Excerpts from N.V. Gogol's poem Dead Souls. Nikolai Gogol - Chichikov’s Childhood (excerpt from the poem “Dead Souls”) Gogol dead souls interesting excerpt

Before, long ago, in the summers of my youth, in the years of my irrevocably flashed childhood, it was fun for me to drive up for the first time to an unfamiliar place: it didn’t matter whether it was a village, a poor provincial town, a village, a settlement - I discovered a lot of curious things in it childish curious look. Every building, everything that bore only the imprint of some noticeable feature - everything stopped me and amazed me. Is it a stone government house, of well-known architecture with half of the false windows, standing alone among a pile of hewn logs of one-story philistine philistine houses, or a round regular dome, all upholstered in white sheet iron, raised above a new church whitened like snow, or a market, a dandy or a district official who came across the city - nothing escaped the fresh, subtle attention, and, sticking my nose out of my traveling cart, I looked at the hitherto unprecedented cut of some frock coat, and at the wooden boxes with nails, with sulfur turning yellow in the distance, with raisins and soap, flashing from the doors vegetable shop together with the jars of dried Moscow sweets, he looked at the infantry officer walking aside, brought from God knows what province to the boredom of the district, and at the merchant who flashed in Siberia on a racing droshky, and was carried away mentally after them into their poor life. The district official walks past - I was already wondering where he was going, whether for the evening to some brother of his, or straight to his home, so that, after sitting for half an hour on the porch, before dusk had yet completely set in, he could sit down for an early dinner with mother, with his wife, with his wife’s sister and the whole family, and what they will be talking about at the time when a courtyard girl in monists or a boy in a thick jacket brings a tallow candle in a durable household candlestick after soup. Approaching the village of some landowner, I looked curiously at the tall, narrow wooden bell tower or the wide, dark wooden old church. The red roof and white chimneys of the manor's house flashed temptingly to me from afar through the greenery of the trees, and I waited impatiently until the gardens that surrounded it dispersed on both sides and he appeared all his own, then, alas! not at all vulgar in appearance, I tried to guess from him who the landowner himself was, whether he was fat, and whether he had sons, or six whole daughters with ringing girlish laughter, games and the eternal beauty of his little sister, and whether they were dark-eyed, and whether he himself is a merry fellow, or gloomy, like September in the last days, he looks at the calendar and talks about rye and wheat, which is boring for youth. Now I indifferently approach any unfamiliar village and indifferently look at its vulgar appearance; It’s unpleasant to my chilled gaze, it’s not funny to me, and what would have awakened in previous years a lively movement in the face, laughter and silent speech, now slides past, and my motionless lips keep an indifferent silence. O my youth! oh my freshness! While Chichikov was thinking and laughing internally at the nickname given to Plyushkin by the peasants, he did not notice how he drove into the middle of a vast village with many huts and streets. Soon, however, he was made aware of this by a considerable jolt produced by the log pavement, compared to which the city stone pavement was nothing. These logs, like piano keys, rose up and down, and the careless rider got either a bump on the back of his head, or a blue spot on his forehead, or happened to bite off the tail of his own tongue with his own teeth. He noticed some special disrepair in all the village buildings: the logs on the huts were dark and old; many roofs were leaky like a sieve; on others there was only the ridge at the top and poles on the sides in the form of ribs. It seems that the owners themselves tore the shit out of them, reasoning, and, of course, rightly, that in the rain they don’t cover the hut, and the bucket itself doesn’t drip, but there’s no need to fool around in it when there’s room both in the tavern and on the high road, - in a word, wherever you want. The windows in the huts were without glass, others were covered with a rag or a zipun; balconies under roofs with railings, built in some Russian huts for unknown reasons, were askew and blackened, not even picturesquely. In many places, behind the huts, huge stacks of grain lay in rows, apparently stagnant for a long time; the color of them was like old, poorly baked brick, all sorts of rubbish grew on their tops, and there was even a bush clinging to the side. The bread, apparently, was the master's. From behind the grain stacks and dilapidated roofs, two rural churches, one next to the other, rose and flashed in the clear air, now to the right, now to the left, as the chaise made turns: an empty wooden one and a stone one, with yellow walls, stained and cracked. The manor's house began to appear in parts, and finally he looked all over in the place where the chain of huts was broken and in their place there remained a vacant lot like a vegetable garden or a cabbage garden, surrounded by a low, broken town in places. This strange castle looked like some kind of decrepit invalid, long, immeasurably long. In some places it was one floor, in others it was two; on the dark roof, which did not always reliably protect his old age, two belvederes stuck out, one opposite the other, both already shaky, devoid of the paint that once covered them. The walls of the house were cracked in places by the bare plaster lattice and, apparently, had suffered a lot from all sorts of bad weather, rain, whirlwinds and autumn changes. Only two of the windows were open; the others were covered with shutters or even boarded up. These two windows, for their part, were also weak-sighted; on one of them there was a dark triangle made of blue sugar paper pasted on. The old, vast garden stretching behind the house, overlooking the village and then disappearing into the field, overgrown and decayed, seemed to alone refresh this vast village and alone was quite picturesque in its picturesque desolation. The connected tops of trees growing in freedom lay on the sky horizon like green clouds and irregular, fluttering-leaved domes. A white colossal birch trunk, devoid of a top, broken off by a storm or thunderstorm, rose from this green thicket and rounded in the air, like a regular sparkling marble column; its oblique, pointed break, with which it ended upward instead of a capital, darkened against its snowy whiteness, like a hat or a black bird. The hops, which choked the elderberry, rowan and hazel bushes below and then ran along the top of the entire palisade, finally ran up and entwined half the broken birch. Having reached the middle of it, it hung down from there and began to cling to the tops of other trees, or it hung in the air, tying its thin, tenacious hooks in rings, easily swayed by the air. In places, green thickets, illuminated by the sun, diverged and showed an unlit depression between them, gaping like a dark mouth; it was all cast in shadow, and faintly flickered in its black depths: a running narrow path, collapsed railings, a swaying gazebo, a hollow, decrepit willow trunk, a gray-haired chap, with thick bristles poking out from behind the willow, withered leaves from the terrible wilderness, tangled and crossed leaves and branches, and, finally, a young maple branch, stretching out its green leaf paws from the side, under one of which, God knows how, the sun suddenly turned it into transparent and fiery, shining wonderfully in this thick darkness. To the side, at the very edge of the garden, several tall aspen trees, no match for the others, raised huge crow's nests to their tremulous tops. Some of them had pulled back and not completely separated branches hanging down along with withered leaves. In a word, everything was as good as neither nature nor art could imagine, but as only happens when they are united together, when, through the piled-up, often useless, work of man, nature passes with its final cutter, lightens the heavy masses, destroys the grossly tangible correctness and beggarly gaps through which the unhidden, naked plan peeks through, and will give wonderful warmth to everything that was created in the cold of measured cleanliness and neatness. Having made one or two turns, our hero finally found himself in front of the house, which now seemed even sadder. Green mold has already covered the dilapidated wood on the fence and gate. A crowd of buildings: human buildings, barns, cellars, apparently dilapidated, filled the courtyard; near them, to the right and left, gates to other courtyards were visible. Everything said that farming had once taken place here on an extensive scale, and everything now looked gloomy. Nothing was noticeable to enliven the picture: no doors opening, no people coming out from anywhere, no living troubles and worries at home! Only one main gate was open, and that was because a man drove in with a loaded cart covered with matting, appearing as if on purpose to revive this extinct place; at other times they were locked tightly, for a gigantic lock hung in an iron loop. Near one of the buildings, Chichikov soon noticed a figure who began to quarrel with a man who had arrived in a cart. For a long time he could not recognize what gender the figure was: a woman or a man. She was wearing a completely indefinite dress, very similar to a woman’s bonnet, and on her head was a cap, like that worn by village courtyard women, only one voice seemed to him somewhat hoarse for a woman. “Oh, woman! - he thought to himself and immediately added: “Oh, no!” - “Of course, woman!” — he finally said, having examined it more closely. The figure, for its part, also looked at him intently. It seemed that the guest was a novelty for her, because she examined not only him, but also Selifan and the horses, from the tail to the muzzle. Judging by the keys hanging from her belt and the fact that she scolded the man with rather obscene words, Chichikov concluded that this was probably the housekeeper. “Listen, mother,” he said, getting out of the chaise, “what’s the master?.. “I’m not at home,” the housekeeper interrupted, without waiting for the end of the question, and then, after a minute, she added: “What do you need?”- There’s something to do! - Go to the rooms! - said the housekeeper, turning away and showing him her back, stained with flour, with a large hole lower down. He entered the dark, wide entryway, from which a cold air blew in, as if from a cellar. From the hallway he found himself in a room, also dark, slightly illuminated by light coming from under a wide crack located at the bottom of the door. Having opened this door, he finally found himself in the light and was amazed at the chaos that appeared. It seemed as if the floors were being washed in the house and all the furniture had been piled here for a while. On one table there was even a broken chair, and next to it a clock with a stopped pendulum, to which the spider had already attached its web. There was also a cabinet leaning sideways against the wall with antique silver, decanters and Chinese porcelain. On the bureau, lined with mother-of-pearl mosaic, which had already fallen out in places and left behind only yellow grooves filled with glue, lay a lot of all sorts of things: a bunch of finely written papers, covered with a green marble press with an egg on top, some kind of old book bound in leather with a red a sawn-off lemon, all dried up, the height of no more than a hazelnut, a broken armchair, a glass with some liquid and three flies, covered with a letter, a piece of sealing wax, a piece of a rag picked up somewhere, two feathers, stained with ink, dried out, as if consumption, a toothpick, completely yellowed, with which the owner, perhaps, picked his teeth even before the French invasion of Moscow. Several paintings were hung very crowdedly and awkwardly on the walls: a long yellowed engraving of some kind of battle, with huge drums, screaming soldiers in triangular hats and drowning horses, without glass, inserted into a mahogany frame with thin bronze strips and bronze circles at the corners . Along with them, half the wall was occupied by a huge blackened oil painting depicting flowers, fruits, a cut watermelon, a boar's face and a duck hanging upside down. From the middle of the ceiling hung a chandelier in a canvas bag, the dust making it look like a silk cocoon in which a worm sits. In the corner of the room there was a heap of things piled up on the floor that were coarser and unworthy to lie on the tables. It was difficult to decide what exactly was in the pile, because there was such an abundance of dust on it that the hands of anyone who touched it became like gloves; More noticeably than anything else protruding from there was a broken piece of a wooden shovel and an old boot sole. It would have been impossible to say that there was a living creature living in this room if its presence had not been announced by the old, worn cap lying on the table. While he was looking at all the strange decorations, a side door opened and the same housekeeper whom he had met in the yard came in. But then he saw that it was more like a housekeeper than a housekeeper: at least the housekeeper doesn’t shave his beard, but this one, on the contrary, shaved, and, it seemed, quite rarely, because his entire chin with the lower part of his cheek looked like a hair comb made of iron wire, the kind used to clean horses in a stable. Chichikov, giving a questioning expression to his face, waited impatiently for what the housekeeper wanted to tell him. The housekeeper, for his part, also expected what Chichikov wanted to tell him. Finally the latter, surprised by such a strange bewilderment, decided to ask: - What about master? at home, or what? “The owner is here,” said the housekeeper. - Where? - Chichikov repeated. - What, father, are they blind, or what? - said the key keeper. - Ehwa! And I am the owner! Here our hero involuntarily stepped back and looked at him intently. He happened to see a lot of all kinds of people, even those whom the reader and I may never have to see; but he had never seen anything like this before. His face was nothing special; it was almost the same as that of many thin old men, one chin only protruded very far forward, so that he had to cover it with a handkerchief every time so as not to spit; the small eyes had not yet gone out and ran from under their high eyebrows, like mice, when, sticking their sharp muzzles out of the dark holes, pricking their ears and blinking their whiskers, they look out to see if a cat or a naughty boy is hiding somewhere, and sniff the very air suspiciously. Much more remarkable was his outfit: no amount of effort or effort could have been used to find out what his robe was made of: the sleeves and upper flaps were so greasy and shiny that they looked like the kind of yuft that goes into boots; in the back, instead of two, there were four floors dangling, from which cotton paper came out in flakes. He also had something tied around his neck that could not be made out: a stocking, a garter, or a belly, but not a tie. In a word, if Chichikov had met him, so dressed up, somewhere at the church door, he would probably have given him a copper penny. For to the honor of our hero it must be said that he had a compassionate heart and he could not resist giving the poor man a copper penny. But it was not a beggar who stood before him, a landowner stood before him. This landowner had more than a thousand souls, and would anyone try to find someone else who had so much bread in grain, flour and simply in storerooms, whose storerooms, barns and drying rooms were cluttered with so many canvases, cloth, dressed and rawhide sheepskins, dried fish and all kinds of vegetables, or gubina. If someone had looked into his work yard, where there was a stock of all sorts of wood and utensils that had never been used, he would have wondered if he had somehow ended up in Moscow at the chip yard, where efficient mothers-in-law and mother-in-law, with the cooks behind, make their household supplies and where every tree is white in the mountains - sewn, turned, laced and wicker: barrels, crosses, tubs, lagoons, jugs with and without stigmas, twins, baskets, mykolniks, where women put their lobes and other squabbles, boxes made of thin bent aspen, beetroot made of woven birch bark and a lot of everything that goes to the needs of rich and poor Rus'. Why would Plyushkin seem to need such destruction of such products? in his entire life he would not have had to use it even for two such estates as he had, but even this seemed not enough to him. Not content with this, he walked every day along the streets of his village, looked under the bridges, under the crossbars and everything he came across: an old sole, a woman’s rag, an iron nail, a clay shard - he dragged everything to him and put it in that pile , which Chichikov noticed in the corner of the room. “The fisherman has already gone hunting!” - the men said when they saw him going to prey. And in fact, after him there was no need to sweep the street: a passing officer happened to lose his spur, this spur instantly went into the well-known pile; if a woman somehow got lost at the well and forgot the bucket, he would drag the bucket away too. However, when the man who noticed him immediately caught him, he did not argue and gave back the stolen item; but if it ended up in a pile, then it was all over: he swore that the thing was his, bought by him at that time, from such and such, or inherited from his grandfather. In his room, he picked up everything he saw from the floor: sealing wax, a piece of paper, a feather, and put it all on the bureau or on the window. But there was a time when he was just a thrifty owner! he was married and a family man, and a neighbor came to him for lunch, to listen and learn from him about housekeeping and wise stinginess. Everything flowed briskly and happened at a measured pace: mills, fulling mills moved, cloth factories, carpentry machines, spinning mills worked; everywhere the keen eye of the owner entered into everything and, like a hardworking spider, ran busily, but efficiently, along all ends of his economic web. Too strong feelings were not reflected in his facial features, but his mind was visible in his eyes; His speech was imbued with experience and knowledge of the world, and the guest was pleased to listen to him; the friendly and talkative hostess was famous for her hospitality; two pretty daughters came out to meet them, both blond and fresh as roses; the son, a broken boy, ran out and kissed everyone, paying little attention to whether the guest was happy or not happy about it. All the windows in the house were open, the mezzanine was occupied by the apartment of a French teacher, who shaved well and was a great shot: he always brought grouse or ducks for dinner, and sometimes just sparrow eggs, from which he ordered himself scrambled eggs, because no one else in the whole house didn't eat it. His compatriot, the mentor of two girls, also lived on the mezzanine. The owner himself came to the table in a frock coat, although somewhat worn, but neat, the elbows were in order: there was no patch anywhere. But the good housewife died; Some of the keys, and with them minor worries, went to him. Plyushkin became more restless and, like all widowers, more suspicious and stingy. On eldest daughter He could not rely on Alexandra Stepanovna for everything, and he was right, because Alexandra Stepanovna soon ran away with the captain of God knows what cavalry regiment, and married him somewhere hastily in a village church, knowing that her father did not like officers according to a strange prejudice, as if all military gamblers and money-makers. Her father sent a curse on her way, but did not bother to pursue her. The house became even emptier. The owner's stinginess began to become more noticeable; the glint of gray hair in his coarse hair, her faithful friend, helped her develop even more; the French teacher was released because it was time for his son to go to work; Madame was driven away because she turned out to be not innocent in the kidnapping of Alexandra Stepanovna; the son, having been sent to the provincial city in order to learn in the ward, in the opinion of his father, significant service, was instead assigned to the regiment and wrote to his father already according to his determination, asking for money for uniforms; It is quite natural that he learned to do this what is popularly called shish. Finally, the last daughter who remained with him in the house died, and the old man found himself alone as a watchman, guardian and owner of his wealth. Lonely life has given satisfying food to stinginess, which, as you know, has a ravenous hunger and the more it devours, the more insatiable it becomes; human feelings, which were not deep in him anyway, became shallow every minute, and every day something was lost in this worn-out ruin. If it happened at such a moment, as if on purpose to confirm his opinion about the military, that his son lost at cards; he sent him his father's curse from the bottom of his heart and was never interested in knowing whether he existed in the world or not. Every year the windows in his house were closed, until finally only two remained, one of which, as the reader has already seen, was covered with paper; Every year more and more important parts of the household disappeared from sight, and his shallow glance turned to the pieces of paper and feathers that he collected in his room; He became more unyielding to the buyers who came to take away his economic products; the buyers haggled and haggled and finally abandoned him altogether, saying that he was a demon, not a man; hay and bread rotted, luggage and stacks turned into pure manure, even if you planted cabbage on them, flour in the cellars turned into stone, and it was necessary to chop it, it was scary to touch cloth, linens and household materials: they turned to dust. He had already forgotten how much of anything he had, and only remembered where in his closet there was a decanter with the remainder of some tincture, on which he himself made a mark so that no one would drink it by stealing, and where the feather lay or sealing wax. Meanwhile, on the farm, income was collected as before: the peasant had to bring the same amount of rent, every woman was blessed with the same amount of nuts, the weaver had to weave the same number of lines of canvas - all this was dumped in the storerooms, and everything became rotten and torn , and he himself finally turned into some kind of hole in humanity. Alexandra Stepanovna once came twice with her little son, trying to see if she could get something; Apparently, camp life with a captain-captain was not as attractive as it seemed before the wedding. Plyushkin, however, forgave her and even gave his little grandson a button lying on the table to play with, but he did not give any money. Another time, Alexandra Stepanovna arrived with two little ones and brought him a cake for tea and a new robe, because the priest had such a robe that he was not only ashamed to look at, but even ashamed. Plyushkin caressed both grandchildren and, sitting them one on his right knee and the other on his left, rocked them in exactly the same way as if they were riding horses, took a cake and a robe, but gave absolutely nothing to his daughter; And with that, Alexandra Stepanovna left. So, this is the kind of landowner who stood before Chichikov! It must be said that such a phenomenon rarely comes across in Rus', where everything likes to unfold rather than shrink, and it is all the more amazing that right there in the neighborhood a landowner turns up, carousing to the full extent of Russian prowess and nobility, burning, as they say, through life . An unprecedented traveler will stop in amazement at the sight of his home, wondering what kind of sovereign prince suddenly found himself among the small, dark owners: his white stone houses look like palaces with countless chimneys, belvederes, weather vanes, surrounded by a herd of outbuildings and all sorts of rooms for visiting guests. What doesn't he have? Theaters, balls; all night the garden, decorated with lights and bowls, resounding with the thunder of music, shines. Half the province is dressed up and happily walking under the trees, and no one appears wild and threatening in this violent lighting, when a branch, illuminated by a fake light, theatrically jumps out of the thicket of trees, deprived of its bright greenery, and above it is darker and more severe, and twenty times more menacing through that night sky and, far above, fluttering leaves, going deeper into the impenetrable darkness, the stern tops of the trees are indignant at this tinsel shine that illuminated their roots from below. Plyushkin had been standing for several minutes without saying a word, but Chichikov was still unable to start a conversation, entertained both by the sight of the owner himself and by everything that was in his room. For a long time he could not think of any words to explain the reason for his visit. He was about to express himself in such a spirit that, having heard enough about the virtue and rare properties of his soul, he considered it his duty to personally pay tribute, but he caught himself and felt that this was too much. Casting another sidelong glance at everything in the room, he felt that the words “virtue” and “rare qualities of the soul” could be successfully replaced by the words “economy” and “order”; and therefore, having transformed his speech in this way, he said that, having heard a lot about his economy and rare management of estates, he considered it his duty to get acquainted and personally pay his respects. Of course, one could give another, best reason, but nothing else came to mind then. To this Plyushkin muttered something through his lips, for he had no teeth; what exactly is unknown, but probably the meaning was this: “And the devil would take you with your respect!” But since our hospitality is in such a state that even a miser is not able to break its laws, he immediately added somewhat more clearly: “Please, most humbly, sit down!” “I haven’t seen guests for a long time,” he said, “yes, I must admit, I see little use in them.” They have established a very indecent custom of visiting each other, but there are omissions in the household... and feed their horses with hay! It’s been a long time since I dined, and my kitchen is low, very nasty, and the chimney has completely collapsed: if you start heating, you’ll start a fire. “Look there it is! - Chichikov thought to himself. “It’s good that I grabbed a cheesecake and a piece of lamb side from Sobakevich.” - And such a bad joke that there would be at least a tuft of hay on the whole farm! - Plyushkin continued. - And really, how can you take care of it? the land is small, the man is lazy, doesn’t like to work, thinks he’s going to a tavern... just like that, you’ll end up going around the world in your old age! “However, they told me,” Chichikov noted modestly, “that you have more than a thousand souls.” - Who said this? And you, father, would spit in the eyes of the one who said this! He, the mockingbird, apparently wanted to joke with you. Here, they say, there are thousands of souls, but go ahead and count them, and you won’t even count anything! For the last three years, the damned fever has wiped out a hefty sum of men from me. - Tell! and starved a lot? - Chichikov exclaimed with sympathy. - Yes, many were demolished. - Let me ask you: how many in number? - Eighty showers.