

A woman told her interlocutor about different minutes of her “greedy life”. The time has come when she realized - it's time to start a family. Having left for Moldova, she got married and has been living here for about thirty years. By the time the author met her, her husband had been dead for about a year, and she lived with Moldovans - grape pickers. They need her, she's good with them.

The woman finished the story. The interlocutors sat watching the night steppe. In the distance, blue lights, like sparks, were visible. Asking if the author sees them, Izergil said that these are the sparks of Danko's "burning heart", and began to tell another ancient legend.

Chapter 3

In ancient times, proud, cheerful, fearless people lived in the steppe. Their camps were surrounded on three sides by wild forests. One day, alien tribes came to the land of people and forced them into the depths of the old impenetrable forest, where there were swamps and eternal darkness. From the stench rising from the swamp, people who were accustomed to the expanses of the steppe died one after another.

Strong and courageous, they could go to fight with enemies, “but they could not die in battles, because they had covenants, and if they died, then covenants would disappear with them from life.” People sat and thought about what to do - but from painful thoughts they weakened in spirit and fear settled in their hearts. They were ready to surrender to the enemy, but their comrade Danko "saved all alone." Danko turned to people, urging them to go through the forest - after all, the forest had to end somewhere. So much living fire was in the eyes of the young man that people believed and went with him.

The path was long and difficult, people had less and less strength and faith in Danko. Once, during a severe thunderstorm, people despaired. But they could not admit their weakness, instead they accused Danko of inability to lead them out of the forest. Like wild animals, they were ready to rush at him and kill him. The young man took pity on them, realizing that without him the tribesmen would die. His heart burned with a desire to save people - because he loved them. Danko pulled his heart out of his chest and raised it high above his head - it blazed brighter than the sun itself. The hero went on and on, illuminating the road with the “torch of great love for people”. Suddenly the forest ended - in front of the people was the expanse of the steppe. With joy, Danko looked at the free land - and died.

People did not pay attention to the death of the young man, they did not see the heart, which was still burning near the body of the hero. Only one person noticed the heart, and, fearing something, stepped on it with his foot. The proud heart, splashing sparks around, died out. Since then, those blue lights that the author saw have appeared in the steppe.

The old woman Izergil finished the story. Everything around calmed down, and it seemed to the author that even the steppe was enchanted by the nobility of the brave Danko, who did not expect a reward for the heart burned for the sake of people.

conclusions

Like any classic work, Gorky's story leads the reader to reflect on the most important questions: why does a person live, how should he live and what principles of life should he follow, what is freedom. The retelling of "Old Woman Izergil" gives an idea of ​​the plot, idea, characters of the work. Reading the full text of the story will allow the reader to plunge into the bright and expressive world of Gorky's heroes.

Story test

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Retelling rating

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II

III

The work "Old Woman Izergil", the genre of which is the subject of this review, is one of the most famous works of the famous Russian writer M. Gorky. It was written in 1894 and became a landmark book in the author's work, as it marked his transition to romanticism. The peculiarity of this work is that it consists of three independent parts, united by one common idea.

Features of the first episode

The book "Old Woman Izergil", the genre of which can be defined as a story, however, is not such in the truest sense of the word. As mentioned above, the work includes three independent parts, which at first glance are not related to each other in terms of plot.

The main character tells the author three stories, the first of which is philosophical. In its content, it is similar to an old legend or an ancient fairy tale. In this case, the writer Gorky turned to typically romantic images. "Old Woman Izergil" is a story that is filled with references to the classic works of this direction. The main character of the first part is a typical Byronian hero: he is proud, arrogant, mysterious and despises people and for this he is punished by becoming immortal. Such a plot is reminiscent of the best examples of literature of the 19th century.

The image of Larra

This character is the embodiment of pride and extreme contempt for everyone around. He, being the son of an eagle, considers himself right in everything, does not take into account the opinions of people and does what he wants. Perhaps that is why Gorky put this story in the first place. "Old Woman Izergil" is a work that is built on the principle of ascent from the worst plot to the best. The hero of Larra is the embodiment of human pride. The author wanted to present a superman and a superhero, who, nevertheless, turns out to be defeated by his own vice in the end. In connection with the foregoing, it must be remembered that the work in question has its own genre features.

