Current page: 1 (total book has 2 pages)
Font:
100% +
Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol
Chichikov's childhood
(Excerpt from the poem "Dead Souls")
<…> One day, with the first spring sun and overflowing streams, the father, taking his son, rode out with him on a cart, which was dragged by a mukhorty piebald horse, known among horse dealers under the name of magpie; it was ruled by a coachman, a little hunchback, the ancestor of the only serf family that belonged to Chichikov's father, who occupied almost all positions in the house. On a magpie they trudged for more than a day and a half; they spent the night on the road, crossed the river, ate a cold pie and roast lamb, and only on the third day in the morning reached the city. The streets of the city flashed with unexpected splendor before the boy, forcing him to open his mouth for several minutes. Then the magpie flopped along with the cart into the pit, which began a narrow alley, which was all striving down and choked with mud; for a long time she worked there with all her might and kneaded with her legs, instigated by both the hunchback and the master himself, and finally dragged them into a small courtyard, which stood on a slope with two blossoming apple trees in front of an old house and a garden behind it, low, small, consisting only of mountain ash, elderberry and hiding in the depths of her wooden booth, covered with shrapnel, with a narrow frosted window. Here lived a relative of theirs, a flabby old woman who still went to the market every morning and then dried her stockings at the samovar, who patted the boy on the cheek and admired his fullness. Here he was supposed to stay and go daily to the classes of the city school. Father, having spent the night, got out on the road the next day. At parting, no tears were shed from parental eyes; was given half a copper for consumption and goodies, and, much more importantly, a clever instruction: “Look, Pavlusha, study, don’t be a fool and don’t hang out, but most of all please teachers and bosses. If you please your boss, then, although you won’t succeed in science and God didn’t give you talent, you will go all out and get ahead of everyone. Don't hang out with your comrades, they won't teach you good things; and if it comes to that, then hang out with those who are richer, so that on occasion they can be useful to you. Do not treat or treat anyone, but behave better in such a way that you are treated; and most of all, take care and save a penny: this thing is more reliable than anything in the world. A comrade or friend will cheat you and in trouble will be the first to betray you, but a penny will not betray you, no matter what trouble you are in. You will do everything and break everything in the world with a penny. Having given such instruction, the father parted from his son, dragged himself home again on his magpie, and since then he never saw him again, but the words and instructions were sunk deep into his soul.
Pavlusha from another day began to go to classes. He did not have any special abilities for any science; he distinguished himself more by diligence and neatness; but on the other hand, he turned out to have a great mind on the other side, on the practical side. He suddenly realized and understood the matter and behaved in relation to his comrades in exactly such a way that they treated him, and he not only never, but even sometimes, hiding the received treat, then sold them to them. Even as a child, he already knew how to deny himself everything. He did not spend a penny out of the fifty dollars given by his father, on the contrary, in the same year he already made increments to it, showing almost extraordinary resourcefulness: he molded a bullfinch from wax, painted it and sold it very profitably. Then, for some time, he embarked on other speculations, namely these: having bought food at the market, he would sit in the class next to those who were richer, and as soon as he noticed that a comrade was beginning to feel sick - a sign of approaching hunger - he would stick out his under the bench, as if by chance, a corner of a gingerbread or a roll, and, having provoked him, took money, considering his appetite. For two months he fussed in his apartment without rest near a mouse, which he planted in a small wooden cage, and finally achieved the point that the mouse stood on its hind legs, lay down and got up on orders, and then sold it also very profitably. When he accumulated money up to five rubles, he sewed up the bag and began to save in another. In relation to the authorities, he behaved even smarter. No one could sit on a bench so quietly. It should be noted that the teacher was a great lover of silence and good behavior and could not stand smart and sharp boys; it seemed to him that they must certainly laugh at him. It was enough for the one who came to the remark from the side of wit, it was enough for him only to move or somehow inadvertently wink his eyebrow, in order to suddenly fall into anger. He persecuted him and punished him mercilessly. “I, brother, will drive out of you arrogance and disobedience! he said. “I know you through and through, just as you don’t know yourself. Here you are on my knees! you will starve me!” And the poor boy, not knowing why, rubbed his knees and starved for days. “Abilities and talents? it's all nonsense,” he used to say, “I'm only looking at behavior. I will give full points in all sciences to those who do not know a thing, but behave commendably; and in whom I see a bad spirit and mockery, I am zero to him, although he plugs Solon into his belt! So said the teacher, who did not love Krylov to death because he said: “For me, it’s better to drink, but understand the matter,” and always told with pleasure in his face and eyes, as in the school where he taught before, such there was silence, that one could hear a fly flying; that not a single student coughed or blew his nose in class all year round, and that until the bell rang it was impossible to know whether anyone was there or not. Chichikov suddenly grasped the spirit of the boss and what behavior should consist of. He did not move an eye or an eyebrow during the whole class, no matter how they pinched him from behind; as soon as the bell rang, he rushed headlong and gave the teacher the first three (the teacher went around in three); giving three, he left the class first and tried to catch him three times on the road, constantly taking off his hat. The case was a complete success. Throughout his stay at the school, he was in excellent standing and upon graduation he received a full honor in all sciences, a certificate and a book with golden letters for exemplary diligence and trustworthy behavior.
The visitor, it seemed, avoided talking much about himself; if he spoke, then in some general places, with noticeable modesty, and his conversation in such cases took on somewhat bookish turns: that he was an insignificant worm of this world and was unworthy of being cared for a lot, that he had experienced a lot in his lifetime , suffered in the service for the truth, had many enemies who even attempted on his life, and that now, wanting to calm down, he is finally looking for a place to live, and that, having arrived in this city, he felt it an indispensable duty to pay his respects to its first dignitaries . Here is everything that the city learned about this new face, who very soon did not fail to show himself at the governor's party. The preparation for this party took more than two hours, and here the newcomer showed such attentiveness to the toilet, which is not even seen everywhere. After a short afternoon nap, he ordered to wash and rubbed both cheeks with soap for an extremely long time, propping them from the inside with his tongue; then, taking a towel from the tavern servant's shoulder, he wiped his plump face from all sides with it, starting from behind his ears and snorting, first of all, a couple of times in the very face of the tavern servant. Then he put on his shirt-front in front of the mirror, plucked out two hairs that had come out of his nose, and immediately after that found himself in a lingonberry-colored tailcoat with a spark. Thus dressed, he rolled in his own carriage along the endlessly wide streets, illuminated by the meager illumination from the windows that flickered here and there. However, the governor's house was so lit up, even for a ball; carriages with lanterns, two gendarmes in front of the entrance, postillion cries in the distance - in a word, everything is as it should be. On entering the hall, Chichikov had to shut his eyes for a minute, because the glare from the candles, lamps, and ladies' dresses was terrible. Everything was filled with light. Black tailcoats flickered and flitted apart and in heaps here and there, like flies on the white shining refined sugar during the hot July summer, when the old housekeeper cuts and divides it into sparkling fragments in front of the open window; the children all stare, gathered around, following with curiosity the movements of her hard hands, raising the hammer, and the aerial squadrons of flies, lifted by the light air, fly in boldly, like complete masters, and, taking advantage of the old woman's short-sightedness and the sun that disturbs her eyes, sprinkle tidbits, where broken, where thick heaps. Saturated with a rich summer, already at every step arranging delicious dishes, they flew in not at all to eat, but only to show themselves, to walk up and down the sugar heap, to rub their back or front legs against one another, or to scratch them. under your wings, or, stretching out both front paws, rub them over your head, turn around and fly away again and fly back again with new tiresome squadrons.
Before Chichikov had time to look around, he was already seized by the arm of the governor, who immediately introduced him to the governor's wife. The visiting guest did not drop himself here either: he said some kind of compliment, very decent for a middle-aged man who has a rank that is not too high and not too small. When the established pairs of dancers pressed everyone against the wall, he, laying his hands behind him, looked at them for about two minutes very carefully. Many ladies were well dressed and fashionable, others dressed in what God sent to the provincial town. The men here, as elsewhere, were of two kinds: some thin, who kept hovering around the ladies; some of them were of such a kind that it was difficult to distinguish them from Petersburg ones: they also had sideburns combed very cleanly, deliberately and tastefully, or simply plausible, very smoothly shaven ovals of faces, just as casually sat down to the ladies, they spoke in the same way -French and made the ladies laugh just like in St. Petersburg. Another kind of men were fat or the same as Chichikov, that is, not so fat, but not thin either. These, on the contrary, squinted and backed away from the ladies and looked only around to see if the governor's servant had set up a green table for whist somewhere. Their faces were full and round, some even had warts, some were pockmarked; they didn’t wear their hair on their heads either in tufts, or curls, or in the manner of “damn me,” as the French say; their hair was either cut low or sleek, and their features were more rounded and strong. These were honorary officials in the city. Alas! fat people know how to handle their affairs better in this world than thin ones. The thin ones serve more on special assignments or are only registered and wag hither and thither; their existence is somehow too easy, airy and completely unreliable. Fat people never occupy indirect places, but all straight, and if they sit somewhere, they will sit securely and firmly, so that the place will soon crackle and bend under them, and they won’t fly off. They do not like external brilliance; on them the tailcoat is not so cleverly tailored as on thin ones, but in the caskets there is the grace of God. At the age of three, a thin man does not have a single soul left that is not pawned in a pawnshop; the fat one calmly, lo and behold, a house appeared somewhere at the end of the city, bought in the name of his wife, then another house at the other end, then a village near the city, then a village with all the land. Finally, the fat one, having served God and the sovereign, having earned universal respect, leaves the service, moves over and becomes a landowner, a glorious Russian master, a hospitable man, and lives, and lives well. And after him, again, thin heirs lower, according to Russian custom, all their father's goods on courier. It cannot be concealed that almost this kind of reflection occupied Chichikov at the time when he was examining society, and the consequence of this was that he finally joined the fat ones, where he met almost all the familiar faces: the prosecutor with very black thick eyebrows and a somewhat winking left with an eye as if saying: “Let's go, brother, to another room, there I will tell you something,” - a man, however, serious and silent; the postmaster, a short man, but a wit and a philosopher; Chairman of the Chamber, a very sensible and amiable person, who all greeted him as if they were an old acquaintance, to which Chichikov bowed somewhat sideways, however, not without pleasantness. Immediately he met the very courteous and courteous landowner Manilov and the somewhat clumsy-looking Sobakevich, who stepped on his foot the first time, saying: "I beg your pardon." Immediately he was given a whist card, which he accepted with the same polite bow.
……………………………………………………………………………….
A little later, they brought to him, as if, an invitation to a ball to the governor - a very common thing in provincial cities; where the governor is, there is a ball, otherwise there will be no proper love and respect from the nobility.
Everything extraneous was at that very moment abandoned and pushed away, and everything was directed towards preparations for the ball; for, indeed, there were many motivating and infuriating reasons. But, perhaps, since the very creation of the world, so much time has not been spent on the toilet. A whole hour was devoted to just looking at the face in the mirror. They tried to give him many different expressions: now important and sedate, now respectful, but with a certain smile, then simply respectful without a smile; several bows were made in the mirror, accompanied by indistinct sounds, partly similar to French ones, although Chichikov did not know French at all. He made even himself many pleasant surprises, winked his eyebrow and lips, and did something even with his tongue; in a word, you never know what you do, left alone, feeling, moreover, that you are good, and besides, being sure that no one looks through the crack. Finally, he lightly patted his chin, saying: “Oh, you, such a muzzle!” and began to dress. The most contented disposition accompanied him all the time he was dressing: putting on his suspenders or tying his tie, he bowed and bowed with particular dexterity, and although he never danced, he made an entrechat. This entrecha produced a small innocent consequence: the chest of drawers trembled and a brush fell from the table.
His appearance at the ball produced an extraordinary effect. Everything that happened turned to meet him, some with cards in their hands, some at the most interesting point of the conversation saying: “And the lower Zemstvo court answers this ...”, but what is the Zemstvo court answering, he already threw it aside and hastened to greet our hero. "Pavel Ivanovich! Oh, my God, Pavel Ivanovich! Dear Pavel Ivanovich! Dear Pavel Ivanovich! My soul Pavel Ivanovich! There you are, Pavel Ivanovich! Here he is, our Pavel Ivanovich! Allow me to press you, Pavel Ivanovich! Let's him here, so I'll kiss him harder, my dear Pavel Ivanovich! Chichikov at once felt himself in several embraces. Before he had time to completely get out of the arms of the chairman, he found himself already in the arms of the police chief; the chief of police handed him over to the inspector of the medical board; the inspector of the medical council - to the tax-farmer, the tax-farmer - to the architect ... The governor, who at that time was standing near the ladies and holding a candy ticket in one hand, and a lap dog in the other, when he saw him, threw both the ticket and the lap dog on the floor, - only the little dog squealed; in a word, he spread joy and extraordinary joy. There was no face that did not express pleasure, or at least a reflection of general pleasure. This is what happens on the faces of officials during an inspection by the arrived chief of their places entrusted to the department: after the first fear had already passed, they saw that he liked a lot, and he himself finally deigned to joke, that is, to say a few words with a pleasant smile. Laugh twice in response to this surrounded by his close officials; laugh heartily those who are farther away from him and who, however, somewhat badly heard the words he uttered, and, finally, standing far away at the door, at the very exit, some policeman who had never laughed in his whole life and had just before that he showed his fist to the people, and he, according to the invariable laws of reflection, expresses some kind of smile on his face, although this smile is more like someone about to sneeze after strong tobacco. Our hero answered each and every one and felt some kind of extraordinary dexterity: he bowed to the right and left, as usual, somewhat to one side, but completely freely, so that he charmed everyone. The ladies immediately surrounded him with a shining garland and brought with them whole clouds of all sorts of fragrances: one breathed roses, another smelled of spring and violets, the third was completely perfumed with mignonette; Chichikov only turned his nose up and sniffed. In the outfits, their taste was an abyss: muslins, satins, muslins were of such pale fashionable colors that even the names could not be cleaned up (the subtlety of taste reached such a degree). Ribbon bows and flower bouquets fluttered here and there over the dresses in the most picturesque mess, although a lot of decent head was working on this mess.
