What is the poem dead souls briefly about. "Dead Souls" in Gogol's poem "Dead Souls

At the gates of the hotel in the provincial town of NN, a rather beautiful spring small britzka drove in, in which bachelors ride: retired lieutenant colonels, staff captains, landowners with about a hundred souls of peasants - in a word, all those who are called gentlemen of the middle hand. In the britzka sat a gentleman, not handsome, but not bad-looking, neither too thick nor too thin; one cannot say that he is old, but it is not so that he is too young. His entry made absolutely no noise in the city and was not accompanied by anything special; only two Russian peasants, standing at the door of the tavern opposite the hotel, made some remarks, which, however, referred more to the carriage than to the person sitting in it. “You see,” one said to the other, “what a wheel! what do you think, will that wheel, if it happens, reach Moscow or not?” "He'll get there," replied the other. “But I don’t think he will reach Kazan?” “He won’t get to Kazan,” answered another. This conversation ended. Moreover, when the britzka drove up to the hotel, a young man met in white kanifas trousers, very narrow and short, in a tailcoat with attempts on fashion, from under which was visible a shirt-front, fastened with a Tula pin with a bronze pistol. The young man turned back, looked at the carriage, held his cap, which was almost blown off by the wind, and went on his way.

When the carriage drove into the yard, the gentleman was greeted by a tavern servant, or floor, as they are called in Russian taverns, lively and fidgety to such an extent that it was even impossible to see what kind of face he had. He ran out nimbly, with a napkin in his hand, all long and in a long denim frock coat with a back almost at the very back of his head, tossed his hair and quickly led the gentleman up the entire wooden gallery to show the peace bestowed upon him by God. The rest was of a certain kind, for the hotel was also of a certain kind, that is, just like hotels in provincial towns, where for two rubles a day travelers get a quiet room with cockroaches peeping out like prunes from all corners, and a door to the next door. room, always cluttered with a chest of drawers, where a neighbor, silent and calm person, but extremely curious, interested in knowing about all the details of the passing. The outer facade of the hotel corresponded to its interior: it was very long, two stories high; the lower one was not chiselled and remained in dark red bricks, darkened even more by the dashing weather changes and already dirty in themselves; the upper one was painted with eternal yellow paint; below were benches with collars, ropes and bagels. In the coal of these shops, or, better, in the window, there was a sbitennik with a samovar made of red copper and a face as red as the samovar, so that from a distance one might think that there were two samovars in the window, if one samovar was not with jet-black beard.

While the visiting gentleman was inspecting his room, his belongings were brought in: first of all, a suitcase made of white leather, somewhat worn, showing that it was not the first time on the road. The suitcase was brought in by the coachman Selifan, a short man in a sheepskin coat, and the footman Petrushka, a fellow of about thirty, in a spacious second-hand frock coat, as can be seen from the master's shoulder, the fellow is a little stern in his eyes, with very large lips and nose. Following the suitcase was brought in a small mahogany chest lined with Karelian birch, shoe lasts, and a fried chicken wrapped in blue paper. When all this was brought in, the coachman Selifan went to the stable to mess about with the horses, and the footman Petrushka began to settle down in a small front, very dark kennel, where he had already managed to drag his overcoat and, along with it, some kind of his own smell, which was communicated to the brought followed by a sack with various footmen's toilets. In this kennel he fixed a narrow three-legged bed against the wall, covering it with a small semblance of a mattress, dead and flat as a pancake, and perhaps as greasy as a pancake, which he managed to extort from the innkeeper.

While the servants were managing and fussing, the master went to the common room. What are these common halls - every passing one knows very well: the same walls, painted with oil paint, darkened at the top from pipe smoke and greasy from below with the backs of various travelers, and even more native merchants, for merchants on trading days came here on their own - a pole and on their own - let's drink our famous couple tea the same sooty ceiling; the same smoked chandelier with many hanging pieces of glass that jumped and tinkled every time the floorman ran over the worn oilcloths, briskly waving a tray on which sat the same abyss of teacups, like birds on sea ​​shore; the same wall-to-wall paintings, painted with oil paints - in a word, everything is the same as everywhere else; the only difference is that in one picture there was a nymph with such huge breasts as the reader has probably never seen. A similar game of nature, however, happens on different historical paintings , it is not known at what time, from where and by whom they were brought to us in Russia, sometimes even by our nobles, art lovers who bought them in Italy on the advice of the couriers who brought them. The gentleman threw off his cap and unwound from his neck a woolen scarf of rainbow colors, which the wife prepares with her own hands for the married, providing decent instructions on how to wrap up, and for the unmarried - I probably can’t say who makes them, God knows them, I never wore such scarves . Having unwound the scarf, the gentleman ordered dinner to be served. In the meantime, various dishes usual in taverns were served to him, such as: cabbage soup with a puff pastry, specially saved for passing through for several weeks, brains with peas, sausages with cabbage, fried poulard, pickled cucumber and eternal puff pastry, always ready for service. ; while all this was served to him, both warmed up and simply cold, he forced the servant, or sex, to tell all sorts of nonsense - about who ran the tavern before and who now, and how much income they give, and whether their owner is a big scoundrel; to which the sexual, as usual, answered: "Oh, big, sir, swindler." As in enlightened Europe, so in enlightened Russia there are now quite a lot of respectable people who, without that, cannot eat in a tavern, so as not to talk with a servant, and sometimes even play a funny joke on him. However, the newcomer did not ask all empty questions; he asked with extreme precision who was the governor in the city, who was the chairman of the chamber, who was the prosecutor - in a word, he did not miss a single significant official; but with even greater accuracy, if not even with participation, he asked about all the significant landowners: how many people have the souls of peasants, how far they live from the city, even what character and how often they come to the city; he asked carefully about the state of the region: were there any diseases in their province - epidemic fevers, any murderous fevers, smallpox, and the like, and everything was so detailed and with such accuracy that showed more than one simple curiosity. In his receptions, the gentleman had something solid and blew his nose extremely loudly. It is not known how he did it, but only his nose sounded like a pipe. This, in my opinion, completely innocent dignity, however, gained him a lot of respect from the tavern servant, so that every time he heard this sound, he tossed his hair, straightened himself more respectfully and, bending his head from on high, asked: it is not necessary what? After dinner, the gentleman drank a cup of coffee and sat down on the sofa, placing a pillow behind his back, which in Russian taverns is stuffed with something extremely similar to brick and cobblestone instead of elastic wool. Then he began to yawn and ordered to be taken to his room, where, lying down, he fell asleep for two hours. Having rested, he wrote on a piece of paper, at the request of the tavern servant, the rank, name and surname for the message to the right place, to the police. On a piece of paper, the floorman, going down the stairs, read the following from the warehouses: "College adviser Pavel Ivanovich Chichikov, landowner, according to his needs." When the officer was still sorting through the note, Pavel Ivanovich Chichikov himself went to see the city, which he seemed to be satisfied with, for he found that the city was in no way inferior to other provincial cities: the yellow paint on the stone houses was strongly striking in the eyes and the gray was modestly darkening. on wooden ones. The houses were one, two and one and a half stories high, with an eternal mezzanine, very beautiful, according to provincial architects. In places, these houses seemed lost among the wide, field-like streets and endless wooden fences; in some places they crowded together, and here there was noticeably more movement of the people and liveliness. There were signs almost washed away by the rain with pretzels and boots, in some places with painted blue trousers and the signature of some Arshavian tailor; where is the store with caps, caps and the inscription: "Foreigner Vasily Fedorov"; where a billiards table was drawn with two players in tailcoats, in which guests at our theaters dress when they enter the stage in the last act. The players were depicted with aiming cues, arms slightly turned back and oblique legs, which had just made an entreche in the air. Underneath it was written: "And here is the establishment." Here and there, just outside, there were tables with nuts, soap, and gingerbread that looked like soap; where is a tavern with a painted fat fish and a fork stuck in it. Most often, the darkened double-headed state eagles were noticeable, which have now been replaced by a laconic inscription: "Drinking House". The pavement was bad everywhere. He also looked into the city garden, which consisted of thin trees, badly taken, with props below, in the form of triangles, very beautifully painted with green oil paint. However, although these trees were no taller than reeds, it was said about them in the newspapers when describing the illumination, that “our city was decorated, thanks to the care of the civil ruler, with a garden consisting of shady, broad-branched trees, giving coolness on a hot day,” and that with In this "it was very touching to watch how the hearts of citizens trembled in abundance of gratitude and streamed tears in gratitude to the mayor." After asking the watchman in detail where he could go closer, if necessary, to the cathedral, to government offices, to the governor, he went to look at the river flowing in the middle of the city, on the way he tore off the poster nailed to the post, so that when he came home, he could read it carefully, looked intently at a lady of not bad appearance walking along the wooden sidewalk, followed by a boy in military livery, with a bundle in his hand, and, once again looking around everything with his eyes, as if in order to remember the position of the place well, he went home straight to his room, supported lightly on the stairs by a tavern servant. Having drunk his tea, he sat down in front of the table, ordered a candle to be brought to him, took a poster out of his pocket, brought it to the candle and began to read, screwing up his right eye a little. However, there was little remarkable in the poster: a drama was given by Mr. Kotzebue, in which Roll was played by Mr. Poplvin, Kora was Zyablov's maiden, other faces were even less remarkable; however, he read them all, even got to the price of the stalls and found out that the poster had been printed in the printing house of the provincial government, then he turned it over to the other side: to find out if there was something there, but, finding nothing, he rubbed his eyes, turned neatly and put it in his chest, where he used to put everything that came across. The day seems to have ended with a portion of cold veal, a bottle of sour cabbage soup and sound sleep in the whole pump wrap, as they say in other places of the vast Russian state.