- No? - I won’t lie, father. - Let me also ask: after all, these souls, I believe, you count from the day the last audit was submitted? “That would be a glory to God,” said Plyushkin, “but it’s crazy that from that time on it will reach one hundred and twenty.” - Really? A hundred and twenty? - Chichikov exclaimed and even opened his mouth somewhat in amazement. - I’m too old, father, to lie: I’ve been living for seventy years! - said Plyushkin. He seemed offended by this almost joyful exclamation. Chichikov noticed that, in fact, it was indecent to be indifferent to someone else’s grief, and therefore he sighed right there and said that he was sorry. “But you can’t put condolences in your pocket,” said Plyushkin. “The captain lives near me; God knows where it came from, a relative says: “Uncle, uncle!” - and kisses your hand, and when he begins to express condolences, such a howl will arise that you should take care of your ears. The face is all red: foam, tea, sticks to death. That’s right, he squandered his money while serving as an officer, or was lured away by a theater actress, so now he’s expressing condolences! Chichikov tried to explain that his condolences were not at all of the same kind as the captain’s, and that he was ready to prove it not with empty words, but with deeds and, without delaying the matter further, without any beating around the bush, he immediately expressed his readiness to accept the obligation to pay taxes for everyone peasants who died in such accidents. The proposal seemed to completely astonish Plyushkin. He stared at him for a long time and finally asked: - Yes, father, didn’t you serve in military service? “No,” Chichikov answered rather slyly, “he served as a civil servant.” — According to the civil code? - Plyushkin repeated and began to chew with his lips, as if he was eating something. - But how can that be? After all, this is at a loss for you? - For your pleasure I am ready to take a loss. - Oh, father! ah, my benefactor! - Plyushkin cried out, not noticing with joy that tobacco was peeking out of his nose in a very unpicturesque way, like a sample of thick coffee, and the skirts of his robe opened up to reveal a dress that was not very decent to look at. - They consoled the old man! Oh, my Lord! oh, my saints!.. - Plyushkin could not speak further. But not even a minute had passed before this joy, which had appeared so instantly on his wooden face, passed just as instantly, as if it had not happened at all, and his face again took on a caring expression. He even wiped himself with a handkerchief and, rolling it up into a ball, began to rub it over his upper lip. - How, with your permission, so as not to anger you, do you undertake to pay taxes for them every year? and will you give the money to me or to the treasury? - Yes, this is how we will do it: we will make a deed of sale on them, as if they were alive and as if you had sold them to me. “Yes, a deed of sale...” said Plyushkin, thought for a moment and began to eat with his lips again. - After all, here is the deed of sale - all the costs. The clerks are so unscrupulous! Before, it used to be that you would get away with half a piece of copper and a bag of flour, but now send a whole cart of cereals, and add a red piece of paper, such love of money! I don’t know how the priests don’t pay attention to this; I would say some kind of teaching: after all, no matter what you say, you cannot resist the word of God. “Well, I think you can resist!” - Chichikov thought to himself and immediately said that, out of respect for him, he was ready to accept even the costs of the bill of sale at his own expense. Having heard that he was even taking on the costs of the bill of sale, Plyushkin concluded that the guest must be completely stupid and was only pretending that he was serving as a civilian, but, most likely, he was an officer and was chasing after actors. Despite all this, he, however, could not hide his joy and wished all kinds of consolations not only for him, but even for his children, without asking whether he had them or not. Approaching the window, he tapped his fingers on the glass and shouted: “Hey, Proshka!” A minute later you could hear someone running in a hurry into the hallway, fiddling around there for a long time and knocking their boots, finally the door opened, and Proshka, a boy of about thirteen, came in, wearing such big boots that, as he walked, he almost took his feet out of them. Why Proshka had such big boots, you can find out right away: Plyushkin had only boots for all the servants, no matter how many there were in the house, which were always supposed to be in the entryway. Anyone called to the master's chambers usually danced across the entire courtyard barefoot, but upon entering the hallway, he put on boots and thus entered the room. Leaving the room, he left his boots again in the hallway and set off again on his own soles. If anyone looked out of the window in the autumn, and especially when small frosts begin in the mornings, he would see that all the servants were making such leaps that the most spirited dancer would hardly be able to do in the theaters. - Look, father, what a face! - Plyushkin said to Chichikov, pointing his finger at Proshka’s face. “He’s as stupid as a tree, but if you try to put anything in, he’ll steal it in an instant!” Well, why did you come, fool, tell me, what? - Here he made a short silence, to which Proshka also responded with silence. “Put on the samovar, do you hear, but take the key and give it to Mavra so she can go to the pantry: there on the shelf there is a cracker from the Easter cake that Alexandra Stepanovna brought to be served for tea!.. Wait, where are you going?” Fool! Ehwa, fool! Is the demon at your feet itching?.. listen first: the cracker on top, the tea, has spoiled, so let him scrape it off with a knife and not throw the crumbs away, but take them to the chicken coop. Look, don't go into the storeroom, brother, or I'll tell you! with a birch broom, just for taste! Now you have a nice appetite, so it’s even better! Just try to go to the pantry, and in the meantime I’ll look out of the window. “They can’t be trusted in anything,” he continued, turning to Chichikov after Proshka had cleared away with his boots. Following this, he began to look at Chichikov suspiciously. The features of such extraordinary generosity began to seem incredible to him, and he thought to himself: “The devil knows, maybe he’s just a braggart, like all these money-makers: he’ll lie, he’ll lie to talk and drink tea, and then he’ll leave!” Therefore, out of precaution and at the same time wanting to test him a little, he said that it wouldn’t be a bad idea to complete the deed of sale as quickly as possible, because he’s not sure about the man: today he’s alive, but God knows tomorrow. Chichikov expressed his readiness to carry it out even this very minute and demanded only a list to all the peasants. This calmed Plyushkin. It was noticeable that he was thinking of doing something, and as if, taking the keys, he approached the closet and, having unlocked the door, rummaged for a long time between the glasses and cups and finally said: - After all, you won’t find it, but I had a nice liqueur, if only you didn’t drink it! people are such thieves! But isn't that him? - Chichikov saw a decanter in his hands, which was covered in dust, like a sweatshirt. “The deceased woman did something else,” Plyushkin continued, “the fraudulent housekeeper completely abandoned it and didn’t even seal it, you scoundrel!” Boogers and all sorts of rubbish were stuffed in there, but I took out all the rubbish, and now it’s clean; I'll pour you a glass. But Chichikov tried to refuse such liquor, saying that he had already drunk and eaten. - We already drank and ate! - said Plyushkin. - Yes, of course, you can recognize a person’s good company anywhere: he doesn’t eat, but is well-fed; and like some kind of thief, no matter how much you feed him... After all, the captain will come: “Uncle, he says, give me something to eat!” And I’m as much an uncle to him as he is a grandfather to me. There’s probably nothing to eat at home, so he’s staggering around! Yes, do you need a register of all these parasites? Well, as I knew, I wrote them all down on a special piece of paper so that when I first submitted the revision, I could cross them all out. Plyushkin put on his glasses and began rummaging through the papers. Untying all sorts of ties, he treated his guest to such dust that he sneezed. Finally he pulled out a piece of paper, all covered with writing. Peasant names covered her closely, like midges. There were all kinds of people there: Paramonov, and Pimenov, and Panteleimonov, and even some Grigory looked out; There were more than a hundred and twenty in all. Chichikov smiled at the sight of such numbers. Having hidden it in his pocket, he noticed to Plyushkin that he would need to come to the city to complete the fortress. - To the city? But how?.. and how to leave the house? After all, my people are either a thief or a swindler: they will steal so much in a day that they won’t have anything to hang their caftan on. - So, don’t you know anyone? - Who do you know? All my friends died or fell apart. Ah, father! how not to have, I have! - he cried. “After all, the chairman himself knows me, he even came to see me in the old days, how could you not know!” We were teammates and climbed fences together! how can you not be familiar? so familiar! So shouldn't I write to him? - And, of course, to him. - Why, he’s so familiar! I had friends at school. And on this wooden face suddenly some kind of warm ray slid, it was not a feeling that was expressed, but some kind of pale reflection of a feeling, a phenomenon similar to the unexpected appearance of a drowning person on the surface of the waters, which produced a joyful cry in the crowd that surrounded the shore. But in vain the overjoyed brothers and sisters throw the rope from the shore and wait to see if the back or arms tired from the struggle will flash again - this was the last appearance. Everything is silent, and after that the quiet surface of the unresponsive element becomes even more terrible and deserted. So Plyushkin’s face, following the feeling that instantly slid across it, became even more insensitive and even more vulgar. “There was a quarter of blank paper lying on the table,” he said, “but I don’t know where it went: my people are so worthless!” - Then he began to look both under the table and on the table, rummaged everywhere and finally shouted: - Mavra! and Mavra! A woman answered the call with a plate in her hands, on which lay a cracker, already familiar to the reader. And the following conversation took place between them: - Where are you going, robber, paper? “By God, master, I haven’t even seen the small piece of paper with which they deigned to cover the glass.” “But I can see in my eyes that I’ve tinkered.” - But what would I like? After all, I have no use with her; I don't know how to read and write. - You’re lying, you demolished the sexton: he’s messing around, so you demolished it for him. - Yes, the sexton, if he wants, he can get himself papers. He hasn't seen your scrap! - Just wait a minute: at the Last Judgment the devils will burn you with iron slingshots for this! You'll see how they cook! - But why will they punish me if I didn’t even pick up a quarter? It’s more likely some other woman’s weakness, but no one has ever reproached me for theft. - But the devils will get you! They’ll say: “Here’s to you, you swindler, for deceiving the master!” - and they’ll give you a hot roast! “And I’ll say: “You’re welcome!” By God, no way, I didn’t take it...” Yes, there she is lying on the table. You always reproach unnecessarily! Plyushkin definitely saw a quarter and stopped for a minute, chewed his lips and said: - Well, why did you disagree like that? What a pain! Tell her just one word, and she’ll answer with a dozen! Go and bring the light to seal the letter. Wait, you grab a tallow candle, tallow is a sticky business: it will burn - yes and no, only a loss, and you bring me a splinter! Mavra left, and Plyushkin, sitting down in an armchair and taking the pen in his hand, spent a long time turning the quarter in all directions, wondering if it was possible to separate another eighth from it, but finally he was convinced that it was impossible; stuck the pen into an inkwell with some kind of moldy liquid and a lot of flies at the bottom and began to write, making letters that looked like musical notes, constantly holding his agility hand, which was jumping all over the paper, sparingly molding line after line and not without regret thinking about it , that there will still be a lot of blank space left. And a person could stoop to such insignificance, pettiness, and disgustingness! could have changed so much! And does this seem true? Everything seems to be true, anything can happen to a person. Today's fiery young man would recoil in horror if they showed him his own portrait in old age. Take it with you on the journey, leaving the soft teenage years into stern, embittering courage, take with you all human movements, do not leave them on the road, you will not pick them up later! The old age coming ahead is terrible, terrible, and nothing gives back and back! The grave is more merciful than her; on the grave it will be written: “A man is buried here!” - but you can’t read anything in the cold, unfeeling features of inhuman old age. “Do you know any friend of yours,” said Plyushkin, folding up the letter, “who would need runaway souls?” - Do you have any runaways? - Chichikov quickly asked, waking up. - That's the point, it is. The son-in-law made adjustments: he says that the trace has disappeared, but he is a military man: he is a master of stamping a spur, and if he would bother with the courts... - How many of them will there be? - Yes, there will also be dozens up to seven.- No? - And by God, so! After all, I’ve been running around for a year now. The people are painfully gluttonous, out of idleness they have acquired the habit of eating, but I have nothing to eat myself... And I would take anything for them. So advise your friend: if you only find a dozen, then he’ll have a nice amount of money. After all, a revision soul costs five hundred rubles. “No, we won’t even let a friend smell this,” Chichikov said to himself and then explained that there was no way to find such a friend, that the costs alone for this matter would cost more, because the courts would have to cut off the tails of their own caftan and go further away; but that if he is already really so squeezed, then, being moved by participation, he is ready to give... but that this is such a trifle that is not even worth talking about. - How much would you give? - Plyushkin asked and waited himself: his hands trembled like mercury. - I would give twenty-five kopecks per soul. - How do you buy, with clean ones? - Yes, now it’s money. “Only, father, for the sake of my poverty, they would have already given forty kopecks.” - Most Honorable! - said Chichikov, - not only forty kopecks, but five hundred rubles! I would gladly pay, because I see - venerable, good old man endures because of his own good nature. - And by God, so! By God, it's true! - said Plyushkin, hanging his head down and shaking it sadly. - Everything is out of good nature. - Well, you see, I suddenly understood your character. So, why not give me five hundred rubles per soul, but... there is no fortune; five kopecks, if you please, I’m ready to add so that each soul will cost thirty kopecks. - Well, father, it’s your choice, at least fasten two kopecks. - I’ll put on two kopecks, if you please. How many do you have? I think you said seventy? - No. The total number is seventy-eight. “Seventy-eight, seventy-eight, thirty kopecks per soul, that will be...” here our hero thought for one second, no more, and suddenly said: “that will be twenty-four rubles ninety-six kopecks,” he was strong in arithmetic. He immediately forced Plyushkin to write a receipt and gave him the money, which he accepted in both hands and carried it to the bureau with the same caution, as if he were carrying some kind of liquid, every minute afraid of spilling it. Approaching the bureau, he looked at them again and put them, also extremely carefully, into one of the boxes, where, probably, they were destined to be buried until Father Karp and Father Polycarp, two priests of his village, buried him, to the indescribable joy of his son-in-law and daughter, and perhaps even the captain, who was considered one of his relatives. Having hidden the money, Plyushkin sat down in an armchair and, it seemed, could no longer find anything to talk about. - So, are you going to go? - he said, noticing the slight movement that Chichikov made just to take a handkerchief out of his pocket. This question reminded him that there was really no need to delay any longer. - Yes, I have to go! - he said, taking his hat.- And some seagull? - No, it’s better to have some seagull some other time. - Of course, I ordered a samovar. I must admit, I’m not a fan of tea: the drink is expensive, and the price of sugar has risen unmercifully. Proshka! no need for a samovar! Take the cracker to Mavra, you hear: let him put it in the same place, or not, bring it here, I’ll take it down myself. Farewell, father, God bless you, and give the letter to the chairman. Yes! let him read it, he’s an old friend of mine. Why! We were friends with him! Then this strange phenomenon, this shriveled old man escorted him out of the yard, after which he ordered the gates to be locked immediately, then he walked around the storerooms in order to inspect whether the watchmen, who stood on all corners, were in their places, pounding on the empty barrel with wooden shovels, instead of a cast iron board; after that he looked into the kitchen, where, under the guise of trying to see if people were eating well, he ate a fair amount of cabbage soup and porridge and, having scolded every last one for theft and bad behavior, returned to his room. Left alone, he even thought about how he could thank his guest for such truly unprecedented generosity. “I’ll give him,” he thought to himself, “a pocket watch: it’s a good one, a silver watch, and not like some kind of Tombac or bronze; a little spoiled, but he can transport it for himself; He is still a young man, so he needs a pocket watch to please his bride! Or not,” he added after some reflection, “it’s better that I leave them to him after my death, in the spiritual, so that he remembers me.” But our hero was in the most cheerful mood even without the watch. Such an unexpected acquisition was a real gift. In fact, whatever you say, there are not only dead souls, but also runaways, and in total more than two hundred people! Of course, even approaching the village of Plyushkin, he already had a presentiment that there would be some profit, but he never expected such a profitable one. All the way he was unusually cheerful, whistled, played with his lips, putting his fist to his mouth, as if playing a trumpet, and finally began to sing some kind of song, so extraordinary that Selifan himself listened, listened and then, shaking his head slightly, said : “You see how the master sings!” It was already deep twilight when they approached the city. The shadow and light were completely mixed up, and it seemed that the very objects were mixed up too. The motley barrier took on some indefinite color; The mustache of the soldier standing guard seemed to be on his forehead and much higher than his eyes, and his nose seemed to be missing at all. Thunder and jumps made it possible to notice that the chaise had driven onto the pavement. The lanterns had not yet been lit, in some places the windows of houses were just beginning to be illuminated, and in the alleys and nooks there were scenes and conversations inseparable from this time in all cities, where there are many soldiers, cabbies, workers and a special kind of creatures, in the form of ladies in red shawls and shoes without stockings, which scurry around the intersections like bats. Chichikov did not notice them and did not even notice many thin officials with canes, who, having probably taken a walk outside the city, were returning home. From time to time, what seemed to be feminine exclamations reached his ears: “You’re lying, drunkard! I never allowed him to be so rude!” - or: “Don’t fight, you ignoramus, but go to the unit, there I will prove it to you! in my head a Spanish street, night, a wonderful female image with a guitar and curls. What is not there and what is not dreaming in his head? he is in heaven and has come to visit Schiller - and suddenly fatal words are heard above him like thunder, and he sees that he has again found himself on earth, and even on Sennaya Square, and then near the tavern, and again he has gone to show off in an everyday way life is in front of him. Finally, the chaise, having made a decent leap, sank, as if into a pit, into the gates of the hotel, and Chichikov was met by Petrushka, who held the hem of his coat with one hand, for he did not like the floors to separate, and with the other he began to help him get out of the chaise. The polovoi also ran out, with a candle in his hand and a napkin on his shoulder. Whether Petrushka was happy about the master’s arrival is unknown; at least he and Selifan exchanged winks, and his usually stern appearance this time seemed to brighten up somewhat. “We took a long walk,” said the floor guard, lighting the stairs. “Yes,” said Chichikov when he went up the stairs. - Well, what about you? “Thank God,” answered the sexton, bowing. “Yesterday some military lieutenant arrived and took number sixteen.- Lieutenant? — It’s unknown which one, from Ryazan, bay horses. - Okay, okay, behave and go ahead! - Chichikov said and entered his room. As he passed through the hallway, he turned his nose and said to Petrushka: “You should at least unlock the windows!” “Yes, I unlocked them,” said Petrushka, and he lied. However, the master himself knew that he was lying, but he did not want to object. After the trip, he felt very tired. Having demanded the lightest supper, which consisted only of a pig, he immediately undressed and, crawling under the covers, fell asleep deeply, soundly, fell asleep miraculously, as only those lucky people sleep who know neither hemorrhoids, nor fleas, nor too strong mental abilities.

