A complicated matter - a story. Shchedrin: from stories in the spirit of the “natural school” (“Contradiction”, “Entangled Affair”) to a satirical epic

CONFUSED CASE

Happening.

“Be kind to your elders, not arrogant to your subordinates, do not contradict, do not argue, humble yourself - and you will be greatly exalted, for an affectionate body sucks two wombs.” This kind of parting behest was pronounced by Samoil Petrovich Michulin to his twenty-year-old brainchild, who was leaving his parents’ house for service in St. Petersburg. Samoilo Petrovich, a poor small nobleman, in the simplicity of his soul was absolutely sure that, equipped with such practical instructions, his Vanya, without any doubt, would be received in the capital with open arms. Just in case, the old man, however, in addition to the soul-saving word, handed his son a thousand rubles of money with decent instructions to always carry it with him, not to waste it, not to suffer, but to spend it little by little. “He’s a young child,” thought the virtuous old man, “and he’ll want to have fun and enjoy life—God bless him! And besides, hugs...who knows!—the tight-fisted, dry-hearted man has become today.” But, however, right there, for the sake of caution, he added, turning to his son: “Look at me!” There, they say, there are actresses; The beast will get into your soul, and before you know it, he’ll pull the little white one out of your pocket - so don’t hang around with them, with actors, and save your money! A passing officer told me this last year at an inn, an experienced officer! From this it was clear that Samoilo Petrovich was a man of predominantly positive character and that in Vanechka’s alleged connections with the actors, he was more frightened not by the moral side of the issue, but by the monetary side, which, they say, was never a white thing in his pocket. It was also clear that the old man seemed to be imagining the truth about open arms in the darkness, but his mental strength was lazy! It was much more difficult to think about, and you’d even end up with unpleasant results, so what! And now the young man has been living in St. Petersburg for about a year, for about a year he has been good-natured, does not argue, humbles himself and in practice implements his father’s code in all its details. worldly wisdom - and not only two, but even one womb does not suck the tender body! And yet, didn’t he shirk, didn’t he please, didn’t he bend over! It seems that in the whole world it was impossible to find a person more meek in heart, more humble in soul! And yet, from the entire figure of fortune, he saw only the butt... a most unpleasant thing! Ivan Samoilich popped up to ask the right person for a place, but the right person flatly said that the places were all taken; He was about to pop into the commercial department, into the merchant’s office, and there were all numbers and numbers, his eyes were dazzled, his head was aching; I tried to write poetry - but there was no wit! Whether his head was built so sparingly by nature, or whether some circumstances had flattened and squeezed it, it turned out that only one sphere of activity was possible for him - the sphere of mechanical copying, whitewashing - and even there people were teeming with people , there is nowhere for the apple to fall, everything is busy, everything is given away, and everyone is holding on to his own with his teeth... In a word, Mr. Michulin’s whole life, from the very moment he entered St. Petersburg, was a series of painful attempts and searches, and all without result... And his father’s the money kept going and going, but the stomach still asked for food, and the blood was still young and warm in the veins - it was simply unlike anything else! Hanging his head, Ivan Samoilich was returning home with a quiet step after one of his daily and unsuccessful expeditions. It was already ten o'clock in the evening. St. Petersburg presents a sad and unpleasant sight at ten o’clock in the evening and, moreover, in the fall, deep, dark autumn. Of course, if you look at the world from the point of view of a carriage drawn by a zealous four horses, rushing along the smooth, parquet-like pavement of Nevsky Prospekt with the speed of lightning, then a rainy autumn evening can have not only a tolerable, but even an attractive physiognomy. In fact, the fog, which, like a suffocating burden, crushes the city with its leaden weight, and the small, sharp liquid - either rain or snow - rattling annoyingly and sharply in the locked windows of the carriage, and the wind that moans and howls pitifully, trying in vain to invade the smart carriage in order to offend with its immodest breath the full and smugly shiny cheeks of the well-fed gentleman sitting in it, and the crow's feet of the lit gas, here and there breaking through the thick layer of rain and fog, and the ringing, but no less, like a vague echo reaching the “daddy” of a postilion, as vigilant as a cat - all this, taken together, gives the city some kind of poetically evaporating physiognomy, some kind of deceptive coloring, making all surrounding objects similar to those strange, indifferent creatures , which so often amused us in the days of our youth in the alluring pictures of the magic lantern. .. And the well-fed gentleman sways to himself, smugly lounging on soft pillows, and sweetly closes his eyes, overcome by an indefinite, but nevertheless soft drowsiness, an unusually insinuating, but at the same time unusually sweet half-forgetfulness... And it reminds him, this magical half-oblivion, that blissful state that each of us more or less felt