Anton Pavlovich Chekhov
man in a case
On the very edge of the village of Mironositsky, in the barn of the headman Prokofy, the belated hunters settled down for the night. There were only two of them: the veterinarian Ivan Ivanovich and the teacher of the gymnasium Burkin. Ivan Ivanovich had a rather strange, double surname- Chimsha-Himalayan, which did not suit him at all, and he was called simply by his first name and patronymic throughout the province; he lived near the city in a horse farm and now came to hunt to breathe clean air. The teacher of the gymnasium, Burkin, visited Counts P. every summer, and in this area he had long been an insider.
Didn't sleep. Ivan Ivanovich, a tall, thin old man with a long mustache, was sitting outside at the entrance smoking a pipe; the moon illuminated it. Burkin was lying inside on the hay, and he was not visible in the darkness.
Told different stories. Among other things, they said that the headman’s wife, Mavra, a healthy and not stupid woman, in her whole life had never been further than her native village, had never seen either a city or railway, and in the last ten years she has been sitting at the stove and only went out at night.
What's so amazing! Burkin said. - People who are lonely by nature, who, like a shellfish or a snail, are trying to escape into their shell, there are not a few in this world. Perhaps here is the phenomenon of atavism, a return to the time when the ancestor of man was not yet a social animal and lived alone in his lair, or maybe this is just one of the varieties of human character - who knows? I am not a naturalist, and it is not my business to deal with such questions; I just want to say that people like Mavra are not rare. Yes, it’s not far to look, about two months ago, a certain Belikov, a teacher of the Greek language, my friend, died in our city. You have heard of him, of course. He was remarkable for the fact that he always, even in very good weather, went out in galoshes and with an umbrella, and certainly in a warm coat with wadding. And his umbrella was in a case, and his watch was in a case made of gray suede, and when he took out his penknife to sharpen his pencil, his knife was also in a case; and his face, too, seemed to be in a case, for he hid it all the time in his upturned collar. He wore dark glasses, a jersey, stuffed his ears with cotton wool, and when he got into a cab, he ordered to raise the top. In a word, this person had a constant and irresistible desire to surround himself with a shell, to create for himself, so to speak, a case that would seclude him, protect him from external influences. Reality irritated him, frightened him, kept him in constant anxiety, and, perhaps, in order to justify this timidity of his, his disgust for the present, he always praised the past and what had never happened; and the ancient languages that he taught were for him, in essence, the same galoshes and umbrella, where he hid from real life.
Oh, how sonorous, how beautiful the Greek language! he said with a sweet expression; and, as if to prove his words, screwing up his eyes and raising his finger, he said: - Anthropos!
And Belikov also tried to hide his thought in a case. For him, only circulars and newspaper articles were clear, in which something was forbidden. When a circular forbade the disciples to go outside after nine o'clock in the evening, or some article forbade carnal love, this was clear and definite to him; forbidden - and that's it. In permission and permission, for him, there was always an element dubious, something unsaid and vague. When the city allowed drama club, or a reading room, or a tea room, he would shake his head and say quietly:
It is, of course, so-and-so, all this is wonderful, but no matter what happens.
Any kind of violations, evasions, deviations from the rules led him to despair, although, it would seem, what did he care? If one of the comrades was late for a prayer service, or there were rumors about some kind of leprosy of the schoolboys, or saw cool lady late in the evening with an officer, he was very worried and kept talking, no matter how something happened. And at the pedagogical councils, he simply oppressed us with his caution, suspiciousness and his purely case considerations about what is de in men's and girls' gymnasiums young people behave badly, make a lot of noise in the classes - oh, no matter how it got to the authorities, oh, no matter how something happened - and that if Petrov were excluded from the second class, and Egorov from the fourth, it would be very good . And what? With his sighs, whining, his dark glasses on his pale, small face - you know, a small face, like a ferret's - he crushed us all, and we yielded, reduced Petrov and Yegorov's points in behavior, put them under arrest, and in the end both Petrov and Yegorov were expelled. He had a strange habit - to walk around our apartments. He will come to the teacher, sit down and be silent, as if looking out for something. He will sit, that way, silently, for an hour or two and leave. He called it "support good relations with comrades,” and, obviously, it was hard for him to go and sit with us, and he went to us only because he considered it his duty as a comrade. We teachers were afraid of him. And even the director was afraid. Come on, our teachers are an all-thinking, deeply decent people, brought up on Turgenev and Shchedrin, but this little man, who always went around in galoshes and with an umbrella, held the entire gymnasium in his hands for fifteen whole years! What about a gymnasium? The whole city! Our ladies didn't put on performances at home on Saturdays, they were afraid he might find out; and the clergy were embarrassed to eat meat and play cards in his presence. Under the influence of people like Belikov, over the past ten to fifteen years, everything has become fearful in our city. They are afraid to speak loudly, to send letters, to make acquaintances, to read books, they are afraid to help the poor, to teach them to read and write...