The visitor seemed to avoid talking much about himself; if he spoke, then in some general places, with noticeable modesty, and his conversation in such cases took somewhat bookish turns: that he was an insignificant worm of this world and was not worthy of being cared for much, that he had experienced a lot in his life , 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 to choose a place to live, and that, having arrived in this city, people made it an indispensable duty to pay their respects to its first dignitaries . That's all that the city learned about this new face, who very soon did not fail to show himself at the governor's party. Preparations for this party took more than two hours, and here the visitor showed such attentiveness to the toilet, which is not even seen everywhere. After a short afternoon nap, he ordered someone to wash his face 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 inn servant’s shoulder, he wiped his plump face from all sides with it, starting from behind his ears and first snorting twice or twice into the inn servant’s very face. Then he put on his shirtfront in front of the mirror, plucked out two hairs that had come out of his nose, and immediately after that he found himself in a lingonberry-colored tailcoat with a sparkle. Thus dressed, he rode in his own carriage along the endless wide streets, illuminated by the meager lighting from windows flickering here and there. However, the governor's house was so lit, even if only for a ball; strollers with lanterns, two gendarmes in front of the entrance, postilions shouting in the distance - in a word, everything is as it should be. Entering the hall, Chichikov had to close his eyes for a minute, because the shine from the candles, lamps and ladies' dresses was terrible. Everything was flooded with light. Black tailcoats flashed and rushed separately and in heaps here and there, like flies scamper on white shining refined sugar during the hot July summer, when the old housekeeper chops and divides it into sparkling fragments in front of the open window; the children are all looking, gathered around, curiously following the movements of her hard hands, raising the hammer, and aerial squadrons of flies, raised by the light air, fly in boldly, like complete masters, and, taking advantage of the old woman’s blindness and the sun, disturbing her eyes, sprinkle tidbits, where scattered, where in thick heaps. Sated by the rich summer, which already lays out tasty dishes at every turn, they flew in not at all to eat, but just to show off, walk back and forth on the sugar heap, rub their hind or front legs one against the other, or scratch them under your wings, or, stretching out both front legs, rub them over your head, turn around and fly away again and fly again with new annoying squadrons.

Before Chichikov had time to look around, he was already grabbed by the arm by the governor, who immediately introduced him to the governor’s wife. The visiting guest did not let himself down here either: he said some kind of compliment, quite decent for a middle-aged man with a rank neither too high nor too low. When the established pairs of dancers pressed everyone against the wall, he, with his hands behind him, looked at them very carefully for two minutes. Many of the ladies were well dressed and in fashion, others dressed in whatever God sent them to the provincial city. The men here, as everywhere else, 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 those from St. Petersburg: they also had very clean, deliberately and tastefully combed sideburns or simply beautiful, very smoothly shaven oval faces, they sat down just as casually next to the ladies, they spoke in the same way. -French and made the ladies laugh just like in St. Petersburg. Another class of men were fat or the same as Chichikov, that is, not too fat, but not thin either. These, on the contrary, looked askance and backed away from the ladies and only looked around to see if the governor’s servant was setting up a green whist table somewhere. Their faces were full and round, some even had warts, some were pockmarked; They did not wear their hair on their heads in crests, curls, or in a “damn me” manner, as the French say; their hair was either cut low or slicked back, and their facial features were more rounded and strong. These were honorary officials in the city. Alas! fat people know how to manage their affairs in this world better than thin people. The thin ones serve more on special assignments or are just registered and wander here and there; their existence is somehow too easy, airy and completely unreliable. Fat people never occupy indirect places, but always straight ones, and if they sit somewhere, they will sit securely and firmly, so that the place will sooner crack and bend under them, and they will not fly off. They do not like external shine; the tailcoat on them is not as cleverly tailored as on the thin ones, but in the boxes there is the grace of God. At the age of three, the thin one does not have a single soul left that is not pawned in a pawnshop; The fat man was calm, lo and behold, and somewhere at the end of the city a house appeared, bought in the name of his wife, then at the other end another house, then a village near the city, then a village with all the land. Finally, the fat man, having served God and the sovereign, having earned universal respect, leaves the service, moves over and becomes a landowner, a glorious Russian gentleman, a hospitable man, and lives and lives well. And after him, again, the thin heirs, according to Russian custom, send all their father’s goods by courier. It cannot be concealed that almost this kind of reflection occupied Chichikov at the time when he was looking at society, and the consequence of this was that he eventually joined the fat ones, where he met almost all the familiar faces: a prosecutor with very black thick eyebrows and a somewhat winking left with his eye as if he were saying: “Let’s go, brother, to another room, there I’ll tell you something,” - a man, however, serious and silent; the postmaster, a short man, but a wit and a philosopher; Chairman of the House, a very reasonable and amiable man, who all greeted him as an old acquaintance, to which Chichikov bowed somewhat sideways, however, not without pleasantness. He immediately met the very courteous and polite landowner Manilov and the somewhat clumsy-looking Sobakevich, who stepped on his foot the first time, saying: “I beg your pardon.” They immediately handed him a card for whist, which he accepted with the same polite bow.

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A little later, they brought him an invitation to a ball with the governor - a very common thing in provincial cities; where the governor is, there is a ball, otherwise there will be no proper love and respect from the nobility.

Everything extraneous was at that very moment abandoned and pushed aside, and everything was focused on preparing for the ball; for, for sure, there were many motivating and bullying reasons. But, perhaps, since the very creation of light, so much time has not been spent on the toilet. A whole hour was devoted to just looking at the face in the mirror. We tried to give him many different expressions: sometimes important and sedate, sometimes respectful, but with some smile, sometimes simply respectful without a smile; several bows were made into the mirror, accompanied by unclear sounds, partly similar to French, although Chichikov did not know French at all. He even gave himself many pleasant surprises, winked with his eyebrows and lips and even did something with his tongue; in a word, you never know what to do, left alone, feeling that you are good, and besides being sure that no one is looking through the crack. Finally, he lightly tapped himself on the chin, saying: “Oh, you little face!” - and began to get dressed. The most contented disposition accompanied him the entire time he was dressing: putting on suspenders or tying a tie, he scraped and bowed with particular dexterity, and although he never danced, he did an entrechat. This entreche produced a small, innocent consequence: the chest of drawers shook and a brush fell from the table.

His appearance at the ball had an extraordinary effect. Everything that happened turned to meet him, some with cards in their hands, some at the most interesting point in the conversation, saying: “And the lower zemstvo court answers this...”, but what the zemstvo court answers, he threw it aside and hurried to greet our hero. “Pavel Ivanovich! Oh, my God, Pavel Ivanovich! Dear Pavel Ivanovich! Dear Pavel Ivanovich! My soul Pavel Ivanovich! Here you are, Pavel Ivanovich! Here he is, our Pavel Ivanovich! Let me press you, Pavel Ivanovich! Let’s bring him here, so I’ll kiss him harder, my dear Pavel Ivanovich!” Chichikov immediately felt himself in several arms. Before he had time to completely crawl out of the chairman’s arms, he found himself in the arms of the police chief; the police chief handed him over to the inspector of the medical board; the inspector of the medical board - to the tax farmer, the tax farmer - to the architect... The governor, who at that time was standing near the ladies and holding a candy ticket in one hand, and in the other a lapdog, seeing him, threw both the ticket and the lapdog onto the floor - the little dog just squealed; in a word, he spread extraordinary joy and joy. There was not a face that did not express pleasure, or at least a reflection of general pleasure. This is what happens on the faces of officials when a visiting chief inspects their places entrusted to management: after the first fear had passed, they saw that he liked a lot of things, and he himself finally deigned to joke, that is, to utter a few words with a pleasant grin. The officials close to him laugh twice in response to this; Those who are further away from him laugh heartily and who, however, heard the words he uttered somewhat poorly, and finally, standing far at the door, at the very exit, some policeman, who had not laughed in his entire life and had just who had previously shown his fist to the people, and they, according to the immutable laws of reflection, express some kind of smile on their face, although this smile is more similar to how someone is about to sneeze after drinking strong tobacco. Our hero answered everyone and everyone and felt some kind of extraordinary dexterity: he bowed to the right and left, as usual, somewhat to the side, but completely freely, so that he charmed everyone. The ladies immediately surrounded him with a shining garland and brought with them whole clouds of all kinds of fragrances: one breathed roses, another smelled of spring and violets, the third was completely scented with mignonette; Chichikov just raised his nose and sniffed. There was an abyss of taste in their outfits: muslins, satins, and muslins were of such pale, fashionable colors that it was impossible even to name them (the delicacy of taste had reached such an extent). Ribbon bows and flower bouquets fluttered here and there across the dresses in the most picturesque disorder, although a lot of decent brains worked on this disorder.