in childhood, listening on a long winter evening to the endlessly monotonous and yet never tiring stories of the old nanny about Baba, rehearsed a long time ago and yet always new, always arousing convulsive curiosity -yage-bone-leg, about a hut on chicken legs, etc. The children hid around the table in the narrow and low nursery, they were silent and did not move, there was no smile on their pink lips, no fresh, sonorous laughter could be heard, which a minute before had filled the room - all the muscles on these faces full of life expressed some kind of intense attention, a dim and flickering light is poured all around by the long-forgotten and terribly burnt-out lamp of a tallow candle, usually the ancient voice of an ancient nanny with copper and the roundest glasses on her nose and a stocking in her hands from time immemorial trembles quietly and rhythmically, the old fairy tale about the Snake Gorynych . I love this wrinkled face of the old nanny, I love her yellow bony hands, I love her confidence, as if she were really knitting a stocking, while in reality she was only lowering one loop after another; I love her inspiration, her sympathy for the high virtue of Polkan the hero, Bova the prince; I love her movement when she, suddenly rejuvenated and illuminated by some kind of youthful strength, knocks on the table with her decrepit fist, saying: “If Polkan the hero pulls the hand, the hand goes away; if he grabs the head, the head goes away”... And she shrinks. a child's heart with great fear, and sympathizes with Ilya Muromets, follows his struggle with the terrible Nightingale the Robber, and his keen eyes timidly peer into the dark corner of the room, looking out to see if Baba Yaga is there, if the malicious Serpent Gorynych is hiding somewhere, and The children laugh merrily and clap their hands when the nanny proves to them with irrefutable arguments that the Serpent Gorynych long ago died and died, the reptile, through the efforts of various virtuous knights... And they, playful children, fall asleep sweetly, and the pinkest dreams lull their young imaginations, as if just as they lull that gentleman who, through the fog and wind, rides in his cozy carriage, among other things, firmly confident that neither the fog nor the wind will upset his plump and well-bred cheeks. .. But Ivan Samoilich did not ride in a carriage, but walked modestly on foot, and therefore it is very natural that the St. Petersburg autumn evening lost its specious and well-intentioned character in his eyes. The cold and sharp wind that hit him in the face did not cast a sweet drowsiness on him, did not lull him with memories of childhood, but moaned pitifully and sadly around him, brazenly threw the hood of his greatcoat over his eyes and, with visible hostility, whistled into his ears. the same familiar refrain: “The poor man is cold! It would be nice for the poor man to be by the fire and in a warm room! But he has neither fire nor a warm room, the poor man is cold, cold and cold!” And again the cold wind yearned and moaned, and again upset all the dreams of the ill-fated Ivan Samoilich, who vainly came up with all possible means to get rid of his annoying friend, and played with the poor man like a piece of paper accidentally thrown on the road. Of course, even in humanity, stepping carefully through the mud, some thoughts were born about rain, wind, slush and other troubles, but these were rather black and ill-intentioned thoughts, revolving mostly around the point that there is, they say, in the world, and even in St. Petersburg itself, well-fed people who now travel in carriages, who sit quietly in theaters or just at home alone with a tender friend; but that this gentleman riding in a carriage, blinking from the chairs at a pretty actress who intricately lifts her leg, sitting alone with a pretty girlfriend and so on - is not at all this humanity wandering in the darkness of dirt and ignorance, but something completely different, completely unfamiliar to him Mr. “What a bitter lot I have!” thought Ivan Samoilich, ascending the dirty and dark stairs to the fourth floor, “I have no happiness in anything... really, it would be better not to go here, but to stay in the village ! Otherwise, he’s hungry and cold..." At the door he was met by the owner of the apartment, Charlotte Gottliebovna Gottlich, from whom he rented a very small room with one dim window overlooking the very garbage pit. Charlotte Gottliebovna looked at him incredulously and shook her head; in the first room the noisy voices of the assembled parasites were heard; These voices unpleasantly struck the ears of Ivan Samoilich. For some time he became somewhat thoughtful, became a misanthrope, ran away from any company and generally behaved rather strangely. And now, as always, he quietly sneaked into his room and locked himself in, silently drank the glass of tea that was handed to him, unconsciously smoked an ordinary pipe of vakshtaf and began to think. This time there were unbearably many thoughts, and all of them were so strange, each stranger than the other. They suddenly began to fuss terribly in his head, with the speed of lightning they began to run through all the nerves of his brain matter and forge such antique wrinkles on his forehead, which, probably, none of the inhabitants of the modest “side dish” had. In essence, the matter was extremely simple and not very complicated. Ivan Samoilich’s circumstances were so bad, so bad that he simply didn’t care: Russia is a vast, abundant and rich state - but some people are stupid, starving to death in an abundant state! And here, besides