Dead Souls. A brief retelling of "dead souls" chapter by chapter
3.030 Nikolai Vasilievich Gogol, Dead Souls
Nikolai Vasilievich Gogol (Yanovsky)
(1809-1852)
Even the most independent writer from criticism is completely dependent on it. That miraculous monument that he erected for himself during his lifetime may not be noticed, moved from place to place, or even completely broken. The worst thing that could happen to Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol (1809-52) happened - his monument was simply replaced. By declaring part of the writer’s creative heritage - “Selected Passages from Correspondence with Friends” (1847) - the delusion of a madman, his novel-poem “Dead Souls” (1835-42) was also emasculated.
And these two works (“Dead Souls” and “Selected Places”) cannot in any way be considered in isolation from each other, much less contrasted - these are two stages of the same path of spiritual growth of the writer, and therefore literary. Moreover, the path of God-seeking forced Gogol to rethink his works and his heroes and give them a deeper, sometimes opposite, assessment.
"Dead Souls"
(1835-1842)
“God,” Gogol wrote while working on the poem, “be present with me in my work, for this you called me into the world. I believe that this very thing did not begin from my will, but I am working on it for Your glory. A lot of work and journey, and spiritual education still lies ahead! My soul must be purer than the mountain snow and brighter than the heavens, and only then will I gain the strength to begin a feat and a great struggle.”
The writer was not primarily concerned with “exposing the morals” of feudal Russia, which was officially recognized as the main and almost the only content of “ Dead souls”, and the living souls of its inhabitants, who die and turn to stone during life. “As if all of Russia is actually inhabited dead souls“- Gogol repeated more than once, like a pathologist searching for the reasons for their death.
He saw them primarily in human sins. After all, the heroes of the novel - Manilov, Korobochka, Sobakevich, Nozdryov, Plyushkin - became the personification of this or that sin, and Chichikov completely acted as the devil, the buyer of the dead and the collector of living souls.
No, it was not the criticism of the vulgarity of life and the vulgarity of the heroes that occupied the writer - but the creation, the “resurrection” of fallen man. Gogol's plan was grandiose. He intended, like Dante’s “Divine Comedy,” to create a poem in three parts dedicated to Hell, Purgatory and Paradise. “Dead souls” became the hell in which sinners are judged.
And it is not the writer’s fault, but his misfortune that in the center of this hell he placed not only sinners, but also Chichikov, the personified demon of money-grubbing. At first, Gogol still wanted to “resurrect” Chichikov. “And perhaps this very Chichikov... contains something that will later bring a person to dust and to his knees before the wisdom of heaven,” he reasoned and spent many years reviving the soul of someone who does not have it.
The writer belatedly realized that this “hero” cannot a priori get into Purgatory, much less into Paradise. And those representatives of the clergy who claim that “the adequacy of the perception and interpretation of “Dead Souls” cannot be achieved without taking into account the religious “component” of the poem’s intention are absolutely right, especially since for Gogol himself, as a Christian artist, this “component” was the only justified the basis for criticism of contemporary society."
And we must not forget that from his youth the writer longed to serve in the sovereign field. This is what literature became for him, which he voluntarily placed on the three pillars of the Nicholas era: Orthodoxy, Autocracy, Nationality.
In connection with the above, it makes no sense to retell the surviving five chapters of the second volume of the poem (so as not to disturb the spirit of Nikolai Vasilyevich), let us briefly outline the first.
Soon after Patriotic War In 1812, the collegiate adviser Pavel Ivanovich Chichikov came to the provincial town of NN, very interested in the health of the population of the region. Having made visits to officials, from the governor to the inspector of the medical board, he gained everyone's favor and made acquaintance with a number of landowners who invited him to visit.
Chichikov drove around the province, buying up dead peasants from landowners who had not yet been declared as such in the audit certificate. Then he intended to pawn them in the treasury as if they were alive, use the proceeds to buy a village somewhere in the Kherson province and live happily ever after, enjoying the sky and raising children.
Fate brought the buyer to the incompetent and dreamer, cloying to the point of stupor Manilov, to the petty, timid “club-headed” Korobochka, to the reckless boor and liar Nozdryov, to the stocky hoarder Sobakevich, to the curmudgeon and “a hole in humanity” Plyushkin. “And a person could stoop to such insignificance, pettiness, and disgusting!” - Gogol exclaims about Plyushkin, referring this cry of his suffering soul to all the characters in the poem, including provincial and capital officials (in “The Tale of Captain Kopeikin”).
Having bought up a fair number of souls, Chichikov formalized the deal in the civil chamber and instantly became a “Kherson landowner” and an eligible bachelor. True, having not lived up to the hopes of the provincial matrons, the newly-made “landowner” soon lost their favor. In addition, the drunken Nozdryov loudly interrogated him in public about how much he had traded in the dead, and Korobochka, who rolled into the city, fearing to cheap out on souls, added fuel to the fire. This news, overgrown with the most absurd details, excited the entire city. The fantasies of ordinary people portrayed Chichikov as either a counterfeiter, a robber, or a spy; or even Napoleon and even the Antichrist. The prosecutor died from shock, which only confirmed his uselessness in a society where the worst judgment was gossip and gossip.
In conclusion, the author outlined the story of Chichikov’s life, which he foolishly devoted to acquisition alone, the crown of which was his plan to buy up dead souls. The first volume was completed by the allegory of the flying troika - Rus', in which the hero of the poem rushes, either to hell, or for new souls - into our century.
Rus', where are you going? Give an answer. Doesn't give an answer.
The history of the creation of the novel is briefly as follows. Nikolai Vasilyevich began work on it in 1835 in St. Petersburg. The plot, according to him, was suggested to him by A.S. Pushkin. Emperor Nicholas I ordered 5,000 rubles to be given for writing the essay.
At first Gogol wanted to write a picaresque novel, then “to show at least one side of all of Rus',” and ended with a plan on the scale of Dante. Gogol completed the first volume in 1841. Due to the restrictions of Moscow censorship, the poem was transferred by the writer’s friends to the St. Petersburg censors, and published in 1842 with some cuts and a changed title “The Adventures of Chichikov, or Dead Souls.”
The term “dead souls” has several meanings. First of all, this is a classic oxymoron, i.e. purely an aesthetic thing. Another superficial meaning is a “good” that one is concerned about acquiring. main character. Metaphorical, as already mentioned, these are landowners and officials. And finally, the third, spiritual meaning is the souls that have died spiritually, which can still be reborn after going through the path of trials and suffering. It was this meaning that Gogol intended to reveal in the second and third volumes of the poem.
“Dead Souls is a slightly pale threshold of that great poem that is being built in me and will finally solve the riddle of my existence,” Gogol wrote in one of his letters.
Will the characters in the poem be resurrected? - his confessor once asked him.
“If they want,” he answered with a smile.
Criticism was not long in coming and easily accused the author of slandering reality. The poem by V.G. was highly appreciated. Belinsky and K.S. Aksakov. And if the former believed that the author wrote it about Russia and only for Russia, then the latter considered it the pinnacle of world literature.
Well, Gogol at this time, having retired abroad, plunged headlong into the 2nd volume. What he wrote did not satisfy him, and he burned the manuscript twice, in a state of severe mental crisis in 1845 and 9 days before his death in 1852.
There have been several film adaptations of Dead Souls in the last century. In 1909, the film was made by director P.I. Chardynin, in 1960 - L.Z. Trauberg, in 1969 - A.A. Belinsky, in 1984 - M.A. Schweitzer.
In 1976 R.K. Shchedrin wrote the opera Dead Souls.
Reviews
Hello, Viorel Lomov!
Thank you for the most interesting essay about the writer’s novel and for the truth about the life and work of the mysterious N.V. Gogol!
About what we're talking about, speaking about the truth of the writer’s life and work?..
About this!..:
"...The worst thing that could happen to Nikolai Vasilyevich Gogol (1809-52) happened - his monument was simply replaced. By declaring part of the writer’s creative heritage - “Selected passages from correspondence with friends” (1847) - the delusion of a madman, they emasculated and his novel-poem “Dead Souls” (1835-42).
AND fatal role V.G. played here Belinsky, who contrasted the early, supposedly “anti-Slavophile” period of Gogol’s work with the late “Slavophile” period of the creation of “Selected Places”. In his furious “Letter to N.V. Gogol,” the great critic, being himself an atheist, accused the writer of all mortal sins, calling him “a preacher of the whip, an apostle of ignorance, a champion of obscurantism and obscurantism, a panegyrist of Tatar morals.”
For the sake of a catchphrase, the frantic Vissarion did not spare the father of Great Russian literature. While all his attacks were not worth a damn. Numerous biographical facts and confessions of Gogol himself indicate the immutability of his religious and political views, brought up in him from childhood.
And these two works (“Dead Souls” and “Selected Places”) cannot in any way be considered in isolation from each other, much less contrasted - these are two stages of the same path of spiritual growth of the writer, and therefore literary. Moreover, the path of God-seeking forced Gogol to rethink his works and his heroes and give them a deeper, sometimes opposite, initial assessment..." (Viorel Lomov).
Exactly, this! I want to expand on this in a new essay about Gogol.
I will take your essay as a literary model for the essay that I have planned about Gogol.
And as the opposite of your essay and vision, there is an article by Professor I.I. Garin “The bottomless gaping crack. N.V. Gogol,” which affirms the position and point of view of the liberal camp in relation to the work and life of Gogol:
"...Gogol is not madness, Gogol is psychosis. Symptoms of manic-depressive psychosis: suspiciousness, inventing and stringing together ailments, sexual insufficiency, escape, continuous wanderings, frantic searches for a field, attempts to reinterpret one’s own creations, burning of manuscripts, fears. Existential fear - this is the background of Gogol's comedy, believes B. Zelinsky. Even he is a comedian from neurosis: “He encourages himself like a child in the dark. The stronger the fear, the louder the laughter” (Troil).
The tragedy of Nikolai Vasilyevich was that his mental illness was never diagnosed during his lifetime and doctors treated him all his life for dozens of fictitious ailments.
Our people are outraged by the attempt to understand Gogol’s work in connection with his illness, tragedy, and structure of the soul: “The indifference to Gogol’s spiritual talent is striking: he is not listened to as an interlocutor, but only as a patient or viewed as an exhibit.” But isn't separation a symptom of indifference? art world from the world of the soul? Is it possible to fully understand the torment of Pascal without his illness, the paintings of El Greco without his astigmatism, the tragedy of the second volume of Dead Souls without the irreversible extinction of creative energy and sclerosis?
By the way, the main books about Gogol’s illness were not written by foreigners - V.I. Shenrok, Z.Z. Bazhenov, V. Chizh, I.D. Ermakov, V.I. Mochulsky. If genius itself, as is now commonly believed, is a disease, then why should the topic of a genius’ illness be taboo? Why was Belinsky or Turgenev given the right to accuse the author of “Correspondence with Friends” of insanity and explain to them the writing of this book (“Something had moved in the head... all of Moscow had such an opinion about him”), but not given to professional doctors? Why is it wrong to pose the problem of the dependence of creativity on the course of the disease?..” (I.I. Garin).
And here are the conclusions of Professor I. Garin:
"...Gogol was a masochist, pain seemed to spur his talents...
Gogol needed his doctor Freud or doctor Jung, but if their treatment had been successful, there would have been no Gogol’s genius...” (I.I. Garin).
An interesting psychoanalytic train of thought of Professor Garin, isn’t it?.. to destroy his opponent in the genius of another, to belittle and profane the very meaning of genius, but not only... Let us note that Professor Garin does not place all the blame for the death of Gogol on Russian society only from the time of Gogol, but in general. Here! the tasks of a professor who himself is sick with the mania of Russophobia, being a citizen of Ukraine.
The most interesting thing is the last words that I underlined from I. Garin’s article, as “Gogol needed his doctor Freud...”.
Question: did Gogol need Dr. Freud?..
And here the question is not only psychoanalytic, but also purely literary, art, and generally cultural, which directly concerns the work of Dostoevsky and Freud’s literary criticism, based on Freud’s article, “Dostoevsky and Parricide.”
It’s amazing that historiosophical paradoxes intersect here, like the connection between the works of Gogol and Dostoevsky, based on Freud’s article...
But here the topic specifically concerns Dostoevsky's novel The Brothers Karamazov.
So let’s move on to your other essay and, if possible, make some comparisons with Freud’s literary psychoanalysis.
Thank you for the truth about Gogol and with respect,
“Dead souls” - a description of the landowners in chapters 2 and 3. What can you say briefly about EACH of them? and got the best answer
Reply from When I am gone[active]
Stop talking nonsense that this is nonsense. If you don't know how to read and understand, keep quiet.
_________________________________________________________________
I study at one of the humanities faculties of Moscow State University, you can safely ask for help in literature.
So. who was there? Manilov. Absolutely devoid of any individual character traits. The name has become a household name. The “Manilovs” make grandiose, but stupid and very senseless plans, which, however, they never implement. They just walk and think about them. The fact that he has tobacco in piles in his office - he always creates the appearance of activity, but in reality he simply rearranges the tobacco into piles. Again, a book opened to the same page. And there is no special inner core in it. Even the color of his interior is gray, somehow incomprehensible, like himself.
Box. Limited. She lives by herself as if in a small box. She cannot go beyond her beliefs and narrow horizons, so it is impossible to convey information to her. There are so many of these in our lives. Once he gets something into his head, he cannot understand anything that differs from it.
Sobakevich is not interested in the aesthetic side of any matter. The main thing is that everything is durable and lasts for centuries. This is also evidenced by the objects surrounding him - massive, durable, but clumsy. The moral side of the issue is also not interesting to him. He doesn’t care why Chichikov needs souls. But he sets a high price, realizing that the buyer needs them. Although the landowner himself understands that in reality they are worth nothing.
Nozdryov - as Gogol said about Khlestakov, “without a king in his head.” It doesn’t seem to be out of anger, but he always does nasty things. Just because it’s crazy, as they say. This is difficult to deal with. His thoughts jump from one to another. No moral principles. Doesn't think about whether he's doing bad or good. Careless. I am ready to exchange anything for anything simply out of thirst for activity.
Plyushkin is the only one whose soul can still be reborn. This is evidenced by the description of his garden and the lively expression in his eyes that flashed for a second when he remembered the comrade of his youth. He is completely mired in unnecessary collected garbage, not only physically, but also mentally. But at the bottom there is still a spark of life. In the second volume, Gogol prepared the resurrection only of his soul, if we talk about landowners. He seems to be good, but, having lost the meaning of life, he replaced it with collecting all sorts of rubbish.
Answer from Maria[expert]
In Chapter 2, Chichikov visits Manilov.
This is not an elderly man, who had eyes as sweet as sugar. His house stands alone in the south. 2-3 clubmas, 5-6 birches. He also has a gazebo called the Temple of Solitary Contemplation. His character (Neither in the city of Bogdan, nor in the village of Selifan). At home he speaks very little and thinks more. Also on his desk there is a book with a bookmark on page 14, which he has been reading for 2 years now. He had good furniture in the house and he constantly said, “Don’t sit on these chairs, they’re not ready yet!” There is no order in the house... He has two sons: Felistoclus and Alcides. The walls in the office are painted blue. A lot of tobacco. It is everywhere: on the table, in the tobacco cabinet, in the cap. There is ash on the windows. When he finds out about Chichikov's intention to buy dead souls, he agrees to sell them to him.
___________________________
In Chapter 3, Chichikov visits Nastasya Petrovna Korobochka.