The light headdress rested only on one ears and seemed to say: “Hey, I’ll fly away, it’s just a pity that I won’t take the beauty with me!” The waists were tight and had the most strong and pleasing to the eye shape (it should be noted that in general all the ladies of the city of N were somewhat plump, but they laced up so skillfully and had such a pleasant appeal that the thickness could not be noticed). Everything was thought out and provided for with extraordinary care; the neck and shoulders were open exactly as much as needed, and no further; each exposed her possessions as long as she felt, in her own conviction, that they were capable of destroying a person; the rest was all hidden with extraordinary taste: either some light tie made of ribbon, or a scarf lighter than a cake, known as a “kiss,” ethereally hugged the neck, or small jagged walls of thin cambric, known as "modesty". These “modesty” hid in front and behind what could no longer cause death to a person, and meanwhile they made one suspect that it was precisely there that death itself lay. The long gloves were not worn all the way to the sleeves, but deliberately left the stimulating parts of the arms above the elbows, which for many exuded enviable fullness, bare; some even had kid gloves burst, prompted to move further - in a word, it seemed as if it was written on everything: no, this is not a province, this is the capital, this is Paris itself! Only here and there some cap that had never been seen on earth, or even some almost peacock feather, would suddenly stick out, contrary to all fashions, according to one’s own taste. But it’s impossible without this, such is the nature of a provincial city: somewhere it will certainly end. Chichikov, standing in front of them, thought: “Who, however, is the author of the letter?” - and stuck his nose out; but right on his nose he was tugged by a whole series of elbows, cuffs, sleeves, ends of ribbons, fragrant chemisettes and dresses. The gallop flew at full speed: the postmistress, the police captain, the lady with a blue feather, the lady with a white feather, the Georgian prince Chiphaikhilidzev, an official from St. Petersburg; an official from Moscow, the Frenchman Kuku, Perkhunovsky, Berebendovsky - everything rose and rushed...

Won! The province has gone to write! - Chichikov said, backing away, and as soon as the ladies took their seats, he again began to look out to see if it was possible to recognize by the expression in his face and eyes who the writer was; but there was no way to know, either by the expression on her face or the expression in her eyes, who the writer was. Everywhere one could notice something so slightly detected, so elusively subtle, wow! how subtle!.. “No,” Chichikov said to himself, “women, this is such a subject...” Here he waved his hand: “There’s simply nothing to say!” Go ahead, try to tell or convey everything that runs across their faces, all those twists and hints, but you just can’t convey anything. Their eyes alone are such an endless state that a man has entered - and remember their name! You can’t get him out of there with any hook or anything. Well, try, for example, to tell one of their shine: moist, velvety, sugary. God knows what kind there is not yet! And hard, and soft, and even completely languid, or, as others say, in bliss, or without bliss, but more than in bliss, it will hook you by the heart and lead you through your whole soul, as if with a bow.

No, you just can’t find the words: the gallant half human race and nothing more!

Guilty! It seems that a word that was noticed on the street came out of our hero’s mouth. What to do? Such is the position of the writer in Rus'! However, if a word from the street ends up in a book, it’s not the writer’s fault, it’s the readers, and above all the readers of high society: from them you won’t be the first to hear a single decent Russian word, but they will probably endow you with French, German and English in such quantities, whatever you want, and they will give you even while preserving all possible pronunciations, in French through the nose and burr, in English they will pronounce it like a bird should, and they will even make a bird’s face, and they will even laugh at those who cannot make a bird’s face. But they won’t give the Russians anything, unless out of patriotism they build a hut for themselves in the Russian style at their dacha. This is what readers of the upper class are like, and after them all those who consider themselves to be part of the upper class! And yet, what exactingness! They absolutely want everything to be written in the most strict, purified and noble language - in a word, they want the Russian language to suddenly descend from the clouds of its own accord, properly processed, and sit right on their tongue, and they would have nothing else as soon as open your mouth and expose it. Of course, the female half of the human race is tricky; but respectable readers, it must be admitted, are even wiser.

…………………………………………………………………………………

The ladies were very pleased and not only found a lot of pleasantries and pleasantries in him, but even began to find a majestic expression in his face, something even Mars and military, which, as you know, is very popular with women. Even because of him, they had already begun to quarrel somewhat: having noticed that he usually stood near the doors, some vyingly hurried to take a chair closer to the doors, and when one was lucky enough to do this first, an unpleasant incident almost happened, and many who wanted to do this However, such impudence seemed too disgusting.

Chichikov was so busy talking with the ladies, or, better yet, the ladies were so busy and swirling him with their conversations, pouring in a bunch of the most intricate and subtle allegories that all had to be solved, which even caused sweat to appear on his forehead - that he forgot to fulfill his duty of decency and approach first of all the hostess. He remembered this already when he heard the voice of the governor herself, who had been standing in front of him for several minutes. The governor’s wife said in a gentle and somewhat sly voice with a pleasant shake of her head: “Ah, Pavel Ivanovich! so that’s how you are!..” I can’t exactly convey the words of the governor’s wife, but something was said filled with great courtesy in the spirit in which ladies and gentlemen speak in the stories of our secular writers, who are eager to describe living rooms and boast of knowledge of the highest tone, in the spirit of having really taken over your heart so much that there is no longer room in it, not the smallest corner for those you have mercilessly forgotten. Our hero turned at that very moment to the governor’s wife and was ready to give her an answer no worse than those given in fashionable stories by the Zvonskys, Linskys, Lidins, Gremins and all sorts of military people, when, casually raising his eyes, he suddenly stopped, as if stunned by a blow .

Standing in front of him was more than one governor's wife: she was holding by the arm a young sixteen-year-old girl, a fresh blonde, with thin and slender features, a sharp chin, and a charmingly round oval face, the kind an artist would take as a model for a Madonna and which only rarely comes across Rus', where everything loves to appear in a large size, everything that is: mountains and forests and steppes, and faces and lips and legs: that same blonde whom he met on the road, driving from Nozdryov, when, due to the stupidity of the coachmen or horses, , their carriages collided so strangely, their harnesses getting tangled up, and Uncle Mityai and Uncle Minyai began to unravel the matter. Chichikov was so confused that he could not utter a single sensible word and muttered God knows what, something that neither Gremin, nor Zvonsky, nor Lidin would have said.

You don't know my daughter yet? - said the governor. - Institute student, just graduated.

He replied that he had already had the good fortune to meet him by accident; I tried to add something else, but some things didn’t work out at all. The governor's wife, having said two or three words, finally went with her daughter to the other end of the hall to other guests, and Chichikov still stood motionless in the same place, like a man who cheerfully went out into the street to take a walk, with his eyes disposed to look at everything, and suddenly stopped motionless, remembering that he had forgotten something, and then such a person could not be more stupid: instantly the carefree expression flies from his face; he is trying to remember that he forgot, is it not a handkerchief, but a handkerchief in his pocket, is it money, but money is also in his pocket, everything seems to be with him, and meanwhile some unknown spirit whispers in his ears that he has forgotten something. And now he looks confusedly and vaguely at the moving crowd in front of him, at the flying crews, at the shako and guns of the passing regiment, at the sign and sees nothing clearly. So Chichikov suddenly became alien to everything that was happening around him. At this time, from the ladies' fragrant lips, many hints and questions, imbued with subtlety and courtesy, rushed to him: “Are we, the poor inhabitants of the earth, allowed to be so daring as to ask you what you dream about?”, “Where are those happy places?” , in which your thoughts flutter?”, “Is it possible to know the name of the one who plunged you into this sweet valley of reverie?” But he responded to everything with decisive inattention, and pleasant phrases sank into thin air. He was even so discourteous that he soon left them in the other direction, wanting to see where the governor’s wife had gone with her daughter. But the ladies did not seem to want to leave him so soon; each one internally decided to use all possible weapons, so dangerous for our hearts, and to use everything that was best. It should be noted that some ladies, I say, some, this is not like everyone else, have a small weakness: if they notice something especially good in themselves, whether on the forehead, the mouth, or the hands, then they already think, that the best part of their face will be the first to catch everyone’s eye, and everyone will suddenly speak in one voice: “Look, look, what a beautiful Greek nose she has” or “What a correct, charming forehead!” The one who has good shoulders is sure in advance that all the young people will be completely delighted and will repeat every now and then as she passes by: “Oh, what wonderful shoulders this one has!” - but they won’t even look at your face, hair, nose, forehead, and if they do, it’s as if they were something extraneous. Other ladies think this way. Each lady made an internal vow to herself to be as charming as possible in dancing and to show in all its splendor the superiority of what she had the most excellent. The postmistress, waltzing, lowered her head to the side with such languor that one could actually hear something unearthly. One very kind lady - who did not come at all to dance, due to what had happened, as she herself put it, a small pea-shaped incomodity on her right leg, as a result of which she even had to put on velvet boots - could not bear it, however, and she made several circles in her velvet boots, precisely so that the postmistress would not really take too much into her head.

But all this did not have the intended effect on Chichikov. He did not even look at the circles made by the ladies, but constantly rose on tiptoe to look over their heads where the entertaining blonde might climb; He crouched down too, looking between the shoulders and backs, and finally found her and saw her sitting with her mother, over whom some kind of oriental turban with a feather was hovering majestically. It seemed as if he wanted to take them by storm; Whether the spring mood had an effect on him, or someone was pushing him from behind, only he pushed decisively forward, no matter what; the farmer received such a push from him that he staggered and barely managed to stay on one leg, otherwise, of course, he would have knocked down a whole row of people; the postmaster also retreated and looked at him with amazement, mixed with rather subtle irony, but he did not look at them; he only saw in the distance a blonde who was putting on a long glove and, no doubt, burning with the desire to start flying across the parquet floor. And there, off to the side, four couples were practicing a mazurka; the heels broke the floor, and the army staff captain worked with his soul and body, and with his arms and legs, unscrewing steps that no one had ever even dreamed of unscrewing. Chichikov rushed past the mazurka, almost right on the heels and straight to the place where the governor’s wife was sitting with her daughter. However, he approached them very timidly, did not mince so briskly and smartly with his feet, he even hesitated somewhat, and there was some awkwardness in all his movements.

It is impossible to say for certain whether the feeling of love actually awoke in our hero; it is even doubtful that gentlemen of this kind, that is, not so fat, but not so thin, were capable of love, but for all that there was something here something so strange, something like that, which he could not explain to himself: it seemed to him, as he himself later admitted, that the whole ball, with all its talk and noise, seemed for a few minutes to be somewhere far away; violins and trumpets were being cut somewhere behind the mountains, and everything was shrouded in fog, similar to a carelessly painted field in a painting. And from this hazy, somehow sketched field, only the subtle features of the captivating blonde emerged clearly and completely: her oval-round face, her thin, thin figure, like a college girl’s in the first months after graduation, her white, almost simple dress, easily and deftly grasping young slender members in all places, which were indicated in some clean lines. It seemed that she all looked like some kind of toy, clearly carved from ivory; she was the only one who turned white and emerged transparent and bright from the cloudy and opaque crowd.

Apparently, this is how it happens in the world, apparently, and the Chichikovs, for a few minutes in their lives, turn into poets, but the word “poet” would be too much. At the very least, he felt like something completely like a young man, almost like a hussar. Seeing an empty chair near them, he immediately took it. The conversation did not go well at first, but after that things progressed, and he even began to get a boost, but... here, to the greatest regret, it must be noted that sedate people and occupying important positions are somehow a little difficult in conversations with ladies; for this, masters, gentlemen, lieutenants, and no further than the ranks of captain. How they do it, God knows: it seems that they say not very sophisticated things, and the girl constantly sways on her chair with laughter; the civil councilor, God knows what, will tell you: either he will talk about how Russia is a very spacious state, or he will make a compliment, which, of course, was not invented without wit, but it smells terribly of a book; if he says something funny, he himself laughs incomparably more than the one who listens to him. This is noted here so that readers can see why the blonde began to yawn during our hero’s stories. The hero, however, did not notice this at all, telling many pleasant things that he had already happened to say in similar cases in different places: namely in the Simbirsk province with Sofron Ivanovich Bespechny, where his daughter Adelaida Sofronovna and three sisters-in-law were then: Marya Gavrilovna, Alexandra Gavrilovna and Adelgeida Gavrilovna; with Fedor Fedorovich Perekroev in the Ryazan province; with Flor Vasilyevich Pobedonosny in the Penza province and with his brother Pyotr Vasilyevich, where his sister-in-law Katerina Mikhailovna and her grand-sisters Rosa Fedorovna and Emilia Fedorovna were; in the Vyatka province with Pyotr Varsonofyevich, where his sister-in-law Pelageya Egorovna was with her niece Sofia Rostislavna and two half-sisters Sofia Alexandrovna and Maklatura Alexandrovna.

All the ladies did not like Chichikov’s treatment at all. One of them deliberately walked past to let him notice this, and even touched the blonde rather carelessly with the thick roll of her dress, and arranged the scarf that was fluttering around her shoulders in such a way that it swung its end right across her face; at the same time, from behind him, from some lady’s lips, along with the smell of violets, came a rather caustic and caustic remark. But either he really didn’t hear, or he pretended that he didn’t hear, but that was not good; for the opinion of ladies must be valued; He repented of this, but only later, therefore, it was too late.

Indignation, justified in all respects, showed itself in many faces. No matter how great Chichikov’s weight in society was, although he was a millionaire and his face expressed greatness and even something Mars and military, there are things that the ladies will not forgive anyone, no matter who he was, and then it’s all gone ! There are cases where a woman, no matter how weak and powerless her character is in comparison with a man, suddenly becomes stronger not only than a man, but also everything else in the world. The neglect shown by Chichikov, almost unintentional, even restored the harmony between the ladies, which was on the verge of destruction after the brazen seizure of the chair. In some dry and ordinary words he casually uttered, they found caustic hints. To top off the troubles, one of the young people immediately composed satirical poems about the dancing society, which, as you know, is almost never done without at provincial balls. These poems were immediately attributed to Chichikov. Indignation grew, and ladies began to talk about him in different corners in the most unfavorable way; and the poor schoolgirl was completely destroyed, and her sentence had already been signed.

Meanwhile, a most unpleasant surprise was in store for our hero: while the blonde was yawning, and he was telling her some stories that had happened at different times and even touched upon the Greek philosopher Diogenes, Nozdryov appeared from the last room.

Incommodite (distorted French incommodite) - inconvenience.

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Nikolai Vasilievich Gogol

Chichikov's childhood

(Excerpt from the poem “Dead Souls”)

<…> One day, with the first spring sun and overflowing streams, the father, taking his son, rode out with him on a cart, which was pulled by a piebald horse, known among horse dealers as a magpie; it was ruled by a coachman, a little hunchbacked man, the founder of the only serf family that belonged to Chichikov’s father, who occupied almost all positions in the house. They dragged themselves on forty for more than a day and a half; We spent the night on the road, crossed the river, ate cold pie and fried lamb, and only on the third day in the morning did we reach the city. The city streets flashed before the boy with unexpected splendor, making him gape for several minutes. Then the magpie splashed along with the cart into a hole, which began a narrow alley, all sloping down and filled with mud; She worked there for a long time with all her might and kneaded with her feet, incited by both the hunchback and the master himself, and finally dragged them into a small courtyard that stood on a slope with two blossoming apple trees in front of an old house and a garden behind it, low, small, consisting only of rowan and elderberry and hiding in the depths of her wooden booth, covered with shingles, with a narrow frosted window. Here lived a relative of theirs, a flabby old woman who still went to the market every morning and then dried her stockings by the samovar, who patted the boy on the cheek and admired his plumpness. Here he had to stay and go to classes at the city school every day. The father, having spent the night, set out on the road the next day. At parting, no tears were shed from the parents' eyes; half a copper was given for expenses and delicacies and, what is much more important, a smart instruction: “Look, Pavlusha, study, don’t be stupid and don’t hang around, but most of all please your teachers and bosses. If you please your boss, then, even though you don’t have time in science and God hasn’t given you talent, you will put everything into action and get ahead of everyone else. Don’t hang out with your comrades, they won’t teach you any good; and if it comes to that, then hang out with those who are richer, so that on occasion they can be useful to you. Do not treat or treat anyone, but rather behave in such a way that you will be treated; and most of all, take care and save a penny: this thing is more reliable than anything in the world. A comrade or friend will deceive you and in trouble will be the first to betray you, but a penny will not betray you, no matter what trouble you are in. You will do everything and ruin everything in the world with a penny.” Having given such instructions, the father parted with his son and trudged home again on his forty, and from then on he never saw him again, but the words and instructions sank deep into his soul.