lack of money, other sorrows arose and completely confused our hero. Recalling everything that he had done since leaving his parents’ house to provide for his hungry stomach, Mr. Michulin for the first time doubted whether he really acted in this matter as he should and whether he had not deceived himself about obedience, evasion, kindness and other useful virtues. For the first time, as if through a dream, it flashed into his mind that his father’s code of worldly wisdom required immediate and radical correction and that in some cases a swoop and pressure was needed rather than a silent bow of the head. But he was mostly a modest and unresponsive little guy, and besides, he was terribly timid. He came to St. Petersburg from the provinces; life seemed rosy, people looked touchingly and virtuously, doffed their hats to each other extremely politely, shook each other’s hands with great feeling... And suddenly it turned out that people were after all on their own minds, the kind of people who Don't put your finger in their mouth! Well, where does one go with the system of humility, patience and love! And wherever he turns, whatever he grabs, everything around him looks as if on its own. For example, he was walking along Nevsky Prospect just now - the head of the department was walking towards him, and there was a cross on his neck, and he looked so attractive... But he’s still a young man! Of course, he is overweight and has a paunch, but still a young man. Here he is, too, a young man, and not the head of the department... What a parable this is! He also met a smart droshky, the horses were excellent, the harness just threw him up; A gentleman with an aquiline nose rides in a droshky and looks at the world with penetrating eyes, as if with his gaze he wants to see through the universe. “Look,” they say all around, “it’s V*** coming!” rogue, fist, beast! But what a need, what a need it was! I just walked around, if I may say so, in just a shirt. And yet V*** is still a young man, but he, Michulin, is a young man, and he doesn’t ride in a smart droshky! And there’s another young man - this young man is even quite pink, and yet one coat on him costs six hundred rubles; he is both cheerful and carefree, all his movements are lively and relaxed, his laughter is clear and free, his eyes are cheerful and bright, health is in full swing on his cheeks. If an actress passes by, she will smile at him, and he will smile at the actress, he will meet an important person, shake his hand, joke with him, laugh... “This young man is Prince S***,” everyone says around him. .. But Ivan Samoilich is a young man, and he is already frail, and yellow, and bent, and the actress does not smile at him... But why go far, to indulge in abstraction! in the same sphere as him, next to him, in the “side dish” itself, all parasites enjoy at least some role, some significance - in a word, they act like adults and independent people. Ivan Makarych Perezhiga, for example, was once a peaceful village resident and hunted more than one hundred birds with one stone in his time. Of course, both the hares and the village - all this was a very long time ago; Of course, at the moment Ivan Makarych enjoyed a somewhat ambiguous reputation regarding his ways of life, but his own prodigal nature was to blame for this, and at least somehow, but he still got himself a piece of bread. Wolfgang Antonich Beobachter, a candidate of philosophy, also lived here; This one served, and in his free time he played various bravura arias on the guitar. Alexis Zvonsky, an extremely knowledgeable and learned young man, also lived with him; he wrote poetry and published a feuilleton in the newspaper. Finally, Nadenka Ruchkina lived next to Ivan Samoilich: and she was a knowledgeable girl, although only in her part... This thought had long been stealing into the heart of Ivan Samoilich, and suddenly envy, deep, but powerless and timid, began to boil in his chest . Everyone, absolutely everyone, turned up with bread, everyone was in place, everyone was confident in their tomorrow; he seemed to be the only one in the world; no one wants him, no one needs him, as if he was destined to eat bread for free for a century, like a weak, weak-minded baby. He alone cannot say definitively what will happen to him tomorrow. - What am I, really? - he said, walking with small steps around the room - not, however, because he could not walk with large steps, but because the very distance of the room prevented large steps - why do all the misfortunes fall on me, precisely on me? Why do others live, others breathe, but I don’t dare live and breathe?! What is my role, what is my purpose? - Life is a lottery! - my father's code of worldly wisdom began out of habit, - humble yourself and be patient! “That’s true,” some unkind voice beckoned, “but why is it a lottery, why shouldn’t it just be life?” Ivan Samoilich thought about it. “After all, if only this prince!” he thought, “he’s happy and cheerful... Why exactly him, and not me? Why shouldn’t I be born a prince?” And the thoughts grew and grew and took on the strangest forms. - What am I, what am I? - he repeated, wringing his hands with impotent anger, - after all, I’m good for something, there’s a place for me somewhere! where is this place, where is it? So this strange string suddenly rattled in the heart of Ivan Samoilich, and rattled so persistently and vigorously that he himself, due to his usual timidity, was not glad that he had called it out. And all the objects around him looked somehow suspicious and strange, took on such an insistent, questioning physiognomy, as