Ivan Ivanovich, wanting to say something, coughed, but first he lit his pipe, looked at the moon, and then said in a deliberate manner:
Yes. Thinking, decent people read both Shchedrin and Turgenev, various Bokleys and so on, but they obeyed, they endured ... That's just it.
Belikov lived in the same house where I did, Burkin continued, “on the same floor, door to door, we often saw each other, and I knew his home life. And at home the same story: a dressing gown, a cap, shutters, latches, a whole series of all sorts of prohibitions, restrictions, and - oh, no matter how it happened! It is harmful to eat lean, but it is impossible to eat lean, because, perhaps, they will say that Belikov does not fulfill fasts, and he ate pike perch in cow butter - food is not lean, but it cannot be said that it is lean. He did not keep female servants out of fear, so that they would not think badly of him, but kept the cook Athanasius, an old man of about sixty, drunk and half-witted, who had once served as orderlies and knew how to cook somehow. This Athanasius usually stood at the door with his arms folded, and always muttered the same thing, with a deep sigh:
A lot of them are now divorced!
Belikov's bedroom was small, like a box, the bed was with a canopy. Going to bed, he covered himself with his head; it was hot, stuffy, closed doors the wind was knocking, the stove was buzzing; sighs were heard from the kitchen, ominous sighs...
And he was scared under the covers. He was afraid that something might happen, that Athanasius would stab him, that thieves would not get in, and then he had disturbing dreams all night, and in the morning, when we went to the gymnasium together, he was dull, pale, and it was clear that the crowded gymnasium to which he was going was terrible, repugnant to his whole being, and that it was hard for him, a lonely man by nature, to walk beside me.
They make a lot of noise in our classes,” he said, as if trying to find an explanation for his heavy feeling. - It doesn't look like anything.
And this Greek teacher, this man in the case, you can imagine, almost got married.
Ivan Ivanovich looked quickly into the shed and said.
SPRING CAME
The young grass, old and emerging with needles, turned green, the buds of viburnum, currant and sticky spirit birch puffed out, and on the vine sprinkled with golden color, an exposed, flying bee buzzed. Invisible larks flooded over the velvet greenery and icy stubble, lapwings wept over the bottoms and marshes that filled with brown, unwashed water, and cranes and geese flew high with spring cackle. Mangy cattle roared in the pastures, only in places not yet molted, bow-legged lambs began to play around losing their wave of bleating mothers, swift-footed guys ran along drying with prints bare feet along the paths, the merry voices of women with canvases crackled on the pond, and the axes of the peasants, setting up plows and harrows, rattled in the yards. The real spring has come. (102 words)
According to L. Tolstoy.
The eagle built his nest on high road, away from the sea, and brought out the children.
Once people worked near a tree, and an eagle flew up to the nest with big fish in claws. People saw the fish, surrounded the tree, shouted and threw stones at the eagle.
The eagle dropped the fish, the people picked it up and left.
The eagle sat on the edge of the nest, and the eaglets raised their heads and began to squeak: they asked for food.
The eagle was tired and could not fly again to the sea, he descended into the nest, covered the eaglets with his wings, caressed them, straightened their feathers and as if asked them to wait a little. But the more he caressed them, the louder they squeaked.
Then the eagle flew away from them and sat on the top bough of the tree.
The eagles whistled and squealed even more plaintively.
Then the eagle suddenly screamed loudly, spread its wings and flew heavily towards the sea. He returned only late in the evening, he flew quietly and low above the ground; he had a big fish in his claws again.
