Composition

Saltykov-Shchedrin is an original writer who occupies a special place in Russian literature. In his work, he showed the social shortcomings of the social structure of Russia, painted life without embellishment, but not only gave a set of vices and abuses, but also caustically ridiculed them. Saltykov-Shchedrin worked in the genre of social satire. At a time when censorship ruled in Russia, it was very dangerous to ridicule the shortcomings of rulers and officials. Satire often caused discontent among readers who did not want to pay attention to the shortcomings of life, to how they themselves live. Since the authors satirical works at all times it was not easy, the writers used a special Aesopian language. This method of allegory was named after the ancient Greek author Aesop, who hid satire behind outwardly neutral or frivolous things. It takes great courage to ridicule the order and structure of the country in which you live. But the ability to laugh at yourself, at your own shortcomings, is already the way to correct them. The work of Saltykov-Shchedrin, which revealed to the whole world the troubles of Russia, was at the same time an indicator of national health, an inexhaustible supply of forces that would eventually be used for the good of the country.

The writer had the gift of sensitively capturing the most acute conflicts brewing in Russia and parading them in front of the entire Russian society in his works. Shchedrin studied most closely political life Russia: the relationship between different classes, oppression of the peasantry upper strata society. A close study of the life of Russia, the life of its lower classes, counties, was also facilitated by the seven-year service of Saltykov-Shchedrin as a provincial official of the provincial government in Vyatka. There's a future satirist on own experience got acquainted with the life of petty bureaucracy, peasantry, merchants. Saltykov looked at the state system of Russia from the inside. The main inconvenience for Russia was, in his opinion, the excessive centralization of power. It leads to the emergence of a mass of officials who cannot understand the needs common people. Centralized power kills the people's initiative, does not allow the people to develop, and in this backwardness the people support centralization and bureaucracy. The result of seven years of service as an official was a collection of short stories "Provincial Essays", in which Saltykov-Shchedrin draws pictures of Russian life in a satirical manner, and also jokingly sets out the theory of state reorganization, which he calls "the theory of driving an influential person by the nose." Soon after the “Provincial Essays”, the writer creates “The History of a City”, in which he rises to a satirical depiction of not provincial, but statesmen. Brief characteristics mayors - the "fathers" of the city - are replete with fantastic features and sarcasm. The characteristics of the inhabitants of the city of Glupov, who are similar to the capital and provincial townspeople, are also fantastic. The mayors combine the features typical of Russian tsars and nobles. Working on the "History of a City", Saltykov-Shchedrin uses his experience public service, and also relies on the works of prominent Russian historians.

Very clearly, the satirical talent of Saltykov-Shchedrin manifested itself in the cycle "Fairy Tales for Children of a Fair Age". This book is considered the final work of the writer. It includes all major satirical themes his creativity. Fairy tales are written in the traditions of Russian folk tales: the characters are animals, their problems are unprecedented, and, finally, each work contains a lesson for the reader. But animals, fish and birds behave just like people. These inconsistencies with traditions are a confirmation of the originality of the cycle of "Tales" by Saltykov-Shchedrin.

The smallest details in describing the behavior of animals, their way of life, they make us understand that these “Tales” tell about the pressing problems of Russia. The form of the fairy tale helped the author to enlarge the scale artistic image to give the satire more scope. Behind the fabulous story, the reader should see not only the life of Russia, but of all mankind.

A fairy tale is the most successful form for conveying satirical content. Borrowing from the people ready fairy tales, Shchedrin develops the satirical content inherent in them and supplements them with details and recognizable signs of the era. In all the abundance of fairy tales by Saltykov-Shchedrin, four main themes can be distinguished: satire on the government, denunciation of the philistine-minded intelligentsia, depiction of the masses, exposure of the morality of predatory owners, and propaganda of a new morality.

The “selfless hare” reminds us of a law-abiding citizen who does not resist the treachery of the supreme power. In the fairy tale "The Wise Scribbler" in an allegorical form, a timid intellectual is ridiculed, who is afraid of the changes taking place in society, and therefore strives to live in such a way, "... that no one notices."

But not in all "Tales" Saltykov-Shchedrin only denounces. Thus, in "Konyaga" the author discusses the state of affairs of the peasantry and asks about its future. The same problem is also considered by the writer in "The Tale of How One Man Feeded Two Generals." In this tale, Shchedrin satirically shows the complete helplessness of the rulers, and their dependence on the peasantry. However, no one in power appreciates the work of a peasant. Saltykov-Shchedrin sees in the peasant the only force capable of acting, of creating. But the hero, who had every opportunity to hide, surprisingly, does not take any action to save himself. This wordless slavish obedience angers the writer. I. S. Turgenev wrote: “I saw how the audience writhed with laughter while reading some of Saltykov's essays. There was something terrible about that laugh. The audience, laughing, at the same time felt how the scourge whipped itself.

Other writings on this work

"The History of a City" by M. E. Saltykov-Shchedrin as a satire on the autocracy “In Saltykov there is ... this serious and vicious humor, this realism, sober and clear among the most unbridled imagination ...” (I.S. Turgenev). "History of one city" as a socio-political satire Analysis of 5 chapters (optional) in the work of M. E. Saltykov-Shchedrin "The History of a City" Analysis of the chapter "Fantastic Traveler" (based on the novel by M.E. Saltykov-Shchedrin "The History of a City") Analysis of the chapter "On the Root of the Origin of the Foolovites" (based on the novel by M.E. Saltykov-Shchedrin "The History of a City") Foolov and the Foolovites (based on the novel by M.E. Saltykov-Shchedrin "The History of a City") Grotesque as a leading artistic technique in the "History of a City" by M.E. Saltykov-Shchedrin Grotesque, its functions and meaning in the image of the city of Glupov and its mayors The twenty-third mayor of the city of Glupov (based on the novel by M.E. Saltykov-Shchedrin "The History of a City") The yoke of madness in the "History of a City" by M.E. Saltykov-Shchedrin The use of the grotesque technique in depicting the life of the Foolovites (based on the novel by Saltykov-Shchedrin "The History of a City") The image of the Foolovites in the "History of a City" Images of mayors in the "History of one city" M.E. Saltykov-Shchedrin. The main problems of the novel by Saltykov-Shchedrin "The History of a City" Parody as an artistic technique in the "History of a City" by M. E. Saltykov-Shchedrin Parody as an artistic technique in the "History of a City" by M. Saltykov-Shchedrin Techniques of a satirical image in the novel by M. E. Saltykov-Shchedrin "The History of a City" Methods of satirical depiction of mayors in the "History of one city" by M.E. Saltykov-Shchedrin Review of the "History of a City" by M. E. Saltykov-Shchedrin The novel "The History of a City" by M.E. Saltykov-Shchedrin - the history of Russia in the mirror of satire Satire on the Russian autocracy in the "History of one city" M.E. Saltykov-Shchedrin Satirical chronicle of Russian life Satirical chronicle of Russian life (“History of one city” by M. E. Saltykov-Shchedrin) The originality of satire by M.E. Saltykov-Shchedrin Functions and meaning of the grotesque in the image of the city of Glupov and its mayors in the novel by M.E. Saltykov-Shchedrin "History of one city" Characteristics of Vasilisk Semenovich Wartkin Characteristics of the mayor Brodasty (based on the novel by M.E. Saltykov-Shchedrin "The History of a City") A series of mayors in the "History of one city" M.E. Saltykov-Shchedrin What brings together Zamyatin's novel "We" and Saltykov-Shchedrin's novel "The History of a City"? The history of the creation of the novel "The History of a City" Heroes and problems of satire M.E. Saltykov-Shchedrin Laughter through tears in the "History of a City" People and power as the central theme of the novel The activities of the mayors of the city of Glupov Elements of the grotesque in the early works of M. E. Saltykov The theme of the people in the "History of one city" Description of the city of Glupov and its mayors Fantastic motivation in the "History of a City" Characteristics of the image of Benevolensky Feofilakt Irinarkhovich The meaning of the finale of the novel "The History of a City" The plot and composition of the novel "The History of a City" Satirical depiction of mayors in the "History of one city" by M. E. Saltykov-Shchedrin The story of M. E. Saltykov-Shchedrin "The History of a City" as a socio-political satire The content of the history of the city of Glupov in the "History of one city" Characteristics of the image of Brodystoy Dementy Varlamovich Characteristics of the image of Dvoekurov Semyon Konstantinych Composition based on the story "The History of a City" Grotesque of Foolov's "history" Grotesque in the image of the city of Glupov Ways of expressing the author's position in the "History of one city" M.E. Saltykov-Shchedrin What causes the author's irony in the novel by M.E. Saltykov-Shchedrin Characteristics of the image of Wartkin Vasilisk Semenovich Characteristics of the image of Lyadokhovskaya Aneli Aloizievna Genre features of the novel "The History of a City" The role of the Grotesque in the "History of a City" by M.E. Saltykov-Shchedrin The originality of the satire of Saltykov-Shchedrin on the example of "The History of a City" The denunciation of a stupid and self-satisfied administration in the "History of a City" by M. E. Saltykov-Shchedrin Grotesque figures of mayors in the "History of a City"

In 1856, Saltykov returned from exile to St. Petersburg and wrote a series of works, united under the general title "Provincial Essays" (1856-1857). "Provincial essays" opened the first page of the "chronicle" of the Russian public life, which Shchedrin created in his work. The exceptional success of the “Provincial Essays” in the second half of the 50s is explained not only by their artistic merits, but by those qualities that gave N. Chernyshevsky reason to call the book “a wonderful literary phenomenon” and classify it among “ historical facts Russian life. These words of Chernyshevsky contain an exact definition of the meaning of the Essays for the Russian society of that time. They reflected the era of pre-reform reality, seen by the author "from the inside". Shchedrin creates a “portrait” of the modern province in the genre of a series of essays: the writer’s artistic generalizations were based on numerous life facts and observations of the life and customs of the provincial nobility, bureaucracy, merchants, the bourgeoisie of Vyatka, the Vyatka and Tula provinces, the Ural region. N. Shchedrin begins with the “Provincial Essays” (it was with this pseudonym that M. Saltykov signed his work), a satirist writer, but here satire still does not go beyond plausibility.

Genre originality"Provincial essays".

genre nature essays - cycle. The works included in it are united by the theme - the image of the Russian province before the reform of 1861, the image of the narrator - court adviser N. Shchedrin, through heroes - Prince Chebylkin, Porfiry Petrovich, Buerakin, as well as the democratic pathos of the image.

The plot-compositional structure of the essays is peculiar: the author trusts the characters to express themselves independently, avoiding a direct assessment of the depicted. The Russian province in the chapter “Past Times” is given through the prism of its perception by a sublingual one, in the essay “Mrs. Muzovkina” the self-revealing monologue of the heroine is preceded by a detailed dialogue between the official N. Shchedrin and Akim Prokhorov, and in the essay “The General Picture” the author moves along with a crowd of pilgrims and the image the provincial world is made up of numerous auditory and visual impressions that themselves "find" the narrator.

