Relic of yu yakovlev summary. A brief history of relics

Yakovlev Yuri

Relic

Yuri Yakovlevich Yakovlev

RELIC

FIRST DISCOVERIES

At the end of the transparent April day, uninvited guests came to Baba Nastasya. The guys entered the house, pushing each other and stumbling over a high threshold.

Hello!

The guests looked at the hostess, and the hostess looked at the damp stamps that the guests had placed on the clean floorboards, and with displeasure wondered that after the honest company left, she would have to take up a rag. Baba Nastasya pursed her lips and asked:

What do you need?

Standing in front of the others, the high-cheeked kid in high boots - he inherited the most, you bastard! - immediately responded:

Are there any relics?

Baba Nastasya stared at him blankly and asked:

Old newspapers, or what?

Old newspapers are waste paper, - immediately explained the neighbor's boy Lenya. - And we need the relics of the war.

Maybe you have a bayonet or a German helmet? asked a freckled girl standing in the doorway, wearing a scarf that had slipped over her shoulders.

I don't have a German helmet. And there is no bayonet, - Baba Nastasya admitted.

She did not fight, - explained the neighbor boy Lenya, who, as a neighbor, acted as if in the role of an intermediary. - Her husband fought.

Maybe the Red Army book, pierced by a bullet, is stored? asked the high-cheeked boy; apparently, he was the senior in this company.

Or a cap with an asterisk? - said the konopatenkaya.

Baba Nastasya shook her head.

Bad, said the elder.

Bad, - confirmed the neighbor Lenya.

The guys looked at each other, gasped, stomped on the spot, not knowing whether to leave or ask something else. And then the girl said:

The photo is fine too.

Good! - Lenya picked up with joy: he, apparently, really wanted his neighbor Baba Nastasya to find at least some relic, even a photo. And he, without waiting for an answer, advised: - Baba Nastasya, look for the images.

I have no images.

What an unfortunate grandmother! And she has no images.

When there are no images, they hide behind the mirror! - Lenya did not retreat. - Do you have a mirror?

There is a mirror. - Baba Nastasya looked at the children from under her brows. Go around here, dirty the floors! ..

We are not idle, ”the elder muttered resentfully, glancing sideways at his high, dirty boots,“ we are collecting a war museum.

The Great Patriotic War, - said the neighbor Lenya.

This turn of affairs puzzled Baba Nastasya. She got up from the bench and turned out to be very large, broad in bone, only her back did not fully unbend, froze in some kind of eternal bow.

I have a letter from the front. From my husband, Pyotr Vasilyevich, she said uncertainly, at random. Itself somehow affected. - Will it work?

Why didn't he send a photo? the konopatenkaya responded with a quiet reproach.

Baba Nastasya did not hear her words. Shuffling her feet, she went to the chest of drawers, began to look for the letter behind the mirror. And soon the guys saw some kind of paper triangle in her hands. The elder held out his hand, Baba Nastasya looked at him from under her brows and reluctantly gave the letter.

He twirled the strange letter in his hands and asked:

Where is the stamped envelope? Lost?

I didn't lose anything! Were there envelopes and stamps then?

Triangle, field mail, stamp. That's all there is to it.

There were no envelopes and stamps then, - the neighbor Lenya took the side of Baba Nastasya.

But the rest reacted to the words of the old woman with distrust: lost, old, and now she is inventing. They were convinced that since there was a letter, there was an envelope and there was a stamp. There was another awkward silence.

And again the konopatenka asked:

Was your husband a war hero?

Baba Nastasya got tired of the guests' curiosity. She became agitated, flushed. With an angry patter she said:

He was no hero. Let's get a letter here!

Wait, Baba Nastasya, - Lenya said conciliatoryly. - You have to read the letter!

The letter was short and simple. Here is what Baba Nastasya's husband wrote from the front:

- "Hello, my wife Nastasya! With greetings to you, your husband Peter. As long as I am alive and well, which I wish you too. I live well."

The smoke is delivered on time. But instead of makhorka - filichy tobacco, tasteless. If you smoke, if you smoke, you won't get high. Is that smoke is coming. I lost my spare pair of footcloths in a hurry. I hung it up to dry, but on alarm they took off - I forgot to put it in my duffel bag. Now I'm toiling. I wash a single pair for the night, by the morning they do not have time to dry. You have to put on raw. Legs rest.

We are now digging more than shooting. Digging, and the trench smells of arable land. And from this native smell the heart aches. I don’t know how much more we will fight.

Bow to Grandfather Ivan, to all your relatives and neighbors.

Greetings from the front, your husband Peter. "

When they finished reading the letter, the konopatenka shook her head:

No, this is not a relic.

You see, Baba Nastasya is not a relic, ”the elder said regretfully. - All about tobacco, about footcloths. But there is no oath.

What vow? Baba Nastasya asked dully.

- "We will die, but we will not retreat!" - as the elder said in writing.

Baba Nastasya looked at the guys in amazement.

He didn't want to die, ”she said.

Therefore, it’s not a relic, ”said the konopatenka quietly.

Maybe a relic, - said the neighbor Lenya, trying to restrain his comrades, but the guys reached for the door.

The elder wanted to fold the letter in a corner, but could not. So he shoved it uncomplicated to the hostess.

The guys left, the house became emphatically quiet. And Baba Nastasya stood in front of the closed door with a letter in her hand, as if the postman had just arrived. Then she went to the table and suddenly felt a dull, irresistible fatigue. She sat down heavily on the bench and closed her eyes. Maybe dozed off. Maybe the time has passed in oblivion. But when she opened her eyes, it was already dark outside. Baba Nastasya roused herself, got up, turned on the light. She returned to the table, sat down on the bench. There was a letter in front of her. She looked at the sheet for a long time, because she knew the letter by heart.