L. Tolstoy.
The night had just embraced the sky, but Bulba always went to bed early. He lay down on the carpet, covered himself with a sheepskin coat, because the night air was quite fresh and because Bulba liked to hide warmer when he was at home. He soon began to snore, and the whole court followed him; everything that lay in its different corners snored and sang; First of all, the watchman fell asleep, because he was the most drunk for the arrival of the panichs. One poor mother did not sleep. She leaned down to the head of her dear sons, who lay nearby; she combed their young, carelessly tousled curls with a comb and moistened them with tears; she looked at them all, looked with all her senses, all turned into one sight and could not see enough. (...) She sat up until daylight, was not at all tired and internally wished that the night would last as long as possible. (128 words)
According to N. Gogol.
The snow has not yet fallen from the ground, but spring is already asking for the soul. If you have ever recovered from a serious illness, then you know the blissful state when you freeze from vague forebodings and smile for no reason. Apparently, nature is now experiencing the same state.
The ground is cold, the dirt and snow squelches underfoot, but how merry, affectionate, and affable everything is around! The air is so clear and transparent that if you climb a dovecote or a bell tower, you seem to see the whole universe from end to end. The sun shines brightly, and its rays, playing and smiling, bathe in puddles along with sparrows. The river is inflating and getting dark, it has already woken up and will roar not today or tomorrow.
The trees are bare, but they already live and breathe.
At such a time, it is good to drive dirty water in ditches with a broom or shovel, to launch boats on the water or to hammer stubborn ice with your heels.
Yes, all is well at this happy time of the year. (140 words)
According to A. Chekhov.
MAN IN A CASE
About two months ago, a certain Belikov, a teacher of the Greek language, my comrade, died in our city. You have heard of him, of course. He was remarkable for the fact that he always, even in very good weather, went out in galoshes and with an umbrella, and certainly in a warm coat with wadding. And his umbrella was in a case, and his watch was in a case made of gray suede, and when he took out his penknife to sharpen his pencil, his knife was also in a case, and his face, it seemed, was also in a case, since he always hid it in a raised collar. (...) In a word, this person had a constant and irresistible desire to surround himself with a shell, to create for himself, so to speak, a case that would seclude him, protect him from external influences. Reality irritated him, frightened him, kept him in constant anxiety, and, perhaps, in order to justify this timidity of his, his disgust for the present, he always praised the past and what had never happened. (150 words)
FLOOD ON WHITE
From our porch I could see the Belaya River, and I was looking forward to when it would break. (...) And, finally, this longed-for day and hour has come! Yevseich hurriedly looked into my nursery and in an anxiously joyful voice said: "The white one has set off!" Mother allowed it, and in one minute (...) I was already standing on the porch and greedily followed with my eyes how a huge strip of blue, dark, and sometimes even yellow ice. The transverse road had already drifted far away, and some unfortunate black cow was running along it like crazy, from one bank to the other. The women and girls standing near me accompanied with mournful exclamations every unsuccessful movement of the running animal, whose roar reached my ears, and I felt very sorry for him. The river at a bend bent behind a steep cliff, and behind it the road and the black cow running along it disappeared. Suddenly two dogs appeared on the ice; but their fussy jumps aroused not pity, but laughter in the people around me, for everyone was sure that the dogs would not drown, but jump over or swim ashore. (161 words.)
S. Aksakov.
BEFORE THE DEATH OF THE CLIPPER "PEARLS"
The clipper hit violently against the stones, and the car (...) could not move it. It was evident that the "Pearl" sat down tightly.
Everyone was depressed.
The wind was fresh and the waves swirled around the clipper. There is total darkness all around.
An endless ten minutes passed, and from below they let me know that the leak was increasing. All the pumps were put into operation, but the water still kept coming. The situation was critical, and there was no way to get out of it. And there was no one to help.
However, just in case, the guns were loaded, and shots were fired every five minutes. (…)
But no one seemed to hear these shots. (…)
Despite the work of all pumps, the clipper was gradually filled with water through the holes received from hitting the stones of the ridge in which it sat down. There was nothing to think about saving the clipper, and therefore, on the orders of the captain, measures were taken to save people and provide them with provisions. (150 words)
According to K. Stanyukovich.