In a separate chapter "Dramatic scenes and monologues" Shchedrin singled out works in the form of a dramatized essay or one-act drama. The writer effectively uses the technique of self-revelation, which he developed in the essay narrative. Many plot situations of essays contain elements of a "dramatic form" that do not require the author's commentary.

So, in the essay "Korepanov" one of the central scenes is the dialogue between Korepanov and Furnachev's son. Outwardly, it is built as a dialogue, the purpose of which is to expose moral character Furnachev Sr. But a five-year-old boy answers the questions of the county wit, so the irony of the hero becomes a means of satirical characterization of the "talented" nature - Korepanov himself.

In the plots of the one-act comedies The Petitioners and The Profitable Marriage, there is no opposition between good and evil, traditional for a comedy, since the conflict unfolds in a homogeneous environment of provincial officials. Shchedrin develops a tradition satirical comedy Gogol, whose conflict "ties up" the electricity of rank, and not love.

The “Gogolian” beginning characterizes the entire style of the “Provincial Essays”, manifesting itself in a combination of irony and sarcasm in the image negative sides Russian reality and deep lyricism caused by Shchedrin's love for Russia. This stylistic tradition is already found in the lyrical essays “Introduction” and “Road” that frame the cycle. In the "Introduction" there is a Gogol motif of a road that ends in Krutogorsk, a city, entering which "you can no longer demand anything from life ... you can only live in the past and digest your memories." The image of patriarchal silence and "general monotony" is replaced by sketches of the mores of the city, from which it follows that here, too, life is in full swing, different from that in St. Petersburg. They expand the horizons of the reader's understanding of Russian reality. The images of the heroes of the essays are only named here, but the criticism of their moral emptiness and ignorance is still ahead, but it turns out that the road that led the narrator to Krutogorsk is the beginning of a new useful life. It will be dedicated to "discovering evil, falsehood and vice", "full sympathy for goodness and truth." The epilogue of the "Provincial Essays" ends with the image of a dream in which the author mentally returns to Krutogorsk, which he leaves after seven years of exile. Before the reader unfolds a picture of the symbolic funeral of the "past times" that have become obsolete socially and morally. Many contemporaries shared the writer's hope for the imminent advent of the new era: the end of the Crimean campaign and the coming to power of a new tsar caused a wave of optimism in Russian society. Describing the situation that developed then, F. Dostoevsky wrote in 1861: “We remember the appearance of Mr. Shchedrin in the Russian Messenger. Oh, it was such a joyful, hopeful time! After all, Mr. Shchedrin chose a minute when to appear. However, as time has shown, Shchedrin hastened to bury what he had to fight with all his life.

By 1857, the idea of ​​the cycle “About the Dying” dates back, for which the story “The Bridegroom” was written, as well as the family comedy “The Death of Pazukhin”. In these works, heroes familiar from the “Provincial Essays” reappear: General Golubovitsky, Porfiry Furnachev, official Razbitnaya. In the story "The Bridegroom" Shchedrin turns to the grotesque, depicting the mores of a provincial society. Elements of the grotesque can also be found in the image of Captain Makhorkin - a semi-real, semi-fantastic personality that appears from nowhere. The plot situation of the story focuses on the absurd talk of the townspeople about the origin of Makhorkin (devil or man?), And the image of the captain himself plays the role of a “mirror”, which reflects the “crooked face” of provincial reality. The idea of ​​the cycle remained unfulfilled, and by the beginning of the 60s, the image of the city of Glupov appeared in the work of Shchedrin, which replaced the patriarchal Krutogorsk. The birth of Glupov is the next stage in the development of the writer's satire.

The next ten years of Shchedrin's life - from 1858 to 1868 - time vigorous activity administrative writer. Shchedrin gradually rises up the rungs of the career ladder: vice-governor in Ryazan and his native Tver, chairman of the state chamber in Penza, Tula, Ryazan. During his stay in the "temple of liberalism", as the writer himself defined his service, Shchedrin stopped any attempts to violate the rule of law and justice and acquired the nickname "vice-Robespierre". This characterization is evidence of the irreconcilable struggle that Shchedrin, as an administrative official, waged against the bureaucratic system of the Russian autocracy. In 1868, with the rank of state general, Shchedrin retired and devoted himself entirely to literary activity.

Since 1868, together with Nekrasov, he edited the journal Otechestvennye Zapiski, and after the death of Nekrasov in 1877, he directed the editorial office of the journal until it was closed by censorship in 1884.

The time of Shchedrin's work in Fatherland Notes is the most brilliant time of his work, the period of the highest flowering of his satire. The volume created by the writer in these years is enormous. The problems of his works are expanding, new genre forms are emerging, satirical skill. Shchedrin focuses on the discovery of the anti-people essence of autocratic power and statehood. At a new stage in his literary activity, the writer again turns to the problem of the people and power, the study of which determines the writer's search for new artistic forms.

In the 1960s, Shchedrin worked on the series of essays Foolov and Foolovites, Foolov's Debauchery, Capons, and Slander. The journalistic beginning in them noticeably prevails over the plot narrative, and the grotesque over other forms of the comic. In the essay “Slander”, the grotesque is aimed at revealing the essence of the socio-political contradictions of Russian reality. It is presented in the essay in the form of a pot in which the Foolovites live, fed by a hand that threw a greasy piece into the pot and then scalded the inhabitants of the pot. With this allegory, Shchedrin assesses the anti-people nature of the reform of 1861 ..

In the journalism of the 60s, fantasy and the grotesque determine the originality of the plot of works, dedicated to the problems seemingly far from the realm of politics. In 1864, Shchedrin wrote an article - a review of "Petersburg Theaters", criticizing the repertoire of the capital's theaters. One of the objects of his satire is the ballet Naiad and the Fisherman, whose libretto he characterizes as a pitiful imitation of art. The writer, without analyzing the shortcomings of the dramaturgy of the performance, offers his own "plot" of the "modern-domestic-fantastic" ballet "Imaginary enemies, or lie and do not be afraid." Parodying the senseless flight of fancy that determined the content of modern ballet art, Shchedrin enumerates in detail actors of his work. This is the Patriotic conservative force in the images of Davilov, Obiralov and the Dentist, and Patriotic liberalism, personified by Khlestakov. Among the main characters are Bribery, Lies, Lies and Nonsense. In the denouement of the action, the viewer must observe the apotheosis of conflict resolution: a whirlwind dance that united all the characters in a single rhythm. The sharp, topical satire of a political nature testified to Shchedrin's virtuoso mastery of the publicist and parodist.

Shchedrin's first major work, entirely printed in N. Nekrasov's Fatherland Notes, was The History of a City (1869-1870). This work is dedicated to the philosophical understanding of the historical destinies of autocratic Russia, despotic power and a dark, destitute people. The story of the fantastic Foolov, who grew up either on the "mountains", or on some kind of "bog" and almost "eclipsed the fame ancient rome", in one of Turgenev's notes was called "a strange and amazing book." What was the peculiarity of this work?

This time the inn is located not on the post road and not in the middle of a large and rich village, but on a side road with little traffic, in a small and very ugly village. The inn in question is one-story; only two rooms are given to travelers, and even those often remain empty. In essence, this is not so much an inn as a spacious peasant hut, built by a wealthy owner for his family and ready for the services of only a few, and even then personally familiar to him passing gentlemen and merchants. Therefore, the very decoration of the upper rooms is completely different from their decoration in real inns, in which there are already cheap wallpaper on the walls, casement windows, card tables and chairs in mahogany, covered with hair or leather. Here, on the contrary, the walls are moss-covered, the windows open only upwards and with a stand; instead of furniture, benches are built into the walls, which are shiny from long-standing use; there was only one table, but that one was simple, with a drawer in which there were always crusts of bread. But in the front corner there is a kivot with images, which is no longer the case in dandy and wallpapered inns.
But both the inn and the very road on which it stands are somehow especially dear to my heart, despite the fact that, in essence, this road does not present any attractive qualities for which one should love it ... a cruel and in some places, in the full sense of the word, a mutilated bridge builder, on whom even patented iron axles break without the slightest effort. In those few places where the tyranny of the bridgeman disappears, the wheels of the carriage cut deep into either loose sands or deep, sticky mud. In a word, this is exactly the kind of road from which, with frequent driving, one can become stupid, due to strong shocks to the crown and back of the head. And for all this torture, the traveler does not receive any reward from anywhere; nothing attracts his gaze, nothing caresses his ear, and his sense of smell is even very unpleasantly affected. On the sides stretches that small forest, consisting of thin-stemmed, peeled and bald fir trees, which in the common people is known under the name of "lousy"; above the wood hangs an eternally gray and eternally dreary sky; the liquid and pale greenery of the road edges does not seem to grow at all, and the high and dense sedge that replaces it from time to time does not caress either, but somehow unpleasantly cuts the gaze of the traveler. It flies and sings through the forest more bird a crow that has long lived in discord with the laws of harmony, and over the carriage there are crowds of whole clouds of mosquitoes, which buzz into their ears so unbearably that it seems as if they are tired of living in this swamp to death. And if above all this we imagine the fragrant fogs that, especially in the evenings, rise from the surrounding swamps, then the picture will be complete and, as it seems, unattractive.
And yet I love her. I love this poor nature perhaps because, whatever she is, she still belongs to me; she became related to me, just as I became related to her; she cherished my youth, she witnessed the first troubles of my heart, and since then the best part of myself has belonged to her. Take me to Switzerland, to India, to Brazil, surround me with whatever luxurious nature you like, throw any transparent and blue sky on this nature, I will still find everywhere the gray tones of my homeland that are dear to me, because I always wear them in my heart, because my soul keeps them as its best possession. - "Ms. Muzovkina"; The last paragraph is about the province of Tver, Shchedrin's home; the lines became textbook

This is the first work published under the pseudonym N. Shchedrin. Originally intended for Sovremennik, Provincial Essays were rejected by N.A. Nekrasov and published in Russkiy Vestnik. M.N.'s professional instinct did not let him down. Katkova: the essays were an extraordinary success. In them, the diverse Russian province for the first time in Russian literature appeared as a broad artistic panorama. Essays within the cycle are grouped mainly according to the thematic principle (“Past Times”, “Pilgrims, Wanderers and Travelers”, “Holidays”, “Casus Circumstances”, etc.) and only in the section “Dramatic Scenes and Monologues” - according to the genre principle.

Krutogorsk - collective image pre-reform province. The name of the city, prompted by the architectural landscape of Vyatka, located on the steep bank of the river, laid the foundation for the original satirical "toponymy" of Saltykov-Shchedrin. Later in the art world the writer will appear Glupov, Tashkent, Poshekhonye, ​​Bryukhov, Navozny, etc.

Gathered around the provincial city art space openly, the action is often transferred to the outback: the county center, the landowner's estate, the peasant's hut, and inside the insert narratives - to the adjacent and distant Russian lands. The image of the road, which also goes back to the famous Gogol motif, appears in the Introduction and symbolically completes the entire cycle (Chapter “The Road /Instead of an Epilogue/”), helps the author and the reader to easily move from one plot-thematic picture to another. Accordingly, the transition from one narrative style to another, the change of styles and genre forms within the cycle are simplified and become largely conditional. The satirical pathos remains unchanged, and its range is already unusually wide here: from light irony to venomous sarcasm.