She is one of those mothers who cry about crop failures and losses and keep her head somewhat to one side, and meanwhile, little by little, she collects little money in her bags. Thrifty old lady. The woman is strong-browed, club-headed. He does NOT want to sell Chichikov dead souls, and he compares her to a dog in the manger. Chichikov, in order to buy dead souls, tells a lie about himself (that he conducts government contracts). He also calls her the Black-footed girl Pelageya. And Korobochka’s husband bore the surname Neuvazhay-Koryto.
Third chapter.
In a satisfied and very good mood
Our Chichikov was already rolling along the pillar.
And you learned from the previous words what the dryness is,
What is his main interest as such?
That's why it's no wonder that he was completely submerged
With soul and body, all thoughts are about one thing,
Assumptions, estimates - I worked in thought.
The wandering smiles are pleasant, mostly.
Being busy with all this, I didn’t pay attention
Where he was: how he was floating in the clouds!
How the coachman Selifan made comments out loud -
He spoke angrily to the brown haired man.
This dark-haired, crafty horse was a figure:
Often pretended to be lucky,
Whereas the native and local brown
We worked with all our hearts so that the chaise would fly!
The person who sold Kaurogo was an assessor. What was your name?
And the horse became the Assessor, to which he did not object...
And the native, bay, was called Bay,
He only heard the nickname and immediately laughed invitingly.
Selifan has quite a lot of experience and knowledge:
He saw through the cunning man long ago!
A whip along the back could stretch very painfully,
But he was still looking for a moment to deceive...
“Cunning, cunning, cunning! - noticing the game again,
It flew from the irradiation station - I’ll outwit you!”
And once again struck with a whip:
“I won’t miss it, don’t think about it! I'll take a closer look!
Look, Gnedoy is fulfilling his duty.
And the Assessor is also a good, kind horse!
I give them oats for that - let them replenish their strength
And not one - two measures! Don't you dare, don't touch it!
Do your job, German pantolonnik!
What are you spinning with your ears? They're telling you!
Am I teaching something bad? Not a fan of evil!
Uh! Damned Bonaparte" And again the whip in a row
For all three, not as a form of punishment,
And in order to show how pleased he was,
Shouting: “Oh, my dears!” multiplied their efforts.
The chaise rushes like an arrow, only dirt on all sides...
He was silent for a while and again spoke to the dark-haired man:
“You think you can hide your manners from me?
No! You live in truth: in the good way, in the old way,
To receive the nickname of a venerable horse!
For example, in that estate, now this is where we are from,
All good people, a most pleasant welcome.
I'll tell you this: I won't soon forget,
How they received you there, with respect!
WITH a good man I say kindly:
We have been friends with him for many years!
Should I just drink tea or have a meal -
With great pleasure! Never refuse!
Our master is considered respected
And they pay respect! You know why?
He performed his service as required, not just that of the sovereign!
He is Skolesskaya's advisor! A scientist by heart..."
So reasoning, the coachman climbed into the darkness, into the distance
Or, let’s say, in abstraction - I didn’t know where,
But it’s clear from everything that they weren’t expecting him there...
If Chichikov had suddenly listened, he would have known this!
But he didn’t hear all these thoughts at all,
All immersed in thoughts somewhere deep within myself,
Delighted with so many impressions,
The most pleasant calculation of your nerves...
But then suddenly there was a roar of thunder, the strongest peals,
They made me wake up and look around
To the sky in the black clouds that once appeared,
Suddenly, as it seemed, everything was surrounded.
Post road lying in dust
Sprayed and nailed... a game for droplets...
The thunder next time is louder and much closer
And then the rain poured out, as if from a bucket,
Having immediately taken an oblique direction,
He whipped the wagon from the sides, as if on the cheeks,
One by one, evil, without a trace of regret,
He completely let go and gave free rein to his “hands”...
Then suddenly he changed his attack for some reason:
He was already knocking on the roof, but with a powerful “fist”,
Sheer, straight, strong water falling from the sky!
Tell me, which of you is not familiar with something like this?
Drops often broke up and splashes scattered.
More and more often, more often, more often and now in your face...
He closed the curtains that were attached to the walls,
With transparent windows the size of a chicken egg,
Or maybe a little more so you can see something
And in bad weather too, if there was a need!
The coachman must know and foresee all this,
Since bad weather is often very bad...
Now I gave the order to go quickly,
But Selifan himself realized that
What is this, of course, and it’s hardly worth delaying!
He dashed the troika, lashing it with a whip.
Out of gray cloth has now come into the world
(it was lying under the trestles with him all the time)
The rubbish, let's say, utter, is wrapped around the sleeves,
Probably from the rain... But for what?
Carried away by thoughts, I didn’t think about the road
And no matter how hard I tried now, I couldn’t remember everything:
How many turns were there? I admitted to myself - a lot...
That's why there are so many of them, why among the roads?
How has it been done in Rus' since ancient times?
No matter what happens somewhere, talk less!
At the decisive moment there will always be a Russian:
First act somehow, then discuss everything!
You can see the exit to the right, turn right,
Shouting to the three: “Hey, you!” and for some reason: “Well!”
They started to gallop, thinking little
Where the road leads, the designated path...
And the rain, it seemed, would continue for a very long time.
The dust immediately mixed into sticky mud...
The horses' legs often suddenly separated...
They walked more and more heavily... I was waiting for them to say: “Get off!”
And the darkness hangs so high that nothing can be seen,
Even if you look at it, it’s complete blackness...
It’s a shame for anyone to be in the field at a time like this...
I wanted housing, some warmth, but no – emptiness...
And Chichikov, understandably, was very worried:
It's time to come to Sobakevich's estate!
They are still on their way... They are already completely upset
He called out to Selifan, not knowing what to do...
He turned around immediately: “What, master?” - responded.
“Can’t you see where the villages are?” “No, master, I don’t see it!”
He waved his whip and played out a song,
Or maybe not a song... How to give it a name?
They entered there and contained all the cries of approval,
Treat them to the kind of horses they loved,
And also adjectives of all genders without division,
Well, that is, indiscriminately, famous among people...
The first thing that came across was immediately sung...
The beginning was a sting - the end would come soon...
And it just got to this point:
He elevated his horses to the category of secretaries!
Meanwhile, our master of the road is deteriorating
I felt it on my sides: it was shaking oh-oh-oh...
Which was the result, of course, of omission
Same Selifan, he was to blame!
And Selifan seemed to realize what was going on:
They trudged straight across the harrowed field...
He was in charge of himself, fell silent, stunned,
I didn’t say a word, I can’t admit it...
“What are you doing, scammer? Which road are you going?"
“What should we do here, master? Can't see the whip...
The darkness has fallen so much, it’s not clever that you’ll run into...
Maybe we’ll get through... we’ll have to be patient...”
While he was talking, the chaise tilted,
That Chichikov was forced to grab the edges
With both hands! “Hold it! Do me a favor!
And only then did I notice that the coachman had been playing around...
“Hold it, you’ll knock it over!” “No, master, it’s impossible!
I already know that this is not good...
Is it really the first time? No, we can't do this
There’s no way I’ll knock it down... I just came up with something else..."
But the chaise skidded and skidded quite well.
Lightly, little by little, he moved it as best he could.
He spit and turned - he knew the job “excellently”
And soon she did it - she lay down completely on her side...
And Chichikov, swinging his arms and legs
Immediately flew into the most disgusting mud...
And he said to the horses, “Stop!”, but they stood up on their own.
He burst into tears, saying: “Those are the times!”
I was pretty amazed by what happened...
Now he stood in front of the chaise, propping his side with his hand,
Then another... so picturesque, elegant...
I thought for a while: “Look, what a case!
It really spread!” And the master at this time
In pitch darkness, floundering in the mud,
Trying to somehow get up, he was all covered up to the top of his head...
Everything is finally up! Jumps with one leg...
He sat down again in the chaise and cursed at Selifan:
“What are you, a robber? After all, he’s drunk like a shoemaker!”
“No, master, how is it possible? I won't cheat -
I had lunch with a friend... What's the drawback here?
We talked to him... or is it not possible this way?
There’s nothing bad in that, even if it’s a snack!
With a good person, I'm tea, it's always possible
And it’s not at all offensive to ask at least someone!”
“Have you forgotten everything I said?
That was last time, when you got drunk!
“No, your honor! I remember everything and I won’t hide it,
That I know my job, that it’s a shame to be a drunkard...
It would be okay if I spoke cordially...
It's nice to talk to a good person..."
“I’ll flog you, so you’ll remember forever,
How to have conversations and can you drink!”
“And this is as good as it gets,” he answered in agreement:
If you need to flog, why not flog?
It is the Lord’s will... care every hour...
It can be done... ensure order..."
Hearing this, the master could not find an answer,
But at the same moment a little to the side
It's like someone's dog is hoarse
A gift from fate and just in time!
Delighted Chichikov ordered to send there
The exhausted threesome, without delay, quickly,
In order to put them in a pen to rest
And you yourself will be welcomed near the doors.
The Russian driver always has flair to boot.
To everyone's normal vision or instead of eyes,
Because of this, he often rules at random,
Even if it’s blind, he’ll arrive just in time!
That's how Selifan, not discriminating in any way,
Directed the horses to the village at random
And he stood up already when he landed at the fence
I got the shafts from the chaise, pulled back a little...
The roof was visible behind the veil of rain.
Having sent to look for the gate, our hero understood
The process could take too long
But he also, of course, knew something else:
The owner's dogs are more reliable than doormen,
Which, of course, will immediately inform you,
That there are strangers at the gate, they will burst into barking in all sorts of ways:
The bigger ones use bass, the smaller ones squeal...
And then something seemed to flash in one window,
A misty stream reached the fence.
The gate opened and a figure appeared:
“Why did you disagree?” - I came to ask, taking a risk...
“We are newcomers, mother. Let me spend the night!” -
Chichikov answered the demand. She answered him:
“Oh, do you want to find an inn here?
I'll tell you what: there is no such thing here!
Ay, sharp-footed one! What time did you choose...
People here are respected: the landowner lives!
Knocking at night... only anxiety... burden...
Go with God! No one is waiting for you here..."
“Yes, who are you?” - the old woman asked again.
“I am of noble birth!” “So, a nobleman?”
She was silent for a while, then said dryly:
“I’ll go tell the lady!” Wait, sir!
About two minutes later she returned to the gate.
A lantern was shining in his hand. The gate opened.
The other window lit up a little.
We drove into the yard and almost ran into a house...
The house looks small, hidden from view by darkness,
One part of him seemed to be sending greetings
Those who arrived were not invited. Kindly, openly,
His inviting light streamed from the windows.
There was a puddle in front of the house. The light struck into the depths,
It flickered, shimmered, split into lights...
The guests have no time for the unexpectedly presented picture -
They intend to quickly enter under the roof...
The rain drummed loudly on this very roof.
The placed barrel filled with brim.
The master's dogs, grouped together,
They went completely crazy with barking, showing power.
One dog, with his head thrown back,
He wrote it out in a drawn-out manner, as if he had received
More than others... did they pay, perhaps not equally?
I tried for money... otherwise I would have kept quiet...
The other one seemed to be grabbing... grabbing it quickly,
Like a church sexton, you have to compare...
About between the postal bell rang often, soon,
With a restless treble, twisting and turning...
Blocking everyone or, say, finishing,
The bass intertwined with the sound of the double bass,
Perhaps the old man, completing unity,
He wheezed like a double bass wheezes at concerts...
Imagine a choir: how the tenors try
Take a higher note, standing on tiptoes,
And everything that exists, everything rushes to the top,
As the score requires or choral regulations.
And he stands alone. Unshaved chin
He pressed him to his chest by the tie and, crouching deeply,
From there he carries out his note without adjustments
Under the rattling of glass, the shaking of even the walls...
Hearing this “choir” of so many “musicians”,
It's easy to form an opinion about the whole village,
Without using any special talents at all:
Decent in size, there are quite a few houses in it!
But our poor hero is wet and cold
I only thought about bed, comfort and warmth!
It seemed like a century had been wandering in the darkness that had declared
And there is no sun at all, having burned out, it lies in the ashes...
He was in such a hurry to end the annoying adventure,
That he jumped out of the chaise, consider it to be on the move...
For good reason, consider it an exception -
Careless actions... easy to attract trouble...
A woman came out to meet them. Similar to the first one.
“Family among themselves!” - he noted to himself.
With a lighter gait, years younger...
I followed her and there they were in the hut.
Upon entering, he cast two glances around the room:
It was hung with striped wallpaper
And there are some paintings with some birds close by,
Mirrors hung along the walls between the windows.
Behind each of the frames that resembled leaves,
Coiled cunningly, laid down long ago
A deck of old cards or stockings, or letters...
Without the principle of what or meaning - it’s all the same...
Wall clock with flowers on the dial,
And besides nothing else I can’t notice -
It’s time for him to lie in bed a long time ago...
The night blinded his eyelashes like honey...
Just a minute later the hostess appeared.
There was a cap on her head, it seemed as if she had floated...
With a flannel around my neck - something to insulate me...
She looked elderly... that's what she was...
She is one of those housewives, one of those small landowners,
Who keep crying over the meager harvest,
Unprofitableness in everything, even if not, seems...
Listen carefully, don’t object in any way...
They all tilt their heads to the side for some reason,
Modest women in clothes, but for many years in a row
They collect money like vegetables from the garden beds,
They store...
Wholesales alone. Fifty dollars to others,
Quarters separately - why mix everything up?
These piggy banks lie there, stuffed, tight...
If you happen to climb into the chest of drawers, you won’t be able to find it.
Among night blouses and skeins of thread,
An unsewn cloak that is kept for this purpose,
So that later, when you need it urgently,
Concoct a skirt, a dress... even if the outfit is unsightly,
And everything is better than those that burn out from the stove
When baking flatbreads with all sorts of things to taste...
What is unlikely to happen: the hostess is not careless
And very thrifty! That material bit
Will go to the niece of her grand-sister upon death,
In the spiritual will it will be written in the line
Along with all sorts of rubbish, take my word for it!
We have met similar things before our eyes and at our fingertips...
But Chichikov now launched into explanations,
Like, an unforeseen incident bothered you,
Like, suddenly lost, due to weather constraints
And we ask for forgiveness, they say, at an inopportune hour...
“Well, so what? Nothing - the hostess answered -
At what time did the Lord bring you to me!
Turmoil and blizzard... Let's eat first...
It's time for the night... how to cook? Question…"
The owner's words were interrupted by a hiss
So suspicious that even the guest shuddered,
As if scared. And you wouldn't be afraid,
When would it seem like a handful of snakes appeared?
But, looking up, he immediately guessed:
It's time to strike the clock on the wall!
In which, behind the hissing, a wheezing sound was heard
And finally, straining, two o’clock struck,
With such a sound, as if someone took it into his head
Hit the broken pot with a stick...
“And so every time? - our Chichikov thought -
Perhaps they put too much impression into them!”
The watch, having become alienated, behaved decently:
Their pendulum was knocking again, as it should be,
Right and left along our usual path,
Until the next fight, allowing me to forget...
The clock distracted us from the topic of conversation,
What was going on between the hostess and the guest at that moment,
When she, embarrassed, said (that's the porch!),
There are no opportunities to eat here until the morning...
“Thank you humbly! Stop worrying!
I don't need anything - just a bed!
Just take care of one thing - my device is for sleeping,
Yes, here’s another thing: tell me how far away it is from here
Sobakevich's estate? “Who is this, tell me!
As far as I can tell, there are no such people in our area!”
“Oh, that’s how it is! And Manilov? “Who is this?”
“A landowner, like the first one...” “We haven’t seen it, light!
We haven’t heard anything like this in our places..."