if they were dragging him by the collar, strangling him by the throat and, putting the cold muzzle of a pistol to his forehead, interrogated him in a hoarse bass voice: answer us that are you really like that? Pale, frightened, he fell on a chair, covered his face with his hands and cried bitterly... His village house suddenly clearly appeared in his head, his parent in a knitted wool skull cap, his mother, who always had toothache and with her cheek always tied up, his father, a deacon with a deaconess. , the father is a priest with a priest. How simple everything is there, how everything breathes with a rustic, bucolic silence, how everything calls for rest and tranquility!.. And why was it necessary to leave all this? Why was it necessary to exchange the known, full of the most pleasant and delicious sensations, for the unknown, fraught with sorrows, disappointments and other squabbles? Why bother with meekness and humility where audacity and stubborn pursuit of a goal are needed? Meanwhile, in the next room, a voice familiar to Ivan Samoilich was heard, humming the famous aria from “The Mermaid”: Come to my golden palace, Come, O my dear prince... The voice was small, but unusually soft and fresh. Mr. Michulin involuntarily began to listen to the singing and began to think. And he thought a lot, and thought sweetly, because there was something youthful in the familiar little voice, as if giving wings to his weary imagination. Sometimes seemingly the most insignificant phenomena have a strange effect on us! Often from the most empty circumstance, simply the sounds of some absurd organ-organ or the voice of a peddler sadly and drawn-outly crying: “Children’s toys! toys to sell!" - enough to upset the entire mental system of some important gentleman, to smash into dust all these things and equivocations that are built in his head for the destruction of humanity. It was exactly the same with the song flying out of the next room The song was the simplest, flowed smoothly and without pretensions, and suddenly it struck Ivan Samoilich’s auditory organ and, without knowing how, completely upset all his thoughts about the meaning and significance of life, about final causes and so on, in contrast to final causes, - ad infinitum. And Mr. Michulin himself began to sing along and call the dear prince to him in a trembling voice, he began to beat the beat with his foot and smile and shake his head... But then the last sound of the song quietly died away, once again, and in for the last time, Ivan Samoilich's foot beat in time, once again his heart beat at an accelerated pace, and suddenly nothing was heard, and the former darkness fell on his soul, the former coldness gripped his heart. Because it was not he, but another, that dear prince, whom the song was calling to the golden palace, because he was flatly told, “Whatever doesn’t happen, it won’t happen, and don’t worry about it...” Out of grief, in order to at least somehow dispel his sad thoughts, he decided to go to the common room. There, in clouds of tobacco smoke, the entire usual company of Charlotte Gottliebovna was talking. Ivan Makarych Perezhiga sat tightly in the foreground. He was wearing a Hungarian jacket of a very dashing cut and was currently smoking tobacco from a soot cherry chibouk. The story of Mr. Perezhiga is quite simple. He once lived in his Little Russian village, poisoned hares, and suddenly - who knows? Whether he got drunk, got lost, or just some other independent circumstances happened - only one fine morning both the hares and the village somehow disappeared, and he was forced to go to seek his fortune in St. Petersburg. He was a distinguished, strong and stocky fellow, despite his forty years, and therefore did not stay long without something to do... In general, since he settled with Charlotte Gottliebovna, the noble German woman somehow began to look at the world more favorably, she smiled more often and provided incomparably more concessions and benefits to parasites. Ivan Makarych led a carefree and cheerful life. He got up early; In the morning he usually went to the nearest tavern, drank a glass of the bitterest, and played, without ceasing, twenty games of billiards, for which he had a very tender passion from an early age; sometimes he gave ten and fifteen in advance, sometimes he was given fifteen and ten in advance. Having thus finished the morning, he went home to have dinner, on the way he examined a dead cat that had been thrown on the pavement since time immemorial and had not been picked up by anyone (the action of our story takes place in one of the most remote parts of the capital), turned it over with a cane on all sides and generally watched with sympathy the success of the decomposition of the mortal earthly creature. In the evening, Ivan Makarych usually conveyed to his listeners episodes from his irretrievably past prosperity; told various curious incidents that happened to him during his fierce wars against wolves, hares and other animals, which he called by the common, but somewhat obscure name of “cattle” and “scoundrels.” From this it is clear that the life of Ivan Makarych contributed in the best possible way to his plant and reproductive powers. He had a naturally cheerful character, but not without a slight sardonic undertone. He willingly loved to make fun of scientists and never missed an opportunity to tell blond Alexis, who, as they say, ate the dog in the sciences and had read both Bruno Bauer and Feuerbach in his lifetime. - Well, does Binbacher stand his ground? Everyone says that this and that is not there... the main thing, the