In the "Provincial Essays" characteristic Russian types are recreated. In social terms, they represent mainly the people (peasants and people of various ranks), officials and landowners-nobles. In moral and psychological terms, the author's typology also reflected the realities of Russia recent years serfdom.

WITH special attention the writer portrays Russian peasants who have not lost the kindness of their souls in the landlord bondage. Obvious respect, sympathy, and sometimes reverence for the poor, but humble and morally pure working people, which undoubtedly affected the fascination with Slavophilism.

By creating noble images, Saltykov in his “Provincial Essays” focuses not so much on the motives for the exploitation of the peasantry by the nobles, but on the problem of the moral savagery of the upper class, the depravity of serf morality (“Unpleasant visit”, “Applicants”, “Pleasant family”, “Madam Muzovkina”).

Saltykov-Shchedrin is subjected to close scrutiny of “superfluous people”, who in the 1950s turned into idle townsfolk, provincial poseurs and demagogues (section “Talented natures”).

As a result, the Russian province of the 1940s and 1950s appears in the book not so much as a historical-geographical concept, but as an existential-moral, socio-psychological one. The narrator, an educated nobleman of democratic convictions, perceives the provincial noble-bureaucratic environment as "the world of stench and marsh fumes, the world of gossip and fat pie", the world of half-sleep, half-awake, "darkness and fog".

Mikhail Evgrafovich Saltykov-Shchedrin

Provincial essays

INTRODUCTION

In one of the distant corners of Russia there is a city that somehow speaks to my heart in a special way. Not that it is distinguished by magnificent buildings, there are no semiramid gardens in it, you will not meet even a single three-story house in a long row of streets, and the streets are all unpaved; but there is something peaceful, patriarchal in his whole physiognomy, something that calms the soul in the silence that reigns on his pillars. Entering this city, you seem to feel that your career here is over, that you can no longer demand anything from life, that you can only live in the past and digest your memories.

And in fact, there is not even a road further from this city, as if the end of the world is here. Wherever you look around - forest, meadows and steppe; steppe, forest and meadows; somewhere a country road winds in a whimsical twist, and a cart briskly rides along it, harnessed by a small frisky horse, and again everything will calm down, everything will drown in the general monotony ...

Krutogorsk is located very picturesquely; when you drive up to it on a summer evening, from the side of the river, and your eyes from afar will open a city garden abandoned on a steep bank, government places and this lovely group churches that dominate the entire neighborhood - you will not take your eyes off this picture. It's getting dark. Fires are lit both in public places and in the prison, standing on a cliff, and in those shacks that are crowded, below, near the water itself; the whole coast seems to be dotted with lights. And God knows why, whether as a result of mental fatigue or simply from road fatigue, the prison and public places seem to you shelters of peace and love, the shacks are inhabited by Philemons and Baucids, and you feel such clarity in your soul, such meekness and gentleness ... But then they fly before you the sounds of bells calling for the vigil; you are still far from the city, and the sounds touch your hearing indifferently, in the form of a general rumble, as if the whole air is full of wonderful music, as if everything around you lives and breathes; and if you have ever been a child, if you have had a childhood, it will stand before you in marvelous detail; and suddenly all its freshness, all its impressionability, all its beliefs, all that sweet blindness, which experience subsequently dispelled and which so long and so completely consoled your existence, will rise in your heart.

But darkness more and more takes possession of the horizon; the high spiers of churches sink into the air and seem to be some kind of fantastic shadows; the lights along the shore are getting brighter and brighter; your voice is louder and clearer in the air. Before you is a river ... But its surface is clear and calm, even its pure mirror, reflecting the pale blue sky with its millions of stars; the damp air of the night caresses you softly and softly, and nothing, no sound disturbs the seemingly numb surroundings. The ferry does not seem to move, and only the impatient thud of a horse's hoof on the platform and the splash of a pole taken out of the water bring you back to the consciousness of something real, not fantastic.

But here is the coast. A commotion begins; moorings are taken out; your carriage moves a little; you hear the dull tinkling of a tied bell; fasten harness; at last everything is ready; a hat appears in your tarantass and you hear: “Won’t your grace come, father?” - "Touch!" - is heard from behind, and here you are briskly climbing a steep mountain, along a postal road leading past a public garden. And in the city, meanwhile, fires are already burning in all the windows; scattered groups of walkers still roam the streets; you feel at home and, stopping the driver, get out of the carriage and go wandering yourself.

God! how fun you are, how good and gratifying on these wooden sidewalks! Everyone knows you, they love you, they smile at you! There flashed through the windows four figures at a quadrangular table, indulging in business leisure at the card table; here from another window a column of smoke pours, revealing a cheerful company of clerks, and perhaps even dignitaries, gathered in the house; then you heard laughter from a neighboring house, ringing laughter, from which your young heart suddenly fell in your chest, and right next to it, a wit is pronounced, a very good wit, which you have heard many times, but which, this evening, seems especially attractive to you, and you do not get angry, but somehow smile at her good-naturedly and kindly. But here are the walkers - more and more female, around which, as elsewhere, like mosquitoes over a swamp, young people swarm. This youth sometimes seemed unbearable to you: in their striving for female gender you saw something not quite neat; her jokes and tenderness resounded in your ears rudely and materially; but tonight you are kind. If you met the ardent Trezor wagging his tail languidly on the run after the flirtatious Dianka, you would find a means here to find something naive, bucolic. Here she is, the Krutogorsk star, the persecutor of the famous family of the princes Chebylkin - the only princely family in the entire Krutogorsk province - our Vera Gotlibovna, German by birth, but Russian in mind and heart! She walks, and her voice rushes from afar, loudly commanding over a whole platoon of young admirers; she walks, and the gray-haired head of Prince Chebylkin, which had just leaned out of the window, hides, the lips of the princess, eating evening tea, are burned, and a porcelain doll falls out of the hands of a twenty-year-old princess, playing in the dissolved window. Here you are, magnificent Katerina Osipovna, also a Krutogorsk star, you, whose luxurious forms remind of the best times of mankind, you, whom I dare not compare with anyone except the Greek Bobelina. Admirers also swarm around you and a fat conversation winds, for which your charms serve as an inexhaustible subject. And all this smiles at you so affably, you shake hands with everyone, you enter into conversation with everyone. Vera Gotlibovna tells you some new trick of Prince Chebylkin; Porfiry Petrovich relates a wonderful incident from yesterday's preference.

But now his excellency himself, Prince Chebylkin, deigns to return from the vigil, quadruplets in a carriage. His Excellency graciously bows to all sides; a quadruple of well-fed horses drags the carriage with a measured and languid step: the dumb ones themselves feel the importance of the feat entrusted to them and behave like good-mannered horses.

Finally, it got completely dark; walkers disappeared from the streets; the windows in the houses are closed; somewhere you can hear the slamming of shutters, accompanied by the tinkling of iron bolts being pushed in, and the dull sounds of a flute, extracted by a melancholic clerk, reach you.

All is quiet, all is dead; dogs on stage...

It would seem that this is not life! Meanwhile, all the officials of the Krutogorsk, and especially their spouses, attack this city with bitterness. Who called them there, who glued them to a land so hateful to them? Complaints about Krutogorsk constitute an eternal canvas for conversation; they are usually followed by aspirations to Petersburg.

– Charming Petersburg! the ladies exclaim.

- Dear Petersburg! the girls sigh.

“Yes, Petersburg…” the men respond thoughtfully.

In the mouths of all, Petersburg is presented as something like a bridegroom coming at midnight (See Notes 1 at the end of the book); but neither one nor the other, nor the third is sincere; this is so, facon de parler, because our mouth is not covered. Since then, however, since Princess Chebylkina twice went to the capital with her daughter, enthusiasm has cooled a little: it turns out, “qu "on n" y est jamais chez soi”, that “we have lost the habit of this noise”, that “le prince Kurylkin , jeune homme tout-a-fait charmant, - mais que ca reste entre nous - m "a fait tellement la cour, which is simply ashamed! - but still, what a comparison is our dear, our kind, our quiet Krutogorsk!"

- Dushka Krutogorsk! - squeaks the princess.

- Yes, Krutogorsk ... - the prince responds, smiling carnivorously.

Passion for French phrases is the common malady of the Highmountain ladies and maidens. The girls will gather, and their first condition is: “Well, mesdames, from today we will not speak a word in Russian.” But it turns out that on foreign languages they know only two phrases: permettez-moi de sortir And allez vous en! Obviously, all concepts, no matter how limited, cannot be expressed in these two phrases, and the poor girls are again condemned to resort to this oak Russian language, in which you cannot express any subtle feeling.

However, the class of officials - weak side Krutogorsk. I do not like his living rooms, in which, in fact, everything looks somehow awkward. But it is comforting and fun for me to roam the streets of the city, especially on the market day, when they are seething with people, when all the squares are littered with various rubbish: chests, beetroot, buckets, and so on. I love this general conversation of the crowd, it caresses my ears more than the best Italian aria, despite the fact that it often contains the strangest, most false notes. Look at these tanned faces: they breathe intelligence and intelligence, and at the same time some kind of genuine innocence, which, unfortunately, is disappearing more and more. The capital of this simplicity is Krutogorsk. You see, you feel that here a person is satisfied and happy, that he is ingenuous and open precisely because there is no reason for him to pretend and dissemble. He knows that th O whatever befalls him, whether grief or joy, all this is his, his own, and does not grumble. Sometimes only he will sigh and say: “Lord! if there were no fleas and camps, what kind of paradise would it be, and not life! - he will sigh and humble himself before the hand of Providence, who made both Kieferon, the sweet-voiced bird, and various reptiles.

There are no merchants in Krutogorsk. If you like, the so-called merchants live in it, but they have become so groggy that, apart from a wearable dress and unpaid debts, they have nothing. Their unfounded mind and addiction to jackets and strong drinks ruined them. At first they tried, when they still had some money, to trade with their capital, but no, it’s not argued! The merchant will settle scores by the end of the year - all loss and loss, but it seems that he didn’t work, he didn’t drink all night on the pier with dashing people, but he didn’t lose the last penny in the cartege, all in the hope of increasing the parental legacy! - Things are not going my way! They also tried to make purchases of various goods for a commission, and here they turned out to be faults: if a merchant buys bristles and sprinkles sand into it for commercial circulation, otherwise he puts such a loaf of bread so that there is more crunch - they refused here too. God! You can't do business at all.

But here comes Sunday; the whole city from early morning in agitation, as if languishing with an illness. There is noise and talk in the squares, terrible driving through the streets. Officials, who are not restrained on this day by any official place, do their best to congratulate His Excellency on the holiday. It happens that His Excellency does not quite favorably look at these worships, finding that they are not relevant at all, but the spirit of the times cannot be changed: “Have mercy, Your Excellency, this is not a burden to us, but a sweetness!”