The light headdress rested only on one ear and seemed to say: “Hey, I’ll fly away, it’s only a pity that I won’t take the beauty with me!” The waists were tight-fitting and had the strongest and most pleasing shapes to the eye (it should be noted that in general all the ladies of the city of N were somewhat full, but they laced up so skillfully and had such pleasant circulation that the thickness could not be noticed). Everything was invented and provided for with extraordinary circumspection; neck, shoulders were open just as much as necessary, and no further; each bared her possessions until she felt, by her own conviction, that they were capable of destroying a person; everything else was hidden with unusual taste: either some light tie made of ribbon, or a scarf lighter than a cake, known as a “kiss”, ethereally hugged the neck, or small jagged walls of thin cambric, known as "modesty". These “modesty” hid in front and behind that which could no longer cause death to a person, but meanwhile they made one suspect that it was there that the very death was. Long gloves were worn not up to the sleeves, but deliberately left naked the exciting parts of the arms above the elbow, which in many breathed an enviable fullness; some even had their kid gloves burst, prompted to move further — in a word, it seemed as if it was written on everything: no, this is not a province, this is the capital, this is Paris itself! Only in places would suddenly protrude some kind of cap that the earth had not seen, or even some kind of almost peacock feather, contrary to all fashions, according to one's own taste. But without this it is impossible, such is the property of a provincial city: somewhere it will certainly break off. Chichikov, standing in front of them, thought: "Which, however, is the writer of the letter?" - and stuck his nose forward; but on the very nose he was pulled by a whole row of elbows, cuffs, sleeves, ends of ribbons, fragrant chemisettes and dresses. The gallopade flew in full swing: a postmaster, a police captain, a lady with a blue feather, a lady with a white feather, the Georgian prince Chipkhaikhilidzev, an official from St. Petersburg; an official from Moscow, a Frenchman Kuku, Perkhunovsky, Berebendovsky - everything got up and away ...
Won! The province has gone to write! - said Chichikov, stepping back, and as soon as the ladies sat down in their seats, he again began to look out, whether it was possible to recognize by the expression in her face and in her eyes who the writer was; but it was by no means possible to recognize, either by the expression in her face or by the expression in her eyes, which was the writer. Everywhere one could see something so slightly revealed, so elusively subtle, wow! how subtle! .. “No,” Chichikov said to himself, “women, this is such an object ...” Here he waved his hand: “There’s simply nothing to say! Go ahead, try to tell or convey everything that runs on their faces, all those bends, hints, but you just can’t convey anything. One of their eyes is such an endless state into which a person drove in - and remember what your name was! You can’t pull him out of there with a hook, nothing. Well, try, for example, to tell one of their shine: wet, velvety, sugary. God knows what they don't have yet! And hard, and soft, and even completely languid, or, as others say, in bliss, or without bliss, but more than in bliss, so it will hook on the heart, and it will lead throughout the soul, as if with a bow.
No, you just can’t take the words: the haberdashery half of the human race and nothing more!
Guilty! It seems that a word, noticed on the street, has flown from the lips of our hero. What to do? Such is the position of a writer in Rus'! However, if a word from the street got into a book, it’s not the writer’s fault, the readers are to blame, and above all the readers of high society: you won’t hear a single decent Russian word from them first, and they will probably endow French, German and English in such quantities, what you don’t want, and they will give even with the preservation of all possible pronunciations, in French through the nose and burr, they will pronounce in English like a bird should, and even make a bird’s face, and even laugh at those who fail to make a bird’s face. But only Russians will not be endowed with anything, unless out of patriotism they will build a hut in the country in the Russian style for themselves. Such are the readers of the upper class, and behind them all those who claim themselves to be among the upper class! And meanwhile, what exactingness! They absolutely want everything to be written in the most strict, refined, and noblest language—in a word, they want the Russian language to suddenly descend from the clouds of its own accord, processed properly, and sit right on their tongues, and they would have nothing more to do as soon as open your mouth and put it out. Of course, the female half of the human race is tricky; but respectable readers, it must be confessed, are even wiser.
…………………………………………………………………………………
The ladies were very pleased and not only found in him a bunch of amenities and courtesies, but even began to find a majestic expression on his face, something even Mars and military, which, as you know, women really like. Even because of him, they were already starting to quarrel a little: noticing that he usually stood near the doors, some vied with each other in a hurry to take a chair closer to the doors, and when one had the good fortune to do this before, an unpleasant story almost happened, and many who wanted to do that However, such impudence already seemed too disgusting.
Chichikov was so busy talking to the ladies, or, better, the ladies so occupied and swirled him with their conversations, sprinkling a bunch of the most intricate and subtle allegories that everyone had to figure out, which even made sweat on his forehead - that he forgot to fulfill the duty of decency and approach the hostess first. He remembered this already when he heard the voice of the governor's wife herself, who had been standing in front of him for several minutes. The governor's wife said in an affectionate and somewhat sly voice with a pleasant shake of her head: “Ah, Pavel Ivanovich! so that's how you are! ..” I can’t exactly convey the words of the governor, but something was said filled with great courtesy in the spirit in which ladies and gentlemen express themselves in the stories of our secular writers, hunters to describe living rooms and boast of knowledge of a higher tone, in the spirit of the fact that they really took possession of your heart so that there is no longer any place in it, nor the most cramped corner for those ruthlessly forgotten by you. Our hero turned at that very moment to the governor's wife and was ready to give her an answer no worse than those that the Zvonskys, Linskys, Lidins, Gremins and all sorts of military people give in fashionable stories, when, casually raising his eyes, he suddenly stopped, as if stunned by a blow. .
In front of him stood more than one governor's wife: she held by the arm a young girl of sixteen, a fresh blonde, with thin and slender features, with a pointed chin, with a charmingly rounded oval face, which an artist would take as a model for a Madonna and which only a rare case comes across Russia, where everything likes to be in a wide size, everything that is: mountains and forests and steppes, and faces and lips and legs: the very blonde that he met on the road, riding from Nozdryov, when, through the stupidity of coachmen or horses , their carriages collided so strangely, having mixed up the harness, and Uncle Mityai and Uncle Minyay undertook to unravel the matter. Chichikov was so confused that he could not utter a single sensible word and muttered the devil knows what it is, which neither Gremin, nor Zvonsky, nor Lidin would have said.
You don't know my daughter yet? the governor said. - Institutka, just released.
He replied that he had already had the good fortune of accidentally making his acquaintance; I tried to add something else, but something did not work out at all. The governor's wife, after saying two or three words, finally went with her daughter to the other end of the hall to the other guests, and Chichikov still stood motionless in the same place, like a man who merrily went out into the street in order to take a walk, with eyes disposed to look at everything, and suddenly stopped motionless, remembering that he had forgotten something, and even then nothing could be more stupid than such a person: in an instant, a carefree expression flies from his face; he tries to remember what he forgot, is it not a handkerchief, but a handkerchief in his pocket, is it not money, but money is also in his pocket, everything seems to be with him, and meanwhile some unknown spirit whispers in his ears that he forgot something. And now he looks confused and vaguely at the moving crowd in front of him, at the flying carriages, at the shako and guns of the passing regiment, at the signboard, and sees nothing well. So Chichikov suddenly became a stranger to everything that happened around him. At this time, many hints and questions rushed to him from the ladies’ fragrant lips, penetrated through subtlety and courtesy: “Are we, the poor inhabitants of the earth, allowed to be so bold as to ask you what you dream about?”, “Where are those happy places in which your thought flutters?”, “Is it possible to know the name of the one who plunged you into this sweet valley of thought?”. But he answered everything with resolute inattention, and pleasant phrases sank into the water. He was even so discourteous that he soon left them in the other direction, wanting to see where the governor's wife and her daughter had gone. But the ladies didn't seem to want to leave him so soon; each inwardly decided to use all possible weapons, so dangerous for our hearts, and put into play everything that was best. It should be noted that some ladies, I say, some, it’s not like everyone else, have a small weakness: if they notice something especially good in themselves, whether it’s their forehead, mouth, or hands, then they already think that the best part of their face is the first and will catch everyone's eyes, and everyone will suddenly speak in one voice: "Look, look what a beautiful Greek nose she has" or "What a regular, charming forehead!" The one who has good shoulders is sure in advance that all young people will be completely delighted and will repeat every now and then as she passes by: “Oh, what wonderful shoulders this one has!” - but they don’t even look at the face, hair, nose, forehead, if they do, then as something extraneous. This is how other women think. Each lady made an inner vow to herself to be as charming as possible in dancing and to show in all its splendor the superiority of what was most excellent in her. The postmaster, waltzing, lowered her head to one side with such languor that something unearthly was indeed heard. One very amiable lady - who did not come at all to dance, because of what happened, as she herself put it, a small inkomodit in the form of a pea on her right leg, as a result of which she even had to put on plush boots - could not bear it, however, and she made several circles in plush boots, precisely so that the postmaster would not really take too much into her head.
But all this did not produce the intended effect on Chichikov. He did not even look at the circles made by the ladies, but constantly rose on tiptoe to look over their heads, where the entertaining blonde might climb; He also squatted down, looking between the shoulders and backs, finally found his way and saw her sitting with her mother, over whom some kind of oriental turban with a feather was majestically swaying. It seemed as if he wanted to take them by storm; whether the spring disposition had an effect on him, or someone was pushing him from behind, only he resolutely pushed forward, in spite of everything; the tax farmer received such a push from him that he staggered and barely managed to stay on one leg, otherwise, of course, he would have knocked down a whole row behind him; the postmaster also stepped back and looked at him with astonishment, mingled with rather subtle irony, but he did not look at them; all he saw in the distance was a blond woman putting on a long glove and, no doubt, burning with a desire to start flying across the parquet. And there, aside, four couples were breaking off a mazurka; the heels broke the floor, and the army staff captain worked with his soul and body, and with his hands and feet, unscrewing such pas that no one had ever unscrewed in a dream. Chichikov darted past the mazurka almost on the very heels and straight to the place where the governor's wife was sitting with her daughter. However, he approached them very timidly, did not mince so smartly and smartly with his feet, even hesitated a little, and in all his movements there appeared some kind of awkwardness.
It is impossible to say for sure whether the feeling of love really awakened in our hero, it is even doubtful that gentlemen of this kind, that is, not so fat, but not exactly thin, were capable of love, but for all that there was something something so strange, something of a kind that he himself could not explain to himself: it seemed to him, as he himself later confessed, that the whole ball, with all its talk and noise, seemed for several minutes to be somewhere far away; violins and trumpets were cut somewhere beyond the mountains, and everything was shrouded in mist, like a carelessly painted field in a picture. And from this hazy, somehow sketched field, only the subtle features of the fascinating blonde emerged clearly and completely: her oval-rounded face, her thin, thin figure, which a college student has in the first months after graduation, her white, almost simple dress, easily and deftly embraced in all places young, slender members, which were signified in some kind of clean lines. It seemed that she was all like some kind of toy, distinctly carved from ivory; she only turned white and emerged transparent and bright from the muddy and opaque crowd.
Evidently, this is how it happens in the world, it is evident that even the Chichikovs, for a few minutes in their lives, turn into poets, but the word "poet" will be too much. At least he felt like a completely young man, almost a hussar. Seeing an empty chair near them, he immediately took it. The conversation did not go well at first, but after that it went on, and he even began to get force, but ... here, to the greatest regret, it must be noted that people who are sedate and occupy important positions are somehow a little heavy in conversations with ladies; for this, the masters, gentlemen, lieutenants, and no further than the captain's ranks. How they do it, God knows them: it seems that they say not very sophisticated things, but the girl now and then sways in her chair with laughter; the state councilor, God knows what, will tell: either he will talk about the fact that Russia is a very spacious state, or he will release a compliment, which, of course, was not invented without wit, but it smells terribly of a book; if he says something funny, he himself laughs incomparably more than the one who listens to him. This is noted here so that readers can see why the blonde began to yawn during the stories of our hero. The hero, however, did not notice this at all, telling a lot of pleasant things that he had already happened to say on similar occasions in different places: it was in the Simbirsk province at Sofron Ivanovich Careless, where his daughter Adelaida Sofronovna was then with three sisters-in-law: Marya Gavrilovna, Alexandra Gavrilovna and Adelgeida Gavrilovna; at Fyodor Fedorovich Perekroev in the Ryazan province; with Flor Vasilyevich Pobedonosny in the Penza province and with his brother Pyotr Vasilyevich, where his sister-in-law Katerina Mikhailovna and her grand sisters Roza Fedorovna and Emilia Fedorovna were; in the Vyatka province with Pyotr Varsonofyevich, where his daughter-in-law's sister Pelageya Yegorovna was with her niece Sofya Rostislavna and two half-sisters Sofya Alexandrovna and Maklatura Alexandrovna.