1. The senior officer accepted the command, as always happens during an emergency, and as soon as his loud, abrupt command words were heard, the sailors began to execute them with some kind of feverish impulsiveness. 2. In less than seven minutes, almost all the sails (...) were removed, the "Brawler" lay in a drift, (...) and the longboat with sixteen rowers And the officer at the helm was launched. 3. But in these seven minutes, while the clipper stopped, he managed to go more than a mile, and the fragment of the mast with the man was not visible through binoculars. 4. According to the compass, they nevertheless noticed the direction in which the mast was located, and the longboat rowed in this direction, moving away from the clipper. 5. And the captain came along the bridge, stopping now and then to look at the approaching longboat. Finally, he looked through the binoculars and although he did not see the rescued man, he decided by the calmly cheerful face of the officer (...) that he was rescued on a longboat. 6. The boy was immediately taken to the infirmary, wiped dry, laid on a bed, covered with blankets, and the doctor began to take care of him. (146 words)
K. Stanyukovich.
Autumn has been amazing.
She tired with heat, not knowing tired. Mightily dropping their fruit-laden branches, the trees stood numb, and from them, as from withering bouquets, came the spicy smells of fresh hay heated by the sun.
Gardens breathed spicy madness. Smells curled like mosquitoes over everything that lived. The birds fell silent, the winds subsided, there was a sultry solar madness. The earth did not lose heat until dawn. A crimson shroud hung over the horizon day and night, as if far beyond the sea something was burning without burning. At night, over-ripe melons burst with a deafening crack, and the raw mash of their seeds splattered with wasteful force, vaguely reminiscent of happy time fruit harvest, love, weddings and pre-winter holidays.
Now that the flowers had faded, the roofs of the huts were pleasing to the eye. Early orange and pink gourds, bright yellow melons, red pepper vines, dark blood stains of dogwood scattered on canvas, coral rose hips and dull blue thorns, green-yellow and black fig vines and dark brown clumps of pomegranates adorned the roof slopes. . (145 words)
According to P. Pavlenko.
LITTLE HUNTER
Pavel was only six years old when he caught the first grayling and (…) brought home a bucket filled with fish. After this luck, he could not be torn off the water.
The boy shivered from the morning chill and the impatience familiar to every fisherman, when a dense fog dissipated over the channel and the sun touched the water and coastal bushes with a pink light. The fish during these hours “melts”, plays, jumps out of the water after the midge, and the fishermen do not have time to cast the bait, as it is already biting.
And at night (...) there is seine fishing. Ion (grandfather) stands on the shore and holds the horses, and Pavlik floats in a boat, and the net stretches for him. They make a fire near the water and fry fish on a stick. Fat burbots come from the depths to the light of the fire. There are so many fish that the old man and the boy together cannot carry off the prey and call the guys for help.
When Pavel moved to the fifth grade, Ion began to take him with him to hunt. (146 words)
1. Several years passed - and Mendeleev himself flew to hot-air balloon, although he was then already fifty-three years old. (Maz.) 2. Despite the fact that it was cold, the snow on the collar melted very soon ....man in a case
man in a case
Title of the story (1898) by Anton Pavlovich Chekhov (1860-1904).
Main character- a provincial teacher Belikov, who is afraid of any innovations, actions that are not allowed by the "bosses", as well as reality in general. From here it favorite expression: “No matter what happens ...” And, as the author writes, Belikov “had a constant and irresistible desire to surround himself with a shell, to create for himself, so to speak, a case that would seclude him, protect him from external influences.”
As a common noun, this expression began to be used by its author himself. In a letter to his sister M. P. Chekhova, he wrote (November 19, 1899): “The November winds are blowing furiously, whistling, tearing roofs. I sleep in a cap, in shoes, under two blankets, with closed shutters - a man in a case.
Jokingly ironic: a timid person, afraid of bad weather, drafts, unpleasant external influences.
encyclopedic Dictionary winged words and expressions. - M.: "Lokid-Press". Vadim Serov. 2003 .
man in a case
This is the name of a person who is afraid of any innovations, drastic measures, very timid, similar to the teacher Belikov, depicted in the story of A.P. Chekhov "The Man in the Case" (1898). Belikov "he was remarkable in that he always, even in very good weather, went out in galoshes and with an umbrella and certainly in a warm coat with cotton ... When a drama circle, or a reading room, or a tea room was allowed in the city, he shook his head and spoke quietly : - It is, of course, so-and-so, all this is wonderful, but no matter what happens ".It is interesting to note that Chekhov himself used the expression "man in a case" jokingly; in a letter to M.P. Chekhov dated November 19, 1899, he wrote: "November winds blow furiously, whistling, tearing roofs. I sleep in a hat, in shoes, under two blankets, with closed shutters - a man in a case".