“What kind are there?” "Svinin and Pleshakov,
There is also Kanapatiev... Did they name Trepakin?
No, or what? So, Trepakin, Kharpakin and Bobrov!”
“Are all people rich?” “I can’t say that it’s very...
Twenty souls, thirty... Up to a hundred, no more..."
Well, Chichikov noted, he climbed into the wilderness in the middle of the night...
“Is the city far away?” “Sixty versts! - in reply -
Still, I’m sorry that there’s nothing to eat...
Would you like, father, to have some tea?”
“Thank you, mother, but it will be much better
Let me go to bed!” “If that’s the case, then don’t be angry!
And in truth, out of the way, I won’t fail to say,
You better get some rest now!
Fetinya! Listen, Fetinya! Bring a feather bed,
Cleaner pillows and sheets, don’t regret it...
After all, this is the time the Lord sent for something...
All night the candle burned in front of His image...
Ooh! You are my father! Yes, you are in the mud for some reason...
Like a hog, it's all greasy..."
“Also thank God it’s all just greasy!
I didn’t break off my arms or legs... that’s the problem..."
“Saints! These are the passions... The Lord, apparently, took pity...
Shouldn’t I at least rub my back with something then?”
"No no! This is not necessary! Thank you, but what exactly
Then order something to the girl, one of the servants,
Dry my dress and clean it urgently,
So that you can put it on in the morning and be ready to leave suddenly!”
“Are you listening or not, Fetinya?” the hostess asked
To that woman who came earlier with a feather bed,
And she managed to beat it so that the pen was spinning
Fountain or flood. She suddenly said: “Huh?”
“Take their caftan and underwear together
And dry it properly now in front of the fire,
Like a dead master, with diligence, honor after honor,
And then grind it and shake it out so that during the day
It was possible to get dressed!” “I’ll do it, madam!”
Fetinya answered, laying down the sheet.
“The lady was probably accommodating to the servants...”
The guest thought for some reason, defining it like this...
“Well, your bed is already ready!
Goodbye for now, father! Do you need anything?
Maybe scratch your heels or something else?
My deceased loved me, he was so eager to..."
The guest refused again. “Then – good night!”
Having said all this, the hostess left.
He hastily undressed as quickly as he could,
He gave all his harness to Fetinya. Took it away.
His eyes looked with great pleasure
To the fluffed bed, the honor...
Fetinya is a great master in this matter -
I had to move a chair to manage to lie down!
But as soon as I lay down, I immediately sank
Significantly - to the floor... almost fell...
I quickly blew out the candle, nested for a short time,
Covered himself with a blanket. In a moment I was asleep...
Woke up another day already quite late,
Probably because the sun is shining through the window
It shone unbearably stubbornly and seriously,
Yes, flies stuck around, dotting the canvas...
One of them was persistently reaching into my ear for something,
The other did not give rest to his lips,
And the third one got in, causing me to sneeze dully...
This is where I woke up, not only myself...
Having looked around the room, I was now convinced
That there are not only birds among the paintings, between them
There was a portrait of Kutuzov hanging, next to him was
Painted like oil, an unknown old man
In a uniform with cuffs, like they used to sew
Under Pavel, perhaps, Petrovich? From relatives, know...
The clock made a hissing noise (scares or teases?),
Exactly ten struck - enough, they say, to sleep!
A face looked at the door and immediately disappeared...
As if the hostess - flashed in my head.
The whole point was that when I looked, I saw:
It’s better that he undresses completely so that he can fall asleep...
But there was already a dress next to the bed,
Suitable for what you can wear.
Having completely left Morpheus' embrace,
He decided for himself: it’s time to get up!
After getting dressed, I went to the partition between the windows,
To look in the mirror: everything is fine or what,
At the same time, he sneezed again, so loudly that he
The Indian rooster jumped a step from the other side!
The window was low to the ground and even very...
Jumping high, the rooster began to mutter
In a strange language... apparently authorized:
We wish you hello from the chickens to tell him!
To which our hero answered him impolitely...
What's there? Not impolite, but downright patronizing!
Why, we don’t know, because he greeted him,
What did you hear in response? Sorry: stupid...
And then I forgot, looking at the views,
What were in front of him literally outside the window,
Which looked, would not do offense,
But for sure it’s in the chicken coop, and a very plentiful one at that!
This whole narrow courtyard is filled with all kinds of birds,
Another domestic creature... but there are no birds!
A rooster walked between them - it was fitting for them to be proud -
A luxurious measured step, a master's look and a trace!
The pig and his family were immediately busy in a pile of rubbish,
I ate some chicken, which I hardly understood...
A cloud of flies swarmed over the watermelon rinds,
And then, behind the fence, potatoes, onions, beets...
Trees were rarely seen in the garden,
Covered with nets from some birds, forty...
There were scarecrows, as is customary in the village -
Protection against weeds for a short summer period.
Where did he come up with this? Judge for yourself:
On the roofs, the worn-out planks have been replaced everywhere,
The gates are not askew, carts and sleighs are visible...
"The village is not small!" - our hero is surprised...
After thinking carefully, I decided to talk,
Get to know each other better, find trust...
And he looked through the crack in the door to make sure
That the hostess also stood up. How else can you find out?
I saw her sitting at the tea table.
He entered there himself, putting on a cheerful look,
Glowing with contentment, he was extremely affectionate...
“How did you rest, father?” - she already says.
She was dressed better, not like she was earlier at night:
In a decent dark dress and not a nightcap,
On the neck, however, it was again clearly visible
Something confused. A smile on your face.
Chichikov answered her, already sitting down in a chair:
"Wonderful! Fine! How about you, for example?”
“No way, dear father!” "Why? That's interesting..."
“Insomnia tormented me... Everything from head to toe
It hurt a lot! My lower back was aching,
Yes, here’s another leg, imagine, there’s no urine...
The kind of torment I wouldn’t even dream of in my nightmares...”
“It will pass! It will pass, however! It’s not worth looking at!”
“God grant that it passes! Already did the grinding:
And she smeared it with pork lard and turpentine too...
Yes, father, all sorts of rubbings...
What would you like to sip some tea with? With fruit? Tastes good!”
"And what? This is not bad! Now take a sip of the fruity one!”
Reader! Have you noticed with what freedom he
Can you control yourself now? In a completely new manner,
Not like Manilov’s, and from all sides!
Here we need to draw a conclusion or, let’s say, admit,
That in Rus' we have a little secret
Or even an advantage over the same foreigner:
We have no equal in the world in our ability to communicate!
How do they speak, for example, to a millionaire?
Almost with the same voice and the same language,
What about the small trader, the tobacconist, the broth maker,
A little meanness in moderation, and then in the soul, secretly...
It’s not the same with us, it’s completely different with us!
We have wise men, not a small number,
Which, if necessary, will sing and cry,
And they will overcome the sea, leaving the oar behind...
With a landowner who has two hundred souls, for example,
They will not speak as to one where there is no one,
And for those over three hundred, it’s no longer the same as with the first...
Walk along the ascending... shades: wow!
Imagine, in some distant country
There is, say, an office, and there is a ruler in it.
Among his subordinates, look: a king on a kingdom,
Condemned to rule until the end of days!
Out of fear of him, it’s impossible to say...
What nobility you will see in his face!
What's not there? It’s hard to imagine -
Pick up a brush to paint with it!
Here, Prometheus, the decisive word!
He looks out proudly - like an eagle!
He is not in a hurry in his gait, as if floating on the waves,
A significant person at a significant table...
But the same “eagle”, as soon as he is called to the authorities,
Suddenly he runs like a “partridge” to his call,
I can’t bear to look: where did the swagger go?
They never trembled before him as much as he trembles now...
At a party where everyone is of low rank,
Our “Prometheus” will remain like this all evening,
And just a little higher and you wouldn’t recognize this -
The suddenness of the transformation suddenly happens to him,
Which Ovid is not able to come up with:
The fly will become smaller, and the fly next to him will be an elephant!
He was destroyed into a grain of sand, and became like it:
“Really, Ivan Petrovich? Oh no! Not him at all!
Ivan Petrovich is taller and thicker,
He won’t smile for that, his bass voice will count like thunder...
And this one is rather short, completely devoid of power,
It squeaks like a mosquito... You come closer: it...
“Eh! - you’ll say to yourself – So this is how you’re made...”
The Lord is the judge of everyone here... there is no need to judge...
Let us now return to the abandoned heroes,
What did they have time to talk about?
We saw that Chichikov behaved differently:
Without any ceremony at all, he took the cup from the table,
I splashed some fruit on it... And what does all this mean?
The behavior was completely different...
Taking a sip from his cup, he made the following speech:
“And your village, I see, is not bad!
And how many souls are there in it?” She suddenly lifted her shoulders:
“I’ll be close to eighty... I won’t be afraid of sin
To say that these are daring times:
The previous year there was such a bad harvest,
What God forbid! Such are all the elements...
I don’t know how we crossed, the edge is so close now...”
“However, the men look quite good...
The huts are covered, not frail, but strong!
Forgive me for God's sake, I forgot to ask about the main thing,
Arrived at night, tired... out of hand...
Let me hear the name now!”
“College secretary Korobochka’s late husband was!
“What about name and country?” - in a slightly quieter voice.
“Nastasia Petrovna!” “Well, it’s necessary! - he suddenly -
My mother's sister, just imagine,
That is, your own aunt, exactly what your name is!”
“What’s your name? After all, you, tea, are an assessor?
“No, mother! - with a smile - I’m here on business!”
“You must be a buyer! How sorry I am now, really,
Cheaply to merchants, you know, I sold honey...
And you, my father, would have accomplished that task correctly -
I would have bought it at a higher price... Why didn’t you wait?”
“But I wouldn’t buy it! I don’t need honey...”
“What else then? Is it really hemp?
Yes, apparently, there’s not enough hemp... They kicked, but not together...
About half a penny... I’ll take care of the needs..."
“No, my mother, I’m selling another product...”
“What would that be?” “I’ll tell you, the time will come...
Better answer me, I’ll give you another thought,
Haven’t there been any deaths among your peasants?”
“Oh, father! But of course! It died, it was:
Eighteen people! And what a people!
It was also born, but to no avail,
Such small fry... ugh, not offspring at all...
The people are already dead - pay as if they were alive!
The assessor arrived - give the tax from the heart!
This is also a flayer... How can he not fear God?
If he doesn’t ask how you got it, just take it and count it...
Last week there was another misfortune:
Our blacksmith burned down, he even knew it at the locksmith!”
“Did you have a fire here?” “God saved me from passion,
Otherwise it would be even worse... no, it disappeared on its own...
Something inside him caught fire!
Maybe you drank too much? It was like a fire,
Everything turned black like coal, all nature decayed...
What should I do now? There was no second one...
And there was nothing to go out with... The blacksmith was very skilled!
Who will shoe the horses? I don’t know what to do?”
“Everything here is God’s will!” he answered even sadly –
Give them to me!” “Whom should you give in to?”
“These are all those who died!” “How, speaking sensibly?”
“Just like that, for free or sell it or something!
I’ll give you money for them!” “I really don’t understand...
Are you going to dig something up? Please explain!”
But Chichikov already saw: there was enough eco!
And in a few words he explained in detail,
What, according to the audit fairy tale, came out alive...
Why would anyone know? Spent a lot of effort...
“What do you need them for? - the old woman asked again -
After all, they are dead...” - his eyes bulged out of fear.
“Leave this to me!” - answered very dryly.
She didn’t understand... her gaze was obscured by a tear...
“If you please, I’ll add a few more words here:
They are at your loss - pay like you are alive!
I’ll take them on myself and save them the hassle.
I'll put fifteen rubles on top for all of them!
I hope it’s clear now?” "No! Really, I don't know -
The hostess said, “Forgive me, dear father,
But I haven’t had the chance... I just don’t understand...
Again you will sigh sadly - how difficult it is to be alone!
After all, I haven’t sold dead ones yet...”
"Still would! It would be amazing if that happened!
Or maybe you decided that there is a lot of sense in them?
"No! I don’t think so... What do you need them for?
After all, that’s what makes it difficult, that they don’t seem to exist...”
“Well, the woman is strong-headed! - thought to myself -
Listen, mother! Take advice
I will say with pity, in a friendly, loving way:
After all, you’re going broke – it’s no joke!
As if you were paying for a living person!” “Oh, don’t tell me, father!
Another third week the payment was completed:
I contributed more than a hundred and fifty and that’s not the end either -
Again, it was necessary to butter up the assessor...”
“And I mean the same thing, mother! And with that transfer
I'll pay for them all at once,
The responsibility is mine, and you are already beyond the line...”
The old woman became thoughtful. And throwing it this way and that way,
She seemed to understand that there was a benefit here...
But it’s a new thing... trade is wonderful...
The subject is unprecedented... no matter how much it fits in...
I was very afraid: it wouldn’t turn out that they had cheated me...
Where did this buyer suddenly come to her?
Only God knows at night, in a storm?
Why would he need the dead? Unheard of in these days...
“So what? Deal?" Again, you see, it’s coming...
“Really, father, I don’t know... It never happened to me
To sell the dead... there are living ones -
Two girls to the archpriest... He thanked him
They weave the napkins themselves!” “It’s not about the living here -
I ask the dead! “There wouldn’t be any loss here...
I'm afraid that some kind of deception may come,
What if their price is higher? They'll suddenly give you more money..."
“Listen, mother! Oh, what!
What might they cost? Take a closer look: these are dust...
Take a worthless thing or some rags,
And they all have a price... How can I explain it in words?
They will even take any rag for paper
At a paper factory. Isn't it the same? Is not it so?
Where are the dead, if only you had some courage...
What are they for? How can we use their trace?”
“This is definitely true! They are not needed for anything!
That’s what worries me, that the dead ones…”
“Go and get along with her,” he strained to himself, “
Damn old woman... she gave me a fever..."
And, taking out a handkerchief, wiping the sweat from his forehead,
I was thinking about what to do, what else to tell her...
It seems like I tried everything, turning it over in my brain,
He even dared to call him a club head...
But, by the way, he was probably angry in vain -
Another respectable man of state,
A box like this is perfect:
If you hit something in the head, you won’t be able to turn it off forever!
And no matter how much you provide any explanations
Or arguments, for example, that everyone is clear as day
Everything flies away like a ball against the walls,
You can’t go around, go around, like there’s a stump in the middle of the road...
And Chichichkov knew that, there were no discoveries in that...
It didn’t work out straight, so I decided to take a detour:
“You, mother,” he said, “don’t you want to understand?
I ask the air, not the inanimate people!
They are no longer among us - you yourself admit...
And I’ll give you fifteen rubles for them!
You see it in your hands! Where can you just find it?
You won’t find it on the street... Respect for the years...
Now admit it, how much did you sell the honey for?”
“Twelve rubles pood!” “Why lie now?
After all, there is no such price, they lied about that... hardly..."
“By God, I sold it!” “So let’s collect honey!
We spent six months with care and effort!
Yes, there was a lot of fuss with the bees, we fed them in the winter...
And dead souls... what is their nature?
Only God's will, and not the works of herself...
There is no effort on your part at all...
Only losses, only one damage, consider...
And I’ll give you money for them... now, not later...
Fifteen in banknotes in your hand, turn over!
There was almost no doubt: the old woman would not resist!
Under the power of conviction he will finally bend...
I deluded myself in vain... She said in a dull voice:
“Really, don’t be angry! Understand me, father!
It’s better, you know, I’ll wait a little longer...
The inexperience is like a widow... Ignorance in business...
Merchants will come in large numbers... what if I sell out early...
Let it apply to prices...” “Stram, mother, and fear!