All the ladies did not like this treatment of Chichikov at all. One of them deliberately passed by to let him notice this, and even touched the blonde rather casually with the thick roll of her dress, and ordered the scarf that fluttered around her shoulders so that he waved the end of his over her very face; at the same time, behind him, out of some ladies' lips, along with the smell of violets, a rather caustic and caustic remark came out. But either he did not really hear, or he pretended that he did not hear, only that was not good; for the opinion of the ladies must be valued; he repented of this, but after that, it was already too late.
Indignation, in all respects just, was portrayed in many faces. No matter how great Chichikov’s weight was in society, although he was a millionaire and greatness and even something Mars and military were expressed in his face, there are things that ladies will not forgive anyone, no matter who he is, and then just write is gone ! There are cases where a woman, no matter how weak and powerless in character in comparison with a man, suddenly becomes stronger not only than a man, but also everything that is in the world. The neglect shown by Chichikov, almost unintentionally, restored even the harmony between the ladies, which was on the verge of death after the impudent taking over of the chair. In some dry and ordinary words he casually uttered, sharp hints were found. To top it off, one of the young people immediately composed satirical poems about the dancing society, without which, as you know, they almost never do at provincial balls. These verses were immediately attributed to Chichikov. The indignation grew, and the ladies began to talk about him in different corners in the most unfavorable way; and the poor college girl was completely destroyed, and her sentence had already been signed.
Meanwhile, a most unpleasant surprise was being prepared for our hero: at the time when the blonde was yawning, and he was telling her some stories that happened at different times and even touched on the Greek philosopher Diogenes, Nozdryov appeared from the last room.
Incommodite (distorted French incommodite) - an inconvenience.
Nothing, however, happened as Chichikov expected. Firstly, he woke up later than he thought - this was the first trouble. Getting up, he sent the same hour to find out if the britzka was laid and everything was ready; but they reported that the britzka had not yet been laid and that nothing was ready. This was the second trouble. He became angry, even prepared to throw something like a scuffle at our friend Selifan, and only waited impatiently for what reason he would give in justification. Soon Selifan appeared at the door, and the master had the pleasure of hearing the same speeches that are usually heard from servants in such a case when it is necessary to leave quickly. “Why, Pavel Ivanovich, horses will need to be shod. - Oh, you're a bitch! chump! Why didn't you say this before? Wasn't there time? - Yes, there was time ... Yes, the wheel, too, Pavel Ivanovich, the tire will need to be completely tightened, because now the road is bumpy, such a bump has gone everywhere ... Yes, if you allow me to report: the front of the britzka has completely loosened, so it may not even make two stations. - You scoundrel! cried Chichikov, clasping his hands, and went up to him so close that Selifan, out of fear that he might not receive a gift from the master, stepped back a little and stood aside. "Are you going to kill me?" A? do you want to kill me? On the high road, he was going to kill me, robber, you damned ingot, sea monster! A? A? Three weeks of sitting still, huh? If only he had hinted, the dissolute one, - but now he has driven it to the last hour! when you are almost on the alert: to sit down and go, huh? and you messed up here, didn't you? A? Did you know this before? you knew that, didn't you? A? Answer. Did you know? A? “I knew,” answered Selifan, bowing his head. “Well, then why didn’t you say so then?” Selifan did not answer this question, but, bowing his head, seemed to be saying to himself: “You see, how strangely it happened: and he knew, but he didn’t tell!” “Now go and fetch the blacksmith, so that everything will be done in two o’clock.” Do you hear? by all means at two o’clock, and if it doesn’t happen, then I will ... bend you into a horn and tie a knot! Our hero was very angry. Selifan turned to the door in order to go to fulfill the order, but he stopped and said: “And besides, sir, a dappled horse, really, at least sell it, because he, Pavel Ivanovich, is a complete scoundrel; he is such a horse, just God forbid, only a hindrance. - Yes! I'll go and run to the market to sell! “Honest to God, Pavel Ivanovich, he just looks smart, but in fact the most crafty horse; such a horse nowhere ... - Fool! When I want to sell, I will sell. Still indulging in controversy! I'll see: if you don't bring me the blacksmiths right now and everything isn't ready at two o'clock, then I'll give you such a scuffle ... you won't see your own face! Let's go! go! Selifan left. Chichikov became completely out of sorts and threw the saber on the floor, which had traveled with him on the road in order to instill proper fear in anyone who should. For about a quarter of an hour or more he fussed with the blacksmiths, for the time being he got it right, because the blacksmiths, as usual, were notorious scoundrels and, realizing that the work was needed in a hurry, broke down exactly six times. No matter how excited he was, he called them swindlers, robbers, robbers of travelers, he even hinted at the Last Judgment, but the blacksmiths did not get through with anything: they completely withstood their temper - not only did not back down from the price, but even carried at work instead of two hours as much as five and a half . During this time, he had the pleasure of experiencing the pleasant moments known to every traveler, when everything is packed in a suitcase and only strings, pieces of paper and various rubbish are lying around in the room, when a person does not belong either to the road or to the seat in place, sees people passing by from the window. trudging people, talking about their hryvnias and raising their eyes with some stupid curiosity, so that, after looking at him, they again continue on their way, which further irritates the disposition of the spirit of the poor traveler who is not traveling. Everything that is, everything that he sees: both the shop opposite his windows, and the head of the old woman who lives in the opposite house, coming up to the window with short curtains - everything is disgusting to him, but he does not leave the window. He stands, now forgetting, now paying again some kind of blunted attention to everything that moves and does not move in front of him, and suffocates with annoyance some fly, which at that time buzzes and beats against the glass under his finger. But everything comes to an end, and the desired moment has come: everything was ready, the front of the britzka was properly adjusted, the wheel was covered with a new tire, the horses were brought from the watering place, and the blacksmith robbers set off, counting the rubles received and wishing well-being. Finally, the britzka was laid, and two hot rolls, just bought, were put there, and Selifan had already stuffed something for himself into the pocket that the coachmen had, and the hero himself, finally, while waving the frock coat, in the presence of tavern and other people's lackeys and coachmen, who were about to yawn, as a strange master leaves, and under all other circumstances that accompany the departure, got into the carriage - and the britzka in which bachelors ride, which has stagnated in the city for so long and so, maybe perhaps tired the reader, finally drove out of the gates of the hotel. "Glory to Thee, Lord!" thought Chichikov and crossed himself. Selifan lashed out with his whip; Petrushka, who at first hung on the footboard for some time, sat down next to him, and our hero, having sat better on the Georgian rug, laid a leather pillow behind his back, squeezed two hot rolls, and the carriage again went dancing and swaying thanks to the pavement, which, as you know, had a tossing up strength. With some kind of indefinite feeling, he looked at the houses, the walls, the fence and the streets, which also from their side, as if jumping up, were slowly receding and which, God knows, whether fate judged him to see again in the course of his life. When turning into one of the streets, the britzka had to stop, because an endless funeral procession passed along its entire length. Chichikov, leaning out, told Petrushka to ask who they were burying, and found out that they were burying the prosecutor. Filled with unpleasant sensations, he immediately hid in a corner, covered himself with skin and drew the curtains. At this time, when the carriage was thus stopped, Selifan and Petrushka, devoutly taking off their hats, considered who, how, in what and on what was riding, counting by number how many were all on foot and those who were riding, and the master, ordering them not to to confess and not to bow to any of the familiar lackeys, he also began to look timidly through the glass, which were in leather curtains: all the officials were walking behind the coffin, taking off their hats. He began to be afraid that his crew would not be recognized, but they were not up to it. They did not even engage in various everyday conversations, which are usually carried on by those who see off the deceased. All their thoughts were concentrated at that time in themselves: they thought what the new governor-general would be like, how he would take up the matter and how he would accept them. The officials on foot were followed by carriages, from which ladies in mourning caps looked out. It was evident from the movements of their lips and hands that they were engaged in a lively conversation; perhaps they, too, were talking about the arrival of the new governor-general and speculated about the balls he would give, and fussed about their eternal festoons and stripes. Finally, several empty droshkys followed the carriages, stretched out in single file, and finally there was nothing left, and our hero could go. Opening the leather curtains, he sighed, saying from the bottom of his heart: “Here, prosecutor! lived, lived, and then died! And now they will print in the newspapers that he died, to the regret of his subordinates and all mankind, a respectable citizen, a rare father, an exemplary husband, and they will write a lot of all sorts of things; perhaps they will add that he was accompanied by the weeping of widows and orphans; but if you take a good look at the matter, then in fact you only had thick eyebrows. Here he ordered Selifan to go as quickly as possible, and meanwhile he thought to himself: “It is, however, good that the funeral took place; they say it means happiness if you meet a dead person. Meanwhile the chaise turned into more deserted streets; soon there were only long wooden fences, heralding the end of the city. Now the pavement is over, and the barrier, and the city is behind, and there is nothing, and again on the road. And again, versts, stationmasters, wells, carts, gray villages with samovars, women and a brisk bearded owner running from the inn with oats in his hand, a pedestrian in worn bast shoes trudging eight hundred versts, towns , lined up alive, with wooden shops, flour barrels, bast shoes, kalachs and other small things, pockmarked barriers, bridges being repaired, boundless fields both on the other side and on the other, landowner's trunks, a soldier on horseback, carrying a green box with lead peas and a signature : such and such an artillery battery, green, yellow and freshly dug black stripes flickering across the steppes, a song drawn out in the distance, pine tops in the fog, bell ringing disappearing far away, crows like flies and an endless horizon ... Russia! Rus! I see you, from my wonderful, beautiful far away I see you: poor, scattered and uncomfortable in you; daring divas of nature, crowned with daring divas of art, will not amuse, will not frighten the eyes, cities with many-windowed high palaces, grown into cliffs, picture trees and ivy, grown into houses, in noise and in the eternal dust of waterfalls; the head will not tip back to look at the stone blocks piled up endlessly above it and in the heights; they will not flash through the dark arches thrown over one another, entangled in vine branches, ivy and countless millions of wild roses, the eternal lines of shining mountains rushing into the clear silver skies will not flash through them in the distance. Openly deserted and exactly everything in you; like dots, like badges, your low cities imperceptibly stick out among the plains; nothing will seduce or charm the eye. But what incomprehensible, secret force attracts you? Why is your melancholy song, rushing along your entire length and width, from sea to sea, heard and heard incessantly in your ears? What's in it, in this song? What calls, and sobs, and grabs by the heart? What sounds painfully kiss, and strive to the soul, and curl around my heart? Rus! what do you want from me? what incomprehensible bond lurks between us? Why do you look like that, and why did everything that is in you turn eyes full of expectation on me? space. What does this vast expanse prophesy? Is it not here, in you, that an infinite thought is born, when you yourself are without end? Is it not possible for a hero to be here when there is a place where he can turn around and walk around? And menacingly embraces me mighty space, with terrible power reflected in my depths; my eyes lit up with an unnatural power: wow! what a sparkling, wonderful, unfamiliar distance to the earth! Rus!.. - Hold on, hold on, fool! Chichikov shouted to Selifan. - Here I am with a broadsword! shouted a courier with a arshin mustache galloping towards them. “Don’t you see, goblin tear your soul: state-owned carriage!” - And, like a ghost, the troika disappeared with thunder and dust. How strange, and alluring, and bearing, and wonderful in the word: road! and how wonderful she herself is, this road: a clear day, autumn leaves, cold air ... tighter in a travel overcoat, a hat on our ears, we will snuggle closer and more comfortably to the corner! For the last time, a trembling ran through the limbs, and has already been replaced by pleasant warmth. The horses rush ... how seductively drowsiness creeps and eyes close, and already through the dream one can hear “The snows are not white”, and the glanders of the horses, and the noise of the wheels, and already you are snoring, pressing your neighbor to the corner. Woke up: five stations ran back; the moon, an unknown city, churches with ancient wooden domes and blackening peaks, dark log and white stone houses. The radiance of the moon here and there: as if white linen scarves hung on the walls, along the pavement, along the streets; shadows black as coal cross them in shoals; Like gleaming metal, the illuminated wooden roofs glisten at an angle, and there is not a soul anywhere—everything is asleep. Alone, is there a light glimmering somewhere in the window: is the tradesman sharpening his pair of boots, is the baker fiddling in the stove - what's up with them? And the night! Heavenly powers! what a night is made in the sky! And the air, and the sky, distant, high, there, in its inaccessible depths, spread so immensely, sonorously and clearly! .. But the cold night breath breathes freshly into your very eyes and lulls you, and now you are already dozing and forgetting, and snoring, and tossing and turning angrily, feeling heavy on himself, the poor neighbor squeezed into the corner. I woke up - and already again before you are fields and steppes, nowhere is nothing - everywhere is a wasteland, everything is open. A verst with a number flies into your eyes; engaged in the morning; on the whitened cold sky a golden pale stripe; the wind becomes fresher and harsher: tighter in a warm overcoat! .. what a glorious cold! what a wonderful dream that embraces you again! Push - and woke up again. The sun is at the top of the sky. “Easy! easier!" - a voice is heard, the cart descends from the steep: below the dam is wide and a wide clear pond, shining like a copper bottom before the sun; the village, the huts scattered on the slope; like a star, the cross of the country church shines aside; chatter of men and unbearable appetite in the stomach ... God! how good you are sometimes, distant, distant road! How many times, like a perishing and drowning man, have I clutched at you, and every time you generously endured me and saved me! And how many wonderful ideas, poetic dreams were born in you, how many wondrous impressions were felt! .. But our friend Chichikov also felt not at all prosaic dreams at that time. Let's see how he felt. At first he did not feel anything and looked only back, wanting to make sure that he had definitely left the city; but when he saw that the city had long since disappeared, neither the forges, nor the mills, nor everything that was around the cities, could be seen, and even the white tops of the stone churches had long gone into the ground, he took up only one road, looked only to the right and to the left , and the city of N did not seem to be in his memory, as if he had passed it a long time ago, in childhood. Finally, the road ceased to interest him, and he began to slightly close his eyes and bow his head to the pillow. The author, he admits, is even glad of