Kazbek

The picture was painted in 2018 during a small stop on the way from Vladikavkaz to Tiflis. Looking at the Terek peacefully running, verdant meadows and the surrounding mountains covered with a palisade of ancient pines, it seemed that the Giant of Kavardin’s horse, Lieutenant Lermontov, seemed to be looking at Darial. Mikhail Yuryevich will come up to me in a simple black Circassian covered with road dust, and he will ask: “Do you draw everything, Volodya, a devilish soul?” And I answered him: - Well, I draw little by little, Misha. How is Georgia? - I will ask him. Yes, something like that., - will respond evasively and read the verse. Very good verse, by the way. Shut up with him then. Let's drink tea from his "Pechorin" teapot in half with the Ossetian Arak, and we will say goodbye until the next meeting ... He will have a secular Petersburg ahead of boredom, and I will have enticing mountains and evening sky, which is about to change to mercy for the storm to properly pat on the pass. This picture is the traveler's emotions before the next step of his stubborn way or just a tribute of soul to the great hero Kazbek.

"Hurrying north from afar ..."

Hurrying north from afar,
From warm and foreign sides,
To you, Kazbek, O Guardian of the East,
I, the wanderer, brought my bow.

White turban from the century
Your forehead is wrinkled,
And the proud murmur of man
Your proud world will not disturb.

But the heart of quiet prayer
Yes, they will take your rocks
In the nadzvezdny land in your possession
To the throne of the eternal Alla.

I pray that the day will cool down
On the hot dol and dusty path,
To me in the desert desolate
On a stone at noon, relax.

I pray that the storm does not come,
Rattling in battle dress,
In the gorge of the dark Daryal
Me with an exhausted horse.

But there is one more wish!
I'm afraid to say! - the soul is trembling!
What if I'm from the day of the exile
Just forgotten at home!

Will I find the same arms there?
An old meet hi?
Do friends and brothers recognize
Sufferer, after many years?

Or among the graves of cold
I will step on my own ashes
Those kind, ardent, noble,
Who shared youth with me?

Oh, if so! his blizzard
Kazbek, put me to sleep soon
And the dust is homeless in the gorge
No regrets.

1837 M.Lermontov
-
(from the book "I love khachapuri". V.Garnikyan, 2019)