The whole next day was devoted to visits; the visitor went to pay visits to all the city dignitaries. He was respectfully with the governor, who, as it turned out, like Chichikov, was neither fat nor thin, had Anna around his neck, and it was even rumored that he had been introduced to the star; however, he was a very good-natured fellow and sometimes even embroidered tulle himself. Then he went to the vice-governor, then he was with the prosecutor, with the chairman of the chamber, with the police chief, with the farmer, with the head of state-owned factories ... it’s a pity that it’s somewhat difficult to remember everyone the mighty of the world this; but suffice it to say that the newcomer showed extraordinary activity in regard to visits: he even came to pay his respects to the inspector of the medical board and the city architect. And then he sat in the britzka for a long time, thinking about who else to pay a visit to, and there were no more officials in the city. In conversations with these rulers, he very skillfully knew how to flatter everyone. He hinted to the governor somehow in passing that you enter his province like paradise, the roads are velvet everywhere, and that those governments that appoint wise dignitaries are worthy of great praise. He said something very flattering to the chief of police about the town watchmen; and in conversations with the vice-governor and the chairman of the chamber, who were still only state councilors, he even said by mistake twice: "your excellency", which they liked very much. The consequence of this was that the governor made him an invitation to visit him on the same day house party, other officials, too, for their part, some for lunch, some for Boston, some for a cup of tea.

The visitor, it seemed, avoided talking much about himself; if he spoke, then some common 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 did not deserve to be cared for a lot, that he 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 considered 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 be washed and rubbed both cheeks with soap for an extremely long time, propping them up 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, beginning from behind his ears and snorting first or twice into the tavern servant's very face. 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 skinny illumination from the ocean that flickered here and there. However, the governor's house was so lit up, even for a ball; a carriage 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 smashed, where in dense heaps Saturated with rich summer, already at every step arranging delicious dishes, they flew in not at all to eat, but only to show themselves, to walk back and forth on the sugar heap, to rub one against the other back or front legs, or scratch them under your wings, or, stretching out both front paws, rub them over your head, turn around and fly away again, and fly 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 St. and made the ladies laugh just as 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 did not wear hair on their heads either in tufts or curls, nor in the manner of “damn me”, as the French say - their hair were either low cut or slick, and the 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 direct ones, 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 was calm, lo and behold - and somewhere at the end of the city a house bought in the name of his wife appeared, then at the other end another house, 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 considering 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 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. They sat down at the green table and did not get up until supper. All conversations ceased completely, as always happens when one finally indulges in a sensible occupation. Although the postmaster was very eloquent, he, having taken the cards in his hands, immediately expressed a thinking physiognomy on his face, covered his upper lip with his lower lip and maintained this position throughout the game. Leaving the figure, he struck the table firmly with his hand, saying, if there was a lady: “Go, old priest!”, If the king: “Go, Tambov peasant!” And the chairman would say: “And I'm on his mustache! And I'm on her mustache! Sometimes, when the cards hit the table, expressions came out: “Ah! was not, not from what, so with a tambourine! Or just exclamations: “Worms! worm-hole! picnic! or: “pickendras! pichurushchuh! pichura! and even simply: “pichuk!” - the names with which they crossed the suits in their society. At the end of the game they argued, as usual, rather loudly. Our visiting guest also argued, but somehow extremely skillfully, so that everyone saw that he was arguing, but meanwhile he was arguing pleasantly. He never said: “you went”, but: “you deigned to go”, “I had the honor to cover your deuce”, and the like. In order to further agree on something with his opponents, he each time offered them all his silver snuffbox with enamel, at the bottom of which they noticed two violets, put there for smell. The visitor's attention was especially occupied by the landowners Manilov and Sobakevich, whom we mentioned above. He at once inquired about them, immediately calling a few in the direction of the chairman and the postmaster. A few questions made by him showed in the guest not only curiosity, but also thoroughness; for first of all he asked how many souls of peasants each of them had and in what condition their estates were, and then he inquired as to the name and patronymic. In a little while, he had completely charmed them. The landowner Manilov, not yet at all an elderly man, who had eyes as sweet as sugar, and screwed them up every time he laughed, was beyond memory of him. He shook his hand for a very long time and asked him convincingly to do him the honor of his arrival in the village, to which, according to him, was only fifteen miles from the city outpost. To which Chichikov, with a very polite inclination of his head and a sincere shake of the hand, replied that he was not only ready to fulfill this with great pleasure, but even honored it as a sacred duty. Sobakevich also said somewhat succinctly: “And I ask you,” shuffling his foot, shod in a boot of such a gigantic size, which is hardly anywhere to be found in response to the foot, especially at the present time, when heroes are beginning to appear in Rus'.