When a letter came from the front many years ago, all the women envied her. Because no one has received letters for a long time. And the women were tired and ferocious. Once, a lame postman was nearly nailed.

"You lame devil, do not come to the village without letters!" And for a long time there was only one letter from the front for the whole village - Nastasino.

At the front there was its own war, and in the village - its own: the women struggled when, instead of a horse, they were harnessed to a plow. They washed their shoulders in blood, knocked down their legs, tore out their bellies. It was such plowing that at the end of the streak it became dark in the eyes, and heavy blood began to ring in the ears, and the women fell to the ground like soldiers under fire.

Yakovlev Yuri

Relic

Yuri Yakovlevich Yakovlev

RELIC

FIRST DISCOVERIES

At the end of the transparent April day, uninvited guests came to Baba Nastasya. The guys entered the house, pushing each other and stumbling over a high threshold.

Hello!

The guests looked at the hostess, and the hostess looked at the damp stamps that the guests had placed on the clean floorboards, and with displeasure wondered that after the honest company left, she would have to take up a rag. Baba Nastasya pursed her lips and asked:

What do you need?

Standing in front of the others, the high-cheeked kid in high boots - he inherited the most, you bastard! - immediately responded:

Are there any relics?

Baba Nastasya stared at him blankly and asked:

Old newspapers, or what?

Old newspapers are waste paper, - immediately explained the neighbor's boy Lenya. - And we need the relics of the war.

Maybe you have a bayonet or a German helmet? asked a freckled girl standing in the doorway, wearing a scarf that had slipped over her shoulders.

I don't have a German helmet. And there is no bayonet, - Baba Nastasya admitted.

She did not fight, - explained the neighbor boy Lenya, who, as a neighbor, acted as if in the role of an intermediary. - Her husband fought.

Maybe the Red Army book, pierced by a bullet, is stored? asked the high-cheeked boy; apparently, he was the senior in this company.

Or a cap with an asterisk? - said the konopatenkaya.

Baba Nastasya shook her head.

Bad, said the elder.

Bad, - confirmed the neighbor Lenya.

The guys looked at each other, gasped, stomped on the spot, not knowing whether to leave or ask something else. And then the girl said:

The photo is fine too.

Good! - Lenya picked up with joy: he, apparently, really wanted his neighbor Baba Nastasya to find at least some relic, even a photo. And he, without waiting for an answer, advised: - Baba Nastasya, look for the images.

I have no images.

What an unfortunate grandmother! And she has no images.

When there are no images, they hide behind the mirror! - Lenya did not retreat. - Do you have a mirror?

There is a mirror. - Baba Nastasya looked at the children from under her brows. Go around here, dirty the floors! ..

We are not idle, ”the elder muttered resentfully, glancing sideways at his high, dirty boots,“ we are collecting a war museum.

The Great Patriotic War, - said the neighbor Lenya.

This turn of affairs puzzled Baba Nastasya. She got up from the bench and turned out to be very large, broad in bone, only her back did not fully unbend, froze in some kind of eternal bow.

I have a letter from the front. From my husband, Pyotr Vasilyevich, she said uncertainly, at random. Itself somehow affected. - Will it work?

Why didn't he send a photo? the konopatenkaya responded with a quiet reproach.

Baba Nastasya did not hear her words. Shuffling her feet, she went to the chest of drawers, began to look for the letter behind the mirror. And soon the guys saw some kind of paper triangle in her hands. The elder held out his hand, Baba Nastasya looked at him from under her brows and reluctantly gave the letter.

He twirled the strange letter in his hands and asked:

Where is the stamped envelope? Lost?

I didn't lose anything! Were there envelopes and stamps then?

Triangle, field mail, stamp. That's all there is to it.

There were no envelopes and stamps then, - the neighbor Lenya took the side of Baba Nastasya.

But the rest reacted to the words of the old woman with distrust: lost, old, and now she is inventing. They were convinced that since there was a letter, there was an envelope and there was a stamp. There was another awkward silence.

And again the konopatenka asked:

Was your husband a war hero?

Baba Nastasya got tired of the guests' curiosity. She became agitated, flushed. With an angry patter she said:

He was no hero. Let's get a letter here!

Wait, Baba Nastasya, - Lenya said conciliatoryly. - You have to read the letter!

The letter was short and simple. Here is what Baba Nastasya's husband wrote from the front:

- "Hello, my wife Nastasya! With greetings to you, your husband Peter. As long as I am alive and well, which I wish you too. I live well."

The smoke is delivered on time. But instead of makhorka - filichy tobacco, tasteless. If you smoke, if you smoke, you won't get high. Is that smoke is coming. I lost my spare pair of footcloths in a hurry. I hung it up to dry, but on alarm they took off - I forgot to put it in my duffel bag. Now I'm toiling. I wash a single pair for the night, by the morning they do not have time to dry. You have to put on raw. Legs rest.

Yakovlev Yuri

Relic

Yuri Yakovlevich Yakovlev

RELIC

FIRST DISCOVERIES

At the end of the transparent April day, uninvited guests came to Baba Nastasya. The guys entered the house, pushing each other and stumbling over a high threshold.

Hello!

The guests looked at the hostess, and the hostess looked at the damp stamps that the guests had placed on the clean floorboards, and with displeasure wondered that after the honest company left, she would have to take up a rag. Baba Nastasya pursed her lips and asked:

What do you need?

Standing in front of the others, the high-cheeked kid in high boots - he inherited the most, you bastard! - immediately responded:

Are there any relics?