this, thus finding an opportunity to talk about his hero; for hitherto, as the reader has seen, he was constantly disturbed by either Nozdryov, or balls, or ladies, or city gossip, or, finally, thousands of those trifles that seem only trifles when they are included in the book, but meanwhile turn in the light, are revered as very important things. But now let's put everything aside and get down to business. It is very doubtful that the hero chosen by us will be liked by the readers. The ladies will not like him, this can be said in the affirmative, because the ladies demand that the hero be a decisive perfection, and if there is any mental or bodily speck, then trouble! No matter how deeply the author looks into his soul, even though the mirror reflects his image more clearly, he will not be given any price. The very fullness and middle years of Chichikov will hurt him a lot: fullness will in no case be forgiven for the hero, and quite a few ladies, turning away, will say: “Fie, so ugly!” Alas! All this is known to the author, and for all that he cannot take a virtuous person as a hero, but... perhaps in the very same story one will sense other strings that have not yet been scolded, the incalculable wealth of the Russian spirit will appear, a husband will pass, gifted with divine valor, or a wonderful Russian girl, which cannot be found anywhere else in the world, with all the marvelous beauty of the female soul, all of generous aspiration and selflessness. And all the virtuous people of other tribes will appear dead before them, just as a book is dead before the living word! Russian movements will rise up... and they will see how deep into Slavic nature that which slipped only through the nature of other peoples... But why and why talk about what lies ahead? It is indecent for the author, who has long been a husband, brought up by a harsh inner life and the fresh sobriety of solitude, to forget himself like a young man. Everything has its turn, and place, and time! A virtuous person is still not taken as a hero. You can even say why not taken. Because it is time to finally give rest to the poor virtuous person, because the word “virtuous person” is idly revolving on the lips; because they turned a virtuous person into a horse, and there is no writer who would not ride him, urging him with a whip and everything else; because they have exhausted a virtuous person to the point that now there is not even a shadow of virtue on him, but only ribs and skin instead of a body remain; because they hypocritically call for a virtuous person; because they do not respect a virtuous person. No, it's time to finally hide the scoundrel. So, let's harness the scoundrel! The origin of our hero is dark and modest. Parents were nobles, but pillar or personal - God knows; his face did not resemble them: at least a relative who was at his birth, a short, short woman, who are usually called pigalits, took the child in her arms and cried out: “He didn’t turn out at all like I thought! He should have gone to the grandmother from the mother's side, which would have been better, but he was born simply, as the proverb says: neither mother nor father, but a passing young man. At the beginning, life looked at him somehow sourly and uncomfortably, through some kind of cloudy, snow-covered window: no friend, no comrade in childhood! A small firehouse with small windows that did not open either in winter or in summer, the father, a sick man, in a long frock coat on lambskins and knitted lappers, put on his bare feet, sighing incessantly, walking around the room, and spitting into a sandbox standing in the corner , an eternal seat on a bench, with a pen in his hands, ink on his fingers and even on his lips, an eternal inscription before his eyes: “do not lie, obey your elders and carry virtue in your heart”; the eternal shuffling and slapping around the room of the clappers, the familiar but always stern voice: “God stupid again!”, which echoed at a time when the child, bored with the monotony of work, attached some kind of quotation mark or tail to the letter; and the ever-familiar, always unpleasant feeling, when, following these words, the edge of his ear twisted very painfully with the nails of long fingers stretched out behind: here is a poor picture of his initial childhood, of which he barely retained a pale memory. But in life everything changes quickly and vividly: and on one day, with the first spring sun and overflowing streams, the father, taking his son, rode out with him on a cart, which was dragged by a mukhorty piebald horse, known among horse dealers under the name of a magpie; it was ruled by a coachman, a little hunchback, the ancestor of the only serf family that belonged to Chichikov's father, who occupied almost all positions in the house. On a magpie they trudged for more than a day and a half; they spent the night on the road, crossed the river, ate a cold pie and roast lamb, and only on the third day in the morning they reached the city. The streets of the city flashed with unexpected splendor before the boy, forcing him to open his mouth for several minutes. Then the magpie flopped along with the cart into the pit, which began a narrow alley, which was all striving down and choked with mud; for a long time she worked there with all her might and kneaded with her legs, instigated by both the hunchback and the master himself, and finally dragged them into a small courtyard, which stood on a slope with two blossoming apple trees in front of an old house and a garden behind it, low, small, consisting only of mountain ash, elderberry and hiding in the depths of her wooden booth, covered with shrapnel, with a narrow frosted window. Here lived a relative of theirs, a flabby old woman who still went to the market every morning and then dried her stockings at the samovar, who patted the boy on the cheek and admired his fullness. Here he was supposed to stay and go daily to the classes of the city school. Father, having spent the night, got out on the road the next day. At parting, no tears were shed from parental eyes; was given half a copper for consumption and goodies, and, much more importantly, a clever instruction: “Look, Pavlusha, study, don’t be a fool and don’t hang out, but most of all please teachers and bosses. If you please your boss, then, although you won’t succeed in science and God didn’t give you talent, you will go all out and get ahead of everyone. Don't hang out with your comrades, they won't teach you good things; and if it comes to that, then hang out with those who are richer, so that on occasion they can be useful to you. Do not treat or treat anyone, but behave better in such a way that you are treated, and most of all, take care and save a penny: this thing is more reliable than anything in the world. A comrade or friend will cheat you and in trouble will be the first to betray you, but a penny will not betray you, no matter what trouble you are in. You will do everything and break everything in the world with a penny. Having given such instruction, the father parted from his son and dragged himself home again on his magpie, and since then he never saw him again, but the words and instructions were sunk deep into his soul. Pavlusha from another day began to go to classes. He did not have any special abilities for any science; he distinguished himself more by diligence and neatness; but on the other hand, he turned out to have a great mind on the other side, on the practical side. He suddenly realized and understood the matter and behaved in relation to his comrades in exactly such a way that they treated him, and he not only never, but even sometimes, hiding the received treat, then sold them to them. Even as a child, he already knew how to deny himself everything. Of the fifty dollars given by his father, he did not spend a penny, on the contrary, in the same year he already made increments to it, showing almost extraordinary resourcefulness: he molded a bullfinch from wax, painted it and sold it very profitably. Then, for some time, he embarked on other speculations, namely these: having bought food at the market, he would sit in the class next to those who were richer, and as soon as he noticed that a comrade was beginning to feel sick - a sign of approaching hunger - he would stick out his under the bench, as if by chance, a corner of a gingerbread or a roll, and, having provoked him, took money, considering his appetite. For two months he fussed in his apartment without rest near a mouse, which he planted in a small wooden cage, and finally achieved the point that the mouse stood on its hind legs, lay down and got up on orders, and then sold it also very profitably. When he accumulated money up to five rubles, he sewed up the bag and began to save in another. In relation to the authorities, he behaved even smarter. No one could sit on a bench so quietly. It should be noted that the teacher was a great lover of silence and good behavior and could not stand smart and sharp boys; it seemed to him that they must certainly laugh at him. It was enough for the one who came to the remark from the side of wit, it was enough for him only to move or somehow inadvertently wink his eyebrow, in order to suddenly fall into anger. He persecuted him and punished him mercilessly. “I, brother, will drive out of you arrogance and disobedience! he said. “I know you through and through, just as you don’t know yourself. Here you are on my knees! you will starve me!” And the poor boy, not knowing why, rubbed his knees and starved for days. “Abilities and talents? it's all nonsense,” he used to say, “I only look at behavior. I will give full points in all sciences to those who do not know a thing, but behave commendably; and in whom I see a bad spirit and mockery, I am zero to him, although he plugs Solon into his belt! So said the teacher, who did not love Krylov to death because he said: “For me, it’s better to drink, but understand the matter,” and always told with pleasure in his face and eyes, as in the school where he taught before, there was such silence that one could hear a fly flying; that not a single student coughed or blew his nose in class all year round, and that until the bell rang it was impossible to know whether anyone was there or not. Chichikov suddenly grasped the spirit of the boss and what behavior should consist of. He did not move an eye or an eyebrow during the whole class, no matter how they pinched him from behind; as soon as the bell rang, he rushed headlong and gave the teacher the first three (the teacher went around in three); giving three, he left the class first and tried to catch him three times on the road, constantly taking off his hat. The case was a complete success. Throughout his stay at the school, he was in excellent standing and upon graduation he received a full honor in all sciences, a certificate and a book with golden letters. for exemplary diligence and trustworthy behavior. When he left the school, he found himself already a young man of rather attractive appearance, with a chin that required a razor. At this time his father died. The inheritance included four irretrievably worn jerseys, two old coats lined with lambskin, and a small amount of money. Father, apparently, was versed only in the advice to save a penny, while he himself saved up a little. Chichikov immediately sold a dilapidated courtyard with an insignificant piece of land for a thousand rubles, and transferred a family of people to the city, settling down in it and doing service. At the same time, a poor teacher, a lover of silence and commendable behavior, was expelled from the school for stupidity or other guilt. The teacher, in grief, began to drink; finally, he had nothing to drink; sick, without a piece of bread and help, he disappeared somewhere in an unheated, forgotten kennel. His former students, wise men and wits, in whom he constantly imagined rebelliousness and arrogant behavior, having learned about his miserable situation, immediately collected money for him, even selling a lot of things he needed; only Pavlusha Chichikov dissuaded himself by lack of availability and gave him some nickel of silver, which his comrades immediately threw to him, saying: “Oh, you lived!” The poor teacher covered his face with his hands when he heard about such an act of his former students; tears flowed like hail from fading eyes, like those of a powerless child. “At death, on a bed, God made me cry,” he said in a weak voice and sighed heavily when he heard about Chichikov, adding immediately: “Oh, Pavlusha! that's how a person changes! after all, what a well-behaved, nothing violent, silk! Inflated, strongly inflated ... " It cannot, however, be said that the nature of our hero was so severe and callous, and that his feelings were so dulled that he knew neither pity nor compassion; he felt both, he would even want to help, but only so that it does not consist in a significant amount, so as not to touch the money that was supposed to be left alone; in a word, the father's admonition: take care and save a penny - it went for the future. But in him there was no attachment to money proper for money's sake; they were not possessed by stinginess and stinginess. No, they did not move him: he imagined ahead of him life in all contentment, with all sorts of prosperity; carriages, a house perfectly arranged, delicious dinners - that was what constantly rushed through his head. In order to finally, later, in time, taste all this without fail, that's why the penny was spared, sparingly refusing for the time being both to oneself and to another. When a rich man rushed past him on a flying beautiful droshky, on trotters in a rich harness, he would stop in his tracks and then, waking up, as if after a long sleep, he would say: “But there was a clerk, he wore his hair in a circle!” And everything that did not respond with wealth and contentment made an impression on him, incomprehensible to himself. Having left the school, he did not even want to rest: he had such a strong desire to get down to work and service as soon as possible. However, despite the commendable certificates, with great difficulty he decided to go to the Treasury. And in the distant backwoods, protection is needed! He got an insignificant place, a salary of thirty or forty rubles a year. But he decided to take up the service passionately, to conquer and overcome everything. And indeed, self-sacrifice, patience and limitation of needs, he showed unheard of. From early morning until late at night, without getting tired of either mental or bodily strength, he wrote, mired all in stationery, did not go home, slept in the office rooms on the tables, sometimes dined with the watchmen, and for all that he knew how to keep neatness, to dress decently. , tell the face a pleasant expression and even something noble in the movements. It must be said that the chamber officials were especially notable for their homeliness and ugliness. Others had faces like badly baked bread: their cheeks were swollen in one direction, their chins slanted in the other, their upper lip was raised in a bubble, which, in addition to that, also cracked; in other words, it's not pretty at all. They all spoke somehow sternly, in such a voice, as if they were going to beat someone; they made frequent sacrifices to Bacchus, thus showing that in Slavic nature there are still many remnants of paganism; sometimes they even came into the presence, as they say, drunk, which is why it was not good in the presence and the air was not at all aromatic. Among such officials, Chichikov could not help but be noticed and distinguished, representing in everything the perfect opposite, both in the presence of a face, and in the friendliness of his voice, and in the complete non-use of any strong drinks. But for all that, his path was difficult; he fell under the command of an already aged priest, who was an image of some kind of stone insensitivity and unshakability: always the same, impregnable, never in his life showing a smile on his face, never greeting anyone even with a request for health. No one saw that he was at least once not what he always was, even on the street, even at home; at least once he showed his participation in something, at least he got drunk drunk and laughed in drunkenness; even if he indulged in the wild merriment that a robber indulges in when he is drunk, there was not even a shadow in him. There was nothing exactly in him: neither villainous nor good, and something terrible appeared in this absence of everything. His callous-marble face, without any sharp irregularity, did not hint at any resemblance; in severe proportion among themselves were his features. Only the frequent mountain ash and potholes that gouged them ranked him among those faces on whom, according to popular expression, the devil came at night to thresh peas. It seemed that there was no human strength to get close to such a person and attract his favor, but Chichikov tried. At first he began to please in all sorts of inconspicuous trifles: he carefully examined the feathers with which he wrote, and having prepared several according to their model, put them under his arm every time; he blew and swept sand and tobacco from his table; got a new rag for his inkwell; I found somewhere his hat, the worst hat that ever existed in the world, and every time I put it near him a minute before the end of the presence; I cleaned his back if he stained it with chalk against the wall - but all this was decidedly left without any remark, as if nothing of this had been done. Finally, he