The next day, Chichikov went to dinner and evening to the police chief, where from three o'clock in the afternoon they sat down to whist and played until two in the morning. There, by the way, he met the landowner Nozdryov, a man of about thirty, a broken fellow, who, after three or four words, began to say “you” to him. With the police chief and the prosecutor, Nozdryov was also on "you" and treated in a friendly way; but when they sat down to play a big game, the police chief and the prosecutor examined his bribes with extreme attention and watched almost every card with which he walked. The next day, Chichikov spent the evening with the chairman of the chamber, who received his guests in a dressing gown, somewhat greasy, including two ladies. Then he was at a party with the vice-governor, at a big dinner at the farmer's, at a small dinner at the prosecutor's, which, however, cost a lot; on an after-mass snack given by the mayor, which was also worth dinner. In a word, he did not have to stay at home for a single hour, and he came to the hotel only to fall asleep. The visitor somehow knew how to find himself in everything and showed himself an experienced secular person. Whatever the conversation was about, he always knew how to support it: if it was about a horse farm, he talked about a horse farm; whether they talked about good dogs, and here he reported very sensible remarks; whether they interpreted with regard to the investigation carried out by the Treasury, he showed that he was not unknown to judicial tricks; whether there was a discussion about the billiard game - and in the billiard game he did not miss; whether they talked about virtue, and he talked about virtue very well, even with tears in his eyes; about the manufacture of hot wine, and he knew the use of hot wine; about customs overseers and officials, and he judged them as if he himself were both an official and an overseer. But it is remarkable that he knew how to clothe all this with some degree, knew how to behave well. He spoke neither loudly nor softly, but exactly as he should. In a word, wherever you turn, he was a very decent person. All the officials were pleased with the arrival of the new face. The governor said of him that he was a well-intentioned man; prosecutor - what is he efficient person; gendarmerie colonel said that he scientist man; the chairman of the chamber - that he is a knowledgeable and respectable person; police chief - that he is a respectable and amiable person; the wife of the chief of police - that he is the most kind and courteous person. Even Sobakevich himself, who rarely spoke of anyone in a good way, having arrived rather late from the city and already completely undressed and lay down on the bed next to his thin wife, said to her: dined, and met the collegiate adviser Pavel Ivanovich Chichikov: a pleasant person! To which the wife replied: "Hm!" - and pushed him with her foot.

Such an opinion, very flattering to the guest, was formed about him in the city, and it was held until one strange property of the guest and an enterprise, or, as they say in the provinces, a passage, about which the reader will soon learn, did not lead to complete bewilderment almost the whole city.

At the gates of the hotel in the provincial town of nn drove a rather beautiful spring small britzka, in which bachelors ride: retired lieutenant colonels, staff captains, landowners with about a hundred souls of peasants - in a word, all those who are called gentlemen of the middle hand. In the britzka sat a gentleman, not handsome, but not bad-looking either, neither too fat nor too thin; one cannot say that he is old, but it is not so that he is too young. His entry made absolutely no noise in the city and was not accompanied by anything special; only two Russian peasants, standing at the door of the tavern opposite the hotel, made some remarks, which, however, referred more to the carriage than to the person sitting in it. “You see,” one said to the other, “what a wheel! what do you think, will that wheel, if it happens, reach Moscow or not?” "He'll get there," replied the other. “But I don’t think he will reach Kazan?” “He won’t get to Kazan,” answered another. This conversation ended. Moreover, when the britzka drove up to the hotel, a young man met in white kanifas trousers, very narrow and short, in a tailcoat with attempts on fashion, from under which was visible a shirt-front, fastened with a Tula pin with a bronze pistol. The young man turned back, looked at the carriage, held his cap, which was almost blown off by the wind, and went on his way.

When the carriage drove into the yard, the gentleman was greeted by a tavern servant, or floor, as they are called in Russian taverns, lively and fidgety to such an extent that it was even impossible to see what kind of face he had. He ran out quickly, with a napkin in his hand, all long and in a long denim frock coat with a back almost at the very back of his head, shook his hair and quickly led the gentleman up the entire wooden gallery to show the peace God had sent him. The rest was of a certain kind, for the hotel was also of a certain kind, that is, just like hotels in provincial towns, where for two rubles a day travelers get a quiet room with cockroaches peeping out like prunes from all corners, and a door to the next door. a room, always cluttered with a chest of drawers, where a neighbor settles down, a silent and calm person, but extremely curious, interested in knowing all the details of the traveler. The outer facade of the hotel corresponded to its interior: it was very long, two stories high; the lower one was not chiselled and remained in dark red bricks, darkened even more by the dashing weather changes and already dirty in themselves; the upper one was painted with eternal yellow paint; below were benches with collars, ropes and bagels. In the coal of these shops, or, better, in the window, there was a sbitennik with a samovar made of red copper and a face as red as the samovar, so that from a distance one might think that there were two samovars in the window, if one samovar was not with jet-black beard.

While the visiting gentleman was inspecting his room, his belongings were brought in: first of all, a suitcase made of white leather, somewhat worn, showing that it was not the first time on the road. The suitcase was brought in by the coachman Selifan, a short man in a sheepskin coat, and the footman Petrushka, a fellow of about thirty, in a spacious second-hand frock coat, as can be seen from the master's shoulder, the fellow is a little stern in his eyes, with very large lips and nose. Following the suitcase was brought in a small mahogany chest lined with Karelian birch, shoe lasts, and a fried chicken wrapped in blue paper. When all this was brought in, the coachman Selifan went to the stable to mess about with the horses, and the footman Petrushka began to settle down in a small front, very dark kennel, where he had already managed to drag his overcoat and, along with it, some kind of his own smell, which was communicated to the brought followed by a sack with various footmen's toilets. In this kennel he fixed a narrow three-legged bed against the wall, covering it with a small semblance of a mattress, dead and flat as a pancake, and perhaps as greasy as a pancake, which he managed to extort from the innkeeper.