Baba Nastasya stared at him blankly and asked:

Old newspapers, or what?

Old newspapers are waste paper, - immediately explained the neighbor's boy Lenya. - And we need the relics of the war.

Maybe you have a bayonet or a German helmet? asked a freckled girl standing in the doorway, wearing a scarf that had slipped over her shoulders.

I don't have a German helmet. And there is no bayonet, - Baba Nastasya admitted.

She did not fight, - explained the neighbor boy Lenya, who, as a neighbor, acted as if in the role of an intermediary. - Her husband fought.

Maybe the Red Army book, pierced by a bullet, is stored? asked the high-cheeked boy; apparently, he was the senior in this company.

Or a cap with an asterisk? - said the konopatenkaya.

Baba Nastasya shook her head.

Bad, said the elder.

Bad, - confirmed the neighbor Lenya.

The guys looked at each other, gasped, stomped on the spot, not knowing whether to leave or ask something else. And then the girl said:

The photo is fine too.

Good! - Lenya picked up with joy: he, apparently, really wanted his neighbor Baba Nastasya to find at least some relic, even a photo. And he, without waiting for an answer, advised: - Baba Nastasya, look for the images.

I have no images.

What an unfortunate grandmother! And she has no images.

When there are no images, they hide behind the mirror! - Lenya did not retreat. - Do you have a mirror?

There is a mirror. - Baba Nastasya looked at the children from under her brows. Go around here, dirty the floors! ..

We are not idle, ”the elder muttered resentfully, glancing sideways at his high, dirty boots,“ we are collecting a war museum.

The Great Patriotic War, - said the neighbor Lenya.

This turn of affairs puzzled Baba Nastasya. She got up from the bench and turned out to be very large, broad in bone, only her back did not fully unbend, froze in some kind of eternal bow.

I have a letter from the front. From my husband, Pyotr Vasilyevich, she said uncertainly, at random. Itself somehow affected. - Will it work?

Why didn't he send a photo? the konopatenkaya responded with a quiet reproach.

Baba Nastasya did not hear her words. Shuffling her feet, she went to the chest of drawers, began to look for the letter behind the mirror. And soon the guys saw some kind of paper triangle in her hands. The elder held out his hand, Baba Nastasya looked at him from under her brows and reluctantly gave the letter.

He twirled the strange letter in his hands and asked:

Where is the stamped envelope? Lost?

I didn't lose anything! Were there envelopes and stamps then?

Triangle, field mail, stamp. That's all there is to it.

There were no envelopes and stamps then, - the neighbor Lenya took the side of Baba Nastasya.

But the rest reacted to the words of the old woman with distrust: lost, old, and now she is inventing. They were convinced that since there was a letter, there was an envelope and there was a stamp. There was another awkward silence.

And again the konopatenka asked:

Was your husband a war hero?

Baba Nastasya got tired of the guests' curiosity. She became agitated, flushed. With an angry patter she said:

He was no hero. Let's get a letter here!

Wait, Baba Nastasya, - Lenya said conciliatoryly. - You have to read the letter!

The letter was short and simple. Here is what Baba Nastasya's husband wrote from the front:

- "Hello, my wife Nastasya! With greetings to you, your husband Peter. As long as I am alive and well, which I wish you too. I live well."

The smoke is delivered on time. But instead of makhorka - filichy tobacco, tasteless. If you smoke, if you smoke, you won't get high. Is that smoke is coming. I lost my spare pair of footcloths in a hurry. I hung it up to dry, but on alarm they took off - I forgot to put it in my duffel bag. Now I'm toiling. I wash a single pair for the night, by the morning they do not have time to dry. You have to put on raw. Legs rest.

We are now digging more than shooting. Digging, and the trench smells of arable land. And from this native smell the heart aches. I don’t know how much more we will fight.

Bow to Grandfather Ivan, to all your relatives and neighbors.

Greetings from the front, your husband Peter. "

When they finished reading the letter, the konopatenka shook her head:

No, this is not a relic.

You see, Baba Nastasya is not a relic, ”the elder said regretfully. - All about tobacco, about footcloths. But there is no oath.

What vow? Baba Nastasya asked dully.

- "We will die, but we will not retreat!" - as the elder said in writing.

Baba Nastasya looked at the guys in amazement.

He didn't want to die, ”she said.

Therefore, it’s not a relic, ”said the konopatenka quietly.

Maybe a relic, - said the neighbor Lenya, trying to restrain his comrades, but the guys reached for the door.

The elder wanted to fold the letter in a corner, but could not. So he shoved it uncomplicated to the hostess.

The guys left, the house became emphatically quiet. And Baba Nastasya stood in front of the closed door with a letter in her hand, as if the postman had just arrived. Then she went to the table and suddenly felt a dull, irresistible fatigue. She sat down heavily on the bench and closed her eyes. Maybe dozed off. Maybe the time has passed in oblivion. But when she opened her eyes, it was already dark outside. Baba Nastasya roused herself, got up, turned on the light. She returned to the table, sat down on the bench. There was a letter in front of her. She looked at the sheet for a long time, because she knew the letter by heart.

When a letter came from the front many years ago, all the women envied her. Because no one has received letters for a long time. And the women were tired and ferocious. Once, a lame postman was nearly nailed.

"You lame devil, do not come to the village without letters!" And for a long time there was only one letter from the front for the whole village - Nastasino.

At the front there was its own war, and in the village - its own: the women struggled when, instead of a horse, they were harnessed to a plow. They washed their shoulders in blood, knocked down their legs, tore out their bellies. It was such plowing that at the end of the streak it became dark in the eyes, and heavy blood began to ring in the ears, and the women fell to the ground like soldiers under fire.