“The weather is fine today,” says Porfiry Petrovich, addressing her Excellency.

Her Excellency listens with visible concern.

“Only it’s a little hot, sir,” the county attorney responded, rising slightly in his chair, “I, Your Excellency, am sweating ...

How is your wife's health? asks Her Excellency, turning to the engineering officer, with an obvious desire to hush up the conversation, which is becoming too intimate.

“She, Your Excellency, is always in this position at this time ...

Her Excellency is decisively lost. General embarrassment.

“And with us, Your Excellency,” says Porfiry Petrovich, “a circumstance happened last week. We received a paper from the Rozhnov Chamber, sir. We read, read this paper - we do not understand anything, but the paper, we see, is necessary. That's just Ivan Kuzmich says: "Let's call, gentlemen, the archivist - maybe he will understand." And exactly, sir, we call on the archivist, he read the paper. "Understand?" we ask. “I don’t understand, but I can answer.” Would you believe, Your Excellency, he actually wrote paper as thick as a finger, only more incomprehensible than the first. However, we signed and sent. General laughter.

- Curious, - says his excellency, - will the Rozhnov Chamber be satisfied?

"Why not be satisfied, Your Excellency?" after all, they need an answer more to clear the case: they’ll take our entire paper somewhere and write it down, sir, otherwise they’ll write it down again; that's how it goes...

But I assume that you are an employee and do not live in Krutogorsk for a long time. You are sent around the province to revise, catch and generally do useful work.

Road! How much attractive is contained in this word for me! Especially in the warm summer time, if, moreover, the upcoming journeys are not tiring for you, if you can slowly settle down at the station to wait out the midday heat, or in the evening to wander around the neighborhood, the road is an inexhaustible pleasure. You are riding lying down in your late tarantass; little philistine horses run briskly and cheerfully, fifteen versts an hour, and sometimes more; the coachman, a good-natured young fellow, constantly turns to you, knowing that you are paying for the runs, and perhaps even give you vodka. Boundless fields spread before your eyes, bordered by a forest that seems to have no end. Occasionally one comes across along the road repairs from two or three yards, or a lonely rural massacre, and again fields, again forest, land, something, land, something! what an expanse here for the farmer! It seems that he would have lived and died here, lazy and careless, in this deep silence!

However, here is the station; you are a little tired, but it is that pleasant weariness which gives even more value and sweetness to the coming rest. The impression of the sound of a bell still remains in your ears, the impression of the noise made by the wheels of your carriage. You get out of your tarantass and stagger a little. But after a quarter of an hour you are again cheerful and cheerful, you go wandering around the village, and before you unfolds that peaceful rural idyll, of which the prototype has been so completely and completely preserved in your soul. A village herd descends from the mountain; it is already close to the village, and the picture instantly comes to life; an unusual vanity appears throughout the street; women run out of huts with rods in their hands, chasing skinny, undersized cows; a girl of about ten, also with a twig, runs in a hurry, driving a calf and not finding any way to follow its races; a wide variety of sounds are heard in the air, from lowing to the shrill voice of Aunt Arina, loudly swearing at the whole village. Finally, the herd is driven out, the village is empty; only here and there old people are still sitting on the rubble, and even they yawn and gradually, one by one, disappear through the gates. You yourself go to the upper room and sit down at the samovar. But - a miracle! – civilization is chasing you here too! You hear voices behind the wall.

- Whom? - answers the other.

- Me?

- Well, yes, you.

- What's your name?

- Oh, to you ...

There is applause.

“Akim, Akim Sergeev,” the voice hurriedly replies. Your curiosity is interested; you send to find out what is going on in your neighbors, and you will find out that even before you came here the police officer to carry out the investigation, and just like that day and day and toil.

You suddenly become sad, and you hastily order the horses to be laid down.

And again the road is in front of you, again the fresh wind caresses your face, again that transparent twilight embraces you, which in the north replaces summer nights.

And the full moon meekly and softly illuminates the whole neighborhood, over which a light night fog curls like steam ...

Yes, I love you, distant, untouched land! I love your spaciousness and the innocence of your inhabitants! And if my pen often touches those strings of your body that emit an unpleasant and false sound, then this is not from a lack of ardent sympathy for you, but because, in fact, these sounds resound sadly and painfully in my soul. There are many ways to serve common cause; but I dare to think that the discovery of evil, falsity and vice is also not useless, especially since it presupposes a complete sympathy for goodness and truth.

PAST TIMES

THE FIRST STORY OF THE PODIACH

Fresh legend, but hard to believe ...

“... No, today is not what it was in the old days; in the old days, the people were somehow simpler, more loving. I served, now, in the Zemstvo court as an assessor, I received three hundred rubles in pieces of paper, I was oppressed by my family, and not worse than people lived. Previously, they knew that an official also needed to drink and eat, well, and they gave a place so that there was something to feed on ... But why? because there was simplicity in everything, there was condescension from the authorities—that's what!

I have had many cases in my life, I will report to you, truly curious cases. Our province is distant, there is no such nobility, well, and we lived here like in Christ's pocket; you used to go once a year to the provincial town, bow to what God sent to the benefactors, and you don’t want to know anything else. This did not happen to end up in court, or there were some revisions, as they are now, everything went like clockwork. But you, young people, come on, tea, think that now it’s better, the people, they say, endure less, there is more justice, officials have begun to know God. And I will report to you that all this is in vain, sir; the official is still the same, only thinner, more airy… As soon as I listen to these current ones, they begin to talk about economy and the common good, and anger rises under my heart.

We took, however, what we took - who is not sinful to God, the king is not to blame? But even then, is it better not to take money, and not to do business? as you take it, it is somehow more convenient, more encouraging to work. And now, I’ll see, they’re all talking, and more and more about this disinterestedness, but you can’t see the deeds, and the peasant doesn’t hear that he is getting better, but groans and groans more than ever.

We lived in those days, officials, all among ourselves very amicably. It’s not that envy or some kind of blackness, but everyone gives advice and help to each other. If you lose, it happened, in cards all night long, you will blow everything clean - what to do? well, you go to the police station. “Father, Demyan Ivanovich, so and so, help!” Demyan Ivanovich will listen, he will laugh bossily: “You are supposedly sons of bitches, clerks, and you don’t know how to make money, everything is in a tavern and playing cards!” And then he will say : "Well, there's nothing to do, go to the Sharkovskaya volost to collect." Here you go; you won’t collect taxes, but the kids will have milk.

And how easy it was to do! not that torture or some kind of extortion, but you will come that way, you will gather a gathering.

- Well, they say, guys, help me out! the tsar-father needs money, let's pay.

And you yourself go to your hut and look out of the window: the children are standing and scratching their heads. And then confusion will set in, all of a sudden everyone will start talking and waving their hands, but after all, they’ve been cooling off like that for about an hour. And you sit to yourself, naturally, in the hut and chuckle, and in an hour you will send the sotsky to them: “He will, they say, talk to you - the master is angry.” Well, here they will have more turmoil than before; they will start casting lots - a Russian peasant cannot do without a lot. This means that things are going well, they decided to go to the assessor, whether God's mercy would not wait until earnings.

- Eh-eh, guys, but what about the father-king, then! because he needs money; Would you like to take pity on us, your bosses!

And all this with an affectionate word, not just in the teeth and by the hair: “I, they say, do not take bribes, so you know from me what kind of district I am!” - no, that way, with kindness and pity, so that through him, sir, broke through!

- Yes, is it possible, father, at least to wait until the cover?

Well, of course, in the legs.

- Wait, why not wait, it's all in our hands, but why am I in front of the authorities in response to get? - judge for yourself.

The guys will go to the gathering again, talk, talk, and go home, and in two hours, you see, the sotsky will bring you a hryvnia from the soul for waiting, and as in the volost there are four thousand souls, so four hundred rubles will come out, and where there are more ... Well, you go home more cheerfully.

And then here we have another trick that was - this is a general search. We saved these things for the summer, for the most difficult time. You go out for an investigation and start to shoot down all the roundabout people: it’s not enough for one volost, so you grab another - drag them all. Sotsky, we had a living, grated people - as is, of all trades. Three hundred people will drive away, well, and they lie in the sun. They lie for a day, they lie for another; from another and the bread that he took from the house is running out, and you are sitting in your hut, as if you were really studying. This is how they see that time is running out - the field work does not wait - well, they will start sending the sotsky: “Can’t you, they say, show mercy, ask what should be?” pleasure is not to be done, and if it hurts a lot to balk, well, it will still wait a day or two. The main thing here is to have character, not to be bored with idleness, not to abhor the hut and sour milk. They will see that the person is something efficient, and they will succumb, and how else: before for a hryvnia, maybe he asked, but here you are naughty! three nickels, you couldn't even think of cheaper. When this is over, and ask them all in a crowd:

- What, they say, such and such Trifon Sidorov? scammer?

- A swindler, father, what to say - a swindler.

“But he stole a horse from Mokey?” him guys?

- He, father, he must.

– Are there any of you literate?

- No, father, what a letter!

This is what the peasants say is more cheerful: they know that, which means that they will have a vacation now.

- Well, go with God, but go ahead be smarter.

And you'll be released in half an hour. Of course, it’s not much work, just for a few minutes, but you judge how much you can endure here: you sit idly for two or three days, chewing sour bread ... another person would curse his whole life - well, he won’t get anything in such a manner.

In all this business, our teacher and breeder was our district doctor. This man was truly, I will tell you, extraordinary and most witty in all things! Minister to him to be a real place in the mind; there was one sin: he had not only an addiction to a drink, but also some kind of frenzy. He would see, it happened, a decanter of vodka, and the whole would tremble. Of course, we all adhered to this, but still in moderation: you sit to yourself and be complacent, and drink a lot, a lot; well, and he, I will tell you, did not know the measures, he even got drunk to the disgrace of his face.

- I was still a child, - he says, it happened, - so my mother gave me vodka from a spoon so that I wouldn’t cry, and at the age of seven my parent began to let go of a glass a day.

So, such and such a passer-by instructed us in everything.

“My word, brothers,” he says, will be such that no deed, even if it is holier than the most holy Easter, should not be done for nothing: even a dime, but do not spoil your hands.

And he already threw out his knees - a consolation to remember! Whether someone drowned in the river, whether he fell from the bell tower and hurt himself - all this is his hand. Yes, and the times were different then: now it is not ordered to start such cases and cases, but in those days every dead body is a dead body. And how would you think: well, a man drowned, hurt himself; it seems, what is self-interest here, what is there to use? And Ivan Petrovich knew what. He will come to the village, and he will start crying for the drowned man; naturally understood here, and the paramedic too, a dog that is worse than Ivan Petrovich himself.

“Come on, Grishukha, hold the dead man by the nose, so that I can cut more adroitly here.”

And Grishukha (of the attesting witnesses) is afraid of the dead man's death, five fathoms and dares not approach him.

- Osloboni, father Ivan Petrovich, I can’t die, my gut is dying!