The story "Old Woman Izergil" is essentially not such in the literal sense of the word, since in idea and narration it resembles an old legend or legend. The story of Larr goes back to the ancient times of a semi-primitive society, which gives the story a special charm.

Second story

Half the story about the life of the heroine herself is "Old Woman Izergil". The heroes of this woman's story are outstanding personalities in every respect. This also applies to the narrator herself. From her lips we learn that in her youth she was a very temperamental woman. She was very lively and spontaneous and lived life to the fullest. Her nature yearned for adventure and thrills. Judging by her words, the heroine loved many men. She abandoned some, for the sake of others she was ready to commit a crime, risk her own life and fate.

This makes her look like the characters she talked about. Those individuals who became the protagonists of her stories also despised the danger and were ready for anything to achieve their goal.

The image of Danko

The work “Old Woman Izergil”, the genre of which can cause difficulty due to the fact that there are several different layers of narrative in the text, ends with a beautiful legend about a hero who undertook to lead people out of darkness. On the way, the travelers had to endure many difficulties, and when people began to grumble, he tore out his heart, illuminated the path for them, and led the companions out of the gloomy and dark forest into freedom and into the light. Thus, this hero in the cycle of stories is a real ideal of courage, honor and courage.

The heroic tone of the narrative makes the work close in spirit to the legends and ancient legends, which were also dedicated to great personalities. The latter circumstance must be taken into account when analyzing the work under consideration. When it comes to its genre, one should keep in mind the above features. And speaking about the fact that the essay is a story, it should be noted that it has become, as it were, a story within a story, since it consists of three different stories. They are united by a common idea - the idea that there is a meaning of human existence. This question is asked by the narrator herself, the same problem worries the heroes of her stories. So, the book "Old Woman Izergil", the genre of which can be defined as a story in the style of a legend, has become one of the best in Gorky's work.