And then they demanded from Nastasya:

Read the letter!

Nastasya, big and strong, rose on her elbow and in a hoarse voice - again! - began to read:

- "Hello, my wife Nastasya! .."

And the women fancied that the letter said: "Hello, my wife Nyusha!" or: "Hello, my wife Olga!" It is their husbands who greet them. It was their husbands who were alive and well. And they didn’t like filigree tobacco: “You smoke, you smoke - you won’t get high!”

And no luck with footcloths: they were filmed on alarm, they forgot to put them in a duffel bag. Nastasya's letter warmed her gray-faced, haggard friends, added strength to them. And, harnessing again to the plow, they said:

Their trench smells like arable land, and ours arable land smells like a trench.

Late in the evening, someone was sure to knock on Nastasya's window:

The letter seemed to have become common, it belonged to the entire village ..

Sitting over the letter in a circle illuminated by a kerosene lamp, the neighbor had time to cry, and laugh, and be comforted, and console the hostess.

Don't worry about the footcloths. New ones will be issued by winter. I know...

And so it went on for a long time. From other villages came to read Nastasya's letter. And Peter Vasilyevich's husband was no longer alive ...

Now this letter lay on the table in front of Baba Nastasya, as if it had just come from her husband. And since the letter has arrived, it means that he is alive.

Only very far from home. And he writes, alive, about ordinary everyday things: bad tobacco and about footcloths forgotten in a hurry ...

But then it seemed to Baba Nastasya that she was holding in her hands not her own letter, but someone else's, received from her living husband by a neighbor and given to her for a while, for consolation.

She averted her eyes from the letter and saw the childish stamps on the floorboards, but she didn't get angry. These kids are always collecting something - either medicinal herbs or spikelets. Now they are looking for relics.

And the letter did not suit them, because they, the children, did not realize that they stood firm and perished in battle, and those who did not write: "We will die, but we will not retreat!" Well, thank God that the children don't need this letter, that they live well and they don't need consolation. And now the postman is not beaten, and there is no such situation that there is only one news for the whole village.

The cult of relics was and remains an integral part of Christian religiosity. Already in the first centuries of Christianity, believers began to venerate the relics buried in the Roman catacombs In these dungeons, intended for the burial of the dead, during the years of persecution, the first Christians celebrated the Liturgy., and with the beginning of the era, objects connected both personally with Christ and with biblical history began to acquire special significance. Relics arrived in Europe from the Holy Land, and after 1204 - from Constantinople, captured by the crusaders.

A special role in the collection of such relics was played by the King of France Louis IX the Saint, canonized in 1297, 27 years after his death. Ludovik led the Seventh and Eighth Crusades. Returning from the Holy Land, he founded the Church of Sainte-Chapelle at the royal palace and decided to keep there relics associated with the sacrifice of Christ on the cross. Some of them disappeared during the French Revolution, and what survived, in 1804, already under Napoleon, passed into the jurisdiction of the Parisian archbishop and was transferred to Notre Dame Cathedral, where it is still kept.

Belief in the magical power of relics for medieval man was an extremely rational phenomenon. The cult of relics is based on the belief that the power of the saint after death remains in his remains and in the things to which he touched. Therefore, relics can be divided into two types: the relics themselves and the so-called contact relics - brandea, that is, objects to which the saint touched. The biblical history mainly includes relics of the second type.

At first, the relics were kept in closed boxes, which are called "ark-mi". Beginning in the 13th century, they began to be put on public display: put in transparent containers, and those, in turn, in precious reliquaries. The relic-varium, or reliquary, could have the most bizarre shape - including reproduce the outlines of the relic itself.

Reliquary with the hand of Charlemagne. Made in Lyon at the end of the 15th century by order of Louis XI. Stored in Aachen, Germany, in the Jim Forest Royal Chapel / CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

At the same time, reliquaries began to be made of crystal: it not only visually enlarged the sacred object, but was also one of the symbols of Jesus The German mystic Meister Eckhart (1260-1328), exercising a false etymology, argued that the words crystallus and Christus are of the same root..

Monasteries, monastic orders, specific churches and their parishes, which owned relics, in the eyes of believers were endowed with a special closeness to the saints, and the possession of relics ensured glory and attracted pilgrims. Often, relics acquired the function of insignia, that is, signs of power. Possession of them (for example, the spear of Longinus or the crown of thorns) was considered a guarantee of political success, and loss was a sign of failure.

Christ's manger

Reliquary with a manger of Christ in the Church of Santa Maria Maggiore in Rome Wikimedia Commons

Two relics are associated with the manger of Jesus, that is, the cattle feeder that served as the cradle of Christ. Firstly, under the pulpit of the Basilica of the Nativity of Christ in Bethlehem, there is a small chapel, inside of which a depression is marked with marble, where, according to legend, the cradle of Jesus stood. The second is the manger itself (or rather, its wooden part), which in the 7th century, by order of the Pope, were taken to Rome after Jerusalem was captured by the Persians. The manger is still kept in Rome - in the church of Santa Maria Maggiore.

Milk teeth of Christ

In the 12th century, a rumor spread in Europe that Jesus' milk teeth were kept in the monastery of Saint Medard in France. The monk and historian Guibert Nozhansky (1055-1125) spoke out against this legend. In his treatise "On the saints and their relics" Four centuries later, the Swiss Protestant John Calvin, author of the Treatise on the Relics (1543), condemned the veneration of relics, relied on this work. He made the following arguments against the veracity of relics such as the teeth, umbilical cord, or foreskin of Jesus: First, Jesus was resurrected in the flesh and was bodily ascended to heaven, so no part of his body could remain on earth. Secondly, Jesus' milk teeth could not fall out, because the loss of teeth is a manifestation of bodily weakness and imperfection, and Jesus was free from all diseases, because they are the result of original sin. Third, why should believers chase after the fragments of Jesus' body if he regularly incarnates in a Host Guests - the cachet that Catholics receive during the Eucharist.... Instead of the term reliquiae, that is, "remains", Guibert used in his treatise the word pignera, that is, "pledge", because relics are a guarantee of the patronage of the saints and the presence of divine power on earth.