That's what you're saying? You should listen for yourself!
Who will buy them? How to use them?
“Or maybe they’ll be useful on the farm like clockwork...”
I entered with an objection, not knowing what to do...
I looked at him almost with fear,
Wanting to know his answer to that...
“On the farm? Dead people? For the spinning wheels, or something, to the spinners
Or should we scare the sparrows into the garden, onto the pole?”
“Oh, Lord, forgive me! - the old woman crossed her forehead -
What kind of passions are you talking about now..."
“Where else would I put it? And, by the way, their grave,
The coffins and the bones themselves will remain with you!
After all, all this trade will only be on paper!”
The old woman thought again. He started to get nervous.
“Nastasia Petrovna? What will remain in your thoughts?
“I won’t clean everything up - what would your demand mean?
I don’t understand what to do here... Should I buy hemp, or what?”
“What do I need that hemp for? Another time, maybe..."
"Do not want? Well, so what? Father, I am not in bondage..."
She said thoughtfully, without raising her eyes...
“Yes, what are you doing with the hemp? Why are you bothering with it?
I ask you something else... What is your answer?
“The product is very strange, and you keep pestering me...
Completely, after all, unprecedented, unheard of, my light...”
Here Chichikov is in his hearts, grabbing a chair on the floor,
I have gone beyond all limits of patience...
And he promised her the devil, twitching his cheekbone,
Since I couldn’t find any more strength to restrain myself...
Hearing about the devil, she turned strangely white:
“Why did you remember him? It wouldn’t be necessary... God be with him!
The other night, I think I dreamed about the accursed one,
Such, my father, disgusting in his appearance -
The horns are longer than those of a bull... Apparently, it’s a punishment
The Lord sent me because I prayed at night,
I decided to start doing fortune telling with cards,
What I won’t do in the future, you’ll believe when I’m born...”
“I’ll believe it... I’m surprised at the other:
How do you not dream of dozens of them at night?
I wanted to help from the heart, feeling touched in my old age,
After all, I see how you fight... a tear rushes to your eyes...
But you and the whole village will be lost together!”
“Why are you making such fights now?”
“You can’t find the words to say honestly:
You don’t want to offend, but you will say everything...
Like a mongrel who lies in the hay anyway:
She doesn’t eat it herself, but she won’t give it to others either...
And I wanted to help with something for a change,
I would buy contracts, in part that much..."
Here he lied, of course, but it seems to be successful:
State contracts suddenly took effect
From an unexpected side, but in favor, definitely -
It looks like it will work out, closing the chain in a circle!
“Why are you so angry? Why? –
A tear was heard in Korobochkin’s voice -
If I knew that you were hot, I wouldn’t have argued a long time ago...”
“Well, now I’m still angry! We can't be angry...
And why would it be, right? The thing is, I'll tell you straight,
Not worth the eggshells at all!
Why, I don’t understand, are you so stubborn with me?
Again, no offense, but almost stupid..."
“Now I’m ready to give them away for fifteen!
But just don’t forget about contracts!
Suddenly it happens to take flour, or go to waste in cereals,
What a beast, come straight to me!
Don’t do anything offensive...” “Yes, what are you talking about? I won't offend you -
He spoke in response. I wiped off all the sweat myself,
Which flowed in three streams - I foresee in the city,
An acquaintance, what? “But what about it? Protopop!
It’s as if his son works in his ward...
I’ll write to him so that he can help
When making a fortress. I think it will be friendly! "
“This will be so nice!” - I told her this.
“Look, what a secretive guy: not a word about contracts!
It would be nice to bring something here,
So that he takes everything into the treasury at once and in a row!
You need to appease with something... just what? Trouble...
Go tell Fetinya to bake some pancakes-
There was dough left over from the previous day...
And so that the pie is bent with an egg! That's for sure
How wonderfully they bend that pie from me!”
And with this thought I went out - to give orders,
And Chichikov walked into the living room alone,
Where did you sleep the night before: start preparations.
Everything there, as it should be, has been tidied up for a long time and well.
There is a table in front of the sofa. I took out my box
Placed it on the countertop. I sat down to rest...
Tired of bickering, my heart was beating loudly...
Just get this over with and hit the road as soon as possible!
How I visited the river - from toes to ear
Covered with sticky moisture, completely wet, sweating:
“Eck, she killed me like a damned old woman...”
He turned the key that appeared in the box.
I thought from something that is among you, perhaps
Who would like to look at it now,
Then, to look at the device: is it simple or difficult?
I can help with that! So, reader, let's go!
In the center, in the middle, there was clearly a soap dish,
Five or six partitions for razors are already behind her,
Square nook: with ink inkwell,
Behind it is another one: a sandbox at the bottom...
And between them is somehow hollowed out by a boat
For feathers, sealing wax, whatever is longer.
More partitions under the lid with a bracket,
Among them are completely open with those collected in the middle of days:
With business tickets or even theater tickets,
Some other things that are stored in memory,
Notes, not very special notes...
The lists can be continued...
Her entire top drawer with everything that was called
I took it out of the groove, and underneath it was already to the bottom.
Filled with paper. Hidden in one side
A box for money that is invisible to the eye
And so she always hurriedly moved back,
What was impossible to determine at a glance
What amount of money was inside it...
A wise decision: why make people angry with wealth?
This time, however, he did not take on her -
I got the cash for the transaction in advance.
Having opened my box, I started doing something completely different:
I sat and repaired the pen, then began to write with it...
But then the hostess came in. Having noticed the box,
She exclaimed with delight: “This box is good!
Did you buy tea in Moscow?” "In Moscow!" - he answered that.
“And I knew right away what you’d find there!
This is the third year, my sister is from there
I brought fur-lined boots for the kids!
Believe me, they are so warm, don’t catch a cold!
And you can’t see the demolition, what’s below and what’s above!
Ahti, dear father! What a stamp I see!”
And in fact, it’s true: there’s a lot of it out there.
“At least give me a piece of paper! Tea, won’t I offend you with a request?”
He began to explain the meaning of the sheets,
That this paper is only good for one thing:
For the execution of deeds of sale, her purpose is...
But then he gave me a piece of paper - no reason to be angry,
I wrote the letter myself. Then with a question to her:
“Sign here and present the list!”
The landowner, they say, did not keep lists as a keepsake...
I knew everyone by heart! Write what? Excuse me!
I just moved my head - your deeds are wonderful...
I wrote from dictation, but often their last names
Another time they repeated, consider it syllable by syllable -
They seemed so unusual to the ear - they were,
Although they are quite common in those places...
Who wouldn't be surprised by this combination:
Disrespect-Trough - aka Savelyev Peter?
Let's leave right away the laughter, as well as the lamentations -
He's not here with us, it's sad, but he's dead...
Another had a nickname attached to his surname:
Whatever you say, provide additional weight!
And without it you won’t find understanding at all...
If you say Cow Brick, it’s clear who you’re talking about!
Having finished writing, I immediately heard,
Inhale the air with your nose, a wonderful aroma
Something hot in oil! Everything is under the roof
It’s like it’s filled with it! I wanted to eat and look...
“But I humbly ask that God sent me to taste it!”
The hostess said here, calling him to the table.
He looked around quickly: “It would be nice to have dinner!” -
It flashed in my head. He got up and went.
Lunch is already served! Plates, pots...
Mushrooms in sour cream and couscous butter,
And pies and spinning, rosy pancakes,
Skorodumki flatbreads with toppings to taste!
With baked onions, with shoots, with poppy seeds,
With baked goods, cottage cheese and everything you can't tell!
“And here is the egg pie!” - shiny, like varnish
Covered for beauty! I didn’t know what to take...
The offered pie has now moved closer to me,
I tasted half of it, “Excellent!” - praised,
I ate it with pleasure, I didn’t fail to note,
And after the pain of the deal, the pie was doubly sweet!
“Here’s more pancakes!” - the hostess approached.
In response to this, the guest rolled three pieces at once
And he put it in a bowl of butter (it pretty much melted!)
From there, straight into your mouth - there was plenty to eat!
Then I tried on the pancakes three more times:
“I’ll tell you openly, your pancakes are so delicious,
I can’t even remember where else I managed
Eat so many of them! Wonderful pancakes!”
“Yes, I already know that! They are extremely capable!
But the trouble happened that the harvest was bad...
Flour is not fancy, let the baked goods be elegant...
Where are you in such a hurry? Take a little breath..."
Having saluted the pancakes, he turned to the hostess:
“You, mother, tell them to prepare the chaise!”
She performed it right away: “Look, how in a hurry!
More hot pancakes! “It's time! It's time for me to go!
“So, dear father, remember about contracts!”
“How is it possible? I won’t forget!” - answered in the entryway.
As she accompanied, she cast glances:
“And do you buy lard?” "Certainly! In the villages!
But only much later! “It will already be about Christmas time!”
“I’ll buy it, I’ll buy it!” But what about it? And no matter how much you offer!”
“Or maybe bird feathers? The fast will continue in Filippov!”
"Wonderful! Fine!" “Look, you see, I was in no hurry -
No chaise! Not ready!" “I’ll warm up the idiot!
Tell me, how can we get out? How can I find out the way?
“It’s hard to say: there are so many turns...
Maybe give me a girl to show...
After all, you, I have tea, have a place on the trestle?”
“Well, how could it not be? You will find it - my Selifan is not fat!”
“But don’t bring it like last year
The merchants were deceived...” “Why would I be deceived?”
Believing completely, I was distracted by attention,
It’s like I’m no longer around, I’m no longer there for him...
She examined her yard with all possible diligence,
As if for the first time - everything matters:
Suddenly she fixed her eyes on the housekeeper for some reason,
She dragged her sister-in-law with honey somewhere...
Then at the man who flashed through the gate...
Little by little she struggled and re-entered the household...
But why, tell me, should I do it now?
Manilov, Korobochka... Economical or not...
It’s not a wonderful thing in the world, I must admit:
Fun will turn to sadness when you catch the trail
If you stagnate for a long time, this will happen,
Only God knows what comes into my head...
Perhaps you will think: is that landowner really
Stands so low on the ladder, whose rise
Taking humanity beyond the boundaries of perfection?
Is the gap between her really that big?
And that sister of hers, living in the midst of bliss
In the houses of the aristocracy now, between these days?
Among the fragrant stairs with shining copper,
The most valuable types of wood and many carpets,
Yawning over a book - a novel or a gum,
With capricious reasoning, how harsh the world is now...
With eager anticipation of a visit somewhere,
Where will she have a field to shine (not everyone could!)
What idea to express, seriously, not hackneyed,
Some facts that teach by heart!
Which then, as according to the laws of fashion,
The whole town will be occupied for a whole week!
But this will be a thought of a completely different kind -
Don’t expect to hear what they breathe here...
Not at all about what’s in the house and estate,
Confused matters thanks to
That they didn’t know how to run a household, but about running
From France, for example, which is far from intelligent...
What direction has Catholicism taken in fashion?
When will there be a revolution there again?
We're past them now! Why do we need a barren world?
Why discuss it, stand at those gates?
But before we go, let's add a note:
It happens so often among these empty ones,
Cheerful and carefree people will suddenly appear by chance
A wonderful stream and other qualities!
However, the laughter did not stop and did not leave
His face is completely different, but he has already become different,
Similar to their laughter, pretending to be cold,
And the light inside went out and the voice became dull...
“And here comes the britzka! – our hero cried noisily,
Seeing his carriage, it drove up to the porch -
Why are you taking so long? Did you get drunk or something mindlessly?
Have the hops worn off? But Selifan remained silent...
“Now goodbye, mother! Where is your guide?
“Hey, Pelageya! Do you hear? Come on over here!”
A girl, about ten years old, a little older, approached them.
In homemade dye, barefoot, as always...
Following her, Chichikov stood on the step with his foot,
Having now skewed the chaise onto its right side...
He fiddled around for a while, sitting down a little,
Completely ready for the road, I was able to say out loud:
"A! Well, that's good! It's time to touch it!
Farewell now, mother! There is a path before them again.
Today Selifan looked very stern,
What happened every time when the culprit was the essence...
I cleaned all three horses in advance,
The clamp of one of them, which was previously torn,
Now it is sewn up skillfully, with every diligence!
He was fairly silent and zealous in his work.
Whip the horses without a word of address
To science, as usual, although Chubary was waiting
And he was not even averse to listening to teachings,
Even if it’s abusive, because I already knew:
In a similar mood, the reins awaited caresses,
Weakly and lazily, he held them in his hands...
And the whip was hanging on top of their backs only for warning...
Now everything is different. The horse neighed out of insult...
But from gloomy lips this time everyone hears
Offensive, unpleasant, heavy words:
“Yawn, yawn, crow!” - they breathe excellent malice
All these exclamations and the whip, like a mace...
Accustomed to completely different treatment,
Bay and the Assessor still couldn’t understand
Why would this happen all of a sudden? There was indignation in them,
There was discontent. The driver should heed this...
How they replaced him: I forgot the sedate words,
Which he often awarded to the two of them.
I never said “dear”, “respected”...
The bay neighed quietly from such insult...
Chubary, in response to the blows he received,
Along the full and wide parts of your back,
I was thinking something like this:
“Eck, it blew it! Perhaps the evil one is more evil...
Probably he won’t make a mistake, he knows exactly where it hurts.
It’s not just for the sake of warning that he accidentally whips,
Whenever this happens, it’s clear... Anyone understands that!
And he’ll go bald under his belly on purpose...”
Here the coachman stopped all these thoughts,
He asked the girl conductor a dry question:
“Will it be to the right?” - and there is no doubt about the shadow,
Whip somewhere to the right, I saw a fork...
"No no! I will show!" - the girl answered.
"Where? – Having approached closer, he asked her again.
“Over there now!” - flying little hand
Confirmed my doubts. I just looked at her:
"Oh you! – he said sadly – It doesn’t distinguish him at all
Where is the right and where is the left..." And he fell silent again...
We turned right. The same dirt meets there,
Even though it was a good day, did anyone notice?
The passing rain has mixed the clay so sticky and viscous,
That there are already pounds hanging on the wheels of the chaise...
Stuck like felt, it won’t be easy to remove...
Consider that they’ve been driving around here for three hours already...
Without Pelageya you won’t be able to get out at all -
Roads in all directions are like crabs out of a bag...
But she knew the way: “Listen, uncle, get ready -
There’s a pillar over there, see?” - looking out from under the silence...
“What kind of building is there?” “The tavern, of course...”
"Well? Now we are on our own, go home!”
Stopped the horses without hassle and instantly,
He helped the girl get down, shaking his head...
And Chichikov, taking out a small change,
He handed her a copper penny: “Keep it for your hard work!”
Satisfied, she took it, bending down as she did so.
And she wandered through the mud, following her tracks home...
He turned so hard in his chair that the woolen material that covered the pillow burst; Manilov himself looked at him in some bewilderment. Prompted by gratitude, he immediately said so many thanks that he became confused, blushed all over, made a negative gesture with his head, and finally expressed that this was nothing, that he really wanted to prove with something the attraction of the heart, the magnetism of the soul, and the dead souls are in some ways complete rubbish.
“It’s not rubbish at all,” said Chichikov, shaking his hand. A very deep sigh was taken here. He seemed to be in a mood for heartfelt outpourings; Not without feeling and expression, he finally uttered the following words: “If you only knew what service this apparently rubbish rendered to a man without a tribe and clan!” And really, what did I not suffer? like some kind of barge among the fierce waves... What persecutions, what persecutions have you not experienced, what grief have you not tasted, and for what? for the fact that he observed the truth, that he was clear in his conscience, that he gave his hand to both the helpless widow and the unfortunate orphan!.. - Here he even wiped away a tear that rolled out with a handkerchief.