While the servants were managing and fussing, the master went to the common room. What are these common halls - every passing one knows very well: the same walls, painted with oil paint, darkened at the top from pipe smoke and greasy from below with the backs of various travelers, and even more native merchants, for merchants on trading days came here on their own - a pole and on their own -this is to drink their famous pair of tea; the same sooty ceiling; the same smoked chandelier with many hanging pieces of glass that jumped and tinkled every time the floorman ran over the worn oilcloths, waving smartly at the tray, on which sat the same abyss of teacups, like birds on the seashore; the same wall-to-wall paintings, painted with oil paints - in a word, everything is the same as everywhere else; the only difference is that in one picture there was a nymph with such huge breasts as the reader has probably never seen. A similar play of nature, however, happens in various historical paintings, it is not known at what time, from where and by whom they were brought to us in Russia, sometimes even by our nobles, art lovers, who bought them in Italy on the advice of the couriers who brought them. The gentleman threw off his cap and unwound from his neck a woolen scarf of rainbow colors, which the wife prepares with her own hands for the married, providing decent instructions on how to wrap up, and for the unmarried - I probably can’t say who makes them, God knows them, I never wore such scarves . Having unwound the scarf, the gentleman ordered dinner to be served. In the meantime, various dishes usual in taverns were served to him, such as: cabbage soup with a puff pastry, specially saved for passing through for several weeks, brains with peas, sausages with cabbage, fried poulard, pickled cucumber and eternal puff pastry, always ready for service. ; while all this was served to him, both warmed up and simply cold, he forced the servant, or sex, to tell all sorts of nonsense - about who ran the tavern before and who now, and how much income they give, and whether their owner is a big scoundrel; to which the sexual, as usual, answered: "Oh, big, sir, swindler." As in enlightened Europe, so in enlightened Russia there are now quite a lot of respectable people who, without that, cannot eat in a tavern, so as not to talk with a servant, and sometimes even play a funny joke on him. However, the newcomer did not ask all empty questions; he asked with extreme precision who was the governor in the city, who was the chairman of the chamber, who was the prosecutor - in a word, he did not miss a single significant official; but with even greater accuracy, if not even with participation, he asked about all the significant landowners: how many people have the souls of peasants, how far they live from the city, even what character and how often they come to the city; he asked carefully about the state of the region: were there any diseases in their province - epidemic fevers, any murderous fevers, smallpox, and the like, and everything was so detailed and with such accuracy that showed more than one simple curiosity. In his receptions, the gentleman had something solid and blew his nose extremely loudly. It is not known how he did it, but only his nose sounded like a pipe. This apparently completely innocent dignity, however, gained him a lot of respect from the tavern servant, so that every time he heard this sound, he tossed his hair, straightened himself more respectfully and, bending his head from on high, asked: it is not necessary what? After dinner, the gentleman drank a cup of coffee and sat down on the sofa, placing a pillow behind his back, which in Russian taverns is stuffed with something extremely similar to brick and cobblestone instead of elastic wool. Then he began to yawn and ordered to be taken to his room, where, lying down, he fell asleep for two hours. Having rested, he wrote on a piece of paper, at the request of the tavern servant, the rank, name and surname for the message to the right place, to the police. On a piece of paper, the floorman, going down the stairs, read the following from the warehouses: "College adviser Pavel Ivanovich Chichikov, landowner, according to his needs." When the officer was still sorting through the note, Pavel Ivanovich Chichikov himself went to see the city, which he seemed to be satisfied with, for he found that the city was in no way inferior to other provincial cities: the yellow paint on the stone houses was strongly striking in the eyes and the gray was modestly darkening. on wooden ones. The houses were one, two and one and a half stories high, with an eternal mezzanine, very beautiful, according to provincial architects. In places, these houses seemed lost among the wide, field-like streets and endless wooden fences; in some places they crowded together, and here there was noticeably more movement of the people and liveliness. There were signs almost washed away by the rain with pretzels and boots, in some places with painted blue trousers and the signature of some Arshavian tailor; where is the store with caps, caps and the inscription: "Foreigner Vasily Fedorov"; where a billiards table was drawn with two players in tailcoats, in which guests at our theaters dress when they enter the stage in the last act. The players were depicted with aiming cues, arms slightly turned back and oblique legs, which had just made an entreche in the air. Underneath it was written: "And here is the establishment." Here and there, just outside, there were tables with nuts, soap, and gingerbread that looked like soap; where is a tavern with a painted fat fish and a fork stuck in it. Most often, the darkened double-headed state eagles were noticeable, which have now been replaced by a laconic inscription: "Drinking House". The pavement was bad everywhere. He also looked into the city garden, which consisted of thin trees, badly taken, with props below, in the form of triangles, very beautifully painted with green oil paint. However, although these trees were no taller than reeds, it was said about them in the newspapers when describing the illumination, that “our city was decorated, thanks to the care of the civil ruler, with a garden consisting of shady, broad-branched trees, giving coolness on a hot day,” and that with In this "it was very touching to watch how the hearts of citizens trembled in abundance of gratitude and streamed tears in gratitude to the mayor." After asking the watchman in detail where he could go closer, if necessary, to the cathedral, to government offices, to the governor, he went to look at the river flowing in the middle of the city, on the way he tore off the poster nailed to the post, so that when he came home, he could read it carefully, looked intently at a lady of not bad appearance walking along the wooden sidewalk, followed by a boy in military livery, with a bundle in his hand, and, once again looking around everything with his eyes, as if in order to remember the position of the place well, he went home straight to his room, supported lightly on the stairs by a tavern servant. Having drunk his tea, he sat down in front of the table, ordered a candle to be brought to him, took a poster out of his pocket, brought it to the candle and began to read, screwing up his right eye a little. However, there was little remarkable in the poster: a drama was given by Mr. Kotzebue, in which Roll was played by Mr. Poplevin, Kora was Zyablov's maiden, other faces were even less remarkable; however, he read them all, even got to the price of the parterre and found out that the poster had been printed in the printing house of the provincial government, then he turned it over to the other side: to find out if there was anything there, but, finding nothing, he rubbed his eyes, folded neatly and put it in his chest, where he used to put everything that came across. The day seems to have ended with a portion of cold veal, a bottle of sour cabbage soup, and a sound sleep in the whole pump wrap, as they say in other places of the vast Russian state.

AT Soviet time the schoolchildren were explained that the main pathos of "Dead Souls" was the denunciation of serfdom and soulless bureaucracy. Simply put, a biting social satire. Now, according to the doctor philological sciences Vladimir Voropaev, they focus on something else: on Gogol's moralizing (all these "Box as an image of stupidity", "Plyushkin as an image of greed"), on the artistic features of Gogol's text. But they hardly talk about what was most important in Dead Souls to Gogol himself.

- Vladimir Alekseevich, what exactly is not noticed today in Dead Souls?

If you now ask not only ninth graders, but even teachers, then few will answer why the poem is called that, in what sense these dead souls are dead. Meanwhile, Gogol has a clear, precise answer: both in the poem itself and in his dying notes. On the eve of his death, addressing his compatriots, he urged: “Be not dead, but living souls. There is no other door than that indicated by Jesus Christ…” That is, souls are dead because they live without God. And this, the most important thing, is most often not explained to schoolchildren.

- And here is the question that all schoolchildren have: why is “Dead Souls” called a poem? After all, this is prose!

Such a question arises not only among today's schoolchildren - it also arose among Gogol's contemporaries. The word "poem" as applied to prose work they were very embarrassed. It was said that Gogol called his book that way as a joke. He is a joker, a comedian, he is “according to his status” supposed to joke. I categorically disagreed with this opinion. In 1842, in his first article on Dead Souls, he wrote: “No, he did not jokingly call his novel a poem by Gogol. And he did not mean a comic poem by this. And it is sad to think that this high lyrical pathos, these singing, thundering praises of the blissful in himself national consciousness(that is, lyrical digressions - approx. V. Voropaeva) will not be available to everyone. A lofty inspirational poem will go for most of the stupendous joke.