sniffed out his home, family life, found out that he had a mature daughter, with a face that also looked like it was threshing peas at night. From this side he came up with the idea of inducing an attack. He found out what church she came to on Sundays, stood opposite her every time, cleanly dressed, heavily starched on his shirt-front - and the matter was a success: the stern priest staggered and invited him for tea! And in the office they didn’t have time to look back, how things turned out in such a way that Chichikov moved into his house, became a necessary and necessary person, bought both flour and sugar, treated his daughter like a bride, called the clerk papa and kissed him on the hand; everyone put in the ward that there would be a wedding at the end of February before Lent. The stern assistant even began to fuss with the authorities for him, and after a while Chichikov himself sat down as an assistant to one vacant position that had opened up. This, it seemed, was the main purpose of his ties with the old associate, because he immediately sent his chest secretly home and the next day found himself in another apartment. Povytchik ceased to be called papa and no longer kissed his hand, and the matter of the wedding was so hushed up, as if nothing had happened at all. However, every time he met him, he affectionately shook his hand and invited him to tea, so that the old priest, despite his eternal immobility and callous indifference, shook his head every time and said under his breath: !" It was the most difficult threshold he had crossed. Since then, things have gotten easier and more successful. He became a prominent person. Everything turned out to be in him that is needed for this world: both pleasantness in turns and actions, and glibness in business affairs. With such means, he got in a short time what is called a grain place, and took advantage of it in an excellent way. You need to know that at the same time the most severe prosecution of all bribes began; he was not afraid of persecution and turned them at once to his own advantage, thus showing directly Russian ingenuity, which appears only during pressure. The matter was arranged like this: as soon as the petitioner came and put his hand in his pocket in order to pull out the well-known letters of recommendation signed by Prince Khovansky, as we say in Russia: “No, no,” he said with a smile, holding his hands Do you think that I... no, no. This is our duty, our duty, without any retribution we must do! On this side, be calm: tomorrow everything will be done. Let me know your apartment, you don’t need to take care of yourself, everything will be brought to your house. The enchanted petitioner returned home almost in awe, thinking: “Here is finally a man, who needs more, this is just a precious diamond!” But the petitioner waits for a day, another, they do not bring the case to the house, on the third too. He is in the office, the case has not begun; he to the precious diamond. “Ah, sorry! Chichikov said very courteously, grabbing him by both hands, "we had so much to do; but tomorrow everything will be done, tomorrow without fail, really, I’m even ashamed!” And all this was accompanied by charming movements. If at the same time the hem of the dressing-gown somehow flung open, then the hand at the same moment tried to straighten things out and hold the hem. But neither tomorrow, nor the day after tomorrow, nor on the third day, do they carry things home. The petitioner takes up his mind: yes, that's enough, is there anything? inquires; they say, you need to give it to the clerks. “Why not give? I'm ready for a quarter, another." - "No, not a quarter, but white." - "According to the little white clerks!" the petitioner cries out. “Why are you so excited? - they answer him, - it will come out that way, the clerks will get a quarter each, and the rest will go to the authorities. The slow-witted petitioner beats himself on the forehead and scolds the new order of things, the persecution of bribes and the polite, ennobled appeals of officials. Previously, at least you knew what to do: you brought a red one to the ruler of affairs, and it’s all in the hat, but now you need a white one, and you’ll be fussing for another week, until you guess; the devil would take disinterestedness and bureaucratic nobility! The petitioner, of course, is right, but now there are no bribe-takers: all the rulers of affairs are the most honest and noble people, secretaries only and clerks are swindlers. Soon Chichikov saw a much more spacious field: a commission was formed to build some kind of state-owned, very capital structure. He also joined this commission, and turned out to be one of the most active members. The commission got down to business immediately. She fumbled around the building for six years; but the climate, or something, interfered with it, or the material was already like that, only the government building could not go higher than the foundation. Meanwhile, in other parts of the city, each of the members found themselves in a beautiful house of civil architecture: it was clear that the soil of the earth was better there. Members were already beginning to prosper and began to start a family. It was only here and now that Chichikov began to gradually extricate himself from the harsh laws of abstinence and his inexorable self-sacrifice. Only here the long-term fast was finally softened, and it turned out that he was always not a stranger to various pleasures, from which he knew how to resist in the summers of ardent youth, when not a single person has any power over himself. There were some excesses: he got a pretty good cook, thin Dutch shirts. He already bought cloth for himself such as the whole province did not wear, and from that time on he began to stick to more brown and reddish colors with a spark; he had already acquired an excellent pair and himself held one rein, forcing the harness to curl in a ring; he had already started the custom of drying himself with a sponge soaked in water mixed with cologne; he already bought some kind of soap for making his skin smooth, already. But suddenly a new boss was sent in place of the former mattress, a military man, strict, an enemy of bribe-takers and everything that is called untruth. The very next day he frightened everyone to one, demanded reports, saw shortcomings, missing sums at every step, noticed at the same moment houses of beautiful civil architecture, and a bulkhead began. Officials were removed from office; houses of civil architecture went to the treasury and were turned to various charitable institutions and schools for cantonists, everything was fluffed up, and Chichikov more than others. His face suddenly, despite the pleasantness, did not like the chief, why, God knows - sometimes there is simply no reason for it - and he hated him to death. And the inexorable boss was very formidable for everyone. But since he was still a military man, and therefore did not know all the intricacies of civil tricks, after a while, by means of a truthful appearance and the ability to fake everything, other officials rubbed into his favor, and the general soon found himself in the hands of even greater swindlers whom he did not at all regard as such; he was even pleased that at last he had chosen people properly, and he boasted in earnest of his subtle ability to distinguish between abilities. Officials suddenly comprehended his spirit and character. Everything that was under his command became terrible persecutors of injustice; everywhere, in all cases, they pursued her, as a spear fisherman pursues some fleshy beluga, and they pursued her with such success that soon everyone found themselves with several thousand capital. At this time, many of the former officials turned to the path of truth and were again taken to the service. But Chichikov could in no way infiltrate himself, no matter how hard he tried and stood up for him, instigated by the letters of Prince Khovansky, the first general secretary, who completely comprehended the control of the general's nose, but here he decisively could not do anything. The general was the kind of person who, although they were led by the nose (however, without his knowledge), but on the other hand, if any thought got into his head, then it was there just like an iron nail: nothing could have pulled it out of there. . All that the clever secretary could do was to destroy the soiled track record, and for that he already moved the boss only with compassion, depicting to him in vivid colors the touching fate of the unfortunate Chichikov family, which, fortunately, he did not have. "Well! - said Chichikov, - hooked - dragged, broke - do not ask. Crying grief does not help, you need to do the job. And so he decided to start his career anew, to arm himself with patience again, to limit himself again in everything, no matter how freely and well he had turned around before. It was necessary to move to another city, there is still to bring himself to fame. Everything somehow did not stick. He had to change two, three positions in the shortest possible time. The positions were somehow dirty, base. You need to know that Chichikov was the most decent person that ever existed in the world. Although at first he had to rub himself in a dirty society, he always kept clean in his soul, he liked to have lacquered wood tables in the offices and everything would be noble. He never allowed himself an indecent word in his speech and was always offended if he saw in the words of others a lack of proper respect for rank or title. The reader, I think, will be pleased to know that every two days he changed his underwear, and even every day during hot summers: any somewhat unpleasant smell already offended him. For this reason, whenever Petrushka came to undress him and take off his boots, he put a carnation in his nose, and in many cases his nerves were ticklish, like a girl's; and therefore it was hard for him to find himself again in those ranks, where everything reeked of foam and indecency in actions. No matter how strong his spirit, he nevertheless lost weight and even turned green during such adversity. He was already beginning to grow stout and come into those round and decent forms in which the reader found him when making acquaintance with him, and more than once, looking in the mirror, he thought of many pleasant things: about a woman, about a child, and a smile followed him. such thoughts; but now, when he somehow inadvertently looked at himself in the mirror, he could not help crying out: “You are my Most Holy Mother! how ugly I've become!" And after a long time did not want to look. But our hero endured everything, endured strongly, patiently endured, and - finally moved to the customs service. It must be said that this service has long been a secret subject of his thoughts. He saw what smart foreign gizmos the customs officials got excited about, what porcelain and cambric they sent to gossips, aunts and sisters. More than once, for a long time, he had already said with a sigh: “That would be where to get over: the border is close, and enlightened people, and what thin Dutch shirts you can get!” It must be added that at the same time he was also thinking about a special kind of French soap, which imparted an unusual whiteness to the skin and freshness to the cheeks; what it was called, God knows, but, according to his assumptions, it was certainly on the border. So, he would have wanted to go to customs for a long time, but the current various benefits from the construction commission were holding back, and he reasoned rightly that the customs, anyway, was still nothing more than a pie in the sky, and the commission was already a bird in the hands. Now he decided to get to the customs at all costs, and got there. He took up his service with unusual zeal. It seemed that fate itself had determined him to be a customs officer. Such promptness, perspicacity and perspicacity were not only not seen, but not even heard of. In three or four weeks, he had already become so familiar with customs that he knew absolutely everything: he didn’t even weigh, didn’t measure, but by texture he found out how many arshins of cloth or other matter were in a piece; taking the bundle in his hand, he could suddenly tell how many pounds it contained. As for the searches, here, as even the comrades themselves expressed it, he simply had a canine instinct: it was impossible not to be amazed, seeing how he had so much patience to feel every button, and all this was carried out with deadly composure, polite to incredible. And at a time when those being searched were furious, losing their temper and feeling a malicious impulse to beat up his pleasant appearance with clicks, he, without changing either in face or in polite deeds, would say only: “Wouldn’t you like to worry a little and get up?” Or: “Would you like, madam, to go to another room? there the wife of one of our officials will explain to you.” Or: “Let me, I’ll cut the lining of your overcoat a little with a knife” - and, saying this, he pulled out shawls, scarves, coolly, as if from his own chest. Even the authorities explained that it was a devil, and not a man: he looked for in wheels, drawbars, horse ears and who knows in what places, wherever it occurred to any author to climb and where only one customs officials were allowed to climb. So the poor traveler, who had crossed the border, still could not come to his senses for several minutes, and, wiping the sweat that had come out in a small rash all over his body, he only made the sign of the cross and said: “Well, well!” His position was very similar to that of a schoolboy who ran out of a secret room, where the chief called him in order to give some instruction, but instead whipped him in a completely unexpected way. For a short time there was no life from him for smugglers. This was a thunderstorm and despair of all Polish Jews. His honesty and incorruptibility were irresistible, almost unnatural. He did not even make himself a small capital out of various confiscated goods and selected some gizmos that did not enter the treasury in order to avoid unnecessary correspondence. Such zealous and disinterested service could not but become the subject of general astonishment and finally reach the attention of the authorities. He received a rank and a promotion, and after that he presented a project to catch all the smugglers, asking only for the means to carry it out himself. The same hour he was given a command and an unlimited right to conduct all sorts of searches. This was just what he wanted. At that time, a strong society of smugglers was formed in a deliberately correct way; the audacious enterprise promised profits in the millions. He had long had information about him and even refused to bribe those sent, saying dryly: "It's not time yet." Having received everything at his disposal, at that very moment he let the society know, saying: "Now is the time." The calculation was too correct. Here in one year he could receive what he would not have won in twenty years of the most zealous service. Before, he did not want to enter into any relations with them, because he was nothing more than a mere pawn, therefore, he would have received little; but now ... now it's a completely different matter: he could offer any conditions. To make things go smoothly, he persuaded another official, his comrade, who could not resist the temptation, despite the fact that his hair was gray. The terms were agreed and the society began to act. The action began brilliantly: the reader, no doubt, has heard the so often repeated story about the witty journey of Spanish rams, who, having crossed the border in double sheepskin coats, carried a million Brabant laces under their sheepskin coats. This incident happened exactly when Chichikov served at the customs. If he himself had not participated in this enterprise, no Jews in the world would have been able to carry out such a deed. After three or four sheep's marches across the border, both officials ended up with four hundred thousand capital each. Chichikov's, they say, even exceeded five hundred, because he was a bit happier. God knows to what a huge figure the blessed sums would not have increased, if some difficult beast had not run across everything. The devil confused both officials: the officials, to put it simply, went berserk and quarreled for nothing. Somehow, in a heated conversation, or maybe after drinking a little, Chichikov called another official a priest, and the latter, although he really was a priest, for some unknown reason, was offended cruelly and immediately answered him strongly and unusually sharply, just like this: “No, you're lying, I'm a state councilor, not a priest, but you're such a priest! ” And then he added to him in defiance for greater annoyance: “Yes, they say, what!” Although he thus shaved it all around, turning on him the name given to him, and although the expression "that's what, they say!" could be strong, but, dissatisfied with this, he sent a secret denunciation to him. However, they say that they already had a quarrel over some kind of wench, fresh and strong, like a vigorous turnip, in the words of customs officials; that people were even bribed to beat our hero in the evening in a dark alley; but that both officials were fools and some staff captain Shamsharev took advantage of the woman. As it was in fact, God knows them; better let the reader-hunter compose himself. The main thing is that secret relations with smugglers have become clear. The State Councilor, although he