Manilov was completely moved. Both friends shook each other's hands for a long time and looked silently into each other's eyes for a long time, in which welling up tears were visible. Manilov did not want to let go of our hero’s hand and continued to squeeze it so hotly that he no longer knew how to help her out. Finally, having pulled it out slowly, he said that it wouldn’t be a bad idea to complete the deed of sale as quickly as possible, and it would be nice if he himself visited the city. Then he took his hat and began to take his leave.
How? do you really want to go? - said Manilov, suddenly waking up and almost frightened.
At this time, Manilov entered the office.
Lizanka,” said Manilov with a somewhat pitiful look, “Pavel Ivanovich is leaving us!”
Because Pavel Ivanovich is tired of us,” answered Manilova.
Madam! here,” said Chichikov, “here, that’s where,” here he put his hand on his heart, “yes, here will be the pleasure of the time spent with you!” and believe me, there would be no greater bliss for me than to live with you, if not in the same house, then at least in the closest neighborhood.
“You know, Pavel Ivanovich,” said Manilov, who really liked this idea, “how good it would really be if we lived like this together, under the same roof, or under the shadow of some elm tree, to philosophize about something, to go deeper!” ..
ABOUT! it would be a heavenly life! - Chichikov said, sighing. - Goodbye, madam! - he continued, approaching Manilova’s hand. - Farewell, most respected friend! Don't forget your requests!
Oh, rest assured! - answered Manilov. - I’m parting with you for no longer than two days.
Everyone went out to the dining room.
Goodbye, dear little ones! - said Chichikov, seeing Alcides and Themistoclus, who were busy with some kind of wooden hussar, who no longer had either an arm or a nose. - Goodbye, my little ones. Excuse me for not bringing you a gift, because, I admit, I didn’t even know if you lived in the world, but now, when I arrive, I will certainly bring it. I'll bring you a saber; do you want a saber?
“I want to,” answered Themistoclus.
And for you the drum; don't you think it's a drum? - he continued, leaning towards Alcides.
“Parapan,” Alcides answered in a whisper and lowered his head.
Okay, I'll bring you a drum. Such a nice drum, this is how everything will be: turrr... ru... tra-ta-ta, ta-ta-ta... Goodbye, darling! Goodbye! - Then he kissed him on the head and turned to Manilov and his wife with a little laugh, with which they usually turn to parents, letting them know about the innocence of their children’s desires.
Really, stay, Pavel Ivanovich! - Manilov said when everyone had already gone out onto the porch. - Look at the clouds.
“These are small clouds,” answered Chichikov.
Do you know the way to Sobakevich?
I want to ask you about this.
Let me tell your coachman now.
Here Manilov, with the same courtesy, told the matter to the coachman and even said “you” to him once.
The coachman, hearing that he needed to skip two turns and turn onto the third, said: “We’ll take it, your honor,” and Chichikov left, accompanied by long bows and waving handkerchiefs from the owners who rose on tiptoe.
Manilov stood on the porch for a long time, following the retreating chaise with his eyes, and when it became completely invisible, he was still standing, smoking his pipe. Finally he entered the room, sat down on a chair and gave himself up to reflection, mentally rejoicing that he had given his guest a little pleasure. Then his thoughts imperceptibly moved to other objects and finally wandered to God knows where. He thought about the well-being of a friendly life, about how nice it would be to live with a friend on the bank of some river, then he began to build a bridge across this river, then huge house with such a high belvedere that you can even see Moscow from there and there you can drink tea in the evening in the open air and talk about some pleasant subjects. Then, that they, together with Chichikov, arrived at some society in good carriages, where they charm everyone with the pleasantness of their treatment, and that it was as if the sovereign, having learned about their friendship, granted them generals, and then, finally, God knows what, what He himself couldn’t make it out anymore. Chichikov's strange request suddenly interrupted all his dreams. The thought of her somehow didn’t particularly simmer in his head: no matter how much he turned it over, he could not explain it to himself, and all the time he sat and smoked his pipe, which lasted until dinner.
Chapter Three
And Chichikov sat in a contented mood in his chaise, which had been rolling along the main road for a long time. From the previous chapter it is already clear what the main subject of his taste and inclinations was, and therefore it is not surprising that he soon became completely immersed in it, body and soul. The assumptions, estimates and considerations that wandered across his face were apparently very pleasant, for every minute they left behind traces of a satisfied smile. Busy with them, he did not pay any attention to how his coachman, pleased with the reception of Manilov’s servants, made very sensible comments to the brown-haired harness horse harnessed on the right side. This brown-haired horse was very cunning and showed only for the sake of appearance that he was lucky, while the root bay and brown horse, called Assessor, because he was acquired from some assessor, worked with all his heart, so that even in their eyes there was the pleasure they get from it is noticeable. “Cunning, cunning! I'll outsmart you! - Selifan said, standing up and lashing the sloth with his whip. - Know your business, you German trouser! The bay is a respectable horse, he does his duty, I will gladly give him an extra measure, because he is a respectable horse, and the Assessor is also a good horse... Well, well! Why are you shaking your ears? You fool, listen when they say! I, ignoramus, will not teach you anything bad. Look where it’s crawling!” Here he again lashed him with a whip, keeping him silent; “Uh, barbarian! Damn you Bonaparte! Then he shouted at everyone: “Hey, my dears!” - and lashed all three of them, no longer as a form of punishment, but to show that he was pleased with them. Having given such pleasure, he again turned his speech to the dark-haired man: “You think you can hide your behavior. No, you live in truth when you want to be respected. The landowner we were with were good people. I'll be happy to talk if the person is good; with a good person we are always our friends, subtle friends; whether to drink tea or have a snack - with pleasure, if a good person. Everyone will pay respect to a good person. Everyone respects our master, because, do you hear, he performed state service, he is a Skole councilor ... "
Thus reasoning, Selifan finally climbed into the most remote abstractions. If Chichikov had listened, he would have learned many details that pertained to him personally; but his thoughts were so occupied with his subject that only one strong clap of thunder made him wake up and look around him; the whole sky was completely covered with clouds, and the dusty post road was sprinkled with drops of rain. Finally, the thunderclap sounded another time, louder and closer, and rain suddenly poured out of a bucket. First, taking an oblique direction, he lashed at one side of the body of the wagon, then to the other, then, changing the image of the attack and becoming completely straight, he drummed directly on the top of its body; the spray finally began to hit his face. This made him draw the leather curtains with two round windows designated for viewing road views, and order Selifan to drive faster. Selifan, who was also interrupted in the very middle of his speech, realized that there was definitely no need to hesitate, immediately pulled out some rubbish from gray cloth from under the box, put it on his sleeves, grabbed the reins in his hands and shouted at his troika, which She moved her feet a little, because she felt a pleasant relaxation from the instructive speeches. But Selifan could not remember whether he drove two or three turns. Having realized and remembered the road a little, he guessed that there were many turns that he had missed. Since a Russian man, in decisive moments, will find something to do without going into long-term reasoning, turning right onto the first cross road, he shouted: “Hey, you, honorable friends!” - and set off at a gallop, thinking little about where the road taken would lead.
The rain, however, seemed to persist for a long time. The dust lying on the road quickly mixed into mud, and every minute it became harder for the horses to pull the chaise. Chichikov was already beginning to get very worried, having not seen Sobakevich’s village for so long. According to his calculations, it would have been time to come long ago. He looked around, but the darkness was so pitch-deep.
Selifan! - he said finally, leaning out of the chaise.
What, master? - Selifan answered.
Look, can you see the village?
No, sir, I can’t see it anywhere! - After which Selifan, waving his whip, began to sing, not a song, but something so long that there was no end. Everything was included there: all the encouraging and motivating cries with which horses are regaled throughout Russia from one end to the other; adjectives of all kinds without further analysis, as if the first one came to mind. Thus it came to the point that he finally began to call them secretaries.
Meanwhile, Chichikov began to notice that the chaise was rocking on all sides and giving him very strong jolts; this made him feel that they had turned off the road and were probably dragging along a furrowed field. Selifan seemed to realize it himself, but did not say a word.
What, you swindler, what road are you taking? - said Chichikov.
Well, master, what to do, this is the time; You can’t see the whip, it’s so dark! - Having said this, he tilted the chaise so much that Chichikov was forced to hold on with both hands. It was only then that he noticed that Selifan had been playing around.
Hold it, hold it, you'll knock it over! - he shouted to him.
No, master, how can I knock it over,” Selifan said. - It’s not good to overturn this, I know it myself; There’s no way I’ll knock it over. - Then he began to slightly turn the chaise, turned it, turned it, and finally turned it completely on its side. Chichikov fell into the mud with his hands and feet. Selifan stopped the horses, however, they would have stopped themselves, because they were very exhausted. This unforeseen event completely amazed him. Getting off the box, he stood in front of the chaise, propped himself up on his sides with both hands, while the master floundered in the mud, trying to get out of there, and said after some thought: “Look, it’s over!”
You're drunk as a cobbler! - said Chichikov.
No, master, how can I be drunk! I know it's not a good thing to be drunk. I talked to a friend, because you can talk to a good person, there’s no harm in that; and had a snack together. Snacks are not offensive; You can have a meal with a good person.
What did I tell you the last time you got drunk? A? forgot? - said Chichikov.
No, your honor, how can I forget? I already know my stuff. I know it's not good to be drunk. I talked to a good person because...
Once I flog you, you will know how to talk to a good person!
“As your mercy pleases,” Selifan answered, agreeing to everything, “if you flog, then flog; I'm not at all averse to it. Why not flog, if it’s for the cause, that’s the will of the Lord. It needs to be flogged, because the guy is playing around, order needs to be observed. If it's for the job, then flog it; why not flog?
The master was completely at a loss for an answer to such reasoning. But at this time, it seemed as if fate itself had decided to take pity on him. From a distance a dog was heard barking. The delighted Chichikov gave the order to drive the horses. The Russian driver has a good instinct instead of eyes; from this it happens that, with his eyes closed, he sometimes pumps with all his might and always arrives somewhere. Selifan, without seeing a thing, directed the horses so directly towards the village that he stopped only when the chaise hit the fence with its shafts and when there was absolutely nowhere to go. Chichikov only noticed through the thick blanket of pouring rain something similar to a roof. He sent Selifan to look for the gate, which, no doubt, would have gone on for a long time if Rus' had not had dashing dogs instead of doormen, who reported about him so loudly that he put his fingers to his ears. The light flashed in one window and, like a misty stream, reached the fence, showing our road gate. Selifan began knocking, and soon, opening the gate, a figure covered with an overcoat stuck out, and the master and servant heard a hoarse woman’s voice:
Who's knocking? why did they disperse?
“Newcomers, mother, let them spend the night,” said Chichikov.
“Look, what a sharp-footed fellow,” said the old woman, “he arrived at what time!” This is not an inn for you: the landowner lives.
What should you do, mother: you see, you’ve lost your way. You can’t spend the night in the steppe at this time.
Yes, it’s a dark time, a bad time,” Selifan added.
Shut up, fool,” said Chichikov.
Who are you? - said the old woman.
Nobleman, mother.
The word “nobleman” made the old woman seem to think a little.
Wait, I’ll tell the lady,” she said, and two minutes later she returned with a lantern in her hand.
The gate opened. A light flashed in another window. The chaise, having entered the yard, stopped in front of a small house, which was difficult to see in the darkness. Only one half of it was illuminated by the light coming from the windows; a puddle was still visible in front of the house, which was directly hit by the same light. The rain pounded loudly on the wooden roof and flowed in murmuring streams into the barrel. Meanwhile, the dogs burst into all possible voices: one, throwing his head up, walked out so drawn out and with such diligence, as if he was receiving God knows what salary for it; the other grabbed it quickly, like a sexton; between them, like a postal bell, rang the restless treble, probably of a young puppy, and all this was finally topped off by a bass, perhaps an old man, endowed with a hefty canine nature, because he wheezed, like a singing double bass wheezes when the concert is in full swing: tenors rise on tiptoe from a strong desire to strike a high note, and everything that is rushes upward, throwing its head, and he alone, putting his unshaven chin in his tie, crouching down and sinking almost to the ground, lets out his note from there, which makes them shake and rattle glass Just from the barking of dogs composed of such musicians, one could assume that the village was decent; but our wet and chilled hero thought of nothing but bed. Before the chaise had time to stop completely, he had already jumped onto the porch, staggered and almost fell. A woman came out onto the porch again, younger than before, but very similar to her. She led him into the room. Chichikov took two casual glances: the room was hung with old striped wallpaper; paintings with some birds; between the windows there are old small mirrors with dark frames in the shape of curled leaves; Behind every mirror there was either a letter, or an old deck of cards, or a stocking; a wall clock with painted flowers on the dial... it was impossible to notice anything else. He felt that his eyes were sticky, as if someone had smeared them with honey. A minute later, the landlady, an elderly woman, came in, wearing some kind of sleeping cap, put on hastily, with a flannel around her neck, one of those mothers, small landowners who cry about crop failures, losses and keep their heads somewhat to one side, and meanwhile gain little money in colorful bags placed in chest of drawers. All the rubles are taken into one bag, fifty rubles into another, quarters into a third, although from the outside it seems as if there is nothing in the chest of drawers except linen, night blouses, skeins of thread, and a torn cloak, which can then turn into a dress if the old one will somehow burn out while baking holiday cakes with all sorts of yarn, or it will wear out on its own. But the dress will not burn and will not fray on its own: the old woman is thrifty, and the cloak is destined to lie for a long time in an open form, and then, according to the spiritual will, go to the niece of the grandsister along with all other rubbish.
Chichikov apologized for disturbing him with his unexpected arrival.
“Nothing, nothing,” said the hostess. - At what time did God bring you? Such a turmoil and blizzard... I should have eaten something on the way, but it was night time and I couldn’t cook it.
The hostess's words were interrupted by a strange hissing, so that the guest was frightened; the noise sounded like the whole room was filled with snakes; but, looking up, he calmed down, for he realized that the wall clock was about to strike. The hissing was immediately followed by wheezing, and finally, straining with all their might, they struck two o’clock with a sound like someone beating a broken pot with a stick, after which the pendulum began to calmly click again to the right and left.
Chichikov thanked the hostess, saying that he did not need anything, that she should not worry about anything, that he did not require anything except a bed, and was only curious to know what places he had visited and how far was the way from here to the landowner Sobakevich, on that the old woman said that she had never heard such a name and that there was no such landowner at all.
Do you at least know Manilov? - said Chichikov
Who is Manilov?
Landowner, mother.
No, I haven’t heard, there is no such landowner.
Which ones are there?
Bobrov, Svinin, Kanapatiev, Kharpakin, Trepakin, Pleshakov.
Rich people or not?
No, father, there are no too rich. Some have twenty souls, some have thirty, but there are not even a hundred of them.
Chichikov noticed that he had driven into quite the wilderness.
Is it at least far from the city?
And it will be sixty miles. What a pity I am that you have nothing to eat! Would you like to have some tea, father?
Thank you, mother. Nothing is needed except a bed.
True, from such a road you really need to rest. Sit here, father, on this sofa. Hey, Fetinya, bring a feather bed, pillows and a sheet. For some time God sent: there was such thunder - I had a candle burning in front of the image all night. Eh, my father, you’re like a hog, your whole back and side are covered in mud! where did you deign to get so dirty?
Also, thank God, it just got greasy; I have to be grateful that I didn’t break off the sides completely.
Saints, what passions! Shouldn't I need something to rub my back with?