If we consider "Dead Souls" from the standpoint modern literary criticism, then, of course, they can be considered a novel - there are signs of a novel there. Nevertheless, this work is so poetic that the definition of "poem" looks quite natural. Yes, this is not the kind of poetry that we are used to, not a syllabic-tonic verse, where there is rhyme and meter - but in terms of imagery, in terms of the concentration of thoughts and feelings, this is exactly what poetry is, complex and finely organized. Please note that all lyrical digressions are strictly in their places, none of them can be shortened or moved without compromising the overall impression of the text.

The difficulty is that we still do not know what a poem is. All attempts at a single static definition fail. Too much controversial phenomenon. And Pushkin's "The Bronze Horseman" - a poem, and Nekrasov's "Who Lives Well in Rus'", and "Vasily Terkin" by Tvardovsky. By the way, Ivan Turgenev argued that for people like Gogol, aesthetic laws are not written and that he called his "Dead Souls" a poem, not a novel, has a deep meaning. "Dead Souls" is really a poem - perhaps an epic ...

The cover for the first edition of "Dead Souls" Gogol drew himself: houses with a well crane, bottles with glasses, dancing figures, Greek and Egyptian masks, lyres, boots, barrels, bast shoes, a tray with fish, many skulls in elegant curls, and crowned the whole this bizarre picture of a rapidly rushing troika. In the title, the word "POEM" was conspicuous, in large white letters on a black background. The drawing was important for the author, as it was repeated in the second lifetime edition of the book in 1846.

Well crane, Greek masks, human faces, rushing troika - and large print the word "poem" is written, larger than the title. From here we see that this was important for Gogol, and such genre definition was associated with general idea, with the second and third volumes, which are promised to the reader in the last, 11th chapter of the first volume.

But here's what's interesting. Belinsky, who in 1842 undoubtedly considered Dead Souls a poem, soon changed his mind. After the second edition, in 1846, he wrote another article in which he continues to praise the book, but his tone is already changing. Now he sees in it “important and unimportant shortcomings”, and among the important shortcomings he refers precisely those lyrical digressions that he admired so much four years ago. Now these are no longer “thundering, singing praises”, but “lyrical-mystical antics”, which he advises readers to skip. What's the matter? But the fact is that by this time Belinsky had a controversy with Konstantin Aksakov, who compared Gogol with Homer, and Dead Souls with Odyssey. Belinsky categorically did not like such comparisons, and so that there would be no temptation to call Dead Souls an Odyssey, he began to assert that this was just a novel, and by no means a poem.

- And who was right in this controversy? Maybe "Dead Souls" is indeed a Russian "Odyssey"?

Gogol was compared with Homer by many contemporaries, not only Aksakov. There is some grain of truth here. Indeed, Gogol knew Homer's poems: the Iliad translated by Nikolai Gnedich, and about the Odyssey translated by Zhukovsky (published in 1849), he wrote an article published in the book Selected passages from correspondence with friends.

Without a doubt, Gogol was guided by Homer. "Dead Souls" is the same epic view of the world as his. Yes, some parallels can be drawn. However, goals, objectives and artistic worlds there are completely different.

In general, both contemporaries and descendants compared Gogol's poem with many things. For example, with light hand Prince Peter Vyazemsky was compared with Dante's Divine Comedy. They say, and there, and there is a tripartite structure. Dante has "Hell", "Purgatory" and "Paradise", and Gogol has three volumes. But Dead Souls has nothing more in common with The Divine Comedy. Neither in content nor in literary method.

Resurrect - if they want

- What task did Gogol set for himself when he started writing "Dead Souls"?

It must be said right away that "Dead Souls" is central work Gogol, in the creation of which he saw the meaning of his life. He was convinced that the Lord had given him a writer's gift for this, in order to create Dead Souls. The famous memoirist Pavel Annenkov said that "Dead Souls" "...became for Gogol that ascetic cell in which he fought and suffered until they carried him out of it lifeless."

As you understand, in order to denounce the shortcomings of the autocracy, one could do without the “ascetic cell”, and it would not be necessary to go to Jerusalem to pray (and he, while working on the second volume, made a pilgrimage trip there in 1848, which, by the way, according to those was a difficult and dangerous journey at times). Naturally, the goals and objectives were completely different.

Even just starting work on the poem, Gogol writes: “I began to write“ Dead Souls ”. I want to show in this novel, at least from one side, all of Rus'. That is, from the very beginning, he sets a daunting task. And then the plan grew, and he already writes: “My creation is huge, great, and it will not end soon.” He intended to depict all of Rus' not from one side, but entirely. Moreover, “depicting” means not just showing some external features with bright colors, but answering the deepest questions: what is the essence of the Russian character, what is the meaning of the existence of the Russian people, that is, what is God's Providence for the Russian people, and what ulcers interfere with the Russian people to realize God's Providence, and how can these ulcers be healed?

He himself said that he wanted to show the Russian person himself in the poem, all the advantages and all the shortcomings, so that the path to Christ would be clear to everyone.

The testimony of Alexander Matveyevich Bukharev, in the monasticism of Archimandrite Theodore, a very difficult fate. He knew Gogol when he was still teaching at the Academy of the Trinity-Sergius Lavra, arranged Gogol's meetings with his students, and in 1848 wrote the book Three Letters to Gogol. And there is this note: “I asked Gogol how “Dead Souls” would end. He seemed to find it difficult to answer this. But I only asked: “I want to know if Chichikov will come to life properly?” And Gogol replied: “Yes, it will certainly happen” and that his meeting with the tsar will contribute to this. "And the other heroes? Will they rise again? Father Theodore asked. Gogol replied with a smile: "If they want."

But here's what is important: in addition to the individual path of each person to Christ, the individual struggle with their sins, according to Gogol, we can talk about the whole people. Not only individual Chichikovs, Manilovs, Sobakevichs and Plyushkins can repent and be spiritually reborn - but the whole Russian people can do it. Gogol was going to show the ways to such a revival in the second and third volumes of Dead Souls.

And why, by the way, are we talking about the Russian people? Many believe that the heroes of "Dead Souls" show universal human qualities, regardless, so to speak, of the circumstances of place and time ...

Of course, this approach is correct. Indeed, not only Russian people, but also any others, have those positive and negative qualities that we find in the heroes of Gogol. However, if we confine ourselves to such a statement, it would be too superficial. Gogol looked deeper, he was interested not just in universal moral and spiritual problems, but in how they manifest themselves in the life of the Russian people, what specifics they have. This is very noticeable in the text.

It is known that among Gogol's contemporaries there was such Ivan Mikhailovich Snegirev, the most prominent folklorist, he published a collection of Russian proverbs in four volumes. So, when writing Dead Souls, Gogol used this edition, from these Russian proverbs he sculpted his heroes. The same Manilov is the embodiment of the proverb “neither in the city of Bogdan, nor in the village of Selifan”, Sobakevich all grew out of the proverb “Improperly tailored, but tightly sewn”, this is his whole essence. And even episodic heroes, like shoemaker Maxim Telyatnikov (just a line in the list of peasants bought by Chichikov from Sobakevich): “What pricks with an awl, then boots, that boots, then thanks.”