himself disappeared, still killed his comrade. The officials were taken to court, confiscated, described everything they had, and all this was suddenly resolved like a thunderbolt over their heads. How after a daze they came to their senses and saw with horror what they had done. The state councilor, according to Russian custom, took to drink with grief, but the collegiate resisted. He knew how to hold back part of the money, no matter how sensitive the sense of smell of the authorities who came to the investigation was. He used all the subtle tricks of the mind, already too experienced, knowing people too well: where he acted with pleasant turns, where with touching speech, where he smoked with flattery, in no case spoiling the case, where he slipped in a little money - in a word, he handled the matter at least in such a way that he was dismissed not with such disgrace as his comrade, and dodged from under the criminal court. But no capital, no various foreign gizmos, nothing left him; for all this there were other hunters. He kept a thousand tens hidden about a rainy day, and two dozen Dutch shirts, and a small britzka, in which bachelors ride, and two serfs, the coachman Selifan and the lackey Petrushka, and the customs officials, driven by kindness of heart, left him five or six bars of soap to preserve the freshness of the cheeks - that's all. So, this is the position in which our hero found himself again! What a great calamity befell him! He called it: to suffer in the service for the truth. Now we can conclude that after such storms, trials, vicissitudes of fate and life's grief, he will retire with the remaining ten thousand dollars in blood to some peaceful outback of a county town and there he will shut up forever in a cotton dressing gown at the window of a low house, sorting out the fight of peasants on Sundays , which arose in front of the windows, or, for refreshment, going into the chicken coop to personally feel the chicken assigned to the soup, and thus spend a quiet, but in its own way, also not a useful age. But that didn't happen. We must do justice to the irresistible force of his character. After all that would be enough, if not to kill, then to cool and pacify a person forever, an incomprehensible passion did not go out in him. He was in grief, in annoyance, murmuring to the whole world, angry at the injustice of fate, indignant at the injustice of people, and yet he could not refuse new attempts. In a word, he showed patience, before which the wooden patience of a German, already contained in the slow, lazy circulation of his blood, is nothing. Chichikov's blood, on the contrary, played strongly, and a lot of reasonable will was needed to throw a bridle on everything that would like to jump out and walk in freedom. He reasoned, and in his reasoning a certain side of justice was visible: “Why me? why did I get in trouble? Who is yawning now in office? - everybody buys. I did not make anyone unhappy: I did not rob a widow, I did not let anyone into the world, I used from the excess, I took where anyone would take; If I didn't use it, others would. Why do others prosper, and why should I be a worm? And what am I now? Where do I fit? With what eyes will I now look into the eyes of every venerable father of a family? How can I not feel remorse, knowing that I am burdening the earth for nothing, and what will my children say later? Here, they will say, father, cattle, did not leave us any fortune! It is already known that Chichikov took great care of his descendants. Such a sensitive subject! Another, perhaps, would not have sunk his hand so deeply if it were not for the question that, for some unknown reason, comes by itself: what will the children say? And now the future ancestor, like a cautious cat, squinting with only one eye to the side, whether the owner is looking from where, hastily grabs everything that is closer to him: is it worth soap, is it candles, is it lard, is the canary caught under its paw - in a word, does not miss anything . This is how our hero complained and wept, but meanwhile activity did not die in his head; there everything wanted to build something and waited only for the plan. Again he shrank, again began to lead a difficult life, again limited himself in everything, again from purity and decent position he sank into dirt and low life. And in anticipation of a better one, I was even forced to take up the title of attorney, a title that had not yet acquired citizenship from us, pushed from all sides, poorly respected by petty clerks and even by the trustees themselves, condemned to crouching in front, rudeness, etc., but the need forced me to decide on All. Of the orders he got, by the way, one thing: to petition for the placement of several hundred peasants in the Board of Trustees. The estate was ruined to the last degree. It was upset by bestial cases, rogue clerks, crop failures, epidemic diseases that destroyed the best workers, and, finally, the stupidity of the landowner himself, who cleaned his house in Moscow in the last taste and killed his entire fortune to the last penny for this cleaning, so that he no longer what was there. For this reason, it was finally necessary to mortgage the last remaining estate. Mortgage to the treasury was then still a new matter, which was decided not without fear. Chichikov as an attorney, having first arranged everyone (without a preliminary arrangement, as you know, even a simple certificate or correction cannot be taken, nevertheless, at least a bottle of Madeira will have to be poured into every throat), - so, having located everyone who should be, he explained that, by the way, this is a circumstance: half of the peasants died out, so that there would be no bindings later ... - Why, they are listed in the revision tale? the secretary said. "They are," answered Chichikov. “Well, why are you shy?” - said the secretary, - one has died, another will be born, and everything is good for business. The secretary evidently knew how to speak in rhyme. In the meantime, our hero was struck by the most inspiring thought that has ever entered a human head. “Oh, I’m Akim-simplicity,” he said to himself, “I’m looking for mittens, and both are in my belt! Yes, if I buy all these who have died out before they have yet filed new revision tales, get them, let's say, a thousand, yes, let's say, the board of trustees will give two hundred rubles per capita: that's two hundred thousand capital! And now the time is convenient, there was an epidemic recently, a lot of people died, thank God. The landowners played cards, got drunk and squandered themselves as they should; everyone climbed into Petersburg to serve; the estates are abandoned, they are managed no matter what, the taxes are paid every year more difficultly, so everyone will gladly give them up to me just because they don’t have to pay head-to-head money for them; maybe next time it will happen that from another time I will even get a penny for it. Of course, it’s difficult, troublesome, scary, so that somehow it doesn’t get any more, so as not to lead stories out of this. Well, after all, the mind is given to a person for something. And most importantly, it’s good that the object will seem incredible to everyone, no one will believe it. True, without land it is impossible to buy or mortgage. Why, I'll buy on withdrawal, on withdrawal; now the land in the Tauride and Kherson provinces are given away for free, just populate. I will send them all there! in Kherson them! let them live there! And resettlement can be done legally, as follows from the courts. If they want to examine the peasants: perhaps I’m not averse to this either, why not? I will also present a certificate signed by the police captain in his own hand. The village can be called Chichikov Slobidka or by the name given at baptism: the village of Pavlovskoye. And in this way, this strange plot was formed in the head of our hero, for which, I don’t know whether readers will be grateful to him, and it’s hard to express how grateful the author is. For, whatever you say, if this thought had not occurred to Chichikov, this poem would not have come into being. Crossing himself according to Russian custom, he began to perform. Under the guise of choosing a place to live and under other pretexts, he undertook to look into those and other corners of our state, and mainly into those that suffered more than others from accidents, crop failures, deaths, and other things, and other things - in a word, wherever possible more conveniently and cheaper to buy the needed people. He did not randomly turn to every landowner, but chose people more to his liking or those with whom it would be possible to make similar deals with less difficulty, trying first to get to know each other, to win over him, so that, if possible, by friendship, and not by purchase, he could acquire men. So, readers should not be indignant at the author, if the faces that have hitherto appeared have not come to his taste; this is Chichikov's fault, he is the complete master here, and wherever he pleases, we must drag ourselves there. For our part, if, for sure, the accusation for the pallor and homeliness of faces and characters falls, we will only say that at the beginning one can never see the whole broad course and volume of the case. The entrance to any city, even to the capital, is always somehow pale; at first everything is gray and monotonous: endless factories and factories, sooty with smoke, stretch out, and then the corners of six-story houses, shops, signboards, huge prospects of streets, all in bell towers, columns, statues, towers, with urban brilliance, noise and thunder and everything that the hand and thought of man miraculously produced. How the first purchases were made, the reader has already seen; how things go further, what successes and failures the hero will have, how he will have to resolve and overcome more difficult obstacles, how colossal images will appear, how the innermost levers of a broad story will move, its horizon will be heard in the distance and all of it will take on a majestic lyrical current, he will see later. There is still a long way to go for the entire marching carriage, consisting of a middle-aged gentleman, a britzka in which bachelors ride, Petrushka the footman, Selifan the coachman and three horses, already known by name from the Assessor to the black-haired scoundrel. So, here is our hero, what he is! But they will demand, perhaps, a final definition in one line: who is he in relation to moral qualities? That he is not a hero, full of perfection and virtue, is evident. Who is he? so a scoundrel? Why is a scoundrel, why be so strict with others? Now there are no scoundrels among us, there are well-meaning, pleasant people, and those who would put their physiognomy under a public slap in the face to general disgrace, only two or three people can be found, and even they are now talking about virtue. It is most fair to call him: the owner, the acquirer. Acquisition is the fault of everything; because of him the works were done, to which the light gives a name not very clean. True, there is already something repulsive in such a character, and the same reader who, on his life path, will be friends with such a person, will take bread and salt with him and spend pleasant time, will look askance at him if he turns out to be a hero. dramas or poems. But wise is he who does not shun any character, but, fixing him with a searching look, examines him to the original causes. Everything quickly turns into a person; before you have time to look back, a terrible worm has already grown inside, autocratically turning all the vital juices to itself. And more than once, not only a broad passion, but an insignificant passion for something petty grew in one born for the best deeds, made him forget great and holy duties and see the great and holy in insignificant trinkets. Countless, like the sands of the sea, are human passions, and all are not alike one another, and all of them, low and beautiful, are at first submissive to man and then already become his terrible rulers. Blessed is he who has chosen for himself the most beautiful passion of all; his immeasurable bliss grows and tenfolds every hour and minute, and he enters deeper and deeper into the infinite paradise of his soul. But there are passions whose choice is not from man. They were already born with him at the moment of his birth into the world, and he was not given the strength to deviate from them. They are guided by the highest inscriptions, and there is in them something eternally calling, unceasing throughout life. They are destined to complete the earthly great field: it doesn’t matter whether in a gloomy image, or to rush through as a bright phenomenon that rejoices the world, they are equally called for the good unknown to man. And, perhaps, in this same Chichikov, the passion that attracts him is no longer from him, and in his cold existence lies something that will later plunge a person to dust and knees before the wisdom of heaven. And another mystery is why this image appeared in the poem that is now being born. But it’s not so hard that they will be dissatisfied with the hero, it’s hard that there lives in the soul an irresistible confidence that the readers would be satisfied with the same hero, the same Chichikov. Do not look deeper into his soul, do not stir at the bottom of it what escapes and hides from the light, do not reveal the most secret thoughts that a person does not entrust to anyone else, but show him as he seemed to the whole city, Manilov and other people, and everyone would be welcome and take him for an interesting person. There is no need that neither the face nor the whole image of him would rush about as if alive before his eyes; on the other hand, at the end of the reading, the soul is not alarmed by anything, and one can turn again to the card table that amuses all of Russia. Yes, my good readers, you would hate to see human poverty exposed. Why, you say, what is it for? Don't we ourselves know that there are many despicable and stupid things in life? And without that, it often happens to us to see something that is not at all comforting. Better present to us the beautiful, the fascinating. Let us better forget! “Why are you telling me, brother, that things are going badly on the farm? says the landowner to the clerk. “I, brother, know this without you, but don’t you have other speeches, or what?” You let me forget it, not know it, then I'm happy. And so the money that would somehow improve the matter goes to various means to bring oneself into oblivion. The mind sleeps, perhaps having found a sudden spring of great means; and there the estate bukh from the auction, and the landowner went to forget himself in the world with a soul, from extremes ready for baseness, which he himself would have been horrified before. The author will still be accused by the so-called patriots, who sit quietly in their corners and are engaged in completely extraneous affairs, accumulate capital for themselves, arranging their fate at the expense of others; but as soon as something happens, in their opinion, offensive to the fatherland, some book appears, in which sometimes the bitter truth is revealed, they will run out from all corners, like spiders who see that a fly is entangled in a web, and suddenly raise screams : “Is it good to bring it to light, to proclaim it? After all, this is all that is not described here, this is all ours - is it good? What will foreigners say? Is it fun to hear a bad opinion about yourself? Think it doesn't hurt? Do they think we are not patriots?” To such wise remarks, especially about the opinion of foreigners, I confess, nothing can be tidied up in response. But perhaps this: two inhabitants lived in one remote corner of Russia. One was the father of the family, named Kifa Mokievich, a man of meek disposition, who spent his life in a negligent manner. He did not take care of his family; his existence was turned more speculatively and occupied with the following, as he called it, philosophical question: “Here, for example, the beast,” he said, walking around the room, “the beast will be born naked. Why exactly naked? Why not like a bird, why doesn't it hatch from an egg? How, really, that: you won’t understand nature at all, as you go deeper into it! This is how the inhabitant of Kifa Mokievich thought. But this is not the main point. Another inhabitant was Mokiy Kifovich, his own son. He was what they call in Rus' a hero, and at the time when his father was engaged in the birth of the beast, his twenty-year-old broad-shouldered nature was in a rush to turn around. He never knew how to lightly grasp anything: either someone's hand cracks, or a blister pops up on someone's nose. Everyone in the house and in the neighborhood, from the yard girl to the yard dog, ran away, seeing him; he even broke his own bed in the bedroom into pieces. Such was Mokiy Kifovich, and by the way, he was a good soul. But this is not the main point. And the main thing is this: “Have mercy, father, gentleman, Kifa Mokievich,” both his own and other people’s household said to his father, “what kind of Mokiy Kifovich do you have? No one has peace from him, such a corner!” “Yes, playful, playful,” my father usually said to this, “but what can I do: it’s too late to fight him, and everyone will accuse me of cruelty; but he is an ambitious man, reproach him with a friend or a third, he will calm down, but after all, publicity is the trouble! the city will know, call him a complete dog. What, really, they think, doesn't