Maksim Gorky

I heard these stories near Akkerman, in Bessarabia, on the seashore.
One evening, after finishing the day’s grape harvest, the party of Moldavians with whom I worked went to the seashore, and I and the old woman Izergil remained under the dense shade of the vines and, lying on the ground, were silent, watching the silhouettes of those melt in the blue darkness of the night. people who went to the sea.
They walked and sang and laughed; men - bronze, with lush, black mustaches and thick curls to the shoulders, in short jackets and wide trousers; women and girls - cheerful, flexible, with dark blue eyes, also bronze. Their hair, silk and black, was loose, the wind, warm and light, playing with them, jingled with the coins woven into them. The wind flowed in a wide, even wave, but sometimes it seemed to jump over something invisible and, giving rise to a strong gust, fluttered the women's hair into fantastic manes that billowed around their heads. It made women strange and fabulous. They moved further and further away from us, and night and fantasy dressed them more and more beautifully.
Someone was playing the violin... the girl sang in a soft contralto, laughter was heard...
The air was saturated with the pungent smell of the sea and the greasy fumes of the earth, shortly before evening, abundantly moistened with rain. Even now fragments of clouds roamed the sky, lush, of strange shapes and colors, here - soft, like puffs of smoke, gray and ash-blue, there - sharp, like fragments of rocks, dull black or brown. Between them, dark blue patches of sky glittered affectionately, adorned with golden flecks of stars. All this - sounds and smells, clouds and people - was strangely beautiful and sad, it seemed like the beginning of a wonderful fairy tale. And everything, as it were, stopped in its growth, died; the noise of voices died away, receding into mournful sighs.
Why didn't you go with them? - Nodding her head, asked the old woman Izergil.
Time had bent her in half, her once black eyes were dull and watery. Her dry voice sounded strange, it crunched like an old woman talking with her bones.
“I don’t want to,” I told her.
- U! .. you, Russians, will be born old men. Everyone is gloomy, like demons ... Our girls are afraid of you ... But you are young and strong ...
The moon has risen. Her disk was large, blood-red, she seemed to have come out of the bowels of this steppe, which in its lifetime had swallowed so much human meat and drank blood, which is probably why it became so fat and generous. Lacy shadows from the foliage fell on us, the old woman and I were covered with them, like a net. Across the steppe, to our left, the shadows of the clouds, saturated with the blue glow of the moon, floated, they became more transparent and brighter.
Look, Larra is coming!
I looked where the old woman was pointing with her trembling hand with crooked fingers, and I saw: shadows floated there, there were many of them, and one of them, darker and thicker than the others, swam faster and lower than the sisters - she fell from a patch of cloud, which swam closer to the ground than the others, and faster than them.
- Nobody's there! - I said.
“You are more blind than me, old woman. Look - out, dark, running through the steppe!
I looked again and again saw nothing but a shadow.
- It's a shadow! Why are you calling her Larra?
- Because it's him. He has already become like a shadow now - it's time! He lives for thousands of years, the sun dried up his body, blood and bones, and the wind pulverized them. This is what God can do to a man for pride! ..
- Tell me how it was! I asked the old woman, feeling ahead of me one of the glorious tales composed in the steppes. And she told me this story.
“Many thousands of years have passed since the time when this happened. Far beyond the sea, at sunrise, there is a country of a large river, in that country every tree leaf and stalk of grass gives as much shade as a person needs to hide in it from the sun, cruelly hot there.
What a generous land in that country!
A powerful tribe of people lived there, they grazed herds and spent their strength and courage on hunting for animals, feasted after the hunt, sang songs and played with girls.
Once, during a feast, one of them, black-haired and tender as night, was carried away by an eagle descending from the sky. The arrows fired at him by the men fell miserably back to the ground. Then they went to look for the girl, but they did not find her. And they forgot about her, as they forget about everything on earth.
The old woman sighed and nodded. Her raspy voice sounded like it had been murmuring through all the forgotten ages, embodied in her chest as shadows of memories. The sea quietly echoed the beginning of one of the ancient legends that may have been created on its shores.
“But twenty years later she herself came, exhausted, withered, and with her was a young man, handsome and strong, as she herself was twenty years ago. And when they asked her where she was, she said that the eagle carried her to the mountains and lived with her there as with his wife. Here is his son, but the father is gone; when he began to weaken, he rose for the last time high into the sky and, folding his wings, fell heavily from there onto the sharp ledges of the mountain, crashed to death on them ...
Everyone looked with surprise at the son of an eagle and saw that he was no better than them, only his eyes were cold and proud, like those of the king of birds. And they talked to him, and he answered if he wanted, or was silent, and when the oldest tribes came, he spoke to them as to his equals. This offended them, and they, calling him an unfinished arrow with an unsharpened tip, told him that they were honored, they were obeyed by thousands of his kind, and thousands twice his age. And he, boldly looking at them, answered that there were no others like him; and if everyone honors them, he does not want to do this. Oh! .. then they were completely angry. They got angry and said:
He has no place among us! Let him go where he wants.
He laughed and went where he pleased - to one beautiful girl who was staring at him intently; He went to her and went up to her and hugged her. And she was the daughter of one of the elders who condemned him. And although he was handsome, she pushed him away because she was afraid of her father. She pushed him away, and went away, and he hit her and, when she fell, stood with his foot on her chest, so that blood splashed from her mouth to the sky, the girl, sighing, wriggled like a snake and died.