Today no church claims to own the baby teeth of Jesus. However, evidence has survived that, in addition to the Monastery of Saint Medard, the chapel in the Vienna Woods of Paris claimed the possession of this relic (the tooth is mentioned by the Protestant Pierre Muland in the 16th century), the chapel in Versailles (the last mention in 1792 ) and the Church of Saint Madeleine in Noyon (late 18th century).

Veronica's Plath

Saint Veronica. Painting by Hans Memling. Around 1470-1475 National Gallery of Art, Washington

Veronica's plate is also called mandilion (from the Greek Άγιον Μανδήλιον means "holy plate") or ubrus (from the Old Slavic "oubrous" - "polo-ten-tse"). It is important not to confuse this miraculous image of Jesus with the Turin Shroud - the canvas in which Jesus was wrapped after being taken down from the cross. According to tradition, when Jesus was carrying the cross to Golgotha, a woman standing in the crowd named Veronica handed him a handkerchief so that he could wipe his face. On the scarf was an imprint of the face of the Savior.

Arrival of the Mandilion from Mesopotamia to Byzantium in 944. Miniature from "Review of History" by John Skilitsa. XIII century Biblioteca Nacional de España; Wikimedia Commons

The image of the Savior not made by hands was kept in Edessa for a long time Edessa - the Christian center of the Eastern Roman Empire, a city in the southeast of modern Turkey (modern name - Sanliurfa)., about which the church historian wrote. In the 10th century, the Byzantine emperor Roman Lacapenus laid siege to the city, and the inhabitants persuaded him to lift the siege in exchange for the relic kept in it. So in 944, Veronica's board was transferred to Constantinople. Following translatio - and this is exactly what the solemn transfer of relics is called - took place in 1247, when Saint Louis took out the Mandillion from Constantinople, captured by the crusaders. Until the French Revolution, the relic was kept in Sainte-Chapelle, and then, in 1792, it disappeared.

Spear of Longinus

Longinus' Spear of the Hofburg Reichsinsignienin Wien; Wikimedia Commons

According to legend, it was with this spear (also called the spear of St. Maurice or the spear of fate) that the centurion Longinus pierced the right side of Jesus between the fourth and fifth ribs, saving him from torment. According to a later version, the spear belonged to Saint Mauritius - the heavenly patron of the emperors of the Holy Roman Empire, a soldier of the Theban Legion and a Christian who was martyred in Germanic lands in the 3rd century. The spear of Saint Mauritius was the main insignia, that is, the sign of power, of the Saxon dynasty Saxon dynasty(840-1024) - a dynasty of Germanic origin. Some of its representatives were the kings of the East Frankish Kingdom (Germany) and the emperors of the Holy Roman Empire. The dynasty is also known under the name Ottonida or Ludolfingi..

Statue of St. Longinus by Bernini in St. Peter's Basilica, above which the spear of Longinus is kept on the balcony in the reliquary flickr.com/MA1216 / CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

The spear with which Jesus was stabbed is first mentioned in the Gospel of John (John 19:34): "One of the soldiers pierced His ribs with a spear, and immediately blood and water came out." And yet, the relic that has survived to this day should not be identified with the spear described in the Bible.

Coronation of Saint Henry II. Early 11th century miniature Sakramentar Heinrichs II / Bayerische Staatsbibliothek

There are several copies of Longinus's spear, of which the history of the so-called Viennese spear kept in the Hofburg is best known. The earliest image of him is found on a miniature of the 11th century, which depicts the coronation of the Holy Roman Emperor Henry II Saint. The end-piece consists of two plates, tied with a wire, and a sleeve, in which the shaft was fastened. One of the nails with which Jesus was nailed to the cross is inserted into the blade. The plates are covered with a gold casing with an inscription Lancea et clavus domini ("The Spear and the Nail of the Lord").

Spear of Longinus from the Armenian Echmiadzin Monastery Wikimedia Commons

In the Middle Ages, it was believed that the possession of a spear made the ruler invincible in battle: this is how the victories in the battles of Karl Martell at Poitiers (732), Otto I - on the Lech River (955) and Charlemagne (in numerous battles ). The belief in the special power and significance of the spear survived until the 20th century: according to Hitler's personal decree, after the Anschluss of Austria in 1938, the Vienna spear was briefly transported to Nuremberg.

Life-giving Cross

Reliquary of Saint Radegunde from the Abbey of Saint-Croix de Poitiers Abbaye Sainte-Croix de Saint-Benoît; Wikimedia Commons

According to legend, Empress Helena, mother of Emperor Constantine the Great Constantine the Great (274-337) - the emperor, who united the East and West of the disintegrating Roman Empire, moved the capital to Constantinople, founded by him, conducted the First Ecumenical Council and issued the Mi-lan Edict, which put an end to the persecution of Christians ..., ordered to conduct excavations at the site of the temple of Aphrodite, built on Calvary after the crucifixion of Christ. But since two robbers were crucified simultaneously with the Savior, it was necessary to determine which of the three crosses was the same. Bishop Macarius, who accompanied Elena, found a way out:

"To one woman of a noble family, desperately ill and half-dead, Macarius brought all the crosses ... As soon as the shadow [of the Cross of the Lord] touched the sick person, as the breathless and motionless with divine power immediately stood up and glorified God with a loud voice." Description of Theophanes the Confessor, a Byzantine monk and chronicler who lived in the 8th century..