it hurt me? am I not a father? That I do philosophy and sometimes I don’t have time, so I’m not a father? but no, father! father, damn them, father! I have Moky Kifovich sitting right here, in my heart! - Here Kifa Mokievich beat himself very hard on the chest with his fist and went into complete excitement. “If he remains a dog, then let them not find out about it from me, let it not be me who betrayed him.” And, having shown such a fatherly feeling, he left Mokiy Kifovich to continue his heroic deeds, and he himself turned again to his favorite subject, suddenly asking himself some similar question: “Well, if an elephant was born in an egg, after all, the shell, tea, would be strong she was fat, you can’t break through with a cannon; you need to invent some new firearms." This is how two inhabitants of a peaceful corner spent their lives, who unexpectedly, as if from a window, looked out at the end of our poem, looked out in order to modestly answer the accusation from some ardent patriots, who until the time calmly engaged in some kind of philosophy or increments at the expense of sums tenderly. their beloved fatherland, thinking not about not doing bad things, but about not saying that they are doing bad things. But no, not patriotism and not the first feeling are the reasons for the accusations, something else is hidden under them. Why hide a word? Who, if not the author, should tell the holy truth? You are afraid of a deeply fixed gaze, you yourself are afraid of directing a deep gaze at something, you love to glimpse everything with unthinking eyes. You will even laugh heartily at Chichikov, maybe even praise the author, say: “However, he deftly noticed something, a person must be of a cheerful disposition!” And after such words, with redoubled pride, turn to yourself, a self-satisfied smile will appear on your face, and you will add: “But you must agree, people in some provinces are strange and ridiculous, and scoundrels, moreover, no small!” And which of you, full of Christian humility, not publicly, but in silence, alone, in moments of solitary conversations with himself, will deepen this heavy inquiry into his own soul: “Isn’t there some part of Chichikov in me too?” Yes, no matter how! But if at that time some acquaintance of his, who has a rank neither too high nor too small, passes by at that moment, he will immediately push his neighbor by the arm and say to him, almost snorting with laughter: “Look, look, Get out Chichikov, Chichikov has gone!” And then, like a child, forgetting all decency due to rank and years, he will run after him, teasing him from behind and saying: “Chichikov! Chichikov! Chichikov! But we began to speak quite loudly, forgetting that our hero, who had been sleeping during the whole story of his story, had already woken up and could easily hear his surname so often repeated. He is a touchy person and is dissatisfied if people speak disrespectfully about him. The reader will be pleased whether Chichikov will be angry with him or not, but as for the author, he should in no case quarrel with his hero: there is still a long way and the road they will have to go together hand in hand; two large parts in front - this is not a trifle. — Ehe-he! what are you? Chichikov said to Selifan, "you?" - What? Selifan said in a slow voice. - Like what? Goose you! how do you eat! Come on, touch it! And in fact, Selifan had long been riding with his eyes shut, occasionally only wakingly shaking the reins on the sides of the horses, which were also dozing; and Petrushka's cap had long since fallen off in some place, and he himself, tipping over backwards, buried his head in Chichikov's knee, so that he had to give it a click. Selifan cheered up and, slapping the dapple-haired man several times on the back; after which he set off at a trot, and, waving his whip from above at everyone, said in a thin melodious voice: “Do not be afraid!” The horses stirred and carried, like fluff, a light britzka. Selifan only waved and shouted: “Eh! eh! eh!” - smoothly jumping on the goats, as the troika either took off up the hillock, then rushed in spirit from the hillock, with which the entire high road was strewn, striving with a slightly noticeable roll down. Chichikov only smiled, slightly flying up on his leather cushion, for he liked fast driving. And what Russian does not like to drive fast? Is it his soul, seeking to spin, take a walk, sometimes say: “Damn it all!” Is it possible for his soul not to love her? Is it possible not to love her when something wonderful and wary is heard in her? It seems that an unknown force has taken you on its wing to itself, and you yourself are flying, and everything is flying: miles are flying, merchants are flying towards them on the framing of their wagons, a forest is flying on both sides with dark formations of firs and pines, with a clumsy knock and a crow's cry, flying the whole road, God knows where, into the vanishing distance, and something terrible is contained in this quick flickering, where the vanishing object does not have time to appear - only the sky above the head, and light clouds, and the moon trudging through, alone seem to be motionless. Eh, trio! bird troika, who invented you? to know that you could only be born among a lively people, in that land that does not like to joke, but spread out halfway around the world, and go and count miles until it fills your eyes. And not a cunning, it seems, road projectile, not captured by an iron screw, but hastily equipped and assembled alive with one ax and a chisel by a smart Yaroslavl peasant. The coachman is not in German boots: a beard and mittens, and the devil knows what he sits on; but he got up, and swung, and began to sing a song - the horses whirlwind, the spokes in the wheels mixed up in one smooth circle, only the road trembled, and the pedestrian who stopped screamed in fright - and there she rushed, rushed, rushed! .. And you can already see in the distance, as something dusts and drills the air. Isn't it true that you too, Rus, that a brisk, unbeatable troika are rushing about? The road smokes under you, the bridges rumble, everything lags behind and is left behind. The contemplative, amazed by God's miracle, stopped: is it not lightning thrown from the sky? what does this terrifying movement mean? and what kind of unknown power lies in these horses unknown to the light? Oh, horses, horses, what horses! Are whirlwinds sitting in your manes? Does a sensitive ear burn in every vein of yours? They heard a familiar song from above, together and at once strained their copper breasts and, almost without touching the ground with their hooves, turned into only elongated lines flying through the air, and all inspired by God rushes! .. Rus', where are you rushing to? Give an answer. Doesn't give an answer. A bell is filled with a wonderful ringing; the air torn to pieces rumbles and becomes the wind; everything that is on earth flies by, and, looking sideways, step aside and give it way to other peoples and states.A room in Marya Alexandrovna's house.
I
Marya Alexandrovna, an elderly lady, and Michal Andreevich, her son.
Marya Alexandrovna. Listen, Misha, I have long wanted to talk to you: you should change your job. Misha. Perhaps even tomorrow. Marya Alexandrovna. You must serve in the military. Misha (goggling eyes). In the military? Marya Alexandrovna. Yes. Misha. What are you, mother? in the military? Marya Alexandrovna. Well, why are you so surprised? Misha. Excuse me, but don't you know: after all, you have to start with the junkers? Marya Alexandrovna. Well, yes, you serve a year as a cadet, and then they will be promoted to officers - that's my business. Misha. What did you see in me as a military man? and my figure is completely non-military. Think, mother! Really, you completely amazed me with such words, so I, I ... I just don’t know what to think ... Thank God, I’m a little plump, but when I put on a cadet uniform with short ponytails, I’ll even be ashamed to look . Marya Alexandrovna. No need. They will make you an officer, you will wear a uniform with long tails and completely cover your thickness, so that nothing will be noticeable. Besides, it's better that you're a little fat - the production will go faster: they will be ashamed that they have such a fat ensign in their regiment. Misha. But, mother, I'm a year old, only a year left before a collegiate assessor. I have been in the rank of titular adviser for two years now. Marya Alexandrovna. Stop it, stop it! This word "titular" tyrannizes my ears; That's what God knows what comes to my mind. I want my son to serve in the guard. I just can’t even look at the shtafirka now! Misha. But judge me, mother, take a good look at me and my appearance as well: back in school they called me a hamster. In military service, it is still necessary that he ride a horse famously, and have a sonorous voice, and have a heroic height, and a waist. Marya Alexandrovna. Get it, get it all. I want you to serve without fail; there is a very important reason for this. Misha. What is the reason? Marya Alexandrovna. Well, the reason is important. Misha. But tell me, what is the reason? Marya Alexandrovna. Such a reason... I don't even know if you will understand well. Gubomazova, that fool, has been talking at the Rogozhinskys for three days, and on purpose so that I can hear. And I am sitting third, in front of me is Sophie Votrushkova, Princess Alexandrina, and now I am behind Princess Alexandrina. What do you think this worthless woman dared to say?.. I really wanted to get up from my seat; and if it weren't for Princess Alexandrina, I wouldn't know what I did. He says: “I am very glad that civilians are not allowed at court balls. It's all like that, he says, mauvais genre, something ignoble responds to them. I'm glad, says my Alexis doesn't wear that nasty tailcoat." And she said all this with such affectation, with such a tone ... so, really ... I don’t know what I would have done with her. And her son is just a fool full of: all he knows how to do is lift his leg. Such a nasty bastard! Misha. How, mother, is this the whole reason? Marya Alexandrovna. Yes, I want out of spite that my son also served in the guard and would be at all court balls. Misha. Pardon me, mother, just because she's a fool... Marya Alexandrovna. No, I've made up my mind. Let her crack herself with vexation, let her rage. Misha. However... Marya Alexandrovna. ABOUT! I'll show her! As she wishes, I will do my best, and my son will also be in the guard. Even though through this he will lose, but he will certainly be. So that I would allow every scoundrel to sulk in front of me and raise my already snub-nosed nose! No, this will never happen! How do you want yourself, Natalya Andreevna! Misha. Will you annoy her with this? Marya Alexandrovna. Oh, I won't let that happen! Misha. If you demand it, mother, I will transfer to the military; only, really, it will be funny to me myself when I see myself in a uniform. Marya Alexandrovna. Already, at least, much nobler than this little frat. Now the second: I want to marry you. Misha. At one time - and change the service and marry? Marya Alexandrovna. What? As if it is impossible to change the service and marry? Misha. Well, I didn't have any intentions yet. I don't want to get married yet. Marya Alexandrovna. You want, if you only know on whom. By this marriage you will bring happiness to yourself both in the service and in family life. In a word, I want to marry you to Princess Shlepokhvostova. Misha. Why, mother, she is a first-class fool. Marya Alexandrovna. Not at all first-class, but the same as all the others. Beautiful girl; it's just that there is no memory: sometimes it is forgotten, it will say out of place; but this is from absent-mindedness, and on the other hand, she is not a gossip at all and will never invent anything bad. Misha. For mercy, where should she gossip! She can hardly bind a word, and even such that you only spread your hands as soon as you hear it. You know yourself, mother, that marriage is a matter of the heart: it is necessary that the soul ... Marya Alexandrovna. Well, like this! It's like I had a premonition. Look, stop being liberal. It didn't fit you, it didn't fit you, I've already told you twenty times. It suits another somehow, but it doesn't suit you at all. Misha. Ah, mother, but when and in what way was I disobedient to you? I am almost thirty years old, and meanwhile, like a child, I am submissive to you in everything. You tell me to go where I would not like to go to death - and I'm going, not even showing the appearance that it's hard for me. You order me to rub myself in the hall of such and such - and I jostle in the hall of such and such, even though it is not at all to my liking. You tell me to dance at balls - and I dance, even though everyone laughs at me and at my figure. You, finally, order me to change my service - and I change my service, at the age of thirty I go to the junker; at thirty I am reborn as a child to please you! And for all that, every day you prick my eyes with liberalism. Not a minute will pass without you calling me a liberal. Listen, mother, it hurts! I swear to you, it hurts! I am worthy for my sincere love and affection for you the best fate... Marya Alexandrovna. Please don't say it! Like I don't know you're a liberal; and I even know who inspires you with all this: all this nasty Sobachkin. Misha. No, mother, this is already too much for me to even begin to obey Sobachkin. Dog bastard, gambler and whatever you want. But here he is innocent. I will never let him have even a shadow of influence over me. Marya Alexandrovna. Oh, my God, what a terrible man! I was scared when I recognized him. Without rules, without virtue - what a vile, what a vile man! If you only knew what he said about me!.. For three months I couldn't show my nose anywhere: that I was served tallow stubs; that in my rooms the carpets are not brushed for whole weeks; that I went out for a walk in a harness made of simple ropes on cab yokes ... I blushed all over, I was ill for more than a week; I don't know how I could bear all this. Truly, faith in Providence alone strengthened me. Misha. And such a person, you think, can have power over me? and you think I'll let you? Marya Alexandrovna. I said that he should not dare to show himself before my eyes, and you alone can justify yourself when, without any persistence, you make a déclaration to the princess today. Misha. But, mother, what if you can't do it? Marya Alexandrovna. How can you not, why? Misha (aside). Well, the decisive moment! .. (Aloud.) Allow me to have my voice here, even though in a matter on which the happiness of my future life depends. You haven't asked me yet... well, if I'm in love with another? Marya Alexandrovna. This, I confess, is news to me. I haven't heard anything about this yet. But who is this other one? Misha. Oh, mother, I swear, there has never been anything like it! Angel, angel, face and soul! Marya Alexandrovna. But whose is she, who is her father? Misha. Father - Alexander Alexandrovich Odoshimov. Marya Alexandrovna. Odosimov? surname unheard! I don't know anything about Odosimov... but what is he, a rich man? Misha. A rare person, an amazing person! Marya Alexandrovna. And rich? Misha. How can you tell? You need to see him. You will not find such virtues of the soul in the world. Marya Alexandrovna. But what is he like, what is his rank, property? Misha. I understand, mother, what you want. Let me speak frankly on this account of my thoughts. After all, now, be that as it may, perhaps in all of Russia there is no groom who would not look for a rich bride. Everyone wants to get better at the expense of the wife's dowry. Well, let it be excusable in some respects: I understand that a poor person who is unlucky in his job or in something else, who, perhaps, excessive honesty prevented from making a fortune - in a word, whatever it was, but I understand that he has the right to seek a rich bride; and, perhaps, the parents would have been unjust if they had not paid tribute to his merits and had not given his daughter to him. But you judge whether a rich man is just, who will also look for rich brides - then what will happen in the world? After all, it’s like putting on an overcoat over a fur coat when it’s already hot, when this overcoat, perhaps, would cover someone’s shoulders. No, mother, it's not fair! The father donated all his property to raise his daughter. Marya Alexandrovna. Pretty, pretty! I can no longer listen. I know everything, everything: I fell in love with a slut, the daughter of some fourier, who, perhaps, is engaged in a public craft. Misha. Mother... Marya Alexandrovna. Father is a drunkard, mother is a cook, relatives are quartets or employees in the drinking department ... And I must hear all this, endure all this, endure from my own son, for whom I did not spare my life! .. No, I will not survive this ! Misha. But mother, let me... Marya Alexandrovna. My God, what morality do young people have now! No, I won't survive this! I swear I won't survive this... Ah! What is this? I got dizzy! (She screams.) Oh, there's colic in my side!... Masha, Masha, a bottle!... I don't know if I'll live until evening. Cruel son! Misha (rushing). Mother, calm down! you create for yourself... Marya Alexandrovna. And all this was done by this nasty Sobachkin. I don't know how this plague hasn't been kicked out yet. Footman (at the door). Sobachkin has arrived. Marya Alexandrovna. How is Sobachkin? Refuse, refuse, so that even his spirit is not here!II
The same and Sobachkin.