Among the Russian proverbs there is also this: "The Russian man is strong in hindsight." Usually it is understood in the sense that he, a Russian, catches on too late, when nothing can be corrected. But Gogol, following Snegirev, understood the meaning of this proverb differently: that, on the contrary, a Russian person, having made a mistake, can correct himself, that the “rear” mind is a repentant mind, it is the ability to comprehend the situation on a global scale, and not based on momentary moods .

And in this interpretation of this proverb - the key to understanding the idea of ​​"Dead Souls". Gogol connected the future greatness and the messianic role of Russia in the world with this property of the Russian mind. He proceeded from the fact that the Russian national character is still being formed, has not yet become stagnant - and therefore has a chance, horrified by its sins, to repent, to change.

When "Dead Souls" is viewed from an Orthodox perspective, the emphasis is often placed on Gogol's masterful dissection of human sins. Is it really important?

This is really extremely important. After all, the universal sins shown in Dead Souls are very recognizable. And even the first readers of Dead Souls understood this, and not only Gogol's like-minded people, but also such people as Belinsky and Herzen. They argued that the features of Gogol's heroes are in each of us. Gogol, by the way, argued that his heroes "are written off from people who are not at all small." There is a version that Pogodin became the prototype of Sobakevich, Zhukovsky - the prototype of Manilov, Yazykov - Korobochka, and Plyushkin - none other than Pushkin! The version is original, perhaps controversial, but not unfounded.

Nevertheless, one cannot reduce the entire spiritual meaning of Dead Souls to the depiction of sins. Yes, this is the basis, but, in medical terms, this is only an anamnesis, that is, a description of the symptoms of the disease. And after the anamnesis comes the diagnosis. The diagnosis that Gogol put to his heroes is this: godlessness. It is godlessness that turns their personality traits - sometimes quite neutral in themselves - into something monstrous. Sobakevich is bad not because he is rude and narrow-minded, but because he looks at life in an absolutely materialistic way, for him there is nothing that cannot be touched and eaten. Manilov is bad not because he has a developed imagination, but because without faith in God, the work of his imagination turns out to be absolutely fruitless. Plyushkin is bad not because he is thrifty, but because he does not think for a moment about God and God's commandments, and therefore his frugality turns into madness.

But it is not enough to make a diagnosis - you also need to prescribe treatment. His general scheme is clear - to turn to Christ. But how, how can the heroes do this, in their specific circumstances? This is the most difficult thing, and there are only hints of this in Gogol's text. We, alas, do not have a second volume - there are only five surviving draft chapters, and there is no third at all. One thing is clear, Chichikov is conceived as a hero who faces a moral rebirth. We can only speculate how this must have happened. Apparently, Gogol wanted to lead his hero through the crucible of trials and suffering, thanks to which he had to realize the infidelity of his life path. Gogol said to Father Theodore (Bukharev): "The poem should have ended with Chichikov's first breath to a true, lasting life."

How realistic do you think it was to carry out such a plan? Was it not only Gogol, but anyone in general who could handle such a task?

Gogol's idea - to show both the individual and the entire Russian people the path to Christ - was as great as it was unrealizable. Because this task is beyond artistic creativity beyond the bounds of literature. In addition, Gogol was very clearly aware that artistic talent alone was not enough to solve this problem. In order to show people the way to Christ, one must walk this path oneself, and not even just walk, but reach the heights of spiritual life. Gogol, on the other hand, was very strict and critical of himself, did not consider himself a righteous man and an ascetic, and therefore he constantly doubted whether he was capable, being on the lower, as it seemed to him, steps spiritual development, create heroes whose level is much higher. These doubts greatly hampered his work on the second volume. Although, without these doubts, Gogol would not be himself. They are inseparable from his genius.

But in last years life Gogol wrote a book, where he expressed all his thoughts about the path of salvation. Is not plot prose, but this artistic book - in its construction, in language, in poetics. I mean Meditations on the Divine Liturgy. The writer of the Russian diaspora, Boris Zaitsev, wrote that in this book, Gogol "as a musician, at the end of his life, moved from composing secular works to composing spiritual works." This book is addressed to young people, to people who know almost nothing about Orthodox faith. Gogol wanted to sell it without attribution, at the lowest possible price. And this is really one of the best essays Russian spiritual prose. Unfortunately, little known to the general reader. In Soviet times, the reason was obvious, in post-Soviet times, Meditations on the Divine Liturgy were repeatedly published, but somehow they got lost against the backdrop of a huge flow of literature. Not only secular, but not every church reader is aware of its existence.

Manuscripts don't burn?

It is known that Gogol burned the manuscript of the second volume of Dead Souls. Why did he do it? And what exactly did he burn? What do modern researchers think about this?

Let me tell you straight away: none. unified position There are no scholars on this subject. From the middle of the 19th century to this day, disputes have been ongoing, various hypotheses have been put forward. But, before talking about hypotheses, let's look at the facts, at what is firmly established and beyond doubt.

First, we are talking about the second burning of the second volume, which happened in February 1852. And there was the first burning, in 1845. Gogol himself wrote about the reasons for it in a letter, which he later included in the book “Selected passages from correspondence with friends”: “The appearance of the second volume in the form in which it was would have done more harm than good.<…>There is a time when it is impossible to direct society or even the whole generation towards the beautiful, until you show the full depth of its real abomination; there is a time when it is not even worth talking about the lofty and beautiful, without immediately showing, as clear as day, the ways and roads to it for everyone.

What exactly was burned then? It is known that when in January 1851 Gogol was asked whether the end of Dead Souls would be released soon, he replied: "I think in a year." His interlocutor was surprised: wasn't the manuscript burned in 1845? “After all, this was just the beginning!” Gogol answered.

Secondly, it is absolutely known (according to the testimony of Semyon, Gogol's servant) that on the night of February 11-12, 1852, Gogol burned some of his papers.

Thirdly, drafts of five chapters from the second volume of "Dead Souls" have come down to us - the first four chapters and the chapter, which, apparently, was supposed to be one of the last.

These are facts. And everything else is a version based on oral and written testimonies of people close to Gogol, on logical assumptions, conjectures.

- What are the versions?

Firstly, that Gogol burned the finished, white-copied text of the second volume. They see the reason for this either in the fact that Gogol was in a state of passion that night and was not aware of his actions, or - there was such an exotic version in Soviet times! - that he burned the second volume, frightened of the persecution of the gendarmes, for, under the influence famous letter Belinsky, revised his reactionary views and wrote something progressive-revolutionary.

These versions, in my opinion, do not withstand any criticism. Let's start with the fact that if the white copy of the second volume really existed, then Gogol would have shown this white copy to his confessor, Archpriest Matthew Konstantinovsky. Meanwhile, Father Matthew, answering persistent questions after Gogol's death, invariably emphasized that he had received several notebooks with sketches to read. The version of affect is also extremely doubtful: according to the testimony of his servant Semyon, Gogol pulled out papers from a briefcase and selected what to burn and what to leave. When I saw that they did not burn well in the oven, I stirred them with a poker. It is unlikely that this is combined with a state of passion. Well, as for the fear of the gendarmes for revolutionary content - this is simply ridiculous. Gogol read aloud to many people the chapters from the second volume, these people left their memoirs, and no one even hinted at any change in Gogol's views.