most important thing, is not there? This Binbacher is a beast, a beast! These are the Germans for me!.. here they are, sitting here with me! At the same time, Ivan Makarych struck himself on the throat with the flat of his palm, wanting to express that it was the Germans who killed him, and not without slyness he looked at Charlotte Gottliebovna, who was blushing and smiling at the same time, and with childish naive innocence answered: “Oh, you are a very kind gentleman, Ivan Makarvich!” But at the same time, it remained shrouded in a completely impenetrable mystery as to who exactly Mr. Perezhiga meant by the dissonant name of Binbacher - Feuerbach or Bruno Bauer. On the left side of Perezhiga the hostess of the “side dish” was depicted. It was a long, straight and skinny figure, as if it had just swallowed an arshin. The movements of the noble German woman were distinguished by some kind of special apathy and oakiness, which unpleasantly struck the eye. It was as if all her thoughts, her entire body were rushing in one direction - to her dear friend, Ivan Makarych. She looked into his eyes with mute servility, with a self-satisfied smile she listened to the sounds of his heroic voice, as if she wanted to write to everyone on the wall that this, they say, is all mine; everything you see here belongs to me, to me without division. Her face was thin and covered with red spots, her eyes were small, expressing some kind of insatiable impudence, the corners of her lips were downturned, and her stomach protruded disproportionately forward. As soon as Ivan Makarych opened his mouth to say a word, she, in turn, hurried to show a row of sharp and crooked teeth and began to smile, looked languidly into his eyes and, at the end of his speech, proudly looked around the whole company. It was clear from everything that she remained completely satisfied with her fate and, in particular, could not praise Perezhiga enough. In addition to the hostess and Perezhiga, there were two more people in the room: candidate of philosophy Wolfgang Antonich Beobachter and the undergrown nobleman Alexis Zvonsky. Beobachter, small and squat, walked around the room with quick but small steps, muttered some spells under his breath and at the same time constantly made the tiniest movement from top to bottom with his hand, firmly intending to depict with it the fall of some fantastic and monstrously colossal punitive machine . Alexis, stretched out and dry, sat near the table and, fixing his wet eyes on the ceiling, was completely optimistic. The young man was thinking at that moment about love for humanity and on this occasion licked his lips vigorously, as if after a tasty and fatty dinner. As usual, it was about things that provoke thought, and the mysterious Binbacher turned out to be a complete scoundrel... - Because I’ll tell you, they’re all lying, the beasts! - shouted Perezhiga, - how can you manage without him here! It’s in their land - well, just whistle once or twice and you’re done! It’s possible there, but go ahead and tinker somewhere else - after all, not a single step is done without doing dirty tricks... Just ask me - I know this matter as I know... And Perezhiga showed the amazed listeners a huge palm . - Oh, how true it is! oh, how very true this is! - exclaimed Charlotte Gottliebovna, obsequiously looking into her friend’s very face and leaning so close to him, as if she wanted to put her long and dry nose in his mouth. Mr. Beobachter, in the softest tenor, hastened to announce that, despite this, he “still hopes,” and immediately considered it his duty with extraordinary grace to wave off the head of some fantastic, but nevertheless inveterate enemy of transformations - transformations mysterious, but already depicted in advance in all the details in his scrofulous imagination. “You are a materialist, Ivan Makarych,” responded Alexis, “you don’t understand what sweetness lies in the word “hope”!” Without hope it is cold, dry, joyless! In a word, without hope there is no love - this is the sincere conviction of my torn heart! It must be said once and for all that Alexis in his poems constantly depicted breasts plowed by suffering, foreheads bitter thought , and cheeks dug with melancholy; but what were these “suffering, grief and melancholy” about - this secret was deeply hidden in the darkness of his cunning brain matter. - I hope so! “So he hopes,” Perezhiga interrupted, pointing at Ivan Samoilich, “but he’ll never get a damn egg!” All eyes turned to Michulin. He stood by the stove, pale and thoughtful, as if he himself deeply felt his insignificance. At first he began to listen to the general conversation, he wanted to somehow get his word in, but the conversation was dry and learned, and besides, no one addressed him, as if everyone silently agreed among themselves that for a learned conversation he no good. - Well, how are you doing? - Ivan Makarych turned to him. Michulin did not answer, but looked around the company even more sadly than before. “I told you, you bitter soul,” Perezhiga continued, “I told you, go to the village!” where are you supposed to be? You look like an orphan, but you get into it too! Charlotte Gottliebovna did not miss the opportunity not to be immediately surprised by the high justice of her dear friend’s remarks, and Beobachter more and more strongly played with his little hand the cherished movement from top to bottom. “But in my opinion, you did very well to stay here,” he said, quickly stopping in front of Michulin and looking intently into his eyes. After standing for half a minute, he put his finger to his lips and