Pavlusha started going to classes the next day. He did not appear to have any special abilities for any science; He distinguished himself more by his diligence and neatness; but on the other hand, he turned out to have a great mind on the other side, on the practical side. He suddenly realized and understood the matter and behaved towards his comrades in exactly the same way: they treated him, and he not only never, but sometimes even hid the received treat and then sold it to them. Even as a child, he already knew how to deny himself everything. Of the half-ruble given by his father, he didn’t spend a penny; on the contrary, that same year he already made additions to it, showing almost extraordinary resourcefulness: he molded a bullfinch out of wax, painted it and sold it very profitably. Then, for some time, he embarked on other speculations, namely this: having bought food at the market, he sat in the classroom next to those who were richer, and as soon as he noticed that a friend was starting to feel sick - a sign of approaching hunger - he stuck out his shirt to him. under the benches, as if by chance, a corner of a gingerbread or a bun and, having provoked him, he took the money, depending on his appetite. For two months he fussed around in his apartment without rest around a mouse, which he had put in a small wooden cage, and finally achieved the point that the mouse stood on its hind legs, lay down and stood up according to orders, and then sold it also very profitably. When he had enough money to reach five rubles, he sewed up the bag and began saving it in another. In relation to his superiors, he behaved even smarter. No one knew how to sit on a bench so quietly. It should be noted that the teacher was a great lover of silence and good behavior and could not stand smart and sharp boys; it seemed to him that they must certainly laugh at him. It was enough for the one who was reprimanded for his wit, it was enough for him to just move or somehow inadvertently wink his eyebrow to suddenly fall under anger. He persecuted him and punished him mercilessly. “I, brother, will drive arrogance and disobedience out of you! - he said. “I know you through and through, just as you don’t know yourself.” Here you are, standing on my knees! I’ll make you go hungry!” And the poor boy, without knowing why, rubbed his knees and went hungry for days. “Abilities and gifts? “It’s all nonsense,” he used to say, “I only look at behavior.” I will give full marks in all sciences to someone who doesn’t know the basics but behaves commendably; and in whom I see a bad spirit and mockery, I am zero to him, although he put Solon in his belt! So said the teacher, who did not love Krylov to death because he said: “For me, it’s better to drink, but understand the matter,” and always told with pleasure in his face and eyes, how in that school where he taught before, such there was silence that you could hear a fly flying; that not a single student coughed or blew his nose in class all year round, and that until the bell rang it was impossible to know whether anyone was there or not. Chichikov suddenly understood the spirit of the boss and what behavior should consist of. He did not move an eye or an eyebrow during the entire class, no matter how much they pinched him from behind; as soon as the bell rang, he rushed headlong and gave the teacher his hat first (the teacher wore a hat); Having handed over his hat, he was the first to leave the class and tried to catch him three times on the road, constantly taking off his hat. The business was a complete success. During his entire stay at the school, he was in excellent standing and upon graduation received full honors in all sciences, a certificate and a book with golden letters for exemplary diligence and trustworthy behavior.

Nikolai Vasilievich Gogol

Chichikov's childhood

(Excerpt from the poem “Dead Souls”)

<…> One day, with the first spring sun and overflowing streams, the father, taking his son, rode out with him on a cart, which was pulled by a piebald horse, known among horse dealers as a magpie; it was ruled by a coachman, a little hunchbacked man, the founder of the only serf family that belonged to Chichikov’s father, who occupied almost all positions in the house. They dragged themselves on forty for more than a day and a half; We spent the night on the road, crossed the river, ate cold pie and fried lamb, and only on the third day in the morning did we reach the city. The city streets flashed before the boy with unexpected splendor, making him gape for several minutes. Then the magpie splashed along with the cart into a hole, which began a narrow alley, all sloping down and filled with mud; She worked there for a long time with all her might and kneaded with her feet, incited by both the hunchback and the master himself, and finally dragged them into a small courtyard that stood on a slope with two blossoming apple trees in front of an old house and a garden behind it, low, small, consisting only of rowan and elderberry and hiding in the depths of her wooden booth, covered with shingles, with a narrow frosted window. Here lived a relative of theirs, a flabby old woman who still went to the market every morning and then dried her stockings by the samovar, who patted the boy on the cheek and admired his plumpness. Here he had to stay and go to classes at the city school every day. The father, having spent the night, set out on the road the next day. At parting, no tears were shed from the parents' eyes; half a copper was given for expenses and delicacies and, what is much more important, a smart instruction: “Look, Pavlusha, study, don’t be stupid and don’t hang around, but most of all please your teachers and bosses. If you please your boss, then, even though you don’t have time in science and God hasn’t given you talent, you will put everything into action and get ahead of everyone else. Don’t hang out with your comrades, they won’t teach you any good; and if it comes to that, then hang out with those who are richer, so that on occasion they can be useful to you. Do not treat or treat anyone, but rather behave in such a way that you will be treated; and most of all, take care and save a penny: this thing is more reliable than anything in the world. A comrade or friend will deceive you and in trouble will be the first to betray you, but a penny will not betray you, no matter what trouble you are in. You will do everything and ruin everything in the world with a penny.” Having given such instructions, the father parted with his son and trudged home again on his forty, and from then on he never saw him again, but the words and instructions sank deep into his soul.

End of introductory fragment.

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Notes

Mukhortaya - with yellow tan marks (horse color).