Thank you, thank you. Don’t worry, just order your girl to dry and clean my dress.
Do you hear, Fetinya! - said the hostess, turning to the woman who was going out onto the porch with a candle, who had already managed to drag the feather bed and, fluffing it up on both sides with her hands, released a whole flood of feathers throughout the room. “You take their caftan along with the underwear and first dry them in front of the fire, as they did for the deceased master, and then grind them and beat them thoroughly.”
I'm listening, madam! - Fetinya said, laying a sheet on top of the feather bed and placing pillows.
Well, your bed is ready,” said the hostess. - Farewell, father, I wish you good night. Isn't there anything else needed? Maybe you’re used to having someone scratch your heels at night, my father? My deceased could not fall asleep without this.
But the guest also refused to scratch his heels. The mistress came out, and he immediately hurried to undress, giving Fetinya all the harness he had taken off, both upper and lower, and Fetinya, also wishing good night on her part, took away this wet armor. Left alone, he looked, not without pleasure, at his bed, which was almost to the ceiling. Fetinya, apparently, was an expert at fluffing feather beds. When he pulled up a chair and climbed onto the bed, it sank under him almost to the floor, and the feathers he had pushed out scattered into all corners of the room. Having extinguished the candle, he covered himself with a chintz blanket and, curling up like a pretzel under it, fell asleep at that very moment. He woke up on another day of laziness quite late in the morning. The sun through the window shone straight into his eyes, and the flies that had slept peacefully yesterday on the walls and ceiling all turned to him: one sat on his lip, another on his ear, the third tried to settle on his very eye, the same one that had the imprudence to sit close to the nasal nostril, he pulled in his sleep right into his nose, which made him sneeze violently - a circumstance that was the reason for his awakening. Having looked around the room, he now noticed that not all of the paintings were birds: between them hung a portrait of Kutuzov and a painted oil paints some old man with red cuffs on his uniform, like they were sewn on under Pavel Petrovich. The clock hissed again and struck ten; looked out the door woman's face and at that very moment he hid, because Chichikov, wanting to sleep better, threw off completely everything. The face that looked out seemed somewhat familiar to him. He began to remember who it was, and finally remembered that it was the hostess. He put on his shirt; the dress, already dried and cleaned, lay next to him. After getting dressed, he went up to the mirror and sneezed again so loudly that an Indian rooster, who had come up to the window at that time - the window was very close to the ground - suddenly and very quickly chatted something to him in his strange language, probably “I wish you hello,” to which Chichikov told him he was a fool. Approaching the window, he began to examine the views in front of him: the window looked almost into a chicken coop; at least the narrow courtyard in front of him was filled with birds and all kinds of domestic creatures. Turkeys and chickens were countless; a rooster walked among them with measured steps, shaking its comb and turning its head to the side, as if listening to something; the pig and its family appeared right there; Immediately, while clearing away a pile of rubbish, she casually ate a chicken and, without noticing it, continued to eat the watermelon rinds in her order. This small courtyard, or chicken coop, was blocked by a plank fence, behind which stretched spacious vegetable gardens with cabbage, onions, potatoes, light and other household vegetables. Apple trees and other fruit trees were scattered here and there throughout the garden, covered with nets to protect them from magpies and sparrows, of which the latter were carried in whole indirect clouds from one place to another. For the same reason, several scarecrows were erected on long poles, with outstretched arms; one of them was wearing the cap of the mistress herself. The vegetable gardens were followed peasant huts, which, although they were built scattered and not enclosed in regular streets, but, according to a remark made by Chichikov, showed the contentment of the inhabitants, for they were properly maintained: the worn-out planks on the roofs were replaced everywhere with new ones; the gates were not askew anywhere, and in the peasant covered sheds facing him he noticed that there was a spare almost new cart, and there were two. “Yes, her village is not small,” he said and immediately decided to start talking and get to know the hostess briefly. He looked through the crack in the door from which she was sticking her head out, and, seeing her sitting at the tea table, he entered her with a cheerful and affectionate look.
Hello, father. How did you rest? - said the hostess, getting up from her seat. She was dressed better than yesterday - in a dark dress and no longer in a sleeping cap, but there was still something tied around her neck.
“Okay, okay,” Chichikov said, sitting down in a chair. - How are you, mother?
It's bad, my father.
How so?
Insomnia. My whole lower back hurts, and my leg, above the bone, is aching.
It will pass, it will pass, mother. It's nothing to look at.
May God grant it to pass. I lubricated it with lard and also moistened it with turpentine. What do you sip your tea with? Fruit in a flask.
Not bad, mother, let's have some bread and some fruit.
The reader, I think, has already noticed that Chichikov, despite his affectionate appearance, spoke, however, with greater freedom than with Manilov, and did not stand on ceremony at all. It must be said that in Rus', if we have not yet kept up with foreigners in some other respects, we have far surpassed them in the ability to communicate. It is impossible to count all the shades and subtleties of our appeal. A Frenchman or a German will not understand and will not understand all its features and differences; he will speak with almost the same voice and the same language both to a millionaire and to a small tobacco dealer, although, of course, in his soul he is moderately mean to the former. This is not the case with us: we have such wise men who will speak to a landowner who has two hundred souls completely differently than to the one who has three hundred, and who has three hundred, will again speak differently than to the one who has who has five hundred of them, but with the one who has five hundred of them, again it is not the same as with the one who has eight hundred of them - in a word, even if you go up to a million, everyone will find shades. Suppose, for example, there is an office, not here, but in a distant country, and in the office, let us suppose, there is a ruler of the office. I ask you to look at him when he sits among his subordinates - you simply cannot utter a word out of fear! pride and nobility, and what does his face not express? just take a brush and paint: Prometheus, determined Prometheus! Looks out like an eagle, acts smoothly, measuredly. The same eagle, as soon as he left the room and approaches the office of his boss, is in such a hurry as a partridge with papers under his arm that there is no urine. In society and at a party, even if everyone is of low rank, Prometheus will remain Prometheus, and a little higher than him, Prometheus will undergo such a transformation that Ovid would not have imagined: a fly, less than even a fly, was destroyed into a grain of sand! “Yes, this is not Ivan Petrovich,” you say, looking at him. - Ivan Petrovich is taller, but this one is short and thin; he speaks loudly, has a deep bass voice and never laughs, but this devil knows what: he squeaks like a bird and keeps laughing.” You come closer and look - exactly Ivan Petrovich! “Ehe-he,” you think to yourself... But, however, let’s turn to acting persons. Chichikov, as we have already seen, decided not to stand on ceremony at all and therefore, taking a cup of tea in his hands and pouring some fruit into it, he made the following speech:
You, mother, have a nice village. How many souls are there in it?
There are nearly eighty showers in it, my father,” said the hostess, “but trouble, times are bad, and last year there was such a bad harvest, God forbid.”
However, the peasants look sturdy and the huts are strong. Let me know your last name. I was so distracted... arrived at night...:
Korobochka, college secretary.
Thank you most humbly. What about your first and patronymic?
Nastasya Petrovna.
Nastasya Petrovna? good name Nastasya Petrovna. I have a dear aunt, my mother’s sister, Nastasya Petrovna.
What's your name? - asked the landowner. - After all, you, I am an assessor?
No, mother,” Chichikov answered, grinning, “tea, not an assessor, but we’re going about our business.”
Oh, so you are a buyer! What a pity, really, that I sold honey to merchants so cheaply, but you, my father, would probably have bought it from me.
But I wouldn’t buy honey.
What else? Is it hemp? Yes, I don’t even have enough hemp now: half a pound in total.
No, mother, a different kind of merchant: tell me, did your peasants die?
“Oh, father, eighteen people,” said the old woman, sighing. - And such a glorious people, all the workers, died. After that, however, they were born, but what’s wrong with them: they’re all such small fry; and the assessor drove up to pay the tax, he said, to pay from the heart. The people are dead, but you pay as if they were alive. Last week my blacksmith burned down; he was such a skilled blacksmith and knew metalworking skills.
Did you have a fire, mother?
God saved us from such a disaster; a fire would have been even worse; I burned myself, my father. Somehow his insides were on fire, he drank too much, only a blue light came from him, he was all decayed, decayed and blackened like coal, and he was such a skilled blacksmith! and now I have nothing to go out with: there is no one to shoe the horses.
Everything is God's will, mother! - said Chichikov, sighing, - nothing can be said against the wisdom of God... Give them up to me, Nastasya Petrovna?
Who, father?
Yes, these are all the ones who died.
But how can we give them up?
It's that simple. Or perhaps sell it. I'll give you money for them.
How can that be? I really can't understand it. Do you really want to dig them out of the ground?
Chichikov saw that the old woman had gone far enough and that she needed to explain what was going on. In a few words, he explained to her that the transfer or purchase would only appear on paper and the souls would be registered as if they were alive.
What do you need them for? - said the old woman, widening her eyes at him.
That's my business.
But they're dead.
Who says they are alive? That is why it is at your loss that they are dead: you pay for them, and now I will spare you the hassle and payment. Do you understand? Not only will I deliver you, but on top of that I will give you fifteen rubles. Well, is it clear now?
“Really, I don’t know,” the hostess said with emphasis. - After all, I’ve never sold dead people before.
Still would! It would rather look like a miracle if you sold them to someone. Or do you think they actually have any use?
No, I don’t think so. What's the use of them, there's no use at all. The only thing that bothers me is that they are already dead.
“Well, the woman seems to be strong-minded!” - Chichikov thought to himself.
Listen, mother. Just think carefully: - after all, you’re going broke, you’re paying taxes for him as if he were alive...
Oh, my father, don’t talk about it! - the landowner picked up. - Another third week I contributed more than one and a half hundred. Yes, she buttered up the assessor.
Well, you see, mother. Now just take into account that you no longer need to butter up the assessor, because now I’m paying for them; I, not you; I accept all responsibilities. I will even make a fortress with my own money, do you understand that?
Chapter first
“A rather beautiful small spring britzka, in which bachelors ride, drove into the gates of the hotel in the provincial town of NN.” In the chaise sat a gentleman of pleasant appearance, not too fat, but not too thin, not handsome, but not bad-looking, you couldn’t say that he was old, but he wasn’t too young either. The chaise pulled up to the hotel. It was a very long two-story building with the lower floor unplastered and the upper floor painted in perpetual yellow paint. There were benches downstairs; in one of the windows there was a beater with a samovar made of red copper. The guest was greeted and taken to show his “peace,” usual for hotels of this kind, “where for two rubles a day travelers get... a room with cockroaches peeking out from everywhere, like prunes...” Following the master, his servants appear - the coachman Selifan , a short man in a sheepskin coat, and the footman Petrushka, a young man of about thirty, with somewhat large lips and nose.
During dinner, the guest asks the inn servant various questions, starting with who owned this inn before, and whether he is a big swindler new owner, ending with details of a different kind. He asked the servant in detail about who was the chairman of the chamber in the city, who was the prosecutor, did not miss a single more or less significant person, and was also interested in the local landowners. Questions regarding the state of affairs in the region did not escape the attention of the visitor: were there any diseases, epidemics or other disasters? After dinner, the gentleman, at the request of the tavern servant, wrote his name and rank on a piece of paper to notify the police: “Collegiate Councilor Pavel Ivanovich Chichikov.” Pavel Ivanovich himself went to inspect the provincial town and was satisfied, since it was in no way inferior to other provincial towns. The same establishments as everywhere else, the same shops, the same park with thin trees that are still poorly established, but about which the local newspaper wrote that “our city has been decorated with a garden of branchy trees.” Chichikov questioned the guard in detail about the best way to get to the cathedral, to government offices, and to the governor. Then he returned to his hotel room and, having had dinner, went to bed.
The next day, Pavel Ivanovich went to pay visits to city officials: the governor, vice-governor, chairman of the chamber, police chief and other authorities. He even paid a visit to the inspector of the medical board and the city architect. I thought for a long time about who else I should pay my respects to, but more significant persons there are none left in the city. And everywhere Chichikov behaved very skillfully, he was able to very subtly flatter everyone, which resulted in an invitation from each official for a shorter acquaintance at home. The collegiate adviser avoided talking much about himself and was content with general phrases.
Chapter two
After spending more than a week in the city, Pavel Ivanovich finally decided to pay visits to Manilov and Sobakevich. As soon as Chichikov left the city, accompanied by Selifan and Petrushka, the usual picture appeared: bumps, bad roads, burnt pine trunks, village houses covered with gray roofs, yawning men, women with fat faces, and so on.
Manilov, inviting Chichikov to his place, told him that his village was located fifteen miles from the city, but the sixteenth mile had already passed, and there was no village. Pavel Ivanovich was a smart man, and he remembered that if you are invited to a house fifteen miles away, it means you will have to travel all thirty.
But here is the village of Manilovka. She could lure few guests to her place. The master's house stood on the south, open to all winds; the hill on which he stood was covered with turf. Two or three flower beds with acacia, five or six sparse birch trees, a wooden gazebo and a pond completed this picture. Chichikov began to count and counted more than two hundred peasant huts. The owner had been standing on the porch of the manor house for a long time and, putting his hand to his eyes, tried to make out a man approaching in a carriage. As the chaise approached, Manilov’s face changed: his eyes became more and more cheerful, and his smile became wider. He was very happy to see Chichikov and took him to his place.
What kind of person was Manilov? It is quite difficult to characterize it. He was, as they say, neither this nor that - neither in the city of Bogdan, nor in the village of Selifan. Manilov was a pleasant person, but this pleasantness was laced with too much sugar. When the conversation with him just began, at first the interlocutor thought: “What a pleasant and a kind person! ", but after a minute I wanted to say: “The devil knows what it is!” Manilov did not take care of the house, nor did he manage the farm, he never even went to the fields. Mostly he thought and reflected. About what? - no one knows. When the clerk came to him with proposals for managing the household, saying that this and that should be done, Manilov usually answered: “Yes, not bad.” If a man came to the master and asked to leave in order to earn a quitrent, then Manilov would immediately let him go. It never even occurred to him that the man was going out to drink. Sometimes he came up with various projects, for example, he dreamed of building a stone bridge across a pond, on which there would be benches, merchants sitting in the shops and selling various goods. He had beautiful furniture in his house, but two armchairs were not upholstered in silk, and the owner had been telling guests for two years that they were not finished. In one room there was no furniture at all. On the table next to the dandy one stood a lame and greasy candlestick, but no one noticed this. Manilov was very pleased with his wife, because she was a match for him. During their rather long life together, the spouses did nothing but press long kisses on each other. A sensible guest might have many questions: why is the pantry empty and why is there so much cooking in the kitchen? Why does the housekeeper steal, and the servants are always drunk and unclean? Why does the mongrel sleep or openly idle? But these are all questions of a low nature, and the mistress of the house is well brought up and will never stoop to them. Over dinner, Manilov and the guest said compliments to each other, as well as various pleasant things about city officials. Manilov's children, Alcides and Themistoclus, demonstrated their knowledge of geography.
After lunch there was a conversation directly about the matter. Pavel Ivanovich informs Manilov that he wants to buy souls from him, which, according to the latest revision tale, are listed as living, but in fact have long since died. Manilov is at a loss, but Chichikov manages to persuade him to make a deal. Since the owner is a person trying to be pleasant, he takes upon himself the execution of the deed of sale. To register the deed of sale, Chichikov and Manilov agree to meet in the city, and Pavel Ivanovich finally leaves this house. Manilov sits in a chair and, smoking a pipe, ponders the events of today, rejoicing that fate brought him together with such a pleasant person. But Chichikov’s strange request to sell him dead souls interrupted his previous dreams. Thoughts about this request could not be digested in his head, and so he sat on the porch for a long time and smoked his pipe until dinner.