The second version - there was no white paper, but all the planned chapters were written, and it was this draft full version that Gogol burned. The version has the right to exist, but here the question arises: how did it happen that Gogol did not read these missing chapters to anyone? It is known from the memoirs of contemporaries that he read everything different people seven chapters. Of which five have come down to us, and even then in an unfinished form. Knowing Gogol's character, knowing how important the reader's response was to him, it is strange to assume that he hid part of the chapters already written from all his friends, including from the confessor.

And, finally, the third version, which seems to me the most reliable: no full version there was no second volume, neither a draft, nor even a white one. Gogol burned those chapters that he read to close people, but with which he remained dissatisfied. He also probably burned some sketches, some letters - in a word, everything that he categorically did not want to leave to posterity. By the way, although he tore up his unsent letter to Belinsky, he did not burn it. And those five chapters that have come down to us are precisely from the portfolio from which Gogol on the night of February 12 took out papers intended for burning. As you can see, he did not consider it necessary to burn these chapters.

By the way, the presence of the remaining chapters in itself indirectly indicates that there was no white paper. Because if Gogol - it doesn't even matter for what reasons! - decided to completely destroy his 17-year-old work, he would have burned everything. Both the white copy and all the drafts. But b about Most of the drafts remained!

In 2009, the press wrote about a sensational discovery: an alleged American millionaire Russian origin Timur Abdullayev bought a manuscript at an auction, which is full version the second volume of Dead Souls. Then the excitement subsided. What was really there? Fake?

No, it's not fake, but not at all. full text of the second volume, and five surviving chapters rewritten in different handwriting. These chapters were first published in 1855, but even earlier, Gogol's friend and executor, Stepan Petrovich Shevyrev, who was engaged in the analysis of his manuscripts, allowed Gogol's admirers to make copies of the still unpublished works that remained after his death. Thus arose numerous lists of the surviving chapters of the second volume. It is characteristic that all these lists differ at least a little, but differ from each other, because the scribes made mistakes, and sometimes deliberately made some changes.

Is it possible, on the basis of the surviving chapters of the second volume and various testimonies of contemporaries, to reconstruct the content and message of the second volume of Dead Souls?

It is traditionally believed that Gogol burned the chapters of the second volume because he was not satisfied with their artistic quality. In my opinion, this opinion is erroneous. Firstly, one cannot judge the level of the text by drafts. We do not evaluate Pushkin, for example, by drafts. Secondly, many to whom Gogol read the chapters of the second volume of Dead Souls noted a very high artistic level. Say, Sergei Aksakov was amazed by what he heard, he said: "I realized that Gogol coped with the enormous task that he set for himself." If Aksakov's evidence is not enough, here is evidence, so to speak, from another camp. Nikolai Gavrilovich Chernyshevsky, having read the published chapters of the second volume in 1855, said that the speech of the Governor-General in the fifth chapter is the best of all that Gogol wrote. So the literary quality was all right there.

But, I note that if the first volume is a poem (which we have already talked about), then the second (at least in draft version) closer to the classic Russian novel of the second half of XIX century, and its heroes are, in fact, the prototypes of the later heroes of Russian literature. For example, Kostanjoglo, this positive rationalist is the future Stolz, Tentetnikov is the future Oblomov.

When Gogol was asked how the heroes of the second volume would differ from the heroes of the first, he answered that they would be more significant. That is deeper in terms of psychological. Still, the heroes of the first volume are a little sketchy, illustrative, but here Gogol departs from illustrativeness.

For example, when Chichikov is in prison and the farmer Murazov, an influential, powerful person on a provincial scale, comes to him, Chichikov rushes to him with a plea for help: save me, they took everything from me, and the casket, and money, and documents! And Murazov said to him: “Oh, Pavel Ivanovich, Pavel Ivanovich, how your property has enslaved you! Think of the soul!” And Chichikov answers brilliantly: “I’ll think about the soul too, but save me!” That is, he seems to be ready to change, ready to repent - but still remains himself. The blessed one wrote about the same subtle spiritual moment in his youth: about how in his youth he prayed to the Lord to save him ... but not today, but tomorrow (that is, to sin a little more).

- And what is known about the intention of the third volume?

Gogol mentions him in Selected Places from Correspondence with Friends, where he writes: “Oh, what will my Plyushkin say if I get to the third volume!” According to some reconstructions, Plyushkin, the last in the gallery of landowners, whose soul had already almost completely died, was supposed to be spiritually reborn and go on wanderings, collect money for a temple, and reach Siberia, where he would meet Chichikov. And Chichikov would have ended up in Siberia on a case related to a political conspiracy (here, of course, an allusion to the Petrashevsky case in 1849). That is, it is about the fact that any person has real chance repent while alive. You just have to want.

By the way, there is a sketch in Gogol's papers, which is most often attributed to the second volume, but it seems to me and my student, and now a colleague, doctor of philological sciences Igor Vinogradov, that this is a sketch for the end of the third volume. “Why didn’t you remember Me that you have Me? That you have not only an earthly landowner, but also a heavenly Landowner! That is, these are the words of God, and here we are dealing with a traditional rhetorical device of Christian literature - when a priest in a sermon or a spiritual writer speaks on behalf of God in his writings.

The key to the secret

- How did Gogol's contemporaries perceive the first volume of Dead Souls? Was there any criticism?

In general, the controversy around Dead Souls was stormy, they also argued about artistic method(for example, whether to consider the poem as a Russian "Odyssey"), and about the meaning. There were people who accused Gogol of slandering Russian life. For example, the writer and journalist Nikolai Polevoy (1796–1846), publisher of the Moscow Telegraph and Russkiy Vestnik magazines. The writer and editor Osip Senkovsky (1800-1858), the founder of the first massive literary magazine, Library for Reading, also reproached Gogol for caricaturing Russia. Senkovsky, by the way, also had aesthetic claims to the language of the poem, common expressions seemed to him something dirty, greasy, "not for ladies."

That is, these people were, let's say, not marginal. They believed that Gogol acted unpatriotically, that a true patriot should not make public the plagues of his country.

Gogol sarcastically remarked about the indignant patriots that "everyone sits in the corners, and as soon as a book comes out, where our shortcomings are shown, they run out of the corners." And he also wrote: “It is not at all the province and not a few ugly landowners, and not what is attributed to them, is the subject of “Dead Souls”. This is still a mystery to be revealed in subsequent volumes. I repeat to you that this is a secret, and the key to it is in the soul of the author alone.

- In what for us, people XXI century, maybe a lesson from "Dead Souls"? Are they obsolete in the context modern life, modern problems?

How can a book talking about a device become outdated human soul? In the 11th chapter of the first volume, the author addresses the readers: “And which of you, full of Christian humility, does not look at himself and say: is there a piece of Chichikov in me?” How do we differ in this respect from the first readers of Dead Souls? We have the same sins, weaknesses, passions as their heroes. And the possibility of spiritual rebirth is just as open to us as it is to them. And Gogol's call to suicide note: "Be not dead, but living souls" is addressed to the people of 1852, and the people of 2017, and the people of 2817.