According to the Roman church historian of the 4th century Rufinus of Aquileia, after finding the true Cross, Empress Elena sent a fragment of it to her son, Emperor Constantine. The situation changed after Shah Khosrov II captured Jerusalem and took the Cross to the Iranian city of Ctesiphon, not far from Baghdad. The Byzantine emperor Heraclius returned the Cross, and then transported it to Constantinople: Jerusalem was under the constant threat of Arab conquest. So from the 7th century, the relic became an important participant in the annual feast of the Exaltation of the Cross.

Icon "Adoration of the Cross", presumably, by Ivan Saltanov. 1677-1678 years The image of the cross with the forthcoming holy Tsar Constantine, Holy Tsarina Elena, Tsar Alexei Mikhailovich, Tsarina Maria Ilyinichna and Patriarch Nikon. In the center is the seven-pointed Kyi cross, which was made by order of the patriarch Nikon in Palestine. It contained about 300 particles of holy relics (on the icon they are indicated by stars and rectangles with inscriptions).
The Moscow Kremlin; Wikimedia Commons

Parts of the Cross were scattered throughout medieval Europe. One was taken from Constantinople to Venice in 1205, the other two in 1241 to Paris. Another fragment was inlaid with the Kyi cross Kyi cross - a reliquary made by order of Patriarch Nikon for the Onega Cross Monastery on the island of Kiy. Patriarch Nikon, which is now kept in the church of St. Sergius of Radonezh in Krapivniki.

Nails from the Cross

Since the early centuries of Christianity, there has been a debate about how many nails were used for crucifixion. According to various versions, there were either two (Jesus' hands were nailed, and his legs were tied to the cross with a rope), or three (Gregory the Theologian writes that the hands were nailed with two nails, and the legs - with one), or four (Gregory Toursky insisted on two nails in his hands and one more in each foot).

The acquisition of nails is associated with the same Empress Elena - the further history of these relics is not so unambiguous. The historian Theophanes the Confessor in his "Chronography" claims that Constantine used two nails to make a bridle The bridle refers to the Book of the Prophet Zechariah, where it is said: “At that time, even on horse headdress, it will be inscribed:“ Holiness to God ”” (Zech. 14:20). for a war horse, and a third forged into his helmet. Ambrose Mediolansky says that one nail was used to make a bridle, and the second for a diadem: "one is for beauty, and the other is for the manifestation of one's faith and piety." Gregory of Tours writes that two nails were forged in the knot of the horse of Emperor Constantine. Socrates Scholastic writes that Helen drowned two nails in the Adriatic Sea to tame a storm that began when she sailed on a ship to Rome.

Iron crown of LombardyJames Steakley / CC BY-SA 3.0

Iron crown of Lombardy. Engraving by Napoleone Zuccoli and Dominico Landini. 1805 yearBibliothèque Nationale de France

Over time, the nails began to multiply. One, according to legend, was presented by Pope Gregory the Great to the Lombard princess Theodelinda and used in the manufacture of a crown for her husband Agilulf The crown later became known as the Iron Crown of Lombardy and is today kept in the Cathedral of John the Baptist in Monza, near Milan.... Another was inserted into the holy spear. The third ended up in Paris in Saint-Denis, and on February 28, 1232, during a solemn liturgy in the presence of Saint Louis, the nail fell out of the reliquary and disappeared for a whole month, but then it was wrapped around again.

Crown of thorns

Crown of thorns in a round crystal reliquary 1896 Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Paris; Wikimedia Commons

The crown of thorns, placed on the head of Jesus during the mockery, is first mentioned in the Gospels. In Mark: “And the soldiers took Him inside the court, that is, to the praetorium, and gathered the whole regiment, and clothed Him in a purple robe, and, having plaited a crown of thorns, laid it on Him; and they began to salute Him: Hail, King of the Jews! And they beat Him on the head with a reed, and spat on Him, and, kneeling down, bowed down to Him ”(Mark 15: 16-18). In Matthew: “And, having plaited a crown from a thorn, put it on His head and gave Him a cane in His right hand; and, kneeling before Him, mocked Him, saying: Hail, King of the Jews! " (Matt. 27:29). In John: “And the soldiers, plaiting a crown of thorns, put it on His head, and clothed Him in a purple robe, and said: Hail, King of the Jews! and they smote Him with their cheeks ”(John 19: 2-3).

Arrival of the crown of thorns in Paris and meeting him by Saint Louis IX. Miniature from Le Livre des faiz monseigneur saint Loys. 15th century Bibliothèque nationale de France

The relic is described by pilgrims who visited Jerusalem in the 4th-6th centuries. Then the crown was transported to Constantinople. Exact date translatio unknown, but we know that by 614, when the city was captured by the Persians, there was no longer a crown in it. In 1239, Louis the Saint bought the relic from the emperor of the Latin Empire Latin empire - a state that arose in 1204, after the crusaders captured Constantinople. Baldwin II for a huge amount (about 140,000 gold livres), and on August 10, 1239, the crown of thorns arrived in France. Louis met him in the city of Villeneuve-l'Arshevec, took off all the signs of the imperial power and barefoot, carried him in rags to the city of Sansa. On August 18, the crown was solemnly brought to Paris and placed in the chapel of St. Nicholas at the royal palace. Later, Louis ordered the construction of a special reliquary chapel for the shrine - the Holy Chapel, or Sainte-Chapelle, where the crown was kept from 1248 until the Great French Revolution. After the revolution, it was transferred to the treasury of Notre Dame Cathedral, where it is kept to this day.