Nothing, however, happened as Chichikov expected. Firstly, he woke up later than he thought - this was the first trouble. Getting up, he immediately sent to find out if the britzka was laid and if everything was ready; but they reported that the britzka had not yet been laid down and nothing was ready. This was the second problem. He got angry, even prepared to throw something like a fight at our friend Selifan and only waited impatiently for what reason he would give as an excuse. Soon Selifan appeared at the door, and the master had the pleasure of hearing the same speeches that are usually heard from servants in such cases when you need to leave soon. “But, Pavel Ivanovich, you’ll have to shoe the horses.” - Oh, you're crazy! chump! Why didn’t you say this before? Wasn't there time? - Yes, it was time... Yes, and so is the wheel, Pavel Ivanovich, the tire will need to be completely re-threaded, because now the road is bumpy, there are such bumps everywhere... Yes, if you allow me to report: the front of the chaise is completely loose, so she may not even make two stations. - You scoundrel! - Chichikov cried, clasping his hands, and walked up to him so close that Selifan, out of fear of not receiving a gift from the master, backed away a little and stood aside. -Are you going to kill me? A? do you want to stab me? On the high road he was going to kill me, you robber, you damn pig, you monster of the sea! A? A? We've been sitting still for three weeks, huh? If only he had stuttered, the dissolute one, but now he has driven him to the last hour! when you’re almost on your guard: I should sit down and drive, eh? And this is where you did something mischievous, huh? A? You knew this before, didn't you? you knew that, didn't you? A? Answer. Did you know? A? “I knew,” answered Selifan, lowering his head. - Well, why didn’t you tell me then, huh? Selifan did not answer this question, but, lowering his head, seemed to be saying to himself: “Look, how clever it happened: I knew it, but didn’t say it!” “Now go get the blacksmith, so that everything will be done in two hours.” Do you hear? certainly at two o'clock, and if it doesn't, then I'll bend you into a horn and tie you in a knot! “Our hero was very angry. Selifan turned to the door to go carry out the order, but stopped and said: “And, sir, he really should at least sell the brown horse, because he, Pavel Ivanovich, is a complete scoundrel; He’s such a horse, God forbid, he’s just a hindrance. - Yes! I'll go and run to the market to sell! - By God, Pavel Ivanovich, he just looks handsome, but in reality he is the most crafty horse; there is no such horse anywhere... - Fool! When I want to sell, I’ll sell it. Still started to reason! I’ll see: if you don’t bring me the blacksmiths now and everything won’t be ready in two o’clock, then I’ll give you such a brawl... you won’t see your face! Let's go! go! Selifan left. Chichikov became completely out of sorts and threw on the floor the saber that had traveled with him on the road to instill appropriate fear in anyone. He fussed with the blacksmiths for more than a quarter of an hour until he got it right, because the blacksmiths, as usual, were notorious scoundrels and, realizing that the work was needed in a hurry, they charged exactly six times as much. No matter how excited he was, he called them swindlers, robbers, robbers of travelers, even hinted at Last Judgment , but nothing impressed the blacksmiths: they completely maintained their character - not only did they not budge on the price, but they even fussed about the work instead of two hours for five and a half. During this time, he had the pleasure of experiencing pleasant moments, known to every traveler, when everything is packed in the suitcase and only strings, pieces of paper and various rubbish are lying around the room, when a person does not belong to either the road or the seat in his place, he sees from the window passing weaving people, talking about their hryvnias and raising their eyes with some kind of stupid curiosity, so that, having looked at him, they would again continue their way, which further irritates the displeasure of the spirit of the poor traveler who is not traveling. Everything that is, everything that he sees: the little shop opposite his window, and the head of the old woman living in the opposite house, approaching the window with short curtains - everything is disgusting to him, but he does not move away from the window. He stands, either forgetting himself, or again paying some kind of dull attention to everything that moves and does not move in front of him, and out of frustration strangles some fly, which at this time is buzzing and beating against the glass under his finger. But everything has an end, and the desired moment came: everything was ready, the front of the britzka was properly adjusted, the wheel was covered with a new tire, the horses were brought from the watering hole, and the robber blacksmiths set off, counting the rubles they received and wishing well-being. Finally, the britzka was laid, and two hot rolls, just bought, were put there, and Selifan had already put something for himself in the pocket that was the coachman's goat, and the hero himself, finally, waving his cap as a gentleman, who was standing in the same demicoton in a frock coat, with tavern and other people's footmen and coachmen gathered to yawn as someone else's master was leaving, and under all other circumstances accompanying departure, he got into the carriage - and the britzka in which bachelors travel, which has stagnated in the city for so long and so, maybe Perhaps the reader got tired of it and finally left the hotel gates. “Glory to You, Lord!” - thought Chichikov and crossed himself. Selifan lashed with his whip; Petrushka, who had first been hanging on the footrest for some time, sat down next to him, and our hero, sitting down better on a Georgian rug, put a leather pillow behind his back, pressed two hot rolls, and the crew began to dance and sway again thanks to the pavement, which, as you know, had a tossing strength. With some vague feeling he looked at the houses, walls, fences and streets, which, for their part, as if jumping, were slowly moving back and which, God knows, whether he was destined to see again in the course of his life. When turning into one of the streets, the chaise had to stop, because an endless funeral procession was passing along its entire length. Chichikov, leaning out, told Petrushka to ask who was being buried, and learned that they were burying the prosecutor. Filled with unpleasant sensations, he immediately hid in a corner, covered himself with skin and drew the curtains. At this time, when the carriage was thus stopped, Selifan and Petrushka, piously taking off their hats, examined who, how, in what and on what, counting the number of everyone on foot and riding, and the master, who ordered them not to confess and not bow to any of the footmen he knew, he also began to timidly look through the glass that was in the leather curtains: all the officials were walking behind the coffin, having taken off their hats. He began to be afraid that his crew would not be recognized, but they had no time for that. They did not even engage in various everyday conversations, such as those mourning a dead person usually conduct among themselves. All their thoughts at that time were concentrated in themselves: they thought what the new governor-general would be like, how he would get down to business and how he would receive them. The officials, walking on foot, were followed by carriages, from which ladies in mourning caps looked out. It was clear from the movements of their lips and hands that they were engaged in a lively conversation; Perhaps they, too, were talking about the arrival of the new Governor-General and making assumptions about the balls he would give, and fussing over their eternal scallops and stripes. Finally, several empty droshies followed the carriages, stretched out in single file, and finally there was nothing left, and our hero could go. Opening the leather curtains, he sighed, saying from the heart: “Here, prosecutor! lived, lived, and then died! And so they will print in the newspapers that, to the regret of his subordinates and all mankind, a respectable citizen, a rare father, an exemplary husband has died, and they will write a lot of all sorts of things; They will add, perhaps, that he was accompanied by the crying of widows and orphans; but if you take a good look at the matter, all you really had was thick eyebrows.” Here he ordered Selifan to go quickly and meanwhile thought to himself: “It’s good, however, that there was a funeral; They say it means happiness if you meet a dead person.” Meanwhile the britzka turned into more deserted streets; Soon there were only long wooden fences, foreshadowing the end of the city. Now the pavement is over, and the barrier, and the city is behind, and there is nothing, and again on the road. And again, on both sides of the main path, they began to write miles again, station wardens, wells, carts, gray villages with samovars, women and a lively bearded owner running from an inn with oats in his hand, a pedestrian in worn bast shoes trudged eight hundred miles, small towns , built alive, with wooden shops, flour barrels, bast shoes, rolls and other small fry, pockmarked barriers, bridges being repaired, endless fields on both sides, landowners' weeping, a soldier on horseback, carrying a green box with lead peas and a signature : such and such an artillery battery, green, yellow and freshly dug black stripes flashing across the steppes, a song drawn out in the distance, pine tops in the fog, bell ringing disappearing in the distance, crows like flies and an endless horizon... Rus'! Rus! I see you, from my wonderful, beautiful distance I see you: poor, scattered and uncomfortable in you; the daring divas of nature, crowned by the daring divas of art, cities with many-windowed high palaces grown into the cliffs, picture trees and ivy grown into houses, in the noise and eternal dust of waterfalls will not amuse or frighten the eyes; her head will not fall back to look at the boulders of stone endlessly piled up above her and in the heights; the dark arches thrown one upon the other, entangled with grape branches, ivy and countless millions of wild roses, will not flash through them; the eternal lines of shining mountains, rushing into the silver clear skies, will not flash through them in the distance. Everything about you is open, deserted and even; like dots, like icons, your low cities stick out inconspicuously among the plains; nothing will seduce or enchant the eye. But what incomprehensible, secret force attracts you? Why is your melancholy song, rushing along your entire length and width, from sea to sea, heard and heard incessantly in your ears? What's in it, in this song? What calls and cries and grabs your heart? What sounds painfully kiss and strive into the soul and curl around my heart? Rus! what do you want from me? what incomprehensible connection lies between us? Why are you looking like that, and why has everything that is in you turned its eyes full of expectation to me?.. And still, full of bewilderment, I stand motionless, and a menacing cloud has already overshadowed my head, heavy with the coming rains, and my thoughts are numb before yours. space. What does this vast expanse prophesy? Is it here, in you, that a boundless thought will not be born, when you yourself are without end? Shouldn't a hero be here when there is room for him to turn around and walk? And a mighty space envelops me menacingly, reflecting with terrible force in my depths; My eyes lit up with unnatural power: oh! what a sparkling, wonderful, unknown distance to the earth! Rus!.. - Hold it, hold it, you fool! - Chichikov shouted to Selifan. - Here I am with a broadsword! - shouted a courier with a mustache as long as he was galloping towards. “Don’t you see, damn your soul: it’s a government carriage!” - And, like a ghost, the troika disappeared with thunder and dust. How strange, and alluring, and carrying, and wonderful is the word: road! and how wonderful it is, this road: a clear day, autumn leaves, cold air... tighter in our travel overcoat, a hat over our ears, let’s press closer and more comfortably to the corner! IN last time a shudder ran through the limbs, and was already replaced by a pleasant warmth. The horses are racing... how seductively drowsiness creeps in and your eyes close, and already through your sleep you can hear “The snow is not white,” and the sound of horses, and the noise of wheels, and you are already snoring, pressing your neighbor to the corner. Woke up: five stations ran back; the moon, an unknown city, churches with ancient wooden domes and blackened peaks, dark log and white stone houses. The radiance of the month here and there: as if white linen scarves were hung on the walls, along the pavement, along the streets; shoals of coal-black shadows cross them; The wooden roofs, illuminated at random, shine like sparkling metal, and there is not a soul anywhere - everything is asleep. Alone, is there a light shining somewhere in the window: is it a city tradesman sewing his pair of boots, or a baker tinkering in his stove - what about them? And the night! Heavenly powers! what a night is taking place on high! And the air, and the sky, distant, high, there, in its inaccessible depths, so immensely, sonorously and clearly spread out!.. But the cold night breath breathes fresh into your very eyes and lulls you, and now you doze and forget yourself, and snore, and the poor neighbor, squeezed in the corner, tosses and turns angrily, feeling the weight on himself. You wake up - and again there are fields and steppes in front of you, nothing anywhere - wasteland everywhere, everything is open. A mile with a number flies into your eyes; practices in the morning; on the whitened cold sky there is a pale golden stripe; the wind becomes fresher and harsher: wear your warm overcoat tighter!.. what a glorious cold! what a wonderful dream that embraces you again! A push and he woke up again. The sun is at the top of the sky. “Easy! easier!" - a voice is heard, the cart descends from the steep slope: below is a wide dam and a wide clear pond, shining like a copper bottom in front of the sun; village, huts scattered on the slope; like a star, the cross of a rural church shines to the side; the chatter of men and the unbearable appetite in the stomach... God! how beautiful you are sometimes, long, long way! How many times, like someone dying and drowning, have I grabbed onto you, and each time you generously carried me out and saved me! And how many wonderful ideas, poetic dreams were born in you, how many wondrous impressions were felt!.. But our friend Chichikov also felt at that time dreams that were not entirely prosaic. Let's see how he felt. At first he did not feel anything and only looked back, wanting to make sure that he had definitely left the city; but when he saw that the city had long disappeared, neither the forges, nor the mills, nor anything that was located around the cities was visible, and even the white tops of the stone churches had long gone into the ground, he took up only one road, looking only to the right and left , and the city N seemed to have never been in his memory, as if he had passed through it a long time ago, in childhood. Finally, the road ceased to occupy him, and he began to slightly close his eyes and bow his head to the pillow. The author admits that he is even happy about this, thus finding an opportunity to talk about his hero; for hitherto, as the reader saw, he was constantly disturbed by Nozdryov, then balls, then ladies, then city gossip, then, finally, thousands of those little things that seem like little things only when they are included in a book, but while they are circulating in the world, are revered as very important matters. But now let’s put everything completely aside and get down to business. It is very doubtful that our chosen hero will be liked by readers. The ladies will not like him, this can be said in the affirmative, because the ladies demand that the hero be a decisive perfection, and if there is any mental or physical blemish, then trouble! No matter how deeply the author looks into his soul, even if he reflects his image cleaner than a mirror, he will not be given any value. Chichikov's very plumpness and middle age will do him a lot of harm: the hero will never be forgiven for being plump, and quite a few ladies, turning away, will say: “Fee, so disgusting!” Alas! all this is known to the author, and despite all this, he cannot take a virtuous person as a hero, but... perhaps in this very story one will sense other, hitherto undiluted strings, the untold wealth of the Russian spirit will appear, a man gifted with divine gifts will pass by. valor, or a wonderful Russian maiden, which cannot be found anywhere in the world, with all the wondrous beauty of a woman’s soul, all from generous aspiration and self-sacrifice. And all the virtuous people of other tribes will appear dead before them, just as a book is dead before a living word! Russian movements will rise up... and they will see how deeply ingrained in Slavic nature is something that slipped only through the nature of other peoples... But why and why talk about what is ahead? It is indecent for the author, who has long been a husband, brought up by a harsh inner life and the refreshing sobriety of solitude, to forget himself like a young man. Everything has its turn, place and time! But a virtuous person is still not taken as a hero. You can even say why it wasn’t taken. Because it’s time to finally give rest to the poor virtuous man, because the word “virtuous man” is idly on the lips; because they turned a virtuous man into a horse, and there is no writer who would not ride him, urging him on with a whip and anything else; because they have starved a virtuous man to such an extent that now there is not even a shadow of virtue on him, but only ribs and skin instead of a body remain; because they hypocritically call for a virtuous person; because they do not respect a virtuous person. No, it’s time to finally hide the scoundrel too. So, let's harness the scoundrel! The origins of our hero are dark and humble. The parents were nobles, but whether they were official or private, God knows; his face did not resemble them: at least the relative who was present at his birth, a short, short woman, who are usually called Pigalits, took the child in her hands and cried out: “He didn’t come out at all like I thought!” He should have taken after his mother’s grandmother, which would have been better, but he was born simply, as the proverb says: neither his mother nor his father, but a passing young man.” At the beginning, life looked at him somehow sourly and unpleasantly, through some muddy, snow-covered window: no friend, no comrade in childhood! A small house with small windows that did not open either in winter or in summer, the father, a sick man, in a long frock coat with fleeces and knitted flappers worn on his bare feet, sighed incessantly as he walked around the room and spat in the sandbox standing in the corner , eternal sitting on a bench, with a pen in his hands, ink on his fingers and even on his lips, an eternal inscription before his eyes: “don’t lie, listen to your elders and carry virtue in your heart”; the eternal shuffling and shuffling of the clappers around the room, the familiar but always stern voice: “I fooled you again!”, which responded at a time when the child, bored with the monotony of work, attached some kind of quotation mark or tail to a letter; and the ever-familiar, always unpleasant feeling when, following these words, the edge of his ear was twisted very painfully by the nails of long fingers reaching behind him: here is a poor picture of his initial childhood, of which he barely retained a pale memory. But in life everything changes quickly and vividly: and one day, with the first spring sun and overflowing streams, the father, taking his son, rode out with him on a cart, which was pulled by a fly-tailed pinto horse, known among horse dealers as a magpie; it was ruled by a coachman, a little hunchbacked man, the founder of the only serf family that belonged to Chichikov’s father, who occupied almost all positions in the house. They dragged themselves at forty for more than a day and a half; We spent the night on the road, crossed the river, ate cold pie and fried lamb, and only on the third day in the morning did we reach the city. The city streets flashed before the boy with unexpected splendor, making him gape for several minutes. Then the magpie splashed along with the cart into a hole, which began a narrow alley, all sloping down and filled with mud; She worked there for a long time with all her might and kneaded with her feet, incited by both the hunchback and the master himself, and finally dragged them into a small courtyard that stood on a slope with two blossoming apple trees in front of an old house and a garden behind it, low, small, consisting only of rowan and elderberry and hiding in the depths of her wooden booth, covered with shingles, with a narrow frosted window. Here lived a relative of theirs, a flabby old woman who still went to the market every morning and then dried her stockings by the samovar, who patted the boy on the cheek and admired his plumpness. Here he had to stay and go to classes at the city school every day. The father, having spent the night, set out on the road the next day. At parting, no tears were shed from the parents' eyes; half a copper was given for expenses and delicacies and, what is much more important, a smart instruction: “Look, Pavlusha, study, don’t be stupid and don’t hang around, but most of all please your teachers and bosses. If you please your boss, then, even though you don’t have time in science and God didn’t give you talent, you will put everything into action and get ahead of everyone. Don’t hang out with your comrades, they won’t teach you any good; and if it comes to that, then hang out with those who are richer, so that on occasion they can be useful to you. Don’t treat or treat anyone, but behave better so that you will be treated, and most of all, take care and save a penny: this thing is the most reliable thing in the world. A comrade or friend will deceive you and in trouble will be the first to betray you, but a penny will not betray you, no matter what trouble you are in. You will do everything and ruin everything in the world with a penny.” Having given such instructions, the father parted with his son and trudged home again on his magpie, and from then on he never saw him again, but the words and instructions sank deep into his soul. Pavlusha started going to classes the next day. He did not appear to have any special abilities for any science; He distinguished himself more by his diligence and neatness; but on the other hand, he turned out to have a great mind on the other side, on the practical side. He suddenly realized and understood the matter and behaved towards his comrades in exactly the same way: they treated him, and he not only never, but sometimes even hid the received treat and then sold it to them. Even as a child, he already knew how to deny himself everything. Of the half-ruble given by his father, he did not spend a penny; on the contrary, in the same year he already made additions to it, showing almost extraordinary resourcefulness: he molded a bullfinch from wax, painted it and sold it very profitably. Then, for some time, he embarked on other speculations, namely this: having bought food at the market, he sat in the classroom next to those who were richer, and as soon as he noticed that a friend was starting to feel sick - a sign of approaching hunger - he stuck out his shirt to him. under the benches, as if by chance, a corner of a gingerbread or a bun and, having provoked him, he took the money, depending on his appetite. For two months he fussed around in his apartment without rest around a mouse, which he had put in a small wooden cage, and finally achieved the point that the mouse stood on its hind legs, lay down and stood up according to orders, and then sold it also very profitably. When he had enough money to reach five rubles, he sewed up the bag and began saving it in another. In relation to his superiors, he behaved even smarter. No one knew how to sit on a bench so quietly. It should be noted that the teacher was a great lover of silence and good behavior and could not stand smart and sharp boys; it seemed to him that they must certainly laugh at him. It was enough for the one who was reprimanded for his wit, it was enough for him to just move or somehow inadvertently wink his eyebrow to suddenly fall under anger. He persecuted him and punished him mercilessly. “I, brother, will drive arrogance and disobedience out of you! - he said. “I know you through and through, just as you don’t know yourself.” Here you are, standing on my knees! I’ll make you go hungry!” And the poor boy, without knowing why, rubbed his knees and went hungry for