Dictionary of winged words. Plutex. 2004
See what "Man in a Case" is in other dictionaries:
CASE. MAN IN A CASE. In Chekhov’s story “The Man in the Case”: “This man had a constant and irresistible desire to surround himself with a shell, to create for himself, so to speak, a case that would seclude him, protect him from outside ... ... History of words
- "MAN IN A CASE", USSR, SOVIET BELARUS, 1939, b/w, 84 min. Drama. By story of the same name A.P. Chekhov. Cast: Nikolai Khmelev (see Khmelev Nikolai Pavlovich), Mikhail Zharov (see ZHAROV Mikhail Ivanovich), Olga Androvskaya (see ANDROVSKAYA Olga ... ... Cinema Encyclopedia
This term has other meanings, see Man in a case (meanings). The man in the case (true incident) ... Wikipedia
man in a case- Iron. (Man) living by his own narrow interests; fenced off from people, from life; stagnant and closed. You are a man in a case, a cardboard soul, a folder for cases! (B. Lavrenyov. A story about a simple thing). He reminds her somehow of Chekhov's man in ... ... Phrasebook Russian literary language
man in a case- wing. sl. This is the name of a person who is afraid of any innovations, drastic measures, very timid, similar to the teacher Belikov, depicted in A.P. Chekhov's story "The Man in the Case" (1898). Belikov "was remarkable in that he always, even in a very good ... ... Universal optional practical Dictionary I. Mostitsky
Razg. Unapproved About a man who closed himself in a circle of narrow philistine, petty-bourgeois interests, fenced himself off from real life afraid of innovation and change. /i> According to the title of the story by A.P. Chekhov (1898). BMS 1998, 619; BTS, 1470; FM 2002, 609; … Big Dictionary Russian sayings
man in a case- about someone who is closed in a circle of narrow, petty-bourgeois interests, fenced off from real life, afraid of innovations and changes. The expression goes back to the story of the same name by A.P. Chekhov. The protagonist of this work is a teacher of ancient languages Belikov, ... ... Phraseology Handbook
man in a case- About the one who is closed in a circle of narrow, philistine interests, is afraid of any innovations From the title of the story by A.P. Chekhov ... Dictionary of many expressions
"The Man in the Case"- A MAN IN A CASE story by A.P. Chekhov (1898), ch. the hero is afraid of life and tries to hide from it in a case, a shell of prescriptions and stereotypes... Russian humanitarian encyclopedic dictionary
This term has other meanings, see Man in a case. The man in the case ... Wikipedia
Books
- Man in a Case, A.P. Chekhov. The hero of the story "The Man in the Case" is the gymnasium teacher of the Greek language Belikov. His main fear is "no matter how it happens." With the advent of a new teacher Mikhail in the city ...
man in a case
On the very edge of the village of Mironositsky, in the barn of the headman Prokofy, the belated hunters settled down for the night. There were only two of them: the veterinarian Ivan Ivanovich and the teacher of the gymnasium Burkin. Ivan Ivanych had a rather strange, double surname - Chimsha-Gimalaysky, which did not suit him at all, and throughout the province he was simply called by his first name and patronymic; he lived near the city in a horse farm and now came to hunt in order to breathe clean air. The teacher of the gymnasium, Burkin, visited Counts P. every summer, and in this area he had long been an insider.
Didn't sleep. Ivan Ivanovich, a tall, thin old man with a long mustache, was sitting outside at the entrance smoking a pipe; the moon illuminated it. Burkin was lying inside on the hay, and he was not visible in the darkness.
They told different stories. Among other things, they said that the headman's wife, Mavra, a healthy and not stupid woman, in her whole life had never been anywhere further than her native village, had never seen either a city or a railway, and for the last ten years she had been sitting at the stove and only went out at night.