The thorns from the crown, like the nails from the Cross, multiplied in the Middle Ages. Their list is given in the "Treatise on Relics" by John Calvin, not hiding his irony:

“The third piece of the crown at Sainte-Chapelle in Paris; three thorns in the Roman Church of the Holy Cross; many thorns in the Roman church of St. Eustathius; many thorns in Siena; one thorn in Vicenza; five thorns in Bourges; in Besançon, in the Church of St. John, three; at Mont Royal - three; one in the Cathedral of Oviedo in Spain; in the Cathedral of St. James in Galicia - two; in Albi - three; in Toulouse, in Macon, in Charroux, in Poitou, in the Basilica of Notre Dame de Cléry-Saint-André, in Saint-Flour, in Saint-Maximin-la-Saint-Baume in Provence, in the parish church of Saint Martin in Noyon - one by one".

Sources

• Voskoboinikov O.S. Millennial Kingdom. An outline of the Christian culture of the West.
• Le Goff J. Louis IX Saint.
• Recht R. Believe and see. The art of cathedrals of the XII-XV centuries.
• Relics.

  Dictionary of Medieval Culture. M., 2003.

• Bozóky E. La politique des reliques de Constantin à Saint Louis: protection collective et légitimation du pouvoir.
• Geary P. Furta Sacra. Thefts of Relics in the Central Middle Ages.

  There is an e-book here Relic author Yakovlev Yuri Yakovlevich... In the library site you can download the free book Relic in TXT (RTF) format, or in FB2 (EPUB) format, or read the online e-book Yakovlev Yuri Yakovlevich - Relic without registration and without SMS.