Well, they are released, of course, for a feasible offering. And then the other forces the insides to hold; Judge for yourselves, who is glad to have slimy carrion in his hand, well, and they pay off lightly - ah, you see, Ivan Petrovich has piled up a dozen rubles, and the whole thing is trifling.

However, he also had the fear of God: he would not cover a murderer or a murderer.

“You, brothers, don’t take this sin to your soul,” he used to say, “for such deeds you can get on trial. And you open a scammer, and don’t forget yourself.

- But how, they say, is it so, Ivan Petrovich? we ask.

- That's how. He is the only killer, but he has almost a whole county of acquaintances and matchmakers; you go and sort through all these acquaintances, and even oil the criminal so that he more people stipulated: was, they say, at such and such an hour with such and such a peasant? did he not go from him to such and such? and choose the hours that you need ... well, attract, and attract. If you are smart and know the business, you can confuse so many of God's people here; and then start unraveling. Of course, all these slanders are nonsense and will end in nothing, but you did your job: you cleared the peasant of slander, and you yourself received heartfelt gratitude, and caught the criminal.

And then we also had such a manner: you would start, it used to be, a consequence, at least for horse-stealing; peel off a swindler, and let him go free. You look, a month later you got caught again - you slurp again and release it again. Until then, sir, you act like that until there is no frog down left on the darling, as they say. Well, then you're naughty, my dear, go to prison and really. It is, you will say, bad to cover up a criminal, but I will report to you that not to cover up, but roughly means to take advantage of the circumstances of the case. After all, we know that he will not escape our hands, so why not amuse him?

There lived a merchant, a millionaire, in our district, he had a kumak factory, he did big business. Well, whatever you want, we don’t profit from it, and that’s all! so keeps his ear open, that on-go. Unless sometimes he treats us with tea and drinks a cold bottle with us - that's all self-interest. We thought, thought, how could we incite this scoundrel merchant to work - it doesn’t work, and that’s all, it even took evil. And the merchant sees this, does not laugh, but is indifferent, as if he does not notice.

What would you think? One day Ivan Petrovich and I were going to the investigation: a dead body was found not far from the factory. We are driving past the factory and talking among ourselves that here is a scoundrel, they say, does not climb into any thing. I look, however, my Ivan Petrovich thought, and as I had great faith in him, I think so: he will invent something, he will invent the right. Well, I figured it out. The next day, we sit in the morning and get drunk.

“And what,” he says, “will you give half if the merchant pays you two thousand?”

- What are you, Ivan Petrovich, are you in your mind? two thousand!

- But you will see; sit down and write:

Merchant Platon Stepanov Troyekurov of the Svinogorsk First Guild. Doing. According to the testimony of such and such villagers (go ahead), the above-named dead body, on suspicion of a violent murder, with the same signs of inhuman beatings, and moreover, by the hand of a certain villain, on the previous night, disappeared into your factory pond. And therefore, deign to allow it to be searched.

- Yes, have mercy, Ivan Petrovich, because the body is in a hut on the road!

- Do what they say.

Yes, he just whistled his favorite “I stood by the path”, but as he was sensitive and could not hear this song without tears, he shed a little. Later I found out that he really ordered the Sotskys to hide the body somewhere in the ravine for a while.

The beard read our knowledge, and was stunned. In the meantime, we follow into the yard. Meets us, all pale.

“Would you like to have some tea?”

- What, brother, is tea here! - says Ivan Petrovich, - there is nothing to tea here, and you led the pond to drain.

“Have mercy, dear fathers, why do you want to ruin!

- How to destroy! You see, they came to do the investigation, there is a decree.

Word by word, the merchant sees that the jokes here are bad, even though it’s really a waste of time, he paid three thousand, well, and that’s it. After that, we drove around the pond a little, poked with hooks in the water, and, of course, no bodies were found. Only, I'll tell you, for a treat, when we were all drunk, and tell Ivan Petrovich to the merchant how it all happened; Would you believe it, the beard got so angry that it even froze all over!

He was a wonderful man, needless to say. Whatever he undertakes, everything turns out so well for him that it is a pleasure to watch. It seems that smallpox vaccination is an empty thing, but he managed to find himself here. He used to come to the massacre and decompose all these devices: a lathe, various saws, files, drills, anvils, knives so terrible that they could even cut a bull with them; how the next day the women and the guys will gather - and this whole factory went into action: knives are sharpened, the machine rattles, the guys roar, the women groan, even get the saints out. And he walks about importantly to himself, smokes a pipe, takes a glass to a glass and shouts at the paramedics: “sharpen, they say, sharper.” Stupid women look and howl even more.

- Look, aunt, after all, a very roben will be exhausted with a knife. And he himself, you see, what a drunk!

They will sing, they will sing, and they will start whispering, and in half an hour, you look, and everyone will come up with one decision: if someone gives a ruble - go home, but if he doesn’t give, then the whole hand is completely gone.

And it’s not that these things didn’t reach the authorities: they did, sir, and they tried to catch him, but they attacked the wrong person - he soaked such things under the noses of the authorities themselves that you just die with laughter. We had this recruiting set announced; well, and Ivan Petrovich, of course, took a lively part in this. Such cases, I will tell you, were the most profitable for him, and he laughingly called the set with his hayfield. At that time, the head of the province was such a beast, what a !!! (and in the old days such scareds broke through). So he took it into his head to catch Ivan Petrovich, and he taught the tradeswoman: “Go, they say, you to the doctor, explain that like this and this, I’m on the recruiting line, not by real justice, the family is large: will there be fatherly mercy?” And they supplied the adjective, and, you know, all of them with half-imperials, so that the doctor’s insides would flare up, and behind the fence and witnesses, and everything was properly arranged: Ivan Petrovich died, and that’s all. He only learned about this misfortune ahead of time, from a certain merciful one, and sits to himself as if nothing had happened. Well, indeed, this bourgeois comes, sets out everything in detail and puts the adjective on the table. As he told all this, how furious my Ivan Petrovich would be, and at him:

- Ka-a-k! you bribe me! Yes, did I take a false oath! soul, or something, I am my enemy, I don’t want the kingdom of heaven!

Yes, as soon as he hits the table with his fist - the little golden ones rolled on the floor, and he shouts even more loudly:

“Get out of my sight, anathema!” drive him like this, into his neck, with your fists in the hump!

The tradeswoman was kicked out, but the next day, in spite of herself, she was shaved in the presence. And the imperials lifted them from the floor! What a laugh we had!

He married in the most, that is, in the most curious way. He promised his father-in-law five thousand, but when the matter ended, he didn’t give it, and even the Sabbath. And it’s not that he didn’t have money, but he was a squaller, it’s a pity to part with them. Ivan Petrovich is waiting for a month, waiting for another; Every day he beats his wife, and calls his father-in-law obscenely - he does not take it. And you have to get money. So we hear somehow: Ivan Petrovich is ill, lying in a delirium tremens, it rushes at everyone, if a knife falls under the arm, it seems that he will slaughter him completely. And so, sir, he skillfully faked all this comedy, that pity took us all. He beat his wife more than ever, jumped out of the window, sir, and ran around the streets in a depraved state. So, after playing tricks for a week, he goes out one night, and goes straight to his father-in-law's house, and he has a pistol in his hands.

- Well, he says, give me money now, otherwise, God knows, I'll kill it.

The old man got scared.

- You, he says, think that I really am crazy, but no, it was all a thing. Give, I say, money, or say goodbye to life; they will send me to repentance, he says, because I am out of my mind - there are witnesses that I am out of my mind - and you will lie in the grave.

Well, of course, there’s nothing to talk about here: even though his father-in-law scolded him, maybe he touched his honor, but he gave the money anyway. The next day Ivan Petrovich, as if nothing had happened. And he hid from us for a long time, and after a punch, he told the whole story as it was.

And not only himself, but also us sinners, Ivan Petrovich repeatedly rescued us from trouble. Once a person came to our district, not so much for an audit, but just to have a look.

However, there were requests and various slanders, as usual, and more and more per assessor. The person was kind, but angry. “Submit, he says, this assessor to me.”

And he, fortunately, was at that time in the district, at the investigation, just with Ivan Petrovich. So we let them know that tomorrow they will have their Excellency, so they would have it in the subject, because like this and so, such and such, they say, Their Excellency keeps speeches. Our assessor was afraid, so embarrassed that his stomach began to weaken.

- And what, - says Ivan Petrovich, - what will you give? bail out of trouble.

- Yes, I will not spare my life, Ivan Petrovich, be a benefactor.

- What do I need, brother, in your life, you speak your mind. Help out so help out, otherwise get out yourself as you know.

They bargained, and the next day their excellency arrived early. Well, we, that is, the entire Zemstvo court, are naturally here, all in uniforms; there is not one assessor who is needed.

“Where is Assessor Tomilkin?” their Excellency asks.

“I have the honor to appear,” Ivan Petrovich answers. We got so cold.

And their Excellency does not even notice that the uniform is not at all the same (he did not even change his uniform, he knew his nature so): they must have had poor eyesight.

“There are many complaints against you,” their Excellencies say, “and such that it’s not enough to hang you for all these deeds.

“Innocently, God knows, innocently my enemies slandered me before your excellency; I dare to humbly ask you to listen to me and hope to fully justify myself, but in front of witnesses I feel timid.

Their Excellency was respected; they sent it to another room; whole hour he explained there: what and how - no one knows, only their excellency left the room very affectionately, they even invited Ivan Petrovich to serve in St. Petersburg, but he refused because he was modest and did not have a metropolitan education.

But he didn’t know those cases perfectly, about which he reported to his excellency, but he relied on his wit, and not in vain.

One was a sin on his soul, a great sin - he ruined a foreigner. That's how it was. Our county, you know, gentlemen, is a forest, and more and more foreigners live in it. The people are simple-hearted and prosperous. Only they behave very untidy, and their illnesses are foreign divorced, so that they pass from generation to generation. They will kill this hare, skin it off, yes, without gutting, and throw it into the cauldron to cook, but the cauldron is not cleaned, as it was made; one word, the stench is unbearable, but they are nothing, they eat all this mess with appetite. On the one hand, such a people is not worth paying attention to: they are both stupid, and uneducated, and unclean - so, some kind of idol. Here one foreigner went to shoot a squirrel, and in some way you could accidentally shoot him in the shoulder. Fine. Of course, a consequence; well, by chance, so by chance, and the district court decided the case in such a way that, they say, this circumstance should be betrayed to the will of God, and the peasant should be given for treatment county doctor. Ivan Petrovich received a decree from the court - it's boring to go, the distance is terrible! - however, he remembered that the peasant was prosperous, he waited for about three weeks, but how it happened to be on the other side of the service, and at the same time stopped by to see him. And meanwhile, his shoulder had completely healed. Arrived, now, read the decree.

“Undress,” he says.

- Yes, I have a tank A, pl e Why is he completely healthy, - says the peasant, - already the fifth week is healthy.

– Do you see this? you see, you are such an idolater, the decree of his imperial majesty? Do you see that you are ordered to be treated?