days. “Abilities and gifts? “It’s all nonsense,” he used to say, “I only look at behavior.” I will give full marks in all sciences to someone who doesn’t know the basics but behaves commendably; and in whom I see a bad spirit and mockery, I am zero to him, although he put Solon in his belt! So said the teacher, who did not love Krylov to death because he said: “For me, it’s better to drink, but understand the matter,” and always told with pleasure in his face and eyes, as in the school where he taught before, There was such silence that you could hear a fly flying; that not a single student coughed or blew his nose in class all year round, and that until the bell rang it was impossible to know whether anyone was there or not. Chichikov suddenly understood the spirit of the boss and what behavior should consist of. He did not move an eye or an eyebrow during the entire class, no matter how much they pinched him from behind; as soon as the bell rang, he rushed headlong and gave the teacher his hat first (the teacher wore a hat); Having handed over his hat, he was the first to leave the class and tried to catch him three times on the road, constantly taking off his hat. The business was a complete success. During his entire stay at the school he was in excellent standing and upon graduation received full honors in all sciences, a certificate and a book with golden letters for exemplary diligence and trustworthy behavior. Coming out of school, he found himself already a young man of rather attractive appearance, with a chin that required a razor. At this time his father died. The inheritance included four irretrievably worn sweatshirts, two old frock coats lined with sheepskin, and a small amount of money. The father, apparently, was only versed in the advice of saving a penny, and he himself saved a little of it. Chichikov immediately sold the dilapidated little yard with an insignificant piece of land for a thousand rubles, and transferred a family of people to the city, intending to settle there and engage in service. At the same time, a poor teacher, a lover of silence and praiseworthy behavior, was expelled from the school for stupidity or other guilt. The teacher began to drink out of grief; finally he had nothing left to drink; sick, without a piece of bread and help, he disappeared somewhere in an unheated, forgotten kennel. His former students, clever men and wits, in whom he constantly imagined disobedience and arrogant behavior, having learned about his pitiful situation, immediately collected money for him, even selling many things he needed; Only Pavlusha Chichikov made the excuse of not having anything and gave some silver nickel, which his comrades immediately threw to him, saying: “Oh, you lived!” The poor teacher covered his face with his hands when he heard about such an act of his former students; Tears poured like hail from the fading eyes, like those of a powerless child. “On his deathbed, God brought me to cry,” he said in a weak voice and sighed heavily when he heard about Chichikov, adding immediately: “Eh, Pavlusha! This is how a person changes! After all, he was so well-behaved, nothing violent, silk! I cheated, I cheated a lot...” It cannot be said, however, that the nature of our hero was so harsh and callous and his feelings were so dulled that he knew neither pity nor compassion; he felt both, he would even like to help, but only so that it would not be a significant amount, so as not to touch the money that should not have been touched; in a word, my father’s instruction: take care and save a penny - it went for future use. But he had no attachment to money itself for money’s sake; he was not possessed by stinginess and stinginess. No, it was not they who moved him: he imagined a life ahead of him in all comforts, with all sorts of prosperity; carriages, a well-appointed house, delicious dinners - that’s what was constantly running through his head. In order to finally, later, in time, certainly taste all this, that’s why the penny was saved, sparingly denied until time, both to oneself and to another. When a rich man rushed past him on a beautiful flying droshky, on trotters in a rich harness, he stopped rooted to the spot and then, waking up, as if after a long sleep, said: “But there was a clerk, he wore his hair in a circle!” And everything that smacked of wealth and contentment made an impression on him that was incomprehensible to himself. Having left school, he did not even want to rest: his desire was so strong to get down to business and service. However, despite the commendable certificates, it was with great difficulty that he decided to join the treasury chamber. And in distant outbacks protection is needed! He got an insignificant place, a salary of thirty or forty rubles a year. But he decided to get busy in his service, to conquer and overcome everything. And indeed, he showed unheard-of self-sacrifice, patience and limitation of needs. From early morning until late evening, without getting tired either mentally or physically, he wrote, completely bogged down in stationery papers, did not go home, slept in the office rooms on tables, sometimes dined with the guards and with all this knew how to maintain neatness and dress decently , give your face a pleasant expression and even something noble in your movements. It must be said that the chamber officials were especially distinguished by their homeliness and ugliness. Some had faces like poorly baked bread: the cheek was swollen in one direction, the chin was sloping in the other, the upper lip was raised into a bubble, which in addition was cracked; in a word, completely ugly. They all spoke somehow sternly, in a voice as if they were going to kill someone; they made frequent sacrifices to Bacchus, thus showing that in Slavic nature there are still many remnants of paganism; They even sometimes came into the presence, as they say, drunk, which is why it was not good to be in the presence and the air was not at all aromatic. Among such officials, Chichikov could not help but be noticed and distinguished, presenting a complete contrast in everything with his somber face, the friendliness of his voice, and his complete non-drinking of any strong drinks. But despite all this, his road was difficult; he fell under the command of an already elderly police officer, who was the image of some kind of stony insensibility and unshakeability: always the same, unapproachable, never in his life showing a smile on his face, never greeting anyone even with a request for health. No one had ever seen him be anything other than what he always was, whether on the street or at home; at least once he showed his participation in something, even if he got drunk and laughed while drunk; even if he indulged in the wild joy that a robber indulges in during a drunken moment, there was not even a shadow of anything like that in him. There was absolutely nothing in him: neither villainous nor good, and something terrible appeared in this absence of everything. His callous, marble face, without any sharp irregularity, did not hint at any resemblance; his features were in stern proportionality with each other. Only the frequent rowan trees and potholes that punctured them ranked him among those faces on which, according to popular expression, the devil came to thresh peas at night. It seemed that there was no human strength to approach such a person and attract his favor, but Chichikov tried. At first, he began to please in all sorts of unnoticeable details: he carefully examined the mending of the feathers with which he wrote, and, having prepared several according to their model, placed them under his hand every time; blew sand and tobacco off his table; got a new rag for his inkwell; I found his hat somewhere, the worst hat that had ever existed in the world, and every time I placed it next to him a minute before the end of his presence; cleaned his back if he stained it with chalk against the wall - but all this remained absolutely without any notice, as if none of this had happened or been done. Finally, he sniffed out his home, family life, learned that he had a mature daughter, with a face that also looked like it was threshing peas at night. It was from this side that he came up with the idea to launch an attack. I found out which church she came to Sundays, stood opposite her every time, cleanly dressed, with his shirtfront very starched - and the business was a success: the stern police officer staggered and invited him to tea! And before the office had time to look back, things had worked out in such a way that Chichikov moved into his house, became a necessary and indispensable person, bought flour and sugar, treated his daughter like a bride, called the police officer papa and kissed his hand; Everyone in the ward decided that there would be a wedding at the end of February before Lent. The stern police officer even began to bother his superiors for him, and after a while Chichikov himself sat down as a police officer in one vacant position that had opened up. This, it seemed, was the main purpose of his connections with the old police officer, because he immediately sent his chest secretly home and the next day he found himself in another apartment. The police officer stopped calling him daddy and no longer kissed his hand, and the matter of the wedding was hushed up, as if nothing had happened at all. However, when meeting him, he always affectionately shook his hand and invited him to tea, so that the old police officer, despite his eternal immobility and callous indifference, shook his head every time and said under his breath: “You cheated, you cheated, you damn son ! This was the most difficult threshold he crossed. From then on things went easier and more successfully. He became a noticeable person. Everything turned out to be in him that is needed for this world: pleasantness in turns and actions, and agility in business affairs. With such funds, he obtained in a short time what is called a grain place, and took advantage of it in an excellent way. You need to know that at the same time the strictest persecution of all bribes began; He was not afraid of persecution and immediately turned it to his advantage, thus showing directly Russian ingenuity, which appears only during pressure. The thing was arranged like this: as soon as the applicant arrived and put his hand in his pocket in order to pull out the famous letters of recommendation signed by Prince Khovansky, as we say in Rus': “No, no,” he said with a smile, holding his hands , - do you think that I... no, no. This is our duty, our responsibility, without any retribution we must do! From this point of view, rest assured: everything will be done tomorrow. Let me find out your apartment, you don’t have to worry about it yourself, everything will be brought to your home.” The enchanted petitioner returned home almost in delight, thinking: “Finally, here is a man like we need more of, this is just a precious diamond!” But the petitioner waits a day, then another, they don’t bring the work to the house, and on the third, too. He went to the office, the case had not started; he to precious diamond . “Oh, sorry! - Chichikov said very politely, grabbing him by both hands, - we had so much to do; but tomorrow everything will be done, tomorrow without fail, really, I’m even ashamed!” And all this was accompanied by charming movements. If at the same time the hem of the robe somehow swung open, then the hand at that very moment tried to correct the matter and hold the hem. But neither tomorrow, nor the day after tomorrow, nor on the third day do they bring work home. The petitioner comes to his senses: yes, is there anything? Finds out; they say it should be given to the clerks. “Why not give it? I’m ready for a quarter or another.” - “No, not a quarter, but a white piece.” - “For the little white clerks!” - the petitioner screams. “Why are you so excited? - they answer him, “it will come out like that, the clerks will get a quarter each, and the rest will go to the authorities.” The slow-witted petitioner hits himself on the forehead and scolds the new order of things, the persecution of bribes and the polite, ennobled treatment of officials. Before, you at least knew what to do: you brought the red one to the ruler of affairs, and it’s all in the bag, but now it’s a white one, and you still have to fiddle with it for a week before you figure it out; Damn selflessness and bureaucratic nobility! The petitioner, of course, is right, but now there are no bribe-takers: all the rulers of affairs are the most honest and noble people, the secretaries and clerks are only scammers. Chichikov soon presented himself with a much more spacious field: a commission was formed to build some kind of government-owned, very capital building. He joined this commission and turned out to be one of the most active members. The commission immediately got down to business. I spent six years fiddling around the building; But the climate, perhaps, got in the way, or the material was already like that, but the government building just didn’t fit higher than the foundation. Meanwhile, in other parts of the city, each of the members found themselves with a beautiful house of civil architecture: apparently, the soil there was better. The members were already beginning to prosper and began to start families. Only then and only now did Chichikov begin to gradually extricate himself from the harsh laws of abstinence and his inexorable self-sacrifice. It was only here that the long-term fast was finally relaxed, and it turned out that he had always been no stranger to various pleasures, from which he knew how to resist in the years of ardent youth, when no person has complete control over himself. There were some extravagances: he hired a pretty good cook, thin Dutch shirts. He already bought himself some cloth that the whole province did not wear, and from then on he began to stick to more brown and reddish colors with a spark; he had already acquired an excellent pair and was holding one rein himself, making the tie one curl in a ring; he had already started the custom of wiping himself with a sponge soaked in water mixed with cologne; He had already bought some very expensive soap to make his skin smooth, already. But suddenly a new boss was sent to replace the old mattress, a military man, strict, an enemy of bribe-takers and everything that is called untruth. The next day he scared every single one of them, demanded reports, saw shortcomings, missing amounts at every step, noticed at that very moment houses of beautiful civil architecture, and the bulkhead began. The officials were removed from office; houses of civil architecture went to the treasury and were turned into various charitable institutions and schools for cantonists, everything was fluffed up, and Chichikov more than others. Suddenly, despite his pleasantness, the boss didn’t like his face; God knows why, sometimes there’s simply no reason for it, and he hated him to death. And the inexorable boss was very menacing to everyone. But since he was still a military man, and therefore did not know all the subtleties of civilian tricks, after a while, through a truthful appearance and the ability to fake everything, other officials ingratiated themselves into his favor, and the general soon found himself in the hands of even greater swindlers, whom he did not at all regard as such; He was even pleased that he had finally chosen people properly, and boasted seriously of his subtle ability to distinguish abilities. The officials suddenly understood his spirit and character. Everything that was under his command became terrible persecutors of untruth; everywhere, in all matters, they pursued her, like a fisherman with a spear pursues some fleshy beluga, and they pursued her with such success that soon each of them ended up with several thousand in capital. At this time, many of the former officials turned to the path of truth and were re-employed. But Chichikov was in no way able to get in, no matter how hard the first general secretary, instigated by letters from Prince Khovansky, tried and stood for him, who had completely mastered the management of the general’s nose, but here he absolutely could not do anything. The general was the kind of man who, although he was led by the nose (without his knowledge, however), if any thought got into his head, it was there like an iron nail: nothing could be done to get it out of there. . All that the smart secretary could do was destroy the stained record, and he moved the boss to do this only with compassion, depicting in vivid colors the touching fate of the unfortunate Chichikov family, which, fortunately, he did not have. “Well, well! - said Chichikov, - he caught it - he dragged it, it fell off - don’t ask. Crying won’t help your grief, you have to do something.” And so he decided to start his career again, to arm himself with patience again, to limit himself again in everything, no matter how freely and well he had turned around before. I had to move to another city and get myself known there. Everything somehow didn’t go well. He had to change two or three positions in a very short time. The positions were somehow dirty and base. You need to know that Chichikov was the most decent person who has ever existed in the world. Although at first he had to wear himself out in dirty society, he always maintained purity in his soul, he loved that his offices had tables made of varnished wood and that everything was noble. He never allowed himself an indecent word in his speech and was always offended if in the words of others he saw a lack of due respect for rank or title. The reader, I think, will be pleased to know that he changed his underwear every two days, and in the summer, during hot weather, even every day: any unpleasant smell offended him. For this reason, every time Petrushka came to undress him and take off his boots, he put a clove in his nose, and in many cases his nerves were as ticklish as a girl’s; and therefore it was hard for him to find himself again in those ranks where everything smacked of foam and indecency in actions. No matter how strong he was in spirit, he lost weight and even turned green during such adversity. He was already beginning to gain weight and take on those round and decent forms in which the reader found him when he made his acquaintance, and more than once, looking in the mirror, he thought about many pleasant things: about a woman, about a child, and a smile followed such thoughts; but now, when he somehow inadvertently looked at himself in the mirror, he could not help but cry out: “You are my Most Holy Mother! How disgusting I have become!” And after that I didn’t want to look for a long time. But our hero endured everything, endured it strongly, endured it patiently, and finally transferred to the customs service. It must be said that this service had long been a secret subject of his thoughts. He saw what dandy foreign things the customs officials had, what porcelains and cambrics they sent to gossips, aunts and sisters. More than once, long ago, he said with a sigh: “If only there was somewhere to move to: the border is close, and enlightened people, and what thin Dutch shirts you can get!” It should be added that at the same time he was also thinking about a special type of French soap, which imparted extraordinary whiteness to the skin and freshness to the cheeks; God knows what it was called, but, according to his assumptions, it was certainly located on the border. So, he would have wanted to go to the customs for a long time, but the current various benefits for the construction commission were withheld, and he reasoned correctly that the customs, be that as it may, was still nothing more than a pie in the sky, and the commission was already a bird in its hands. Now he decided to get to customs at any cost, and he got there. He began his service with extraordinary zeal. It seemed that fate itself had destined him to be a customs official. Such efficiency, insight and foresight was not only unseen, but even unheard of. In three or four weeks he had already become so skilled in customs affairs that he knew absolutely everything: he didn’t even weigh or measure, but by the texture he knew how many arshins of cloth or other material there were in a piece; taking the bundle in his hand, he could suddenly tell how many pounds it contained. As for searches, here, as even his comrades themselves put it, he simply had a dog’s instinct: one could not help but be amazed to see how he had so much patience to feel every button, and all this was done with deadly composure, polite incredibly. And at a time when those being searched were furious, lost their temper and felt an evil urge to beat up his pleasant appearance with clicks, he, without changing either in his face or in his polite actions, said only: “Would you like to worry a little and get up?” Or: “Would you like, madam, to be welcomed into another room? there the wife of one of our officials will explain to you.” Or: “Let me, with a knife, I’ll rip open the lining of your overcoat a little,” and, saying this, he would pull out shawls and scarves from there, coolly, as if from his own chest. Even the authorities explained that it was a devil, not a man: he was looking in wheels, drawbars, horse ears and who knows what places, where no author would ever think of getting into and where only customs officials are allowed to get into. So the poor traveler, who had crossed the border, still could not come to his senses for several minutes and, wiping off the sweat that appeared in small rashes all over his body, only crossed himself and said: “Well, well!” His situation was very similar to that of a schoolboy who ran out of a secret room, where the boss had called him in order to give him some instruction, but instead he was flogged in a completely unexpected way. For a short time there was no profit from him for the smugglers. This was the storm and despair of all Polish Judaism. His honesty and incorruptibility were irresistible, almost unnatural. He didn’t even make up a small capital for himself from various confiscated goods and selected little things that were not included in the treasury in order to avoid unnecessary correspondence. Such zealous, selfless service could not help but become the subject of general surprise and finally come to the attention of the authorities. He received a rank and promotion, and after that he presented a project to catch all the smugglers, asking only for the means to carry it out himself. He was immediately given the command and the unlimited right to carry out all sorts of searches. That's all he wanted. At that time, a strong society of smugglers was formed in a deliberate and correct manner; The daring enterprise promised benefits worth millions. He had already had information about him for a long time and even refused to bribe those sent, saying dryly: “It’s not the time yet.” Having received everything at his disposal, he immediately let the public know, saying: “Now it’s time.” The calculation was too correct. Here, in one year, he could receive something that he would not have won in twenty years of the most zealous service. Previously, he did not want to enter into any relations with them, because he was nothing more than a simple pawn, therefore, he would not have received much; but now... now it’s a completely different matter: he could offer any conditions he wanted. To make things go more smoothly, he persuaded another official, his comrade, who could not resist the temptation, despite the fact that he was gray. The terms were concluded, and the society began to act. The action began brilliantly: the reader, no doubt, has heard the so often repeated story of the ingenious journey of the Spanish rams, who, having crossed the border in double sheepskin coats, carried under their sheepskin coats a million worth of Brabant lace. This incident happened precisely when Chichikov was serving at customs. If he himself had not participated in this enterprise, no Jews in the world would have been able to carry out such a task. After three or four sheep trips across the border, both officials ended up with four hundred thousand in capital. Chichikov, they say, even exceeded five hundred, because he was smarter. God knows to what enormous figure the blessed sums would have increased if some difficult beast had not run across everything. The devil confused both officials: the officials, to put it simply, went crazy and quarreled over nothing. Once, in a heated conversation, and perhaps after drinking a little, Chichikov called another official a popovich, and he, although he really was a popovich, for some unknown reason became cruelly offended and answered him immediately strongly and unusually sharply, exactly like this: “No, You’re lying, I’m a state councilor, not a priest, but you’re such a priest! "And then he added to spite him for greater annoyance: “Well, that’s it!” Although he shaved it off in this way, turning the name he gave on it, and although the expression “that’s what!” It could have been strong, but, dissatisfied with this, he also