What's so amazing! Burkin said. - People who are lonely by nature, who, like a shellfish or a snail, are trying to escape into their shell, there are not a few in this world. Perhaps here is the phenomenon of atavism, a return to the time when the ancestor of man was not yet a social animal and lived alone in his lair, or maybe this is just one of the varieties of human character - who knows? I am not a naturalist, and it is not my business to deal with such questions; I just want to say that people like Mavra are not rare. Yes, it’s not far to look, about two months ago, a certain Belikov, a teacher of the Greek language, my friend, died in our city. You have heard of him, of course. He was remarkable for the fact that he always, even in very good weather, went out in galoshes and with an umbrella, and certainly in a warm coat with wadding. And his umbrella was in a case, and his watch was in a case made of gray suede, and when he took out his penknife to sharpen his pencil, his knife was also in a case; and his face, too, seemed to be in a case, for he hid it all the time in his upturned collar. He wore dark glasses, a jersey, stuffed his ears with cotton wool, and when he got into a cab, he ordered to raise the top. In a word, this person had a constant and irresistible desire to surround himself with a shell, to create for himself, so to speak, a case that would seclude him, protect him from external influences. Reality irritated him, frightened him, kept him in constant anxiety, and, perhaps, in order to justify this timidity of his, his disgust for the present, he always praised the past and what had never happened; and the ancient languages that he taught were for him, in essence, the same galoshes and umbrella, where he hid from real life.
Oh, how sonorous, how beautiful the Greek language! he said with a sweet expression; and, as if to prove his words, screwing up his eyes and raising his finger, he said: - Anthropos!
And Belikov also tried to hide his thought in a case. For him, only circulars and newspaper articles were clear, in which something was forbidden. When a circular forbade the disciples to go outside after nine o'clock in the evening, or some article forbade carnal love, this was clear and definite to him; forbidden - and that's it. In permission and permission, for him, there was always an element dubious, something unsaid and vague. When a drama club, or a reading room, or a tea room was allowed in the city, he shook his head and said quietly:
It is, of course, so-and-so, all this is wonderful, but no matter what happens.
Any kind of violations, evasions, deviations from the rules led him to despair, although, it would seem, what did he care? If one of the comrades was late for a prayer service, or there were rumors about some kind of leprosy among the schoolboys, or they saw a classy lady late in the evening with an officer, then he was very worried and kept talking, no matter how something happened. And at pedagogical councils, he simply oppressed us with his caution, suspiciousness, and his purely case-based considerations about the fact that here in the men's and women's gymnasiums, young people are behaving badly, making a lot of noise in the classes - oh, no matter how it got to the authorities, oh no matter what happens - and that if Petrov were expelled from the second class, and Egorov from the fourth, it would be very good. And what? With his sighs, whining, his dark glasses on his pale, small face - you know, a small face, like a ferret's - he crushed us all, and we yielded, reduced Petrov and Yegorov's points in behavior, put them under arrest, and in the end both Petrov and Yegorov were expelled. He had a strange habit - to walk around our apartments. He will come to the teacher, sit down and be silent, as if looking out for something. He will sit, that way, silently, for an hour or two and leave. He called it "maintaining good relations with his comrades," and, obviously, it was hard for him to go and sit with us, and he went to us only because he considered it his duty as a comrade. We teachers were afraid of him. And even the director was afraid. Come on, our teachers are an all-thinking, deeply decent people, brought up on Turgenev and Shchedrin, but this little man, who always went around in galoshes and with an umbrella, held the entire gymnasium in his hands for fifteen whole years! What about a gymnasium? The whole city! Our ladies didn't put on performances at home on Saturdays, they were afraid he might find out; and the clergy were embarrassed to eat meat and play cards in his presence. Under the influence of people like Belikov, over the past ten to fifteen years, everything has become fearful in our city. They are afraid to speak loudly, to send letters, to make acquaintances, to read books, they are afraid to help the poor, to teach them to read and write...
Ivan Ivanovich, wanting to say something, coughed, but first he lit his pipe, looked at the moon, and then said in a deliberate manner:
Yes. Thinking, decent people read both Shchedrin and Turgenev, various Bokleys and so on, but they obeyed, they endured ... That's just it.
On the very edge of the village of Mironositsky, in the barn of the headman Prokofy, the belated hunters settled down for the night. There were only two of them: the veterinarian Ivan Ivanovich and the teacher of the gymnasium Burkin. Ivan Ivanych had a rather strange, double surname - Chimsha-Gimalaysky, which did not suit him at all, and throughout the province he was called simply by his first name and patronymic; he lived near the city in a horse farm and now came to hunt in order to breathe clean air. The teacher of the gymnasium, Burkin, visited Counts P. every summer, and in this area he had long been an insider.