There is nothing to do, the man undressed, and he picked him and, well, in a living place. The fool roars with a good obscenity, but he only laughs and shows the paper. Then he had just finished when he gave him three gold pieces.

- Well, he says, God bless you.

Ivan Petrovich needed money again, he again treated a foreigner, and in this manner he tormented him for more than a year, until he sucked all the money. The little man has emaciated, does not eat, does not drink - he is delirious about being a doctor. However, as he noticed that here bribes are smooth, he stopped traveling. The man had a rest and it became more fun to watch. One day, it happened to some official, a complete stranger, to pass by this village, and he asked the villagers how, they say, such and such lives (many officials, by hospitality, knew him). So they tell the peasant that some official asked you. Well, sir? pretend to him that this is again a doctor who wants to treat him; went home, did not say anything to anyone, and during the night he strangled himself.

Well, this, I will tell you, is like a sin to destroy a living soul in this way. And for everything else, he was a miraculous person, and hospitable - after he died, there was nothing to bury: everything that he had gained, he skipped everything! The wife is still walking around the world, and the daughters - God knows them! - it seems that they go to the fairs: they are very beautiful from themselves.

So that's what people used to be in our time, gentlemen; they are not like rude bribe-takers or highway robbers; no, all the people were amateurs. It used to be that we didn’t even need money, if they climbed into their own pockets; no, you think and make a project, and then use it.

And now what! now, perhaps, they say, and do not take from the farmer. And I will report to you that this is only freethinking. This is all the only thing to find money on the road, but not to use it ... Lord!

- How did you get caught, Prokofy Nikolaevich, if in your time everything went so happily?

- Oh, don't talk! got caught in such a case, what is ashamed to say - on dead body. This music we played was played according to the notes, and the crafty one beguiled me on it. It was winter; the dead body had to be thawed; so we took him to a large village, well, and began, as usual, to take home and collect the backward. They drove and drove until there was only one hut left: a soldier-widow lived there; she had nothing to pay - well, there we left the body. The next day we gathered witnesses, well, and here, of course, we wanted to self-serve: so that they would not go home, we took away their hats, and locked them in the hut. Only not quite carefully this case was built, painfully many noticed it. And at that time we had a governor - was there such a dog, and now I still remember him, so that he was empty. Now she has been removed from her position, and she has gone to write. They didn’t really catch me, but they dishonored everything and brought me to court. And do you believe me, because I know that I make them free, because there is no direct evidence, so no, the villains have exhausted everything. For ten years everything is dragged: either the certificates are taken away, or the investigation is supplemented. And here I sit without bread and wait for the weather by the sea.

THE SECOND STORY OF THE PODIACH

“But we had a mayor - this was a different kind of man, and truly a pawed goose can be called. He was nicknamed Feyer, he was from the Germans; of himself, not so much prominent, but more sinewy, blond and stern. Every now and then, it happened, he would frown his eyebrows and move his mustache, but he would talk very little. This, I’ll tell you, is the last thing, if a person is blond and still harsh: don’t expect sorry for yourself from anything like that. Outside, he doesn’t seem to be angry, and inside, maybe he doesn’t have indignation at you, but you won’t find worse than this person in the whole world: he’s all as angry as he is. Whatever you've got in your head - you won't knock it out by any means, if you like, cut it into pieces. Why Ivan Petrovich, and even he was afraid of him. He spoke in a bass voice, as if he was awake and everything was so brief - one or two words, he would not let out more from his mouth. And he had a previous one for deeds and all this police mechanics: he was ready not to eat, not to drink for a whole day, until he had finished all the work. Our bosses all had great devotion to him, because, in fact, he did not go out of his will and did everything to the point: go, he says, into the mud - he goes into the mud, in the impossibility he will find an opportunity, he will twist a rope out of the sand, but with it but who follows and strangles.

For the sole reason that all his unnatural things got away with him, that he was a golden man. Write it from provinces- you definitely need fish for a name day, but such that there is a fish, a whale is not a whale, but something like that. Feyer rushes about like a madman, rushes about for a day and another - there is a fish, but everything is not as it should be: then she came out from the snout all into a birthday man, they will say: personality; either there is little milk, or it does not come out with a pen, it does not have real majesty. And in our province they like every thing in its own, that is, form. Feyer will think, and he will put all the fishermen into the Siberian. They almost cry.

- Yes, pardon, your honor, where can you get this fish?

- Where? And in the water?

- In the water, we know the thing that in the water; but where to look for it in the water?

- Are you a fisherman? Tell me, are you a fisherman?

- I'm a fisherman, just like a fisherman ...

- Do you know the boss?

- How not to know the authorities: we always know.

- Well, therefore ...

And the fish appeared, and exactly as it should be, in all articles.

Or, it used to be desirable for the province to distinguish itself before the authorities. They write to Feyer from the province that he was such a tramp, and such a tramp that it rushed into his nose. So Feyer will begin to scour the city, and sniffing everything, looking closely at the lights, if there is a gathering somewhere.

More and more women are coming.

- Where? Feyer asks.

- Yes, I, your honor, from there, from the village from that ...

- Where? Feuer repeats.

- And here, your honor, due to orphanhood: in the fourth year, she left her parents ...

- Search her!

However, there is insistence from the authorities, and he does not dare to report about some old woman, legless. So, in the end, he will attack a wanderer who has gone astray, so, a mediocre vagabond.

“You,” he says, “who are you?

- And I, your honor, from an early age, by my own desire, left the vanity of the world and call myself a wanderer; my father is the king of heaven, my mother is damp earth; I wandered in dense forests with wild beasts, in the deserts I lived with fierce lions; he was blind and received his sight; he was dumb and spoke. And I can’t explain anything more to your nobility, for the reason that I don’t have any information about myself.

- And what's that?

He will take a wanderer's bag, and there are all flower beds and different little notes, but in the little notes something really isn't lying! And “a dweller of Jerusalem on high”, and “a zealot of a paradise life”, and “adorned with virtues more than the stars of heaven”!

- What's this? Feyer asks.

- And this is so, sir, your honor; the other day I went to the market, so I found it in a rag in the snow, sir.

They dragged the servant of God to prison, and the next day a lengthy report went to the province that like this and that, “having vigilant care for the improvement of the city” - and went to write. And why not write! And "fiendishness", and "active relations with like-minded people", and "tares", and "harvest" - everything is there.

It happened that I also assisted him in these matters - truly, I was amazed. We will choose, you know, the time - twilight, we will take the witnesses, the sotsky people on the heels, and we will go with a search. And all scattered, as if each in his own business. As you approach, where the whole incident should be, you’ll make your way not so directly, but sideways and crawling, and your heart will seem to fall, and it will begin to dry in your mouth. The gates and shutters are all tightly locked. Feyer comes near the house, looks for a well and starts to look out, and we all stand, we are silent, we do not move. The dog will begin to grumble - he has a piece of bread in his hand, and again everything will calm down. As soon as everyone notices what he needs, well, he orders to knock on the gate, and for the time being he looks out for everything in the well.

- Who is here? they scream from within.

- Mayor.

A well-known case, confusion: they will begin to hide all their supplies, but he can see everything. Finally open. They are all pale; the younger women tremble more, and the old women howl so completely. And all the same, he will rummage around their corners, even inquisitive in the stoves, and then he will pull everything out.

From a young age, however, his life was not at all like that. His father was a rich man and nobleman, and they say he left eight hundred souls to our Fejer. However, he did not rush with them for a long time: after two years he let everything down. And it’s not that it’s for something worthwhile, but so - everything went to dust. He served somewhere in the hussars - well, he had a hunt for the Jews: either he would take a Jew and hunt him down with dogs, then he would put him up to his neck in a box with slops, and wave a saber over his head, otherwise he would put them in a troika in a britzka , and drives around until the whole three is driven. In such a way he lived everything, but as he was left without bread, so where did his mind come from. Is it such a beast that God forbid.

He was not married, but a girl lived with him, not a girl, but simply madam. Her name was Caroline, and, I will tell you, I did not dream of such a beauty. Not that she was full or red-cheeked, like our ladies, but shushing and all white, as if transparent. Her eyes were blue, but so soft and affectionate that it seemed that a fierce beast - and he could not stand it - was tamed. And truly, it would be a sin to say that he did not love her, but more than that, he kept everything about her alone in his thoughts. It is known that she could have held him back on occasion, but she was very meek; well, he also had caution, he did not interfere with all these squabbles. He used to come home all exhausted and go to her. And it will become like this, sir, affectionate and tender: “Carolinchen da Carolinchen,” and all this he kisses her hands and strokes her head. Or he will start singing German songs - both of them are sitting and crying. It turns out that every person has a point that knocks him out of his way.

Fejer was sent to us from another city for distinction, because our city is commercial and stands on a navigable river. In front of him was the mayor, an old man, and so weak and kind. The local citizens saddled him. Here Fejer came to the city, and calls all the breeders (and we have quite a few of them, up to fifty pieces in the city).

- You, they say, so and so, paid the old man ten rubles, but for me, he says, this is not enough: I, he says, didn’t give a damn about ten rubles, but I need three white ones from each owner.

So where are you, and they don’t want to listen.

- We saw a hundred such clickers, and not such persuaded; don't you want to eat this!

It is known that the people were all rowdy.

“Well,” he says, “so you don’t want three white ones?”

“Five rubles,” they shout, “not a penny more.”

“Okay,” he says.

A week later, look, that neither is to the first tannery with a search: “The skin, they say, is stolen from you.” Stolen not stolen, but where they came from and from whom he bought, the breeder could not explain himself.

“Well,” he says, “I didn’t give three white ones, let’s five hundred.”

He was already at the feet, could it be smaller, so where are you going, and he doesn’t want to listen.

He let him go home, but not alone, but with the cell. The breeder brought the money, but everyone thinks whether there will be mercy, whether he will agree to two hundred rubles. Feuer counted the money and put it in his pocket.

“Well,” he says, “bring the other three hundred.

The merchant began to bow again, but no, the man became stiff as if stiff, repeating the same thing. I tried another hundred and brought it: I put it in my pocket, and again:

“The other two hundred!”

And he didn’t let him out of Siberia until he paid everything in full.

The guys see that things are going badly: they threw stones at his windows, and they smeared the gates with tar at night, and they poisoned chain dogs - it doesn’t hurt anything! Repented. They came with a confession, brought three white ones, but they attacked the wrong one.

“No,” he says, “they didn’t give it, as he asked, so I don’t need anything, if that’s the case.

I didn’t take it: I realized, it’s clear that in terms of diversity it’s more coherent than en masse.