Chapter Three
Chichikov, meanwhile, was driving along the main road, hoping that Selifan would soon bring him to Sobakevich’s estate. Selifan was drunk and, therefore, did not watch the road. The first drops dripped from the sky, and soon a real long torrential rain began to fall. Chichikov's britzka completely lost its way, it got dark, and it was no longer clear what to do, when a dog was heard barking. Soon Selifan was already knocking on the gate of the house of a certain landowner, who allowed them to spend the night.
The inside of the rooms of the landowner's house were covered with old wallpaper, paintings with some birds and huge mirrors hung on the walls. Behind each such mirror was tucked either an old deck of cards, or a stocking, or a letter. The owner turned out to be an elderly woman, one of those landowner mothers who always cry about crop failures and lack of money, while they themselves little by little save money in little bundles and bags.
Chichikov stays overnight. Waking up, he looks through the window at the landowner’s farm and the village in which he finds himself. The window overlooks the chicken coop and fence. Behind the fence are spacious beds with vegetables. All the plantings in the garden are well thought out, here and there several apple trees grow to protect them from birds, and from them there are scarecrows with outstretched arms; one of these scarecrows was wearing the cap of the owner herself. Appearance peasant houses showed "the contentment of their inhabitants." The fence on the roofs was new everywhere, no rickety gates were visible anywhere, and here and there Chichikov saw a new spare cart standing.
Nastasya Petrovna Korobochka (that was the name of the landowner) invited him to have breakfast. Chichikov behaved much more freely in conversation with her. He stated his request regarding the purchase of dead souls, but soon regretted it, since his request caused bewilderment of the hostess. Then Korobochka began to offer, in addition to dead souls hemp, flax and so on, even bird feathers. Finally, an agreement was reached, but the old woman was always afraid that she had sold herself short. For her, dead souls turned out to be the same commodity as everything produced on the farm. Then Chichikov was fed pies, crumpets and shanezhki, and a promise was made from him to also buy lard and bird feathers in the fall. Pavel Ivanovich hurried to leave this house - Nastasya Petrovna was very difficult in conversation. The landowner gave him a girl to accompany him, and she showed him how to get onto the main road. Having let the girl go, Chichikov decided to stop at a tavern that stood on the way.
Chapter Four
Just like the hotel, it was a regular tavern for all county roads. The traveler was served traditional pig with horseradish, and, as usual, the guest asked the hostess about everything in the world - from how long she had been running the tavern to questions about the condition of the landowners living nearby. During the conversation with the hostess, the sound of the wheels of an approaching carriage was heard. Two men came out of it: blond, tall, and shorter than him, dark-haired. First, the blond man appeared in the tavern, followed by his companion who entered, taking off his cap. He was a young man of average height, very well built, with full rosy cheeks, teeth as white as snow, jet-black sideburns, and as fresh as blood and milk. Chichikov recognized him as his new acquaintance Nozdryov.
The type of this person is probably known to everyone. People of this kind are considered good friends at school, but at the same time they often get beaten. Their face is clean, open, and before you have time to get to know each other, after a while they say “you” to you. They will make friends seemingly forever, but it happens that after a while they fight with a new friend at a party. They are always talkers, revelers, reckless drivers and, at the same time, desperate liars.
By the age of thirty, life had not changed Nozdryov at all; he remained the same as he was at eighteen and twenty years old. His marriage did not affect him in any way, especially since his wife soon went to the next world, leaving her husband with two children who he did not need at all. Nozdryov had a passion for playing cards, but, being dishonest and dishonest in the game, he often brought his partners to assault, leaving two sideburns with only one, liquid. However, after a while he met people who pestered him as if nothing had happened. And his friends, oddly enough, also behaved as if nothing had happened. Nozdryov was a historical man, i.e. he always and everywhere ended up in stories. There was no way you could get along with him on short terms, much less open your soul - he would spoil it, and invent such a tall tale about the person who trusted him that it would be difficult to prove otherwise. After some time, he would take this same person by the buttonhole in a friendly manner when they met and say: “You’re such a scoundrel, you’ll never come to see me.” Another passion of Nozdryov was barter - its subject was anything, from a horse to the smallest things. Nozdryov invites Chichikov to his village, and he agrees. While waiting for lunch, Nozdryov, accompanied by his son-in-law, gives his guest a tour of the village, while boasting to everyone right and left. His extraordinary stallion, for which he supposedly paid ten thousand, is in fact not worth even a thousand, the field that ends his domain turns out to be a swamp, and for some reason the Turkish dagger, which the guests are examining while waiting for dinner, has the inscription “Master Savely Sibiryakov.” Lunch leaves much to be desired - some things were not cooked, and some were burnt. The cook, apparently, was guided by inspiration and put in the first thing that came to hand. There was nothing to say about the wine - the mountain ash smelled like fusel, and the Madeira turned out to be diluted with rum.
After lunch, Chichikov nevertheless decided to present his request to Nozdryov regarding the purchase of dead souls. It ended with Chichikov and Nozdryov completely quarreling, after which the guest went to bed. He slept disgustingly, waking up and meeting his owner the next morning was just as unpleasant. Chichikov was already scolding himself for trusting Nozdryov. Now Pavel Ivanovich was offered to play checkers for dead souls: if he won, Chichikov would get the souls for free. The game of checkers was accompanied by Nozdryov's cheating and almost ended in a fight. Fate saved Chichikov from such a turn of events - a police captain came to Nozdryov to inform the brawler that he was on trial until the end of the investigation, because he had insulted the landowner Maximov while drunk. Chichikov, without waiting for the end of the conversation, ran out onto the porch and ordered Selifan to drive the horses at full speed.
Chapter Five
Thinking about everything that had happened, Chichikov rode in his carriage along the road. A collision with another stroller shook him up somewhat - a lovely young girl was sitting in it with an elderly woman accompanying her. After they parted, Chichikov thought for a long time about the stranger he had met. Finally the village of Sobakevich appeared. The traveler's thoughts turned to his constant subject.
The village was quite large, it was surrounded by two forests: pine and birch. In the middle one could see the manor's house: wooden, with a mezzanine, a red roof and gray, one might even say wild, walls. It was evident that during its construction the taste of the architect was constantly in conflict with the taste of the owner. The architect wanted beauty and symmetry, and the owner wanted convenience. The windows on one side were boarded up, and one window was checked in their place, apparently needed for a closet. The pediment was not in the middle of the house, since the owner ordered one column to be removed, of which there were not four, but three. The owner’s concerns about the strength of his buildings were felt throughout. Very strong logs were used for the stables, sheds and kitchens; the peasant huts were also cut down firmly, firmly and very carefully. Even the well was lined with very strong oak. Approaching the porch, Chichikov noticed faces looking out the window. The footman came out to meet him.
When looking at Sobakevich, it immediately suggested itself: a bear! perfect bear! And indeed, his appearance was similar to that of a bear. A big, strong man, he always walked at random, which is why he constantly stepped on someone’s feet. Even his tailcoat was bear-colored. To top it all off, the owner's name was Mikhail Semenovich. He hardly moved his neck, kept his head down rather than up, and rarely looked at his interlocutor, and if he managed to do this, then his gaze fell on the corner of the stove or on the door. Since Sobakevich himself was a healthy and strong man, he wanted to be surrounded by equally strong objects. His furniture was heavy and pot-bellied, and portraits of strong, big men hung on the walls. Even the blackbird in the cage was very similar to Sobakevich. In a word, it seemed that every object in the house said: “And I, too, look like Sobakevich.”
Before dinner, Chichikov tried to start a conversation by speaking flatteringly about local officials. Sobakevich replied that “these are all swindlers. The whole city there is like this: a swindler sits on a swindler and drives the swindler.” By chance, Chichikov learns about Sobakevich's neighbor - a certain Plyushkin, who has eight hundred peasants who are dying like flies.
After a hearty and plentiful lunch, Sobakevich and Chichikov relax. Chichikov decides to state his request regarding the purchase of dead souls. Sobakevich is not surprised by anything and listens carefully to his guest, who began the conversation from afar, gradually leading him to the subject of the conversation. Sobakevich understands that Chichikov needs dead souls for something, so the bargaining begins with a fabulous price - one hundred rubles apiece. Mikhailo Semenovich talks about the merits of dead peasants as if the peasants were alive. Chichikov is perplexed: what kind of conversation can there be about the merits of dead peasants? In the end, they agreed on two rubles and a half for one soul. Sobakevich receives a deposit, he and Chichikov agree to meet in the city to complete the deal, and Pavel Ivanovich leaves. Having reached the end of the village, Chichikov called a peasant and asked how to get to Plyushkin, who feeds people poorly (otherwise it was impossible to ask, because the peasant did not know the name of the neighbor's gentleman). "Ah, patched, patched!" - the peasant cried and pointed the way.
Chapter Six
Chichikov grinned all the way, remembering Plyushkin’s description, and soon he didn’t notice how he drove into a vast village, with many huts and streets. The jolt produced by the log pavement brought him back to reality. These logs looked like piano keys - they either rose up or fell down. A rider who did not protect himself or, like Chichikov, who did not pay attention to this feature of the pavement, risked getting either a bump on his forehead, or a bruise, and, even worse, biting off the tip of his own tongue. The traveler noticed on all the buildings the imprint of some kind of special disrepair: the logs were old, many of the roofs were see-through, like a sieve, and others were left with only a ridge at the top and with logs that looked like ribs. The windows were either without glass at all, or covered with a rag or zipun; in some huts, if there were balconies under the roofs, they had long since turned black. Between the huts stretched huge piles of grain, neglected, the color of old brick, in places overgrown with bushes and other rubbish. From behind these treasures and huts two churches could be seen, also neglected and dilapidated. In one place the huts ended and some kind of wasteland surrounded by a dilapidated fence began. It made the manor's house look like a decrepit invalid. This house was long, in some places two floors, in others one; peeling, having seen a lot of all sorts of bad weather. All the windows were either tightly shuttered or completely boarded up, and only two of them were open. But they were also blind: a blue triangle from sugar paper was glued to one of the windows. The only thing that enlivened this picture was the wild and magnificent garden in its desolation. When Chichikov drove up to the manor’s house, he saw that up close the picture was even sadder. The wooden gates and fence were already covered with green mold. From the nature of the buildings it was clear that once the economy here was carried out extensively and thoughtfully, but now everything around was empty, and nothing enlivened the picture of general desolation. The whole movement consisted of a man who arrived in a cart. Pavel Ivanovich noticed a figure in a completely incomprehensible attire, which immediately began to argue with the man. Chichikov tried for a long time to determine what gender this figure was - a man or a woman. This creature was dressed in something similar to a woman’s hood, and on its head was a cap worn by courtyard women. Chichikov was embarrassed only by the hoarse voice that could not belong to the woman. The creature scolded the arriving man with the last words; he had a bunch of keys on his belt. Based on these two signs, Chichikov decided that this was the housekeeper in front of him, and decided to take a closer look at her. The figure, in turn, looked very closely at the newcomer. It was clear that the arrival of a guest here was a novelty. The man examined Chichikov carefully, then his gaze turned to Petrushka and Selifan, and even the horse was not left without attention.
It turned out that this creature, either a woman or a man, was the local gentleman. Chichikov was dumbfounded. The face of Chichikov's interlocutor was similar to the faces of many old people, and only small eyes were constantly running around in the hope of finding something, but the outfit was out of the ordinary: the robe was completely greasy, cotton paper was coming out of it in shreds. The landowner had something between a stocking and a belly tied around his neck. If Pavel Ivanovich had met him somewhere near the church, he would certainly have given him alms. But it was not a beggar who stood before Chichikov, but a master who had a thousand souls, and it is unlikely that anyone else would have had such huge reserves of provisions, so many goods, dishes that had never been used, as Plyushkin had. All this would be enough for two estates, even such huge ones as this. All this seemed to Plyushkin not enough - every day he walked along the streets of his village, collecting various little things, from a nail to a feather, and putting them in a pile in his room.
But there was a time when the estate flourished! Plyushkin had a nice family: a wife, two daughters, a son. The son had a French teacher, and the daughters had a governess. The house was famous for its hospitality, and friends gladly came to the owner to dine, listen to smart speeches and learn how to run a household. But the good housewife died, and part of the keys and, accordingly, the worries passed to the head of the family. He became more restless, more suspicious and stingier, like all widowers. He could not rely on his eldest daughter Alexandra Stepanovna, and for good reason: she soon secretly married the captain and ran away with him, knowing that her father did not like officers. Her father cursed her, but did not pursue her. Madame, who looked after her daughters, was fired because she turned out to be guilty of kidnapping the eldest, and the French teacher was also released. The son decided to serve in the regiment without receiving a penny from his father for uniforms. The youngest daughter died, and Plyushkin’s lonely life provided satisfying food for stinginess. Plyushkin became more and more intractable in his relations with the buyers, who bargained and bargained with him, and even abandoned this business. Hay and bread rotted in the barns, it was scary to touch matter - it turned into dust, flour in the basements had long ago become stone. But the quitrent remained the same! And everything brought in became “rot and a hole,” and Plyushkin himself gradually turned into a “hole in humanity.” Once the eldest daughter came with her grandchildren, hoping to get something, but he did not give her a penny. The son had lost money at cards a long time ago and asked his father for money, but he refused him too. More and more, Plyushkin turned to his jars, carnations and feathers, forgetting how much stuff he had in his pantries, but remembering that in his closet there was a decanter with unfinished liqueur, and he needed to make a mark on it so that no one would sneak the liqueur. drank.
For some time Chichikov did not know what reason to come up with for his arrival. Then he said that he had heard a lot about Plyushkin’s ability to manage the estate in strict economy, so he decided to visit him, get to know him better and pay his respects. The landowner reported in response to Pavel Ivanovich’s questions that he had one hundred and twenty dead souls. In response to Chichikov's offer to buy them, Plyushkin thought that the guest was obviously stupid, but he could not hide his joy and even ordered the samovar to be installed. Chichikov received a list of one hundred and twenty dead souls and agreed to complete the deed of sale. Plyushkin complained about the presence of seventy fugitives, which Chichikov also bought at thirty-two kopecks per head. He hid the money he received in one of the many drawers. Chichikov refused the liqueur, cleared of flies, and the gingerbread that Alexandra Stepanovna had once brought and hurried to the hotel. There he fell asleep like a happy man, knowing neither hemorrhoids nor fleas.
Chapter Seven
The next day Chichikov woke up in an excellent mood, prepared all the lists of peasants for completing the deed of sale and went to the ward, where Manilov and Sobakevich were already waiting for him. All were completed Required documents, and the chairman of the chamber signed a bill of sale for Plyushkin, whom he asked in a letter to be his charge d'affaires. When asked by the chairman and officials of the chamber what the newly-minted landowner was going to do next with the purchased peasants, Chichikov replied that they had been destined for withdrawal to the Kherson province. The purchase had to be celebrated, and in the next room the guests were already waiting for a decently laid table with wines and snacks, of which a huge sturgeon stood out. Sobakevich immediately attached himself to this work of culinary art and left nothing of it. Toasts followed one after another, one of them was to the future wife of the newly minted Kherson landowner. This toast brought a pleasant smile from Pavel Ivanovich’s lips. For a long time, the guests complimented the man, who was pleasant in all respects, and persuaded him to stay in the city for at least two weeks. The result of the abundant feast was that Chichikov arrived at the hotel in a completely exhausted state, already in his thoughts a Kherson landowner. Everyone went to bed: Selifan and Petrushka, snoring with unprecedented intensity, and Chichikov, answering them from the room with a thin nasal whistle.