continued in his most insinuating tenor: “After all, in our days suffering is our salvation!” “Suffering is the destiny of man on earth,” Alexis began, “to suffer and to love.” Beobachter made a negative gesture with his head, letting them know that Alexis was completely misinterpreting his words. “Suffering is so pleasant,” he said in such an indifferent tone, as if it was about an extremely tasty dinner, “because it’s so pleasant that it will slam you here, and squeeze you there, and in another place, then... And he with particular pleasure he pressed on the words “slam” and “press.” “No, I just can’t agree with you,” Alexis objected, not at all trying to find out what would happen after the mysterious “then.” Ivan Samoilich absolutely did not know whose party he should join: Beobachter, who proved the undoubted usefulness of suffering, or Alexis, who also prescribed suffering as a cure for everything, even suffering itself, but for some strange circumstance did not agree with the candidate in any way philosophy; or, finally, to Perezhiga, who insisted on honor that all this was nonsense, but, they say, ask him, he knows. - Love is good! why not love? - Beobachter said meanwhile, as if addressing solely Ivan Samoilich, but in fact, apparently wanting to hurt Alexis, - yes, love after, but before that, away with everything, prophecy! .. Mr. Beobachter, apparently, with with special tenderness he loved words containing the letter R.-- Do you understand me? - he continued, looking even more intently into Ivan Samoilich’s eyes. “I guess,” Michulin answered timidly. -- From what after Love? - Alexis pestered, - and now love, and then love! Why this rigorism! And he fell silent, as if with the word “rigorism” he had pierced his opponent through and through. Ivan Samoilich, meanwhile, collected his thoughts and noticed to the company that, of course, maybe love and suffering are useful and saving things, but his circumstances are extremely bad - how can they be helped? suffering, they say, does not give bread, love does not feed either... So is it really possible to come up with something that he could apply to business. To this Beobachter muttered something about individualism, said that it was mean to think about oneself; that even if he dies, it does not mean anything and even in some respects will bring undoubted benefit for the future, as a reagent. -- Yes, like a reactive! - he repeated, throwing lightning from his tiny eyes. In general, the candidate of philosophy in this case did not spare the personality of Ivan Samoilich at all; but since Alexis was completely satisfied with this explanation, Beobachter considered it necessary to immediately add that after all, love - Then, and before ... Here is a letter R rained down in such abundance that even the ears of the listeners began to crackle. - Why are you listening to them! - Ivan Makarych interceded, - no, apparently, you and Binbacher - only say that you have read! In my opinion, you just go to the village and snore on your side! Truly, it will be a glorious life! So, what? Ivan Samoilich smiled timidly; he himself had been caressed by this tasty prospect for a long time. “Otherwise, brother, you’ll be lost, by God, you’ll be lost!” - continued Perezhiga, - or you will drink out of grief - I already know! Several minutes of silence followed. - Of course it’s vodka! - Perezhiga began again, - why not have a drink? and it’s brighter in the eyes, and it’s more fun to look at people, and you don’t feel grief ... but she, vodka, is a thief! She is the knowledge of evil and good! Michulin stood by the stove, paler than before; Beobachter looked askance at him, as Bertram at Robert, and smiled in a most intricate way; Alexis did not listen: he rolled his eyes under his forehead and talked to humanity. “Here’s a retired official who comes to our tavern,” Perezhiga continued, “he’s shaking all over, so ragged and plucked, and his eyes fester, and his hands tremble; It seems that what the soul is holding on to, but everything sticks: bring, they say, some vodka to Emelya. Yes, at least there was some benefit, otherwise the vodka only jars and burns him... Again a minute of tense silence. “But he was an official, he served in the service, he wore a uniform, and he wasn’t called Emelei, but Danil Alexandrych, and that’s what Emeley is, after the tavern people called him!” Yes, he was kicked out of a government place, his owner kicked him out into the street for non-payment - well, out of grief, he took a glass, then another, and then he went and went... There is knowledge of evil and good! There followed again several seconds of painful silence. - But, as far as I’m concerned, you know! - Perezhiga continued, turning to Michulin, - of course, if you want, he’s happy! They gave him vodka - he forgot that he was walking around in torn boots... really, so! And suddenly, due to some incomprehensible confluence of ideas, Perezhiga was attacked by a fit of sentimentality, and he began to admire what he had for a minute presented in the eyes of Ivan Samoilich as a thing that he should beware of in every possible way. Charlotte Gottliebovna also abruptly changed her way of thinking and took a deep breath in advance. - And how happy I am! - said Ivan Makarych, - happier than any prince; Come on, boy, what kind of dreams does he have! He doesn’t need any palaces or chambers! here it is, the school of life, here it is! why are you here with Binbacher? to Siberia, Binbacher, to hard labor! For a long time Ivan Makarych could not calm his philanthropic flow; he sat for a long time, shaking his head and saying: “Really, he doesn’t need palaces or velvet; every tear is his. .." But Perezhiga hid the fact that each tear was there, although Charlotte Gottliebovna considered it necessary to agree with him unconditionally in everything in advance. Meanwhile, everyone seemed to have become quiet; Beobachter still gracefully moved his hand from top to bottom, but more quickly unconsciously rather than with intention; Alexis licked his lips even more, talking with humanity; Ivan Samoilich was embarrassed and drew some home-grown conclusions from what he saw and heard. At that time the clock rang sadly at eleven. But the clock struck this time somehow especially malicious. It seemed to Ivan Samoilich as if each beat of the hour bell contained a deep meaning and reproachfully told him: “Every arc that the pendulum describes means a minute of your life that has sunk into eternity... but what did you use this life for?” , and what is your whole existence?" Why had the chiming of the clock never told him this before? Why had the objects around him not looked at him with such a questioning, searching look before? And as soon as he began to develop in his mind the movement of Beobachter’s hand, another thought arose in his brain, completely pendant [to match (French) ] to this significant movement - a terrible thought that had haunted him for a long time, and which was nothing other than what the reader already knew from the first chapter: “Who are you? What is your role? Life is a lottery,” and so on. And then all this disappeared, and a half-decayed, trembling old man appeared on the stage and, pointing to the vodka, said: “The knowledge of evil and good.” “But he wasn’t Emelya at all, but, listen, Danilo Alexandrovich, he once served, and he was once young, but they kicked him out of the service and he became Emelya, by the grace of good people.” Ivan Samoilich recalled this strange anecdote with horror and shudder; A thought suddenly ran through his head: “Well, what about me, Emelya?” - and it immediately froze to his brain - to such an extent did this thought frighten him. In precisely this mood of spirit, he approached his room, when suddenly a rustling was heard behind the next door, which led to the secluded dwelling of the maiden Ruchkina. His heart began to beat; a wonderful song sounded in my ears more importunately than ever - and it kept calling, still calling for the dear prince. "To go or not to go?" - thought Ivan Samoilich. And yet he was already knocking. -- Who's there? - a familiar fresh voice was heard behind the door. - It’s me... are you awake, Nadezhda Nikolaevna? - No, I’m not sleeping... come in. Ivan Samoilich entered; in front of him stood a small, cozy creature, but so alive and fidgety that at the same time he could be seen in all corners of the room - a pink and fresh creature, clothed only in a large cashmere-like scarf, which poorly hid the pleasant tenderness of her forms and constantly swung open due to the incredible vivacity of the movements of the small creature. "Oh, so playful!" - was the first and completely natural thought of Ivan Samoylych, but the thought flashed like lightning in a minute and disappeared, as in a cloud, in the brain labyrinth of its owner. - Why did you sit so long today, Ivan Samoilich? meanwhile the little creature replied, going from one chest of drawers to another, from the table to the bed, picking up various threads and pieces of paper from the floor, and putting everything to the side so that nothing would be wasted, because it would come in handy ahead, on a rainy day. “Yes, I’m so... I’m talking about that, sir,” muttered the embarrassed Michulin. - So how about that? Isn't it about the same thing again? And-and-and don’t think, Ivan Samoilich! Michulin was silent, although inwardly he grieved, perhaps that he was even forbidden to think. - And I was at the theater today - they were performing “Ugolino”... I love tragedies with passion... and you? Ivan Samoilitch looked lovingly at Nadenka and seemed to be wondering how this tiny, completely vaudeville body could become so addicted to tragedy. "Mr. Karatygin was playing... I was crying, crying... And what a distinguished man!" I love to cry to death. Mr. Michulin will even giggle with emotion. So did you have a fun evening? - he asked, and meanwhile his eyes flared up more and more - because it is known from physics... But here his brain resolutely refused to act. -- Very funny! I’m telling you, I cried terribly... especially when that darling Veronica... - Was anyone with you? - Yes, gentleman... he, you see, used to be my fiancé, when I was still living with my parents - he wooed me... Such a distinguished man too, he bought us apples... yes, I kept crying, I there was no time for apples. Silence. - And the apples were so nice - it’s such a pity that I didn’t try them. Michulin sighed. - Why are you so gloomy today? - asked Nadenka. “Yes, I do,” he answered again, stammering, “I didn’t do anything, sir...” But Nadenka still understood what was the matter; She immediately, due to her characteristic suspicion, guessed that it was all about that case, as before. - No, no, don’t even think about it, Ivan Samoilich! “she said, worried and waving her hands, “you’ll never get it in your life!” That's what I said, that's what I said! my word is sacred... and don’t think about it! And as before, with imperturbable indifference, the little woman picked up pieces of paper from the floor, hung various dresses and skirts from one hanger to another, without any need, however, but solely out of satisfaction for her liveliness and liveliness of