Everyone who saw this was shackled with fear - for the first time in their presence a woman was killed like this. And for a long time everyone was silent, looking at her, lying with open eyes and a bloody mouth, and at him, who stood alone against everyone, next to her, and was proud, did not lower his head, as if calling punishment on her. Then, when they came to their senses, they grabbed him, tied him up and left him like that, finding that killing him right now was too easy and would not satisfy them.
The night grew and grew stronger, filled with strange, quiet sounds. Gophers whistled sadly in the steppe, the glassy chatter of grasshoppers trembled in the foliage of grapes, the foliage sighed and whispered, the full disk of the moon, formerly blood-red, turned pale, moving away from the earth, turned pale and more and more abundantly poured a bluish haze onto the steppe ...
“And so they gathered to come up with an execution worthy of a crime ... They wanted to tear it apart with horses - and this seemed not enough to them; they thought of shooting everyone with an arrow at him, but they also rejected this; they offered to burn him, but the smoke of the fire would not allow him to see his torment; offered a lot - and did not find anything good enough to please everyone. And his mother knelt before them and was silent, finding neither tears nor words to beg for mercy. They talked for a long time, and then one wise man said, after thinking for a long time:
Let's ask him why he did it? They asked him about it. He said:
- Untie me! I won't say bound! And when they untied him, he asked:
- What you need? - He asked as if they were slaves ...
“You heard…” said the sage.
Why should I explain my actions to you?
- To be understood by us. You, proud, listen! You will die anyway... Let us understand what you have done. We remain alive, and it is useful for us to know more than we know ...
“Okay, I’ll tell you, although I may be misunderstanding what happened myself. I killed her because, it seems to me, she pushed me away ... And I needed her.
But she's not yours! they told him.
Do you only use yours? I see that each person has only speech, hands and feet ... and he owns animals, women, the earth ... and much more ...
He was told that for everything that a person takes, he pays with himself: with his mind and strength, sometimes with his life. And he replied that he wanted to keep himself whole.
We talked with him for a long time and finally saw that he considers himself the first on earth and sees nothing but himself. Everyone even became scared when they realized what kind of loneliness he doomed himself to. He had no tribe, no mother, no livestock, no wife, and he didn't want any of that.
When people saw this, they again began to judge how to punish him. But now they did not speak for long, - he, the wise one, who did not interfere with their judgment, spoke himself:
- Stop! There is a punishment. This is a terrible punishment; you won't invent something like that in a thousand years! His punishment is in himself! Let him go, let him be free. Here is his punishment!
And then something great happened. Thunder struck from heaven, although there were no clouds on them. It was the powers of heaven that confirmed the speech of the wise. Everyone bowed and dispersed. And this young man, who now received the name Larra, which means: outcast, thrown out, the young man laughed loudly after the people who abandoned him, laughed, remaining alone, free, like his father. But his father was not a man... But this one was a man. And so he began to live, free as a bird. He came to the tribe and stole cattle, girls - whatever he wanted. They shot at him, but the arrows could not pierce his body, covered with an invisible cover of the highest punishment. He was agile, predatory, strong, cruel and did not meet people face to face. Only saw him from a distance. And for a long time, alone, he hovered around people, for a long time - more than a dozen years. But one day he came close to people and when they rushed at him, he did not budge and did not show in any way that he would defend himself. Then one of the people guessed and shouted loudly:
- Don't touch him. He wants to die!
And everyone stopped, not wanting to alleviate the fate of the one who did evil to them, not wanting to kill him. They stopped and laughed at him. And he trembled, hearing this laughter, and kept looking for something on his chest, clutching at it with his hands. And suddenly he rushed at the people, lifting a stone. But they, evading his blows, did not inflict a single one on him, and when he, tired, with a sad cry, fell to the ground, they stepped aside and watched him. So he stood up and, raising a knife lost by someone in the fight against him, hit himself in the chest with it. But the knife broke - they hit it like a stone. And again he fell to the ground and beat his head against it for a long time. But the ground pulled away from him, deepening from the blows of his head.
He can't die! people said happily. And they left, leaving him. He lay face up and saw - high in the sky with black dots, mighty eagles swam. There was so much longing in his eyes that one could poison all the people of the world with it. So, from that time on, he was left alone, free, waiting for death. And now he walks, walks everywhere ... You see, he has already become like a shadow and will be like that forever! He doesn't understand people's speech, their actions, nothing. And he is looking for everything, walking, walking ... He has no life, and death does not smile at him. And there is no place for him among people ... That's how a man was struck for pride!
The old woman sighed, fell silent, and her head, sinking to her chest, swayed strangely several times.
I looked at her. The old woman was overcome by sleep, it seemed to me. And for some reason I felt terribly sorry for her. She ended the story in such a sublime, menacing tone, and yet there was a timid, slavish note in that tone.
They sang on the shore, they sang strangely. First, a contralto rang out - he sang two or three notes, and another voice rang out, starting the song all over again, and the first one kept pouring ahead of him ... - the third, fourth, fifth entered the song in the same order. And suddenly the same song, again at first, was sung by a choir of male voices.
Each voice of the women sounded completely separate, they all seemed like multi-colored streams and, as if rolling down from somewhere above along the ledges, jumping and ringing, merging into a thick wave of male voices that smoothly flowed upwards, they drowned in it, burst out of it, drowned it out and again one by one they soared, pure and strong, high into the air.
The noise of the waves was not heard behind the voices ...