And this can be said not only about people. Has the character of our people, its mentality, changed so much in almost two hundred years? Don't we see in the lives of the heroes of "Dead Souls" will take our today's life? Don't we face the same task that Gogol set himself: to understand the purpose of Russia in the world, that is, God's Providence for her, and to understand what to do to correspond to this Providence?

Turgenev wrote after Gogol's death to Pauline Viardot: “For us, he was not just a writer. He revealed ourselves to us." And this is true for any time. In whatever year the reader opens books like " Dead souls”, they become a mirror for him, allowing him to see the real himself.

// "Dead Souls" in Gogol's poem "Dead Souls"

Gogol's immortal poem "" opens before us not only life and customs Russian society mid-19th century, but also shows the human vices that were inherent in him. The author gives the central place in his work to a man of a new type - businessman Pavel Ivanovich Chichikov.

Nature endowed the protagonist with remarkable mental abilities. A brilliant scam was born and developed in his head. Finding inaccuracies in the then legislation, he decides to issue a bank loan, and leave the peasant souls as a pledge. Only in fact, these peasants were already dead for a long time, but on paper they were still alive and healthy. To implement his idea, Chichikov goes to the city of NN, where he buys dead peasant souls from local landowners for pennies.

The main character manages to win over all the officials and landowners of the city of NN. They begin to talk about Chichikov as a businesslike and decent person. Every official and landowner tries to invite Pavel Ivanovich to visit him, and he gladly agrees.

A whole galaxy of landlords opens up before us, who in themselves are strong and bright personalities but who have closed in their own world.

For example, the landowner was smart enough and an educated person. In society, he was known as an aesthete. But he could not realize himself. Manilov became a hostage of his dreams and castles in the air. He was not accustomed to physical labor, all his plans remained only plans, and he looked at the world "through rose-colored glasses."

In contrast to Manilov, Gogol shows us the landowner Sobakevich. He was a man of physical labor. He achieved his goal with strength and ingenuity. Dreams were alien to Sobakevich. The only thing that interested him was material wealth. even trying to bargain for the dead souls of his peasants the maximum price.

Next we meet the landowner Korobochka, whom Chichikov comes across by chance. symbolizes stagnation and limitation. This is confirmed by the clock in her house, which has long since stopped. The purpose of her life was the sale of hemp and fluff.

The landowner Nozdrev became the embodiment of a broad Russian soul. Excitement and adventurism became the main principles of Nozdrev's life. For him, there were no customs, no laws. He lived according to his heart.

The last landowner with whom Gogol introduces us was. The author speaks of him as "a hole in the body of mankind." Plyushkin reduced his life to mindless hoarding. Even with a huge fortune, he starved and starved his peasants.

It is characteristic that Chichikov managed to find an approach to all these "different" people and get what he wanted. With some he is soft and well-mannered, with others he is firm and rude, with others he is cunning and prudent. All these qualities, ingenuity and ingenuity, perseverance make us admire the main character of the poem "Dead Souls".

For understanding inner world Chichikova, refers to the childhood of the protagonist and to the conditions in which little Pavlusha grew up. Chichikov's only childhood memory was his father's instructions on the need to "save a penny." And therefore, the main character devoted his whole life to fulfilling his father's covenant.

In "Dead Souls" we can see many human vices, which are reflected in the images of the heroes of the work. Gogol was anxious and worried about this state of affairs and hoped that someday the time would come and the "dead souls" of our society would be reborn.

The work of N.V. Gogol "Dead Souls" was written in the second half of the 19th century. In this article you can read the first volume of the poem "Dead Souls", which consists of 11 chapters.

Heroes of the work

Pavel Ivanovich Chichikov - the main character, travels around Russia to find dead souls, knows how to find an approach to any person.

Manilov - young landowner. Lives with his children and wife.

Box - aged woman, widow. Lives in a small village, sells various products and furs in the market.

Nozdryov - a landowner who often plays cards and tells various tall tales and stories.

Plushkin - a strange man who lives alone.

Sobakevich - the landowner, everywhere tries to find great profit for himself.

Selifan - the coachman and servant of Chichikov. A lover of drinking once again.

The content of the poem "Dead Souls" by chapters briefly

Chapter 1

Chichikov, along with the servants, arrives in the city. The man moved into an ordinary hotel. During lunch, the main character asks the innkeeper about everything that happens in the city, so he gets useful information about influential officials and famous landowners. At the governor's reception, Chichikov personally meets most of the landowners. The landowners Sobakevich and Manilov say they would like the hero to visit them. So for several days Chichikov comes to the vice-governor, the prosecutor and the farmer. The city begins to have a positive attitude towards the protagonist.

Chapter 2

A week later, the main character goes to Manilov in the village of Manilovka. Chichikov forgive Manilov so that he sells him dead souls - dead peasants who are written on paper. The naive and accommodating Manilov gives the hero dead souls for free.

Chapter 3

Chichikov then goes to Sobakevich, but loses his way. He goes to spend the night with the landowner Korobochka. After sleeping, already in the morning Chichikov talks with the old woman and persuades her to sell her dead souls.

Chapter 4

Chichikov decides to stop by a tavern on his way. He meets the landowner Nozdryov. The gambler was too open and friendly, but his games often ended in fights. The main character wanted to buy dead souls from him, but Nozdryov said that he could play checkers for the souls. This fight almost ended in a fight, so Chichikov decided to retire. Pavel Ivanovich thought for a long time that he had trusted Nozdryov in vain.

Chapter 5

The main character comes to Sobakevich. He was a fairly large man, he agreed to sell dead souls to Chichikov and even filled them with a price. The men decided to make a deal after some time in the city.

Chapter 6

Chichikov arrives in the village of Plyushkin. The estate was very miserable in appearance, and the magnate himself was too stingy. Plyushkin sold the dead souls to Chichikov with joy and considered the protagonist a fool.

Chapter 7

In the morning, Chichikov goes to the ward to draw up documents for the peasants. On the way he meets Manilov. In the ward they meet Sobakevich, the chairman of the ward helps the protagonist quickly complete the paperwork. After the deal, they all go together to the postmaster to celebrate this event.

Chapter 8

The news about Pavel Ivanovich's purchases spread throughout the city. Everyone thought that he was a very rich man, but they had no idea what kind of souls he actually buys. At the ball, Nozdryov decides to betray Chichikov and shouted about his secret.

Chapter 9

The landowner Korobochka comes to town and confirms buying dead shower of the protagonist. Rumors are spreading around the city that Chichikov wants to kidnap the governor's daughter.

Chapter 10

The officials get together and raise various suspicions about who Chichikov is. The postmaster puts forward his version that the main character is Kopeikin from his own story "The Tale of Captain Kopeikin". Suddenly, due to excessive stress, the prosecutor dies. Chichikov himself has been ill for three days with a cold, he comes to the governor, but he is not even allowed into the house. Nozdryov tells the main character about the rumors that are circulating around the city, so Chichikov decides to leave the city in the morning.

• Also read -