As I remember now, a merchant's son came to our city to visit his relatives. Well, he doesn’t care about all this, cigars, now, not cigars, horses are not horses, coats are not coats - cut your soul! The female will collect it, heat it in the room, and even rowdy. Feuer does not like this, because about what else, but about morality, the lion was! – however suffers sitting. The merchant sees that nothing, everything pleases him, and he began to set the tone. Rumors began to reach the mayor that he had touched his honor here and elsewhere. “I, they say, say, and I’ll buy his mistress, as I want; Hey, girls, would you like the mayor to represent different dances? We don't give a damn; send two hundred and make yourself happy!“

Fejer is silent, only moving his mustache like a cockroach, as if sniffing what he smells. Here comes the merchant somehow gostiny dvor into the shop, and in his teeth he has a cigarette. He went into the shop, and the mayor into another nearby: he was already following him a lot, well, and witnesses, just in case, were right there. The good fellow sorts through the goods, and throws everything, everything is not for him, bad and indecent, and that’s all; and the drawing is not the same, and the kindness is bad, and what kind of city is this, that, tea, and decent calico cannot be found.

Well, the merchant tells him this and that, and various reasons.

“You,” he says, “well done, don’t be rowdy, but throw a cigarette, not something good, the mayor will see.

“But I don’t give a damn,” he says, “on your mayor ...

In evto, at the very time, as to be for vespers, they struck.

“You should,” says the shopkeeper, “at least be afraid of God, but cross your forehead: listen, they call for vespers ...

And he, instead of an answer, sir, turned down such a thing that he couldn’t utter a drunken one.

He turns around, and Feyer is right there, as if he has grown out of the ground.

“Will you,” he says, “would you like to repeat what you just said?”

“I… I didn’t say anything, by God, I didn’t say…”

- Orthodox! heard?

“We heard, your highness.

The next day the mayor tells us the whole story.

“Congratulate me, he says, with my godson.” What would you think? He took two thousand, and after two hours he ordered to leave the city: “So that the spirit, they say, does not smell of yours here.”

And yes, there have been many other cases! Even the dead, I tell you, did not disdain! He once sniffed out that an old schismatic woman had died among us and that her sister was going to bury the deceased right there, under her house. What is he? no gugu, sir; gave this whole ceremony to be performed and the next day to her with a search. Well, of course, she paid off, but the thing is that every time he needs money, every time he comes to her with a search:

“Where, he says, did you do your sister?” He tortured the old woman completely, so that she, dying, called him and said: “Thank you, your honor, that you didn’t leave me, the old woman, didn’t deprive me of the crown of martyrdom.” And he only laughs and says: “It’s a pity, Domna Ivanovna, that you are dying, but now you need money! but where are you, old sister, something to do?

And then there was this case. A merchant died in our city, and the merchant, you know, is not one of the small ones. He once served in the city, whether as a head, or as a burgomaster, I don’t remember for sure now, only he didn’t serve a uniform according to the law. Well, relatives, if you please know for yourself, the most ugly people, they have not been tempted in the law: how can they know what is in the rule and what is not in the rule? So, my sir, they decided by a family council to bury the dead man in the whole parath. The lawyer sniffed out the whole thing first. This man was more than a hungry dog ​​and Feyer used more because, they say, you just bully me, and then I will do the job in my own way. He comes to the mayor and says that like this and this, “he wants, they say, to lay his beard in the ground in his uniform, but according to the law he does not have the slightest right to do so; So wouldn't it please you, Gustav Karlych, to take this circumstance into consideration?

- You can, - he says, - go ahead.

And in the meantime, the merchant’s wife had already been carried out to the church ... Well, they took here as much as they wanted, and they buried the merchant in the parat ...

And by the way, we, the officials, did not like this Fejer. The first thing, he made us doubtful in front of the authorities with diligence, and the second thing, it all somehow painfully just came out of him - so, he ache with impudence in the shoulder, and that's all. What a pleasure to serve!

However, in the city, these merchants and petty-bourgeois women toiled and toiled with him for ten years, and, believe me, they fell in love in the end. We, they say, are better than the mayor and do not need to wish! Habit-s.

UNPLEASANT VISIT

You guys listen

How they lived under Askold!

(From the opera "Askold's Grave")

Dark. Through the streets of the county town of Chernoborsk, despite the thick and sticky mud, carriages of the most strange types and properties are constantly scurrying about. The mayor already ten times, within three hours, managed to visit the entrance of the brightly lit stone house to inquire about the general's health. The answer was, however, every time the same: "His honor is deigned to rest still."

“So you, please, remind them how they will get up,” the mayor said to Fyodor, the valet of his nobility.

“That’s without fail, sir,” answered Fyodor, “they are always in obedience to us ...

So I'll be hopeful...

The governor, Dmitry Borisych Zhelvakov, is a kind, strong and round, but extremely timid old man. There were no special offenses behind him, except that he sat down at the table every day when he was twenty, on the occasion of an exorbitant number of daughters, nieces and other orphaned relatives. Dinner was always fun, and after dinner the whole family went on long drogs to ride around the city. That would be nothing; Dmitri Borisych knew very well that the authorities not only allowed, but even encouraged innocent pursuits, and therefore did not interfere with the minor members of his family indulging in them. But unfortunately the fire horses intervened. Whether these innocent creatures themselves received for a while the gift of speech, or their drooping ribs spoke more eloquently than their tongues about the toiling existence that their owners dragged out is unknown. It is only known that his nobility somehow found out about this circumstance. Observing the neatness in the city, his nobility considered it a duty to call on the fire yard as well.

- What's this? he asked, pointing at the air as the horses were led out.

Dmitri Borisych was at a loss and looked around in all directions, suddenly unable to comprehend the question.

- What's this? repeated his nobility.

- These are ... horses! - answered the embarrassed mayor.

- That's "horses"! - said his nobility and, making an Olympian gesture with his finger, got into the carriage.

I have always wondered how much eloquence often lies in one finger of a true administrator. The governors and police officers have experienced in practice the full depth of this mystery; As for me, until I became a writer, I thought of nothing with such pleasure as the possibility of becoming, by means of some kind of sorcery, the index finger of the governor, or at least his governor of the office.

His nobility was, in fact, a very kind gentleman. He was of a slight build, with ruddy cheeks and thick gray hair. This last circumstance, in my opinion, however, strongly contradicted the good-natured expression on the face of Alexei Dmitritch (that was the name of his nobility). It is not known why, from my very childhood I cannot imagine virtue otherwise than in the form of a bald old man with a slightly calf-like expression in his eyes. Due to the inherent weakness of humanity, his nobility was not averse to sometimes asking a head-washer and in general to inflict such ignorance, from which the hamstrings of a subordinate would shake. This was the case in the present case of the fire horses. Aleksei Dmitritch was very well aware that in Zhelvakov's place he would not have driven the horses so far, but the order of service loudly cried out for soap and lye, and soap and lye were put to good use.

Nevertheless, when Dmitry Borisych was explained good people for which reason his nobility deigned to poke his finger, he fell into hypochondria. Even a phenomenon happened to him, which, probably, has never happened to anyone. Namely, feeling himself in a completely waking state, he suddenly had a dream, a terrible, but a real dream. This adventure happened to him at the very time when, after a visit from his nobility, he stood in the middle of the fire yard, spreading his arms as it should be in the form of an excuse. Subsequently, he himself liked to talk about this extraordinary incident, but, considering it a devilish obsession, each time he spat out with deep disgust.

“I’m standing there, and suddenly I see that it’s like hard labor in front of me, and they’re leading me, sir, to be whipped, and the whip is like the same one with which I whipped these horses - so that it was empty for them!” Only I seem to have fallen, sir, on my knees, and I beg, you know, for mercy. “No, he says, have mercy on you! he himself, he says, did not spare innocence, so now lay your head on the chopping block! Here I am, this way and that - you won’t get through him, sir, with nothing! Only I myself, as it were, felt annoyed that it was because of the brutes, one might say, dumb ones, that I had to endure such reproach ... “Well, seki, they say!” I say. It was at this very place that Alekseev woke me up, otherwise God knows what happened to me! So, what adventures happen!

And sure enough, all five policemen and the lawyer himself saw with their own eyes how Dmitry Borisych knelt down, and with their own ears they heard how he shouted with a good obscenity: “Now, if so!”

When Dmitriy Borisych completely woke up from his dream, he considered it his duty to invite to his council the eldest of the five policemen, Alekseev, who, not without reason, was known in the city as the right hand of the mayor.

- Heard? Dmitry Borisych asked.

“I heard,” Alekseev answered.

- Well, that's it! said Dmitri Borisych, and he was about to wag his finger, in the likeness of his nobility, but he must not have succeeded, because Alekseev laughed.

- What are you laughing at? Dmitry Borisych asked.

- I'm not laughing ... why laugh! Alekseev answered.

- That's it! see that I have horses now ... no, no ... nowhere ... you understand! don’t even dare to go to the fire… do you hear? take philistine everywhere, even for young ladies! ..

Having thus ordered, he turned to the window and saw such mud in the streets that his own ducks swam in it like in a pond.

- What is it? Dmitry Borisych asked.

- And what is "what is"? Alekseev asked.

- Don't you see? Dmitry Borisych asked.

“I see,” said Alekseev.

All of Zhelvakov's vehemence and zeal were shattered by this patriarchal indifference.

“Would you like something, or something,” he said, a little embarrassed and turning away from Alekseev to hide his embarrassment.

And in fact, what's the "thing" here, when "mud is just so dirty" and "everything is from God."

“If only we were causal to this matter,” Alekseev added thoughtfully.

- Look for him...

“It’s not easy,” Dmitri Borisych wanted to say, but found it difficult, because he did not even dare to inflict any insult on his superiors in his thoughts.

But all this is not a problem. Well, they scolded his nobility - they really didn’t hang him! Even you did not say, but you and your brother continued to speak as before. The fact is that on this very day Dmitry Borisych happened to be a birthday man, and he set out to create a glorious ball for his dear guest. How to invite his nobility after such an incident? Well, if so, they will say that “I, they say, don’t want to eat bread with such channels!” - and there were examples of this. However, Dmitri Borisych cheered up and at dinner at the head, drawing in all the air that his lungs could hold, he uttered an invitation not only in a bold, but even in an excessively sonorous voice. And his nobility is nothing: they accepted and even looked affectionately at Dmitry Borisych.

“Yes, Mr. Zhelvakov,” said his nobility, “we will come, Mr. Zhelvakov!” OK, Mr. Zhelvakov!

For this very reason, Dmitry Borisych came several times to the house of the merchant Oblepikhina to find out how the general rested and what mood they were in: cheerful, sad, or so-so.

Meanwhile, in the house of the merchant's wife Oblepikhina, a rather gloomy scene was taking place. His nobility deigned to wake up and felt tormented. At dinner, such a strange dish was served at the head that his nobility felt unbearable heartburn, from which he spat for a long time without any success.

“The devil knows what they feed them!” muttered Alexei Dmitritch.

And drank a glass of water.

- What an ugly people! calls to eat, as if he does not know whom he is calling! Fish and fish - I was glad that the river was close! He ate, it seems, an abyss, but his stomach grumbles, as if he had not eaten for three days! And this heartburn... Hey, Kshetsynsky!

The gentleman entered, not so much small in stature as crooked in obedience and devotion.

- Did the mayor come?

- Not at all, sir.

- An, you're lying, he came! came from the front.