“Have you heard that they sang like that anywhere else?” Izergil asked, raising her head and smiling with her toothless mouth.
- Didn't hear it. Never heard...
And you won't hear. We love to sing. Only handsome men can sing well, handsome men who love to live. We love to live. Look, aren't those who sing there tired during the day? They worked from sunrise to sunset, the moon rose, and already they are singing! Those who do not know how to live would go to bed. Those for whom life is sweet, here they sing.
“But health…” I began.
- Health is always enough for life. Health! Wouldn't you, if you had money, spend it? Health is the same gold. Do you know what I did when I was young? I wove carpets from sunrise to sunset, almost never getting up. I, like a sunbeam, was alive, and now I had to sit motionless, like a stone. And I sat until it happened that all my bones cracked. And when the night came, I ran to the one I loved, to kiss him. And so I ran for three months, while there was love; spent all the nights of that time with him. And that's how long she lived - enough blood! And how much she loved! How many kisses took and gave! ..
I looked into her face. Her black eyes were still dull, they were not revived by the memory. The moon illuminated her dry, chapped lips, her pointed chin with gray hair on it, and her wrinkled nose, curved like an owl's beak. There were black pits where her cheeks had been, and in one of them lay a strand of ash-gray hair that had fallen out from under the red rag that was wrapped around her head. The skin on the face, neck and arms is all wrinkled, and with every movement of the old Izergil one could expect that this dry skin would tear all over, fall apart in pieces and a naked skeleton with dull black eyes would stand before me.
She began to speak again in her crackling voice:
- I lived with my mother near Falchi, on the very bank of the Byrlad; and I was fifteen years old when he came to our farm. He was so tall, flexible, black-moustached, cheerful. He sits in a boat and he shouts so loudly to us through the windows:
"Hey, do you have any wine... and something to eat for me?" I looked out the window through the branches of the ash trees and see: the river is all blue from the moon, and he, in a white shirt and a wide sash with the ends loose at the side, is standing with one foot in the boat and the other on the shore. And sways and sings something. He saw me and said: “What a beauty lives here! .. But I didn’t know about it!” As if he already knew all the beauties before me! I gave him wine and boiled pork... And four days later I gave him all of myself... We all rode with him in the boat at night. He will come and whistle softly like a gopher, and I will jump out like a fish out the window onto the river. And we’re going ... He was a fisherman from the Prut, and then, when my mother found out about everything and beat me, he persuaded me to go with him to Dobrudzha and further, to the Danube girls. But I didn’t like him then - he only sings and kisses, nothing more! It was already boring. At that time, the Hutsuls walked in a gang in those places, and they had kind people here ... So for those, it was fun. Another waits, waits for her Carpathian fellow, thinks that he is already in prison or killed somewhere in a fight - and suddenly he alone, or with two or three comrades, will fall to her as if from heaven. Gifts were brought by the rich - after all, it was easy for them to get everything! And he feasts with her, and boasts of her before his comrades. And she loves it. I asked one friend who had a Hutsul to show me them... What was her name? I forgot how ... I began to forget everything now. A lot of time has passed since then, you will forget everything! She introduced me to a young man. He was good ... He was red, all red - both mustaches and curls! Fire head. And he was so sad, sometimes affectionate, and sometimes, like a beast, he roared and fought. Once he hit me in the face ... And I, like a cat, jumped up on his chest and dug my teeth into his cheek ... From that time on, he had a hole in his cheek, and he loved it when I kissed her ...
Where did the fisherman go? I asked.
- A fisherman? And he ... here ... He stuck to them, to the Hutsuls. At first, he tried to persuade me and threatened to throw me into the water, and then - nothing, stuck to them and brought another one ... They both hung them together - both the fisherman and this Hutsul. I went to watch them being hung. It was in Dobruja. The fisherman went to the execution pale and wept, and the Hutsul smoked his pipe. He goes to himself and smokes, hands in his pockets, one mustache rests on his shoulder, and the other hangs down on his chest. He saw me, took out his receiver and shouted: “Goodbye! ..” I felt sorry for him for a whole year. Eh! .. It was already with them then, how they wanted to go to the Carpathians to themselves. At parting, they went to visit one Romanian, and there they were caught. Only two, but a few were killed, and the rest left ... Still, the Romanian was paid after ... The farm was burned down and the mill, and all the bread. Became a beggar.
- Did you do that? I randomly asked.
- The Hutsuls had many friends, I was not alone ... Who was their best friend, he celebrated their wake ...
The song on the seashore had already ceased, and now only the sound of the sea waves echoed the old woman - a thoughtful, rebellious noise was a glorious second story about a rebellious life. The night became softer, and more and more of the blue radiance of the moon was born in it, and the indefinite sounds of the bustling life of its invisible inhabitants became quieter, drowned out by the growing rustle of the waves ... for the wind increased.
- And then I loved the Turk. He was in the harem, in Scutari. She lived for a whole week, - nothing ... But it became boring ... - all women, women ... He had eight of them ... They eat all day, sleep and chat stupid speeches ... Or swear, cluck like chickens ... He was no longer young, this Turk. Almost gray-haired and so important, rich. He spoke - like a lord ... His eyes were black ... Straight eyes ... They look straight into the soul. He loved to pray very much. I saw him in Bucuresti ... He walks around the market like a king, and looks so important, important. I smiled at him. That same evening I was seized on the street and brought to him. He sold sandalwood and palm trees, and came to Bucuresti to buy something. "Are you coming to me?" - He speaks. "Oh yes, I'll go!" - "Good!" And I went. He was rich, this Turk. And he already had a son - a little black boy, so flexible ... He was sixteen years old. With him, I ran away from the Turk ... I ran away to Bulgaria, to Lom Palanka ... There, a Bulgarian woman stabbed me in the chest for her fiancé or for her husband - I don’t remember anymore.
I was sick for a long time in a monastery alone. Convent. One girl, a Pole, looked after me ... and a brother, also a nun, went to her from another monastery - near Artser-Palanka, I remember ... Such ... like a worm, he writhed before me ... And when I recovered, I left with him ... to Poland.
- Wait! .. And where is the little Turk?
- Boy? He's dead boy. From homesickness or from love ... but it began to dry, like a fragile tree that had too much sun ... so everything dried ... I remember, it lies, all already transparent and bluish, like an ice floe, but love still burns in it ... And everyone asks to bend over and kiss him ... I loved him and, I remember, kissed a lot ... Then he became completely ill - he almost did not move. He lies and so plaintively, like a beggar of alms, asks me to lie next to him and warm him. I went to bed. You lie down with him ... he will immediately light up all over. Once I woke up, and he was already cold ... dead ... I cried over him. Who will say? Maybe it was me who killed him. I was twice his age then. And she was so strong, juicy ... and he - what? .. A boy! ..