Sobachkin. Maria Alexandrovna! sorry for being so long gone. By God, I couldn't! You can't believe how many cases; I knew that you would be angry, really, I knew ... (Seeing Misha.) Hello, brother! How are you Marya Alexandrovna(to the side) . I just don't have words! What? He also apologizes for not being there for a long time! Sobachkin. How glad I am that you, judging by your face, are so fresh and healthy. And how is your brother? I thought, I confess, that you would also find him. Marya Alexandrovna. To do this, you could go to him, not to me. Sobachkin (grinning). I came to tell you an interesting anecdote. Marya Alexandrovna. I'm not a joke hunter. Sobachkin. About Natalya Andreevna Gubomazova. Marya Alexandrovna. How about Gubomazova!.. (Trying to hide his curiosity.) So this happened recently, didn't it? Sobachkin. The other day. Marya Alexandrovna. What is it? Sobachkin. Do you know that she flogs her girls herself? Marya Alexandrovna. No! what are you saying? Ah, what fear! is it possible? Sobachkin. Here is your cross! Let me tell you. Only once did she tell the guilty girl to lie down properly on the bed, while she herself went into another room - I don’t remember for something, it seems for the rods. At this time, the girl leaves the room for something, and Natalya Andreevna's husband comes in her place, lies down and falls asleep. Natalya Andreevna appears, as it should, with rods, orders one girl to sit on his feet, covered her with a sheet and - whipped her husband! Marya Alexandrovna (clapping hands). Oh, my God, what a fear! How is it that I didn't know about this until now? I will tell you that I was almost always sure that she was able to do it. Sobachkin. Naturally! I told the whole world this. They interpret: “An exemplary wife, sits at home, takes care of raising children, she teaches them in English!” What upbringing! He whips her husband every day like a cat!.. How sorry I am, really, that I cannot stay longer with you. (Bows.) Marya Alexandrovna. Where are you going, Andrey Kondratievich? Aren't you ashamed that I haven't had so much time ... I've always got used to seeing you as a friend at home; stay! I wanted to talk to you about something else. Listen, Misha, the coachman is waiting in my room; please talk to him. Ask if he will undertake to remake the carriage by the first day. The color should be blue with light cleaning, in the manner of Gubomazova's carriage.Misha leaves.
I sent my son on purpose to talk to you alone. Tell me, do you really know: there is some kind of Alexander Alexandrovich Odoshimov?
Sobachkin. Odosimov?.. Odosimov... Odosimov... I know there is Odosimov somewhere; however, I can handle it. Marya Alexandrovna. Please. Sobachkin. I remember, I remember, there is Odoshimov - the clerk or the head of the department ... exactly, there is. Marya Alexandrovna. Imagine, a funny story came out ... You can do me a big favor. Sobachkin. You just have to order. I am ready for anything for you, you yourself know this. Marya Alexandrovna. Here's the thing: my son fell in love, or, better, didn't fall in love, but madness just entered his head... Well, young man... In a word, he's delirious about the daughter of this Odosimov. Sobachkin. Delirious? And yet he didn't tell me anything about it. Yes, however, of course, delirious, if you say so. Marya Alexandrovna. I want a great service from you, Andrey Kondratievich: I know women like you. Sobachkin. He, he, he! Yes, why do you think that? But for sure! Imagine: there are six bills of sale on the buttered... maybe you think that I, for my part, somehow dragged myself along or something else... I swear, I didn’t even look! Yes, that's even better: you know how you call him, Yermolai, Yermolai ... Oh, God! Yermolai, that's what he lived on Liteinaya, not far from Kirochnaya? Marya Alexandrovna. I don't know anyone there. Sobachkin. Oh my god! Ermolai Ivanovich, it seems, for the life of me, I forgot my last name. Even his wife five years ago got into history. Well, yes, you know her: Sylphide Petrovna. Marya Alexandrovna. Not at all; I don't know any Yermolai Ivanovich or Sylphide Petrovna. Sobachkin. My God! he still lived not far from Kuropatkino. Marya Alexandrovna. And I don't know Kuropatkin either. Sobachkin. Yes, you remember later. Daughter, a terrible rich woman, up to two hundred thousand dowry; and not exactly with a puff, but even before the wedding, a pawn ticket in hand. Marya Alexandrovna. What are you? not married? Sobachkin. Did not marry. Father stood on his knees for three days, begging; and the daughter could not bear it, now she is sitting in the monastery. Marya Alexandrovna. Why didn't you get married? Sobachkin. Yes, somehow. I think to myself: father is a farmer, relatives - whatever. Believe me, you yourself, really, it was a pity later. Damn it, right, how the world works: all the conditions and decency. How many people have already been killed! Marya Alexandrovna. Well, why are you looking at the world? (Aside.) I humbly ask! Now every little booger already thinks that he is an aristocrat. Here is just some titular one, but listen to how he says! Sobachkin. Well, it’s impossible, Marya Alexandrovna, really, it’s impossible, everything is somehow ... Well, you understand ... They will begin to say: “Well, the devil knows who he married ...” Yes, with me, however, there are always such stories . Sometimes, really, it’s not at all to blame, there’s absolutely nothing on my part ... well, what do you want to do? (He speaks softly.) After all, when the Neva is opened up, two or three drowned women are always found - I just keep quiet, because you can still get mixed up in such a story! .. Yes, they love; but for what, it seems? face can not be said to be very ... Marya Alexandrovna. It's like you don't know how good you are. Sobachkin (laughs). But imagine that, even as a boy, not a single one used to pass without hitting a finger under the chin and saying: “You rascal, how good!” Marya Alexandrovna(to the side) . I humbly ask! After all, about beauty, too - after all, the pug is perfect, but imagines that he is good. (Aloud.) Well, listen, Andrei Kondratievich, with your appearance you can do it. My son is foolishly in love and imagines her to be perfect goodness and innocence. Is it possible somehow, you know, to present it in the wrong form, somehow, as they say, to mess it up a little? If, let's say, you don't act on her and she doesn't go crazy with you... Sobachkin. Marya Alexandrovna, come down! Don't argue, it'll do! I'll cut off my head if it doesn't work. I'll tell you, Marya Alexandrovna, stories like this didn't happen to me ... Just the other day ... Marya Alexandrovna. Well, be that as it may, it will or won't, it just needs to get the word out around town that you're involved with her... and let it reach my son. Sobachkin. To your son? Marya Alexandrovna. Yes, to my son. Sobachkin. Yes. Marya Alexandrovna. What "yes"? Sobachkin. Nothing, I just said yes. Marya Alexandrovna. Do you find it difficult for you? Sobachkin. Oh no, nothing. But all these lovers ... you won't believe what inconsistencies, inappropriate childishness they have, different: either pistols, or ... the devil knows what it is ... Of course, I'm not that somehow ... but, you know , indecent in a good society. Marya Alexandrovna. ABOUT! about this be calm. Rely on me, I won't let him get to that. Sobachkin. However, I just noticed. Believe me, Marya Alexandrovna, I am for you, if I had to risk my life exactly where, then with pleasure, by God, with pleasure ... I love you so much that, to confess, I’m even ashamed - you might think God knows what and that is just the deepest respect. Ah, that's good that I remembered! I will ask you, Marya Alexandrovna, to lend me two thousand rubles for the shortest possible time. God knows what a stupid memory! As he was dressing, he kept thinking how not to forget the book; he purposely put it on the table in front of his eyes. Whatever you want: I took everything - I took the snuffbox, I even took an extra handkerchief, but the book remained on the table. Marya Alexandrovna(to the side) . What to do with him? If you give it, it will wind it up, but if you don’t give it, it will spread such nonsense around the city that I won’t be able to show my nose anywhere. And I like that he also says: I forgot the book! You have a book, I know it's empty. And there is nothing to do, you need to give. (Aloud.) Excuse me, Andrey Kondratievich; just wait here, I'll bring them to you now. Sobachkin. Very well, I'll sit here. Marya Alexandrovna (walking away). Without money, you bastard can't do anything. Sobachkin (one). Yes, these two thousand will be very useful to me now. I won’t pay back my debts: the shoemaker will wait, and the tailor will wait, and Anna Ivanovna will also wait; Of course, he will scream, but what can you do? you can’t waste money on everything, she’s had enough of my love, but she’s lying, she has a dress. And I will do this: soon there will be a walk; although my little carriage is new, well, everyone has already seen and knows it, but, they say, Joachim has it, it just came out, the latest fashion, he doesn’t even show it to anyone. If I add these two thousand to my carriage, then I can exchange it very much. So I, you know, what I'll ask then the effect! Maybe there will be only one or two such strollers in the whole walk! So they talk about me everywhere. In the meantime, you need to think about Marya Alexandrovna's instructions. I think the wisest place to start is with love letters. Write a letter on behalf of this girl, and somehow accidentally drop it in his presence or forget it on the table in his room. Of course, it can turn out somehow bad. Yes, but so what? after all, he gives only aces. Aces, of course, hurt, but still not to such an extent that ... Why, I can run away, and if anything - into Marya Alexandrovna's bedroom and right under the bed; and let him get me out of there! But, most importantly, how to write a letter? Death do not like to write! that is, just at least slaughter! The devil knows, it seems that he would explain everything nicely in words, but if you take up the pen, it’s just as if someone gave a slap in the face. Confusion, confusion, - no hand is raised, and it's full. Is that what? I have some letters that were recently written to me: choose which one is better, scrape off the last name, and write another one in its place ... Well, why is that not good? right! Fumble in your pocket - maybe you will immediately be lucky enough to find exactly what you need. (He takes out a bunch of letters from his pocket.) Well, if only this, for example (reads): “I’m very healthy, thank God, but I can’t get sick from pain. Ali you darling completely forgot. Ivan Danilovich saw you darling in the teater and they would have come to reassure you with the cheerfulness of the conversation. Damn it! there seems to be no spelling. No, I don't think this will work. (Continues.) "I embroidered a garter for you, my dear." Well, and carried with tenderness! There is a lot of something bucolic, it smells like Chateaubriand. But, maybe there will be something here? (Unfolds another and squints his eye, trying to make out.)"Loveless friend!" No, this, however, is not a kind friend; what, however? The most tender, dearest? No, and not dearest, no, no. (Reads.) "Me, me, e ... rzavets." Hm! (Compresses his lips.) “If you, the insidious seducer of my innocence, do not return the money I owe to a petty shop, which I, out of inexperience of my heart, for you, a bad mug (he reads the last word almost through his teeth)... then I will take you to the police.” God knows what! That's just what the hell! There is really nothing in this letter. Of course, everything can be said, but it can be said decently, with such expressions that would not offend a person. No, no, all these letters, I see, are somehow not right ... they are not at all suitable. You need to look for something strong, where boiling water is visible, boiling water, as they say. Here, let's see this. (Reads.) "The cruel tyrant of my soul!" Ah, that's a good thing, though. "To be touched by my heart's fate!" And noble! oh my god, awesome! After all, you can see the upbringing! From the very beginning you can see who behaves how. That's how to write! Sensitive, but meanwhile the person is not offended. This is the letter I will send him. There is no need to read further; I just don't know how to scrape it off without being noticeable. (Looks at signature.) E, e! that's good, even the name is not exposed! Wonderful! This and sign. What a business has done by itself! But they say that appearance is nonsense: well, if you weren’t cute, you wouldn’t fall in love with you, and if you didn’t fall in love, you wouldn’t write letters, and if you didn’t have letters, you wouldn’t know how to take up this business. (Going to the mirror.) Even today he somehow sank, otherwise sometimes there’s even something significant in his face ... It’s only a pity that his teeth are bad, otherwise he would have looked like Bagration. I don’t know how to start sideburns: is it so that there is decidedly fringe all around, as they say - sheathed with cloth, or shave everything with nakedness, and put something under the lip, huh?