Didn't sleep. Ivan Ivanovich, a tall, thin old man with a long mustache, was sitting outside at the entrance, smoking a pipe; the moon illuminated it. Burkin was lying inside on the hay, and he was not visible in the darkness.
They told different stories. By the way, they said that the headman's wife, Mavra, a healthy and intelligent woman, had never been anywhere further than her native village in her whole life, had never seen a city or a railway, and in the last ten years she had been sitting at the stove and only went out at night.
- What's so amazing! Burkin said. - There are many people in this world who are lonely by nature, who, like a hermit crab or a snail, try to escape into their shell. Perhaps this is the phenomenon of atavism, a return to the time when the ancestor of man was not yet a social animal and lived alone in his lair, or perhaps this is just one of the varieties of human character - who knows? I am not a naturalist, and it is not my business to deal with such questions; I just want to say that people like Mavra are not rare. Yes, it’s not far to look, about two months ago, a certain Belikov, a teacher of the Greek language, my friend, died in our city. You have heard of him, of course. He was remarkable for the fact that he always, even in very good weather, went out in galoshes and with an umbrella, and certainly in a warm coat with wadding. And his umbrella was in a case, and his watch was in a case made of gray suede, and when he took out his penknife to sharpen his pencil, his knife was also in a case; and his face also seemed to be in a case, for he always hid it in his upturned collar. He wore dark glasses, a jersey, stuffed his ears with cotton wool, and when he got into a cab, he ordered to raise the top. In a word, this person had a constant and irresistible desire to surround himself with a shell, to create for himself, so to speak, a case that would seclude him, protect him from external influences. Reality irritated him, frightened him, kept him in constant anxiety, and, perhaps, in order to justify this timidity of his, his disgust for the present, he always praised the past and what had never happened; and the ancient languages that he taught were for him, in essence, the same galoshes and umbrella, where he hid from real life.
- Oh, how sonorous, how beautiful the Greek language! he said with a sweet expression; and, as if to prove his words, he screwed up his eyes and, raising his finger, said: “Antropos!”
And Belikov also tried to hide his thought in a case.
For him, only circulars and newspaper articles were clear, in which something was forbidden. When a circular forbade the disciples to go outside after nine o'clock in the evening, or some article forbade carnal love, this was clear and definite to him; forbidden - and that's it. In permission and permission, for him, there was always an element dubious, something unsaid and vague. When a drama club, or a reading room, or a tea room was allowed in the city, he shook his head and said quietly:
- It is, of course, so-and-so, all this is wonderful, but no matter what happens.
Any kind of violations, evasions, deviations from the rules led him to despair, although, it would seem, what did he care? If one of the comrades was late for a prayer service, or there were rumors about some kind of leprosy of the schoolboys, or they saw a classy lady late in the evening with an officer, then he was very worried and kept talking, no matter how something happened. And at pedagogical councils, he simply oppressed us with his caution, suspiciousness and his purely case-based considerations about the fact that in the men's and women's gymnasiums, young people are behaving badly, making a lot of noise in the classes - oh, no matter how it got to the authorities, oh , no matter what happened - and that if Petrov were excluded from the second class, and Egorov from the fourth, it would be very good. And what? With his sighs, whining, his dark glasses on his pale, small face - you know, a small face, like a ferret - he crushed us all, and we yielded, reduced Petrov and Yegorov's score on behavior, put them under arrest, and in the end Petrov and Yegorov were also excluded. He had a strange habit of walking around our apartments. He will come to the teacher, sit down and be silent, and as if looking out for something. He sits like that, silently, for an hour or two and leaves. He called it "maintaining good relations with his comrades," and, obviously, it was hard for him to go and sit with us, and he went to us only because he considered it his comradely duty. We teachers were afraid of him. And even the director was afraid. Come on, our teachers are an all-thinking, deeply decent people, brought up on Turgenev and Shchedrin, but this little man, who always went around in galoshes and with an umbrella, held the entire gymnasium in his hands for fifteen whole years! What about a gymnasium? The whole city! Our ladies didn't put on performances at home on Saturdays, they were afraid he might find out; and the clergy were embarrassed to eat meat and play cards in his presence. Under the influence of people like Belikov, over the past ten or fifteen years, everything has become fearful in our city. They are afraid to speak loudly, to send letters, to make acquaintances, to read books, they are afraid to help the poor, to teach them to read and write...