Chapter Eight
Chichikov's purchases became the number one topic of all conversations taking place in the city. Everyone argued that it was quite difficult to transport so many peasants overnight to the lands in Kherson, and gave their advice on preventing riots that might arise. To this Chichikov replied that the peasants he bought were of a calm disposition, and a convoy would not be needed to escort them to new lands. All these conversations, however, benefited Pavel Ivanovich, since the opinion was formed that he was a millionaire, and the residents of the city, who had fallen in love with Chichikov even before all these rumors, fell in love with him even more after the rumors about millions. The ladies were especially zealous. The merchants were surprised to discover that some of the fabrics they brought to the city and were not sold due to the high price were sold out like hot cakes. An anonymous letter with a declaration of love and amorous poems arrived at Chichikov’s hotel. But the most remarkable of all the mail that arrived in Pavel Ivanovich’s room these days was an invitation to a ball with the governor. The newly-minted landowner took a long time to get ready, spent a long time working on his toilet, and even did a ballet entrechat, causing the chest of drawers to tremble and a brush to fall from it.
Chichikov's appearance at the ball created an extraordinary sensation. Chichikov moved from embrace to embrace, carried on first one conversation, then another, constantly bowed, and in the end completely charmed everyone. He was surrounded by ladies, dressed and perfumed, and Chichikov tried to guess among them the writer of the letter. He became so dizzy that he forgot to fulfill the most important duty of politeness - to approach the hostess of the ball and pay his respects. A little later, in confusion, he approached the governor’s wife and was stunned. She was not standing alone, but with a young, pretty blonde who was riding in the same carriage that Chichikov’s crew had encountered on the road. The governor's wife introduced Pavel Ivanovich to her daughter, who had just graduated from the institute. Everything that was happening moved away somewhere and lost interest for Chichikov. He was even so discourteous towards the ladies' company that he withdrew from everyone and went to see where the governor's wife had gone with her daughter. The provincial ladies did not forgive this. One of them immediately touched the blonde with her dress, and used her scarf in such a way that he waved it right in her face. At the same time, a very caustic remark was made against Chichikov, and satirical poems were even attributed to him, written by someone in mockery of provincial society. And then fate prepared a very unpleasant surprise for Pavel Ivanovich Chichikov: Nozdryov appeared at the ball. He walked arm in arm with the prosecutor, who did not know how to get rid of his companion.
"Ah! Kherson landowner! How many dead people have you traded in?" - Nozdryov shouted, walking towards Chichikov. And he told everyone how he traded with him, Nozdryov, dead souls. Chichikov did not know where to go. Everyone was confused, and Nozdryov continued his half-drunk speech, after which he crawled towards Chichikov with kisses. This trick didn’t work for him, he was so pushed away that he flew to the ground, everyone abandoned him and didn’t listen anymore, but the words about buying dead souls were pronounced loudly and accompanied by such loud laughter that they attracted everyone’s attention. This incident upset Pavel Ivanovich so much that during the course of the ball he no longer felt so confident, made a number of mistakes in the card game, and was unable to maintain a conversation where at other times he felt like a duck to water. Without waiting for the end of dinner, Chichikov returned to the hotel room. Meanwhile, at the other end of the city, an event was being prepared that threatened to aggravate the hero’s troubles. The collegiate secretary Korobochka arrived in the city in her car.
Chapter Nine
The next morning, two ladies - simply pleasant and pleasant in every way - were discussing last news. The lady, who was simply pleasant, told the news: Chichikov, armed from head to toe, came to the landowner Korobochka and ordered the souls that had already died to be sold to him. The hostess, a pleasant lady in all respects, said that her husband heard about this from Nozdryov. Therefore, there is something in this news. And both ladies began to speculate on what this purchase of dead souls could mean. As a result, they came to the conclusion that Chichikov wants to kidnap the governor’s daughter, and the accomplice in this is none other than Nozdryov. While both ladies were deciding on such a successful explanation of events, the prosecutor entered the living room and was immediately told everything. Leaving the prosecutor completely confused, both ladies went to riot the city, each in their own direction. For a short time the city was in turmoil. At another time, under other circumstances, perhaps no one would have paid attention to this story, but the city had not received fuel for gossip for a long time. And here it is!.. Two parties were formed - women's and men's. The women's party was exclusively concerned with the kidnapping of the governor's daughter, and the men's party with dead souls. It got to the point that all the gossip was delivered to the governor’s own ears. She, as the first lady in the city and as a mother, interrogated the blonde with passion, and she sobbed and could not understand what she was accused of. The doorman was strictly ordered not to let Chichikov enter the door. And then, as luck would have it, several surfaced dark stories, into which Chichikov fit well. Who is Pavel Ivanovich Chichikov? No one could answer this question for sure: neither city officials, nor the landowners with whom he traded souls, nor the servants Selifan and Petrushka. In order to talk about this subject, everyone decided to gather with the police chief.
Chapter Ten
Having gathered with the police chief, the officials discussed for a long time who Chichikov was, but they never came to a consensus. One said that he was a maker of counterfeit notes, and then he himself added, “or maybe not a maker.” The second assumed that Chichikov was most likely an official of the Governor General’s Office, and immediately added “but, the devil knows, you can’t read it on his forehead.” The suggestion that he was a robber in disguise was brushed aside. And suddenly it dawned on the postmaster: “This, gentlemen! is none other than Captain Kopeikin!” And, since no one knew who Captain Kopeikin was, the postmaster began to tell “The Tale of Captain Kopeikin.”
“After the campaign of the twelfth year,” the postmaster began to tell, “a certain captain Kopeikin was sent with the wounded. Either near Krasny, or near Leipzig, his arm and leg were torn off, and he turned into a hopeless invalid. And then there were no orders about the wounded , and the disabled capital was established much later. Therefore, Kopeikin had to work somehow to feed himself, and, unfortunately, his remaining hand was his left one. Kopeikin decided to go to St. Petersburg to ask for the royal favor. Blood, they say , spilled, remained disabled... And here he is in St. Petersburg. Kopeikin tried to rent an apartment, but it turned out to be unusually expensive. In the end, he stayed in a tavern for a ruble a day. Kopeikin saw that there was nothing to live for. He asked where the commission was, which he should contact, and went to the reception. He waited for a long time, about four hours. At this time, people crowded into the reception room like beans on a plate. And more and more generals, officials of the fourth or fifth class.
Finally, the nobleman entered. It was Captain Kopeikin’s turn. The nobleman asks: “Why are you here? What is your business?” Kopeikin gathered his courage and answered: “So, yes, and so, Your Excellency, I shed blood, lost my arms and legs, I can’t work, I dare to ask for royal mercy.” The minister, seeing this situation, replies: “Okay, come see me one of these days.” Kopeikin left the audience in complete delight; he decided that in a few days everything would be decided and he would be awarded a pension.
Three or four days later he appears to the minister again. He recognized him again, but now stated that Kopeikin’s fate was not decided, since he had to wait for the sovereign’s arrival in the capital. And the captain ran out of money a long time ago. He decided to take the minister's office by storm. This made the minister extremely angry. He called a courier, and Kopeikin was expelled from the capital at public expense. Where exactly the captain was taken, history is silent about this, but only two months later a gang of robbers appeared in the Ryazan forests, and their ataman was none other than..." The police chief, in response to this story, objected that Kopeikin had no legs, no arms, but Chichikov has everything in place. Others also rejected this version, but came to the conclusion that Chichikov is very similar to Napoleon.
After gossiping some more, the officials decided to invite Nozdryov. For some reason they thought that since Nozdryov was the first to announce this story with dead souls, he might know something for sure. Nozdryov, upon arriving, immediately listed Mr. Chichikov as a spy, maker of false papers and kidnappers of the governor’s daughter at the same time.
All these rumors and rumors had such an effect on the prosecutor that he died when he came home. Chichikov did not know any of this, sitting in his room with a cold and flu, and was very surprised why no one was coming to see him, because just a few days ago there were always someone’s droshky under the window of his room. Feeling better, he decided to pay visits to officials. Then it turned out that the governor had ordered him not to receive him, and other officials were avoiding meetings and conversations with him. Chichikov received an explanation for what was happening in the evening at the hotel, when Nozdryov showed up to visit him. It was then that Chichikov learned that he was a maker of counterfeit notes and a failed kidnapper of the governor’s daughter. And he is also the reason for the death of the prosecutor and the arrival of the new governor-general. Being very frightened, Chichikov quickly sent Nozdryov out, ordered Selifan and Petrushka to pack their things and prepare to leave at dawn tomorrow.
Chapter Eleven
It was not possible to leave quickly. Selifan came and said that the horses needed to be shoed. Finally everything was ready, the chaise left the city. On the way, they met a funeral procession, and Chichikov decided that this was fortunate.
And now a few words about Pavel Ivanovich himself. As a child, life looked at him sourly and unpleasantly. Chichikov's parents were nobles. Pavel Ivanovich's mother died early, his father was sick all the time. He forced little Pavlusha to study and often punished him. When the boy grew up, his father took him to the city, which amazed the boy with its splendor. Pavlusha was handed over to a relative in order to stay with her and attend classes at the city school. The father left on the second day, leaving his son an instruction instead of money: “Study, Pavlusha, don’t be stupid and don’t hang around, but please your teachers and bosses most of all. Don’t hang out with your comrades, and if you do hang out, then with those who are richer. Never.” "Don't treat anyone, but make sure that they treat you. And most of all, save a penny." And he added half a copper to his instructions.
Pavlusha remembered these tips well. Not only did he not take a penny from his father’s money, but, on the contrary, a year later he had already added half a penny to that. The boy showed no abilities or inclinations in his studies, he was distinguished most of all by his diligence and neatness and discovered a practical mind in himself. Not only did he never treat his comrades, but he made it so that he sold their treats to them. One day Pavlusha made a bullfinch from wax and then sold it very profitably. Then he trained a mouse for two months, which he later also sold at a profit. Teacher Pavlushi valued his students not for knowledge, but for exemplary behavior. Chichikov was an example of this. As a result, he graduated from college, receiving a certificate and, as a reward for exemplary diligence and trustworthy behavior, a book with golden letters.
When the school was completed, Chichikov's father died. Pavlusha inherited four frock coats, two sweatshirts and a small amount of money. Chichikov sold the dilapidated house for a thousand rubles, and transferred his only family of serfs to the city. At this time, the teacher, a lover of silence and good behavior, was kicked out of the gymnasium, he began to drink. All former students helped him in any way they could. Only Chichikov made the excuse of not having money, giving a nickel of silver, which was immediately thrown away by his comrades. The teacher cried for a long time when he learned about this.
After college, Chichikov eagerly took up the service, because he wanted to live richly, have a beautiful house, and carriages. But even in the outback, patronage is needed, so he got a seedy place, with a salary of thirty or forty rubles a year. But Chichikov worked day and night, and against the background of the sloppy officials of the chamber he always looked impeccable. His boss was an elderly military commander, an unapproachable man, with a complete absence of any emotion on his face. Trying to get close from different directions, Chichikov finally discovered weakness his boss - he had a mature daughter with an ugly, pockmarked face. At first he stood opposite her in church, then he was invited to tea, and soon he was already considered a groom in the boss’s house. A vacant position as a police officer soon appeared in the ward, and Chichikov decided to fill it. As soon as this happened, Chichikov secretly sent the supposed father-in-law out of the house with his belongings, ran away himself and stopped calling the police officer daddy. At the same time, he never stopped smiling tenderly. former boss at a meeting and invite him to visit, but every time he just turned his head and said that he had been masterfully deceived.
This was the most difficult threshold for Pavel Ivanovich, which he successfully overcame. At the next grain market, he successfully launched a fight against bribes, but in fact he himself turned out to be a major bribe-taker. Chichikov's next business was participation in the commission for the construction of some state-owned, very capital building, in which Pavel Ivanovich was one of the most active members. For six years, the construction of the building did not move beyond the foundation: either the soil interfered, or the climate. At this time, in other parts of the city, each member of the commission had a beautiful building of civil architecture - probably the soil there was better. Chichikov began to allow himself excesses in the form of material on his frock coat that no one had, thin Dutch shirts, and a pair of excellent trotters, not to mention other little things. Soon fate changed for Pavel Ivanovich. In place of the previous boss, a new one was sent, a military man, a terrible persecutor of all kinds of untruths and abuses. Chichikov's career in this city ended, and the houses of civil architecture were transferred to the treasury. Pavel Ivanovich moved to another city in order to start over. In a short time he was forced to change two or three low-level positions in an environment unacceptable to him. Having already begun to plump up, Chichikov even lost weight, but overcame all the troubles and decided to go to customs. His old dream came true, and he began his new service with extraordinary zeal. As his superiors put it, he was a devil, not a man: he looked for contraband in places where no one would think of going, and where only customs officials are allowed to go. It was a storm and despair for everyone. His honesty and integrity were almost unnatural. Such service zeal could not go unnoticed by the authorities, and soon Chichikov was promoted, and then he presented the authorities with a project on how to catch all the smugglers. This project was adopted, and Pavel Ivanovich received unlimited power in this area. At that time, “a strong society of smugglers had formed,” which wanted to bribe Chichikov, but he answered those sent: “It’s not the time yet.”
As soon as Chichikov received unlimited power into his hands, he immediately let this society know: “It’s time.” And then, during Chichikov’s service at customs, a story happened about the witty journey of Spanish sheep across the border, when under their double sheepskin coats they carried millions of Brabant laces. They say that Chichikov's fortune, after three or four such campaigns, amounted to about five hundred thousand, and his accomplices - about four hundred thousand rubles. However, Chichikov, in a drunken conversation, quarreled with another official who also participated in these frauds. As a result of the quarrel, all secret relations with the smugglers became obvious. The officials were put on trial and their property was confiscated. As a result, out of five hundred thousand, Chichikov had only ten thousand left, which partly had to be spent in order to get out of the criminal court. Again he started life from the bottom of his career. Being a chargé d'affaires, having previously earned the full favor of the owners, he was somehow engaged in pledging several hundred peasants to the guardianship council. And then they told him that, despite the fact that half of the peasants had died out, according to the audit fairy tale, they were listed as alive!.. Therefore, he had nothing to worry about, and the money would be there, regardless of whether these peasants were alive or given to God soul. And then it dawned on Chichikov. This is where the field for action is! Yes, buy it dead peasants, who, according to the audit fairy tale, are still listed as living, if he acquired at least a thousand of them, and the guardianship council would give two hundred rubles for each - that’s two hundred thousand capital for you!.. True, you can’t buy them without land, so it should be declared that the peasants are bought for withdrawal, for example, to the Kherson province.
And so he began to carry out his plans. He looked into those places of the state that suffered most from accidents, crop failures and deaths, in a word, those in which it was possible to buy the people Chichikov needed.
“So, here is our hero in full... Who is he in terms of moral qualities? A scoundrel? Why a scoundrel? Now we don’t have scoundrels, we have well-intentioned, pleasant people... It’s most fair to call him: master, acquirer... And which of you, not publicly, but in silence, alone, will deepen this difficult question into your own soul: “Isn’t there some part of Chichikov in me too?” Yes, as if not so!
Meanwhile, Chichikov's chaise rushes on. “Eh, troika! bird troika, who invented you?.. Isn’t it you too, Rus', that you’re rushing along like a brisk, unovertaking troika?.. Rus', where are you rushing? Give an answer. Doesn’t give an answer. The bell rings with a wonderful ringing; it rattles and the air becomes torn into pieces by the wind; everything that is on the earth flies past and, looking askance, other peoples and states step aside and make way for it.”