sent a secret denunciation against him. However, they say that they already had a quarrel over some woman, fresh and strong, like a vigorous turnip, as the customs officials put it; that people were even bribed to beat our hero in a dark alley in the evening; but that both officials were fools and some staff captain Shamsharev took advantage of the woman. How things actually happened, God knows; It’s better to let the reader-hunter finish it himself. The main thing is that secret relations with smugglers became obvious. Although the State Councilor himself disappeared, he still killed his comrade. The officials were put on trial, confiscated, everything they had was described, and all of this was suddenly resolved like thunder over their heads. After a while they came to their senses and saw with horror what they had done. The state councilor, according to Russian custom, started drinking out of grief, but the collegiate councilor resisted. He knew how to hide some of the money, no matter how sensitive the sense of smell was to the authorities who came upon the investigation. He used all the subtle twists of a mind that was already too experienced, knowing people too well: where he worked with the pleasantness of turns of phrase, where with a touching speech, where he smoked flattery, which in no case spoils the matter, where he slipped in some money - in a word, he handled the matter at least like this, that he was not dismissed with such dishonor as his comrade, and dodged a criminal trial. But no capital, no various foreign things, nothing was left to him; There were other hunters for all this. He kept tens of thousands, hidden away for a rainy day, and two dozen Dutch shirts, and a small britzka in which bachelors travel, and two serfs, the coachman Selifan and the footman Petrushka, and the customs officials, moved by the kindness of their hearts, left him five or six bars of soap to keep your cheeks fresh - that's all. So, this is the situation in which our hero once again finds himself! This is the magnitude of disasters that fell on his head! He called it: suffer in service for the truth. Now we could conclude that after such storms, trials, vicissitudes of fate and life's grief he will retire with the remaining ten thousand of his hard-earned money to some peaceful, out-of-the-way provincial town and there he will hang out forever in a cotton robe at the window of a low house, sorting out the fight of men that arose in front of the windows on Sundays, or, for refreshment, going to the chicken coop to personally feel the chicken assigned to soup, and thus spend a quiet, but in its way also useful, century. But that didn't happen. We must do justice to the irresistible force of his character. After all that would have been enough, if not to kill, then to cool and pacify a person forever, the incomprehensible passion in him did not go out. He was in grief, annoyed, grumbled to the whole world, angry at the injustice of fate, indignant at the injustice of people and, however, could not refuse new attempts. In a word, he showed patience, compared to which the wooden patience of a German, already contained in the slow, lazy circulation of his blood, is nothing. Chichikov’s blood, on the contrary, was playing strongly, and it took a lot of reasonable will to put a rein on everything that wanted to jump out and walk free. He reasoned, and in his reasoning a certain side of justice was visible: “Why me? Why did trouble befall me? Who's yawning in office now? - everyone buys. I didn’t make anyone unhappy: I didn’t rob the widow, I didn’t let anyone go around the world, I used the excess, I took where anyone would take; If I hadn't used it, others would have. Why do others prosper, and why should I perish as a worm? So what am I now? Where am I fit? With what eyes will I now look into the eyes of every respectable father of the family? How can I not feel remorse, knowing that I am burdening the earth for nothing, and what will my children say later? So, they will say, father, the brute, did not leave us any fortune!” It is already known that Chichikov cared greatly about his descendants. Such a sensitive subject! Others, perhaps, would not have sunk their hand so deeply if not for the question that, for some unknown reason, comes by itself: what will the children say? And so the future founder, like a cautious cat, squinting with only one eye to the side to see if the owner is looking from where, hastily grabs everything that is closest to him: whether there is soap, candles, lard, or a canary caught under his paw - in a word, he does not miss anything . So our hero complained and cried, and yet the activity did not die in his head; everyone there wanted to build something and was only waiting for a plan. Once again he shrank, again began to lead a difficult life, again limited himself in everything, again from purity and a decent position he sank into dirt and a base life. And in anticipation of the best, I was even forced to take up the title of attorney, a title that had not yet acquired citizenship among us, pushed from all sides, poorly respected by petty officials and even by the trustees themselves, condemned to groveling in front, rudeness, etc., but necessity forced me to decide on All. Among the assignments, he received, by the way, one thing: to arrange for the inclusion of several hundred peasants in the Guardian Council. The estate was in complete disarray. It was upset by bestial deaths, rogue clerks, crop failures, widespread diseases that destroyed the best workers, and, finally, by the stupidity of the landowner himself, who cleaned his house in Moscow to the last taste and spent his entire fortune on this cleaning, to the last penny, so that what was there to eat? For this reason, it was finally necessary to mortgage the last remaining estate. Mortgaging into the treasury was then still a new matter, which was not decided on without fear. Chichikov as an attorney, having first arranged everyone (without prior arrangement, as is known, even a simple certificate or correction cannot be taken, yet even a bottle of Madeira will have to be poured into every throat), - so, having arranged everyone who should be, he explained , that, by the way, this is the circumstance: half of the peasants died out, so that there would be no connections later... - But they are listed according to the audit fairy tale? - said the secretary. “They are listed,” answered Chichikov. - Well, why are you afraid? - said the secretary, - one died, another will be born, but everything is good for business. The secretary, apparently, knew how to speak in rhyme. Meanwhile, our hero was struck by the most inspired thought that has ever occurred to a human head. “Oh, I’m Akim-simplicity,” he said to himself, “I’m looking for mittens, and both are in my belt! Yes, if I bought all these who died out, while they have not yet submitted new revision tales, buy them, let’s say, a thousand, yes, let’s say, the guardianship council will give two hundred rubles per head: that’s two hundred thousand for capital! And now the time is convenient, recently there was an epidemic, a lot of people died out, thank God. The landowners gambled away at cards, went on a spree and squandered their money; everyone went to St. Petersburg to serve; the estates are abandoned, managed in a haphazard way, taxes are becoming more difficult to pay every year, so everyone will gladly give them up to me just so as not to pay per capita money for them; Maybe next time it will happen that I’ll make another penny for it. Of course, it’s difficult, troublesome, scary, so that somehow you don’t get it, so that you don’t get stories out of it. Well, after all, man is given a mind for something. And the main thing is that the good thing is that the subject will seem incredible to everyone, no one will believe it. True, without land you can neither buy nor mortgage. Why, I’ll buy for withdrawal, for withdrawal; Now the lands in the Tauride and Kherson provinces are given away for free, just populate them. I will move them all there! to Kherson! let them live there! But resettlement can be done legally, as follows through the courts. If they want to examine the peasants: perhaps I’m not averse to that, so why not? I will also present a certificate signed by the police captain. The village can be called Chichikova Slobodka or by the name given at baptism: the village of Pavlovskoye.” And this is how this strange plot came together in our hero’s head, for which I don’t know whether the readers will be grateful to him, and how grateful the author is, it’s difficult to express. For, no matter what you say, if this thought had not occurred to Chichikov, this poem would not have been born. Having crossed himself according to Russian custom, he began to perform. Under the guise of choosing a place to live and under other pretexts, he undertook to look into these and other corners of our state, and mainly into those that suffered more than others from accidents, crop failures, deaths, etc., etc. - in a word, wherever it was possible more conveniently and It’s cheaper to buy the people you need. He did not turn at random to every landowner, but chose people more to his taste or those with whom he could make similar transactions with less difficulty, trying first to get to know each other, to win him over, so that, if possible, through friendship rather than purchase men. So, readers should not be indignant at the author if the persons who have appeared until now did not suit his taste; it’s Chichikov’s fault, he’s the complete boss here, and wherever he wants, we should drag ourselves there too. For our part, if, for sure, the blame falls for the pallor and homeliness of faces and characters, we will only say that at first the whole wide flow and scope of the matter is never visible. Entering any city, even the capital, is always somehow pale; at first everything is gray and monotonous: endless plants and factories stretch, covered with smoke, and then the corners of six-story buildings, shops, signs, huge vistas of streets, all in bell towers, columns, statues, towers, with city splendor, noise and thunder and everything , what a marvelous thing the hand and thought of man produced. The reader has already seen how the first purchases were made; How things will go further, what successes and failures the hero will have, how he will have to resolve and overcome more difficult obstacles, how colossal images will appear, how the hidden levers of the broad story will move, how its horizon will be heard in the distance and the whole of it will take on a majestic lyrical flow, we will see later. There is still a long way to go for the entire traveling crew, consisting of a middle-aged gentleman, a britzka in which bachelors ride, a footman Petrushka, a coachman Selifan and a trio of horses, already known by name from the Assessor to the black-haired scoundrel. So, here is our hero as he is! But they will perhaps require a final definition in one line: who is he in relation to moral qualities? That he is not a hero, full of perfections and virtues, is clear. Who is he? So he's a scoundrel? Why a scoundrel, why be so strict with others? Nowadays we don’t have scoundrels, we have well-intentioned, pleasant people, and only two or three people would be found who would expose their physiognomy to public disgrace and be slapped in the face in public, and even those are now talking about virtue. It is fairer to call him: owner, acquirer. Acquisition is the fault of everything; because of him the deeds were carried out, to which the world gives the name not very clean. True, there is already something repulsive in such a character, and the same reader who on his life’s path will be friends with such a person, will take bread and salt with him and spend a pleasant time, will begin to look askance at him if he turns out to be a hero dramas or poems. But he is wise who does not disdain any character, but, fixing an inquiring gaze on it, probes it to its original causes. Everything quickly turns into a person; Before you have time to look back, a terrible worm has already grown inside, autocratically turning all the vital juices to itself. And more than once not only a broad passion, but an insignificant passion for something small grew in one born to the best deeds, forced him to forget great and holy duties and see great and holy things in insignificant trinkets. Countless, like the sands of the sea, are human passions, and all are different from one another, and all of them, low and beautiful, are at first submissive to man and then become his terrible rulers. Blessed is he who has chosen for himself the most beautiful passion of all; His immeasurable bliss grows and increases tenfold with every hour and minute, and he enters deeper and deeper into the endless paradise of his soul. But there are passions whose election is not of man. They were already born with him at the moment of his birth into the world, and he was not given the strength to deviate from them. They are guided by higher inscriptions, and there is something eternally calling in them, incessant throughout life. They are destined to complete this great earthly mission: it doesn’t matter whether in a dark form, or to sweep through with a bright phenomenon that will rejoice the world - they are equally called for a good unknown to man. And, perhaps, in this same Chichikov, the passion that attracts him is no longer from him, and in his cold existence lies what will later drive a person to dust and to his knees before the wisdom of heaven. And it’s also a mystery why this image appeared in the poem that is now coming to light. But it’s not that it’s hard that they will be dissatisfied with the hero, it’s hard that there is an irresistible confidence in the soul that readers would be happy with the same hero, the same Chichikov. Do not the author look deeper into his soul, do not stir at the bottom of it that which escapes and hides from the light, do not discover the innermost thoughts that a person does not entrust to anyone else, but show him the way he appeared to the whole city, Manilov and other people, and everyone would be happy and take him for an interesting person. There is no need that neither his face nor his whole image darted as if alive before his eyes; but at the end of reading, the soul is not alarmed by anything, and you can turn again to the card table, which amuses all of Russia. Yes, my good readers, you would not like to see human poverty revealed. Why, you say, what is this for? Don’t we ourselves know that there is much that is despicable and stupid in life? Even without that, we often see things that are not at all comforting. It’s better to present us with something beautiful and exciting. Let us better forget! “Why are you, brother, telling me that things are going badly on the farm? - the landowner says to the clerk. - I, brother, know this without you, but don’t you have other speeches, or what? You let me forget this, not know this, then I’ll be happy.” And so the money that would improve things to some extent goes to various means to bring oneself into oblivion. The mind sleeps, perhaps finding a sudden spring of great means; and there the estate went up for auction, and the landowner went to wander around the world with a soul, out of extremity, ready for baseness, which he himself would have been horrified by before. The author will also be accused by the so-called patriots, who quietly sit in their corners and do completely unrelated things, accumulate capital for themselves, arranging their fate at the expense of others; but as soon as something happens that, in their opinion, is offensive to the fatherland, some book appears in which sometimes the bitter truth will be revealed, they will run out from all corners, like spiders who see that a fly has become entangled in a web, and suddenly start screaming : “Is it good to bring this to light, to proclaim it? After all, this is everything that is described here, this is all ours - is it good? What will foreigners say? Is it fun to hear bad opinions about yourself? They think, doesn't it hurt? They think, aren’t we patriots?” To such wise remarks, especially about the opinions of foreigners, I admit, nothing can be taken away in response. But here's what: two inhabitants lived in one remote corner of Russia. One was the father of the family, named Kifa Mokievich, a man of meek disposition, who spent his life in a negligent manner. He did not take care of his family; his existence was turned to a more speculative side and occupied with the following, as he called it, philosophical question: “For example, a beast,” he said, walking around the room, “a beast will be born naked. Why exactly naked? Why not like a bird, why doesn't it hatch from an egg? How, really, this: you won’t understand nature at all, no matter how deep you go into it!” This is how the resident Kifa Mokievich thought. But this is not the main point. Another inhabitant was Mokiy Kifovich, native son his. He was what is called a hero in Rus', and while his father was busy giving birth to the beast, his twenty-year-old broad-shouldered nature was trying to unfold. He could never grasp anything lightly: either someone’s hand would crack, or a blister would pop up on someone’s nose. In the house and in the neighborhood, everything, from the yard girl to the yard dog, ran away when they saw him; He even broke his own bed in the bedroom into pieces. Such was Mokiy Kifovich, but by the way, he was kind soul . But this is not the main point. And the main thing is this: “Have mercy, father master, Kifa Mokievich,” both his own and others’ servants said to his father, “what kind of Moky Kifovich do you have? No one can rest from him, he’s so confined!” “Yes, he’s playful, he’s playful,” my father usually said to this, “but what can I do: it’s too late to fight him, and everyone will accuse me of cruelty; but he is an ambitious man, reproach him in front of another or another, he will calm down, but publicity is a disaster! The city will find out and call him a complete dog. What, really, they think, isn’t it painful for me? Am I not the father? Because I study philosophy and sometimes don’t have time, so I’m not a father? but no, father! father, damn them, father! Mokiy Kifovich sits right here in my heart! “Here Kifa Mokievich beat himself very hard in the chest with his fist and became completely excited. “If he remains a dog, then let them not find out about it from me, let it not be me who gave him away.” And, showing such a fatherly feeling, he left Mokiy Kifovich to continue his heroic exploits, and he himself turned again to his favorite subject, suddenly asking himself some similar question: “Well, if an elephant was born in an egg, after all, the shell, tea, would greatly it was thick, you couldn’t hit it with a gun; we need to invent some new firearm." This is how two inhabitants of a peaceful corner spent their lives, who unexpectedly, as if from a window, looked out at the end of our poem, looked out in order to respond modestly to the accusation from some ardent patriots, until time calmly engaged in some philosophy or increments on the account of sums tenderly their beloved fatherland, thinking not about not doing bad, but about not saying that they are doing bad. But no, it is not patriotism or the first feeling that are the reasons for the accusations; another is hidden under them. Why hide the word? Who, if not the author, should tell the holy truth? You are afraid of a deeply fixed gaze, you are afraid to fix your deep gaze on something, you like to glide over everything with unthinking eyes. You will even laugh heartily at Chichikov, maybe even praise the author, say: “However, he cleverly noticed something, he must be a cheerful person!” And after such words, turn to yourself with doubled pride, a self-satisfied smile will appear on your face, and you will add: “But I must agree, there are strange and ridiculous people in some provinces, and quite a few scoundrels at that!” And which of you, full of Christian humility, not publicly, but in silence, alone, in moments of solitary conversations with yourself, will deepen this difficult question into your own soul: “Isn’t there some part of Chichikov in me too? “Yes, no matter how it is! But if at that time some acquaintance of his, who has a rank neither too high nor too low, passed by him, he would at that very moment push his neighbor’s arm and say to him, almost snorting with laughter: “Look, look, There’s Chichikov, Chichikov is gone!” And then, like a child, forgetting all decency due to rank and age, he will run after him, teasing him from behind and saying: “Chichikov! Chichikov! Chichikov! But we began to speak quite loudly, forgetting that our hero, who had been sleeping throughout the telling of his story, had already woken up and could easily hear his name being repeated so often. He is a touchy person and is dissatisfied if people talk about him disrespectfully. The reader is hesitant whether Chichikov will be angry with him or not, but as for the author, he should under no circumstances quarrel with his hero: they will have to walk quite a long way and road together hand in hand; two large parts in front are not a trifle. - Ehe-he! what are you doing? - Chichikov said to Selifan, - you? - What? - Selifan said in a slow voice. - Like what? You goose! how are you driving? Come on, touch it! And in fact, Selifan had been riding for a long time with his eyes closed, occasionally only shaking the reins in his sleepiness on the sides of the horses, who were also dozing; and Petrushka’s cap had long since fallen off in God knows where, and he himself, tipping back, buried his head in Chichikov’s knee, so that he had to give it a click. Selifan perked up and spanked the brown-haired man several times on the back; after which he set off at a trot, and, waving his whip at everyone from above, said in a thin melodious voice: “Don’t be afraid!” The horses stirred up and carried the light chaise like feathers. Selifan just waved and shouted: “Eh! eh! eh! - smoothly bouncing on the goats, as the troika first flew up the hill, then rushed in spirit from the hillock, with which the entire highway was dotted, rushing downwards with a barely noticeable roll. Chichikov only smiled, flying slightly on his leather cushion, for he loved driving fast. And what Russian doesn’t like driving fast? Is it possible for his soul, trying to get dizzy, to go on a spree, to sometimes say: “damn it all!” - Is it his soul not to love her? Isn’t it possible to love her when you hear something warily wonderful in her? It seems that an unknown force has taken you on its wing, and you yourself are flying, and everything is flying: miles are flying, merchants are flying towards you on the beams of their wagons, a forest is flying on both sides with dark formations of spruces and pines, with a clumsy knock and the cry of a crow, it flies the whole road goes to God knows where into the disappearing distance, and something terrible is contained in this quick flickering, where the disappearing object does not have time to appear - only the sky above your head, and the light clouds, and the rushing month alone seem motionless. Eh, three! bird three, who invented you? to know, you could only have been born among a lively people, in that land that does not like to joke, but has spread out smoothly across half the world, and go ahead and count the miles until it hits your eyes. And not a cunning, it seems, road projectile, not grabbed by an iron screw, but hastily equipped and assembled alive by an efficient Yaroslavl man with only an ax and a chisel. The driver is not wearing German boots: he has a beard and mittens, and sits on God knows what; but he stood up, swung, and began to sing - the horses like a whirlwind, the spokes in the wheels mixed into one smooth circle, only the road trembled, and a pedestrian who stopped screamed in fear - and there she rushed, rushed, rushed!.. And there you can already see in the distance, like something is gathering dust and drilling into the air. Is it not so for you, Rus', that you are rushing along like a brisk, unstoppable troika? The road beneath you smokes, the bridges rattle, everything falls behind and is left behind. Stopped amazed by God's miracle Contemplator: Isn’t this lightning thrown from the sky? What does this terrifying movement mean? and what kind of unknown power is contained in these horses, unknown to the light? Oh, horses, horses, what kind of horses! Are there whirlwinds in your manes? Is there a sensitive ear burning in every vein of yours? They heard a familiar song from above, together and at once tensed their copper breasts and, almost without touching the ground with their hooves, turned into just elongated lines flying through the air, and all inspired by God rushes!.. Rus', where are you rushing? give me the answer. Doesn't give an answer. The bell rings with a wonderful ringing; The air, torn into pieces, thunders and becomes the wind; everything that is on earth flies past, and, looking askance, other peoples and states step aside and give way to it.