“I didn’t see it, by God I didn’t see it, your honor!” muttered Kshetsynsky quickly.

- I've been here ten times! - said the valet Fyodor, entering the room with a glass of tea on a tray. “You know you don’t see anything!

"It's true, Kshetsynsky, it's true that you don't see anything!" I don’t understand, brother, what are your eyes on! If I didn’t know your devotion… if I didn’t pull you out of the mud with my own hands, do you understand: “out of the mud”?.. really, I don’t know… Well, did the mayor ask anything?

- Asked what O, say, the general is doing?

- Well, what about you?

- Sleep, they say; they know, they say, what to do, how not to sleep! at night we go - we sleep in the carriage, during the day we stand - we sleep on the quarter.

– Did you say so?

- He said ... why not say!

- Ska-atina!

A pale smile appeared on Kshetsynsky's lips. It is obvious that between him and Fyodor there was a rivalry of the same kind that can exist between a cunning but amusing Amish girl and an awkward but loyal polkan. Fedor always prevailed; he, not in the least embarrassed, showed complete contempt for the most legitimate and unpretentious demands of the unfortunate native. His dress and boots were left uncleaned, and instead of tea some strange mixture was served to him, more like mash than tea. At dinner, Kshetsynsky did not dare to leave a knife and fork on his plate, because Fyodor, without ceremony, put them right there on the tablecloth to him. At the same time, Kshetsynsky turned green and trembled, and his mouth felt bad; but all this happened only for a moment, and he again lowered his eyes to his plate. When food was served to him (and they always served him last), Fyodor never forgot to push him on the shoulder if Kshetsynsky, in his opinion, did not take the food quickly enough. He was not allowed to take more than one piece. In general, the presence of Kshetsynsky at the master's table was for Fyodor the subject of constant and most painful reflections.

- And what kind of a gentleman is this! he used to say on such occasions about Alexey Dmitritch, “just picked up a lousy mutt from the street and put that one at the table!”

But on this score Alexei Dmitritch remained adamant. Kshetsynsky continued to dine at the table of his nobility, and - moreover! - each time, getting up from the table, he passed his enemy with a smile so inconspicuous that only Fyodor could understand and appreciate all its poisonousness. But back to the story.

There was a shuffling in the front.

- Yes, here he is! said Fyodor, and turning to Dmitri Borisych, he added: “But because of you, sir, they cursed me here!” Why are you being brought here!

- A! it's you, mister Zhelvakov! You are welcome, Mr. Zhelvakov! please sit down, Mr. Zhelvakov! said his nobility, smiling meekly.

- I dare to ask your highness ...

- I remember, Mr. Zhelvakov! We will, we will, Mr. Zhelvakov! Kshetsynsky! and you, brother, can with us! Look, don’t lose face: I love having fun at my place ... Well, what’s new in the city? How are the fire horses doing?

Zhelvakov turned pale.

- Well, you're not good! I do it! And give Mr. Zhelvakov some tea!

Fyodor appeared with a glass, which he not so much handed as thrust into Dmitri Borisych's hand.

- Yes, you first try, is there sugar, - said his nobility, - otherwise the other day, in Okov, my lawyer drank two whole glasses without sugar ... after that Kshetsynsky told me this ... Such, really, an eccentric! .. And well-behaved ! You know, I don't like these people that grab the stars from the sky; the main thing for me is that a person be well-behaved and devoted ... Yes, brother, do not hurry, however, otherwise you will burn your tongue!

- Pardon me, your highness, we always with our full pleasure ...

Meanwhile, for Dmitri Borisych, drinking tea was a real torture. First, he drank it standing up; secondly, tea really turned out to be the hottest, and to prolong this operation would mean to puff up in front of his high-bornness, because if their high-bornness is allowed, so to speak, to their high person, this does not mean that it is permissible to tire their eyesight with the performance duties that are not related to the affairs of the service.

- Yes, brother, sit down.

“Forgive me, your highness…

- Sit down, brother.

- Not in such ranks, your highness ...

- As you want.

- Police officer Maremyankin! Fedor says.

- So I will be in hope, sir, your highness! says Dmitri Borisych, burning his lips for the last time and walking off with a glass into the hall.

- A! Crookshanks! - says Alexey Dmitritch, - welcome! Well done brother, well done! Not a speck in court! Well done, Mr. Crookshanks!

Police officer Maremyankin is a man of fifteen inches. He was nicknamed the Zhivoglot for the reason that, being still in childhood and overwhelmed by hunger, which his parent, who was a watchman at the Zemstvo court, could not always satisfy the requirements, he often wandered along the river bank and caught small fish in it, which he swallowed alive, firmly. hoping for God's help and for the extraordinary strength of his stomach, in which, according to his own consciousness, the millstones grinded any cereal at one moment. The most remarkable oddity in his linden was that his nostrils appeared to the fearless viewer as if turned inside out, as a result of which local officials, in addition to the nickname Zhivoglot, also called him Pugachev and "torn nostrils."

“I have the honor,” Crookshanks reports.

- Where?

- From the county. Death happened. They found the body, but they couldn't find the head.

How is it, brother?

“The Iskamshi are knocked off their feet, your highness.

– How is it? we must, brother, we must find the head ... The head, brother, is the main thing during the investigation ... Well, you yourself will agree, if, for example, you and I had no head, what would it have happened! Gotta find the head!

“We will do our best, your highness.

- That's it, my dear! you understand, you delve into my efforts ... as I can say, day and night ...

“That is fair, your honor.

- Well, that's it! However, you are my good fellow! You know that tomorrow I will leave you, and all this head will be shown to me ... so you calm me down!

“Have mercy, your highness, be without hesitation, sir ...

- Murder, of course, is an ordinary thing, it can be said that it can happen every day ... but the head! No, you understand me, you delve into my efforts! The head, brother, is, so to speak, the center, the seat ...

“Let’s find it,” Crookshanks answered with some bitterness, as if thinking to himself: “May you burst through! ek got attached, damned!

“However, is it safe around the county?”

“It’s all right, your highness,” Crookshanks roars, once for all repenting to report to his highness about anything untoward.

- No theft?

- Not at all, sir.

- No murders?

- Not at all, sir.

- That is, except for this head ... This, brother, head, I'll tell you ... this head ruined my whole day today ... I, brother, Tit; I, brother, love that I have goods ...

Crookshanks looked down. At that moment he was ready to cut off his tongue for having foolishly blurted out such a nasty thing.

And even if this head were for real, he thought, cursing himself for the thousandth time, otherwise there was no incident at all! So, foolishly blurted out to show off his activities to the authorities!

- Do you think I like it! meanwhile his nobility continued, “the authorities, brother, only have fun when everyone is happy, when everyone looks at you with trust, one might say, with hope ...

Silence.

- No, you go ... you go! I can't! I will not be calm while you are in the city.

- Landowner Peregorensky! Fedor reports.

Peregorensky enters, a gentleman of about sixty, but still vigorous and fresh. It can be seen, however, that, in order to reinforce his fading strength, he often resorts to a drink, as a result of which his nose has acquired all possible shades. purple. He is wearing a reddish tailcoat with narrow folds and nanke knickers without studs. When he appears, Alexei Dmitritch hides both hands to the very buttocks, out of fear that Mr. Peregorensky would not take it into his head to extend his hand to him.

Peregorensky. Protection! for protection I appeal to your nobility! Protection for the innocent, protection for the oppressed!

Alexey Dmitrich. What is it-s?

Peregorensky. Excuse me, your highness! I'm beside myself! But I am a loyal subject, your highness, I am a Christian, your highness! I am human!

Alexey Dmitrich. Excuse me, but what happened? And what's with the "loyal"? We are all loyal subjects here.

Peregorensky. Not a denunciation ... no, the role of an informer is far from me! Not with a denunciation I dared to appear before the face of your nobility! The feeling of compassion, the feeling of love for my neighbor alone prompted me to turn to you: virtuous courtier, save, save the perishing widow!

Alexey Dmitrich. But let me... they told me that you are a local landowner... why is there a widow here?... I don't understand.

Peregorensky (sighing). Yes, sir, I'm a local landowner, it's true; I have, I have the misfortune to be called the local landowner... I have seven souls... without land, sir, and only they, they alone support my mortal existence!.. I was oppressed, your honor! I was in the service - and kicked out! I served honestly - and now I stand poor and miserable! I had a sensitive heart and have kept it ever since! Why did I endure? Why all the persecution of fate on me? Is it because he loved the truth above all else! Is it because, one might say, hated lies and spoke the truth to kings with a smile! Protection! I appeal to you for protection, patron of the persecuted and oppressed!

Alexey Dmitrich. Yes, pardon, what can I do? .. Explain yourself, please!

Peregorensky. I repeat to your nobility: not a denunciation, whose very name is contemptuous for my heart, I intend to present to you, my sovereign! - No! My words will be a simple notice, which, according to the meaning of the law, is obligatory for every loyal subject ...

Alexey Dmitrich. But what's the matter? Excuse me... I'm busy; I need to go...

Peregorensky. Insidious Crookshanks…

Alexey Dmitrich (strictly). Who is this Zhivoglot? I do not understand you; you seem to allow yourself to joke, my dear sir!

Peregorensky (not listening to him). The insidious Zhivoglot, taking advantage of the darkness of the night, with a crowd of vile mercenaries, surrounded the house of a trader in the village of Chernoramene, according to the testimony of the third kind, the tradesman Skurikhin, and in a greedy voice demanded that he be allowed to search, under the pretext that Skurikhin allegedly trades in arsenic. Moreover, he called Skurikhin obscene words; for leaving this matter in secret, he took fifty rubles from him and went back with the mercenaries. This is the first point.

Alexey Dmitrich. But where is the widow?

Peregorensky. This Zhivoglot, describing, according to the decree of the provincial government, the estate of the merchant Glamidov, hid some precious things, saying at the same time: “These things will be useful to the children for milk.” At the same time, he evenly did not fail to call Glamidov indecent ... ( He looks intently at Alexei Dmitritch, who, in embarrassment, sniffs tobacco..) This Zhivoglot, having come to the house of the retired collegiate registrar Rybushkin, at a time when he had guests, strenuously demanded, for his use, a glass of vodka and, having received a refusal, dispersed the guests and hosts, saying at the same time: hello masher!

Alexey Dmitrich. But where is the widow?

Peregorensky. But this did not fulfill the measure of the atrocities of the Zhivoglotovs. Last month, having arrived at the fair in the village of Berezino, on Novy, this fierce beast, like a roaring lion and filled with wine and rage, beat all the merchants for no reason, and until then did not lay down his crushing right hand, until he acquired half a tin from each wagon ... ( Solemnly.) For all such illegal actions of the police officer Maremyankin, colloquially referred to as Crookshanks, and who has fully deserved such a nickname by his ferocity, there are proper witnesses, whom I, however, doubt to allow to testify under oath.

Notes

manner of speaking (French).

that you never feel at home there (French)

Prince Kurylkin, an absolutely charming young man - but let it remain between us - so courted me (French).

let me go out (French).

get out! (French)

End of free trial.