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  Yuri Yakovlev
  Relic

  Yakovlev Yuri
  Relic

  Yuri Yakovlevich Yakovlev
  RELIC
  FIRST DISCOVERIES
  At the end of the transparent April day, uninvited guests came to Baba Nastasya. The guys entered the house, pushing each other and stumbling over a high threshold.
  - Hello!
  The guests looked at the hostess, and the hostess looked at the damp stamps that the guests had placed on the clean floorboards, and with displeasure wondered that after the honest company left, she would have to take up a rag. Baba Nastasya pursed her lips and asked:
  - What do you need?
  Standing in front of the others, the high-cheeked kid in high boots - he inherited the most, you bastard! - immediately responded:
  - Do you have any relics?
  Baba Nastasya stared at him blankly and asked:
  - Old newspapers, or what?
  - Old newspapers are waste paper, - immediately explained the neighbor boy Lenya. - And we need the relics of the war.
  - Maybe you have a bayonet or a German helmet? asked a freckled girl standing in the doorway, wearing a scarf that had slipped over her shoulders.
  - I have no German helmet. And there is no bayonet, - Baba Nastasya admitted.
  “She didn’t fight,” explained the neighbor boy Lenya, who, as a neighbor, acted as if in the role of an intermediary. - Her husband fought.
  - Maybe the Red Army book, pierced by a bullet, is stored? asked the high-cheeked boy; apparently, he was the eldest in this company.
  - Or a cap with an asterisk? - said the konopatenkaya.
  Baba Nastasya shook her head.
  “Bad,” said the elder.
  - Bad, - confirmed the neighbor Lenya.
  The guys looked at each other, gasped, stomped on the spot, not knowing whether to leave or ask something else. And then the girl said:
  - The photo is also good.
  - Good! - Lenya picked up with joy: he, apparently, really wanted his neighbor Baba Nastasya to find at least some relic, even a photo. And he, without waiting for an answer, advised: - Baba Nastasya, look for the images.
  - I have no images.
  What an unfortunate grandmother! And she has no images.
  - When there are no images, they hide behind the mirror! - Lenya did not retreat. - Do you have a mirror?
  - There is a mirror. - Baba Nastasya looked at the children from under her brows. Go around here, dirty the floors! ..
  - We are not idle, - the elder muttered resentfully, glancing sideways at his high, dirty boots, - we are collecting a war museum.
  - The Great Patriotic War, - said the neighbor Lenya.
  This turn of affairs puzzled Baba Nastasya. She got up from the bench and turned out to be very large, broad in bone, only her back did not fully unbend, froze in some kind of eternal bow.
  - I have a letter from the front. From my husband, Pyotr Vasilyevich, she said uncertainly, at random. Itself somehow affected. - Will it work?
  - Why didn't he send the photo? the konopatenkaya responded with a quiet reproach.
  Baba Nastasya did not hear her words. Shuffling her feet, she went to the chest of drawers and began to look for the letter behind the mirror. And soon the guys saw some kind of paper triangle in her hands. The elder held out his hand, Baba Nastasya looked at him from under her brows and reluctantly gave the letter.
  He twirled the strange letter in his hands and asked:
  - And where is the envelope with the stamp? Lost?
  - I didn’t lose anything! Were there envelopes and stamps then?
  Triangle, field mail, stamp. That's all there is to it.
  - There were no envelopes and stamps then, - the neighbor Lenya took the side of Baba Nastasya.
  But the rest reacted to the words of the old woman with distrust: lost, old, and now she is inventing. They were convinced that since there was a letter, there was an envelope and there was a stamp. There was another awkward silence.
  And again the konopatenka asked:
  - Was your husband a war hero?
  Baba Nastasya got tired of the guests' curiosity. She became agitated, flushed. With an angry patter she said:
  - He was not a hero. Let's get a letter here!
  “Wait, Baba Nastasya,” Lenya said conciliatoryly. - You have to read the letter!
  - It is necessary to read, - the others supported him, and the whole honest company went to the window, where it was brighter.
  The letter was short and simple. Here is what Baba Nastasya's husband wrote from the front:
  - "Hello, my wife Nastasya! With greetings to you, your husband Peter. As long as I am alive and well, which is what I wish for you. I live well."
  The smoke is given out on time. But instead of makhorka - filichy tobacco, tasteless. If you smoke, if you smoke, you won't get high. Is that smoke is coming. I lost a spare pair of footcloths in a hurry. I hung it up to dry, but on alarm they took off - I forgot to put it in my duffel bag. Now I suffer. I wash a single pair for the night, by the morning they do not have time to dry. You have to put on raw. Legs rest.
  We are now digging more than shooting. Digging, and the trench smells of arable land. And from this native smell the heart aches. I don’t know how much more we will fight.
  Bow to Grandfather Ivan, to all your relatives and neighbors.
  Greetings from the front, your husband Peter. "
  When they finished reading the letter, the konopatenka shook her head:
  - No, this is not a relic.
  “You see, Baba Nastasya is not a relic,” the elder said regretfully. - All about tobacco, about footcloths. But there is no oath.
  - What oath? Baba Nastasya asked dully.
  - "We will die, but we will not retreat!" - as the elder said in writing.
  Baba Nastasya looked at the guys in amazement.
  “He didn't want to die,” she said.
  “Therefore, it’s not a relic,” said the konopatenka quietly.
  “Maybe a relic,” said the neighbor Lenya, trying to restrain his comrades, but the guys reached for the door.
  The elder wanted to fold the letter in a corner, but could not. So he shoved it uncomplicated to the mistress.
  The guys left, the house became emphatically quiet. And Baba Nastasya stood in front of the closed door with a letter in her hand, as if the postman had just arrived. Then she went to the table and suddenly felt a dull, irresistible fatigue. She sat down heavily on the bench and closed her eyes. Maybe dozed off. Maybe the time has passed in oblivion. But when she opened her eyes, it was already dark outside. Baba Nastasya roused herself, got up, turned on the light. She returned to the table, sat down on the bench. There was a letter in front of her. She looked at the sheet for a long time, because she knew the letter by heart.
  When a letter came from the front many years ago, all the women envied her. Because no one has received letters for a long time. And the women were tired and ferocious. Once, a lame postman was nearly nailed.
  "You lame devil, do not come to the village without letters!" And for a long time there was only one letter from the front for the whole village - Nastasino.
  At the front there was its own war, and in the village - its own: the women struggled when, instead of a horse, they were harnessed to a plow. They washed their shoulders in blood, knocked down their legs, tore out their bellies. It was such plowing that at the end of the streak it became dark in the eyes, and heavy blood began to ring in the ears, and the women fell to the ground like soldiers under fire.
  And then they demanded from Nastasya:
  - Read the letter!
  Nastasya, big and strong, rose on her elbow and in a hoarse voice - again! - began to read:
  - "Hello, my wife Nastasya! .."
  And the women fancied that the letter said: "Hello, my wife Nyusha!" or: "Hello, my wife Olga!" It is their husbands who greet them. It was their husbands who were alive and well. And they didn’t like filly tobacco: “You smoke, you smoke - you won’t get high!”
  And no luck with footcloths: they were filmed on alarm, they forgot to put them in a duffel bag. Nastasya's letter warmed her gray-faced, haggard friends, and added strength to them. And, harnessing again to the plow, they said:
  - Their trench smells like arable land, and ours arable land smells like a trench.
  Late in the evening someone was sure to knock on Nastasya's window:
  - Open it!
  - What do you want, neighbor?
  - Let me read the letter.
  The letter seemed to have become common, it belonged to the entire village ..
  Sitting over the letter in a circle illuminated by a kerosene lamp, the neighbor had time to cry, and laugh, and be comforted, and console the hostess.
  - Don't be upset about footcloths. New ones will be issued by winter. I know...
  And so it went on for a long time. From other villages came to read Nastasya's letter. And Peter Vasilyevich's husband was no longer alive ...
  Now this letter lay on the table in front of Baba Nastasya, as if it had just come from her husband. And since the letter has arrived, it means that he is alive.
  Only very far from home. And he writes, alive, about ordinary everyday things: bad tobacco and about footcloths forgotten in a hurry ...
  But then it seemed to Baba Nastasya that she was holding in her hands not her own letter, but someone else's, received from her living husband by a neighbor and given to her for a while, for consolation.
  She averted her eyes from the letter and saw the childish stamps on the floorboards, but she didn't get angry. These kids are always collecting something - either medicinal herbs or spikelets. Now they are looking for relics.
  And the letter did not suit them, because they, the children, did not realize that they stood firm and perished in battle, and those who did not write: "We will die, but we will not retreat!" Well, thank God that the children don't need this letter, that they live well and they don't need consolation. And now the postman is not beaten, and there is no such situation that there is only one news for the whole village.
  Baba Nastasya sighed. And neatly folded the old front-line letter in the folds to make a triangle.
  Then she felt stuffy and hobbled to the door. I went out onto the porch. It was already completely dark. The lights of the village glittered in different corners of the thick, soft darkness.
  Then the gate slammed, voices were heard, and Baba Nastasya saw three approaching figures: these were the guys returning for the soldier's letter. She sighed and felt an infinitely familiar and familiar smell. It penetrated inside, spilled over the body, and with every breath the old woman’s impotence seemed to dissolve, it lost its oppressive weight. It was the smell of damp spring soil - the smell of arable land, like the smell of a trench.

  
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