"Old Woman Izergil" by Maxim Gorky is an incredibly slender and beautiful work, although it belongs to the early, romantic period of the writer's work. Gorky himself said more than once that he would hardly write anything more beautiful than this work, in which the voice of the author is closely intertwined with the voice of the protagonist-narrator.

It is very easy to read the story, it flows like a song. In fact, these are three separate parables: the legend of the son of an eagle Larr, the life story of Izergil, the story of Danko. But all these legends are connected by one common idea, which is the search for the meaning and value of human life, is the unity and struggle of two opposite traits of the human character: individualism and the desire for self-sacrifice. The antithesis, the device that Gorky uses, is present in all three parts of the story. And if Larra is a “dark” character who does not even deserve to remain in human memory, and Danko is “bright” and the memory of his feat will live forever in the hearts of people, then Izergil is a simple woman who is inherent in both self-love and the desire to sacrifice oneself for the sake of loved ones. And such, according to the author, all people. Gorky, who wrote this work, is young and romantic, and that is why he believes in the absence of "pure egoism." Although, if you read carefully, you can see something else in the story, namely, quite realistic thoughts that are emerging in Gorky's head about true freedom, which was lacking in contemporary society. No wonder he draws a seemingly insignificant image of a "cautious person" who stepped on Danko's extinct heart. Gorky believes that one, but a very vivid example, is quite enough for young people to be inspired and begin to fight for their freedom.