character. - Hm, into life!.. and what is it? life? -- Meanwhile, Mr. Michulin thought, “that’s the thing, Nadezhda Nikolaevna, what is life? Isn’t this a deception, an empty dream? Nadya stopped fussing for a minute and stopped in amazement in the middle of the room. Before her stood the same ordinary Mr. Michulin, whom she regularly saw every morning and every evening; the color of his face, speckled with mountain ash, was still hemorrhoidal, only a smile, not devoid of causticity and self-satisfaction, was barely noticeable on his lips, as if this smile was saying: “What, did I give you a problem, my dear? her!" So how is it a scam? - in turn, Nadenka asked timidly and hesitantly, thinking that Ivan Samoilich was because probably, started talking about deceptions, that he himself intended to use some malicious trick in relation to her. - Yes, sir, deception! just a hoax! Judge for yourself, if I really lived, I would occupy some place, I would play some role! Nadenka had completely lost faith and was thinking about what she could pick up from the floor. “So you think,” she said with emphasis, “that he only lives who plays some roles?” Ivan Samoilich realized that by the word “roles” Nadenka meant exclusively those played by Mr. Karatygin, and therefore he could not find what to answer. “Hm,” said the girl Ruchkina. “So I’m all about this matter,” Michulin began again. - That is, about what, Ivan Samoilich? if about that, then be completely calm: I said what I said, so I said it, and if about something else, if you please, I’ll be happy. Ivan Samoilich did not answer; his heart was breaking; the words died on his lips, and even something like a tear sparkled in his eyes. Once again he received this callous refusal! Once again he humiliated himself and begged, and all in vain! “It’s not like that, Nadezhda Nikolaevna,” he said in a trembling voice, “everything could still be demolished!” Yes indeed other! After all, others drink, others eat, others have fun! Why others? Did his misfortune really come from the fact that others are living, others are cheerful, or simply the presence of a small creature, for whom you yourself have a small weakness, makes our grief even more bitter - be that as it may, but our hero really felt heavy and hurt. Meanwhile, Nadenka was also lost in thought; she, of course, noticed this tear, but she still somehow thought that Ivan Samoilich was being cunning, that he was all this about that matter, about the previous one, and the appointment and role were only an excuse to throw dust in her eyes and, taking advantage of her blindness, to put it on his own. “Yes, it’s insulting, of course,” she said thinly and delicately, pretending not to notice where Mr. Michulin’s speech was heading, “but you know, Ivan Samoilitch, why don’t you go to bed? Ivan Samoilich admitted that it was really late and that it was time to sleep. “So I’ll go,” he said in a gentle voice, “and you, Nadezhda Nikolaevna, think about something. To this Nadenka replied that she had already said what she had said, and her word was holy, be completely at ease in that. Lying on his lonely bed, Ivan Samoilich could not fall asleep for a long time. He kept imagining Nadenka's lively, plump little face, and this miniature, cozy figure, eternally fussing, eternally running about, was brightly and luxuriously drawn and fussing before his eyes. And he imagines in the darkness of his room that her marvelous breast flashed, that a tiny leg flashed near his very lips, and he catches her with his eyes, and intensifies to look out in the thick darkness for this expensive, fleeting vision, but in vain! his gaze sinks in the mist, in the mist, in the deep, impenetrable mist, and before he has time to come to his senses, he is faced with a long and lean question, a mocking and unfriendly question, which constitutes all the misfortune and ruin of his poor life. And he rather closed his eyes so as not to see this sick, exhausted question, and began to think about how pleasant it would be if Nadenka ... Oh, if only Nadenka! .. if she knew how poor Ivan's heart was beating Samoilych, unfortunate Ivan Samoilych, every time her small, unpretentious voice reaches him, singing a small, unpretentious song! this foot tramples, how it transforms and illuminates with a sudden light and warmth all this creature that has been chilling in the cold and bad weather for so long! If only she could see all this! And how bold and lively his thought was, what kind of future he was preparing for her, this dear, forever unforgettable Nadenka! not the future fraught with sorrows and deprivations that actually awaited her, but a smooth and calm future, where everything was so convenient and deft, where every desire became a right, every thought became action - if only she knew! But she did not see, she did not know anything! Mr. Michulin’s affection seemed offensive and rude to her, and her heart opened in vain modest young man, his imagination played in vain: he was faced with an eternal and cold, cold darkness!

The brain matter of Ivan Samoilich was covered with a veil, at first soft and translucent, then more and more dense and cloudy; his auditory organ was already filled with that monotonous and drawn-out trembling, which is something between the distant sound of a bell and the persistent buzzing of a mosquito; Already past his eyes flashed a huge, invisible city with its thousands of domes, with its palaces and rolling courtyards, with its spikes proudly crashing into the very clouds, with its ever-noisy, ever-bustling and bustling crowd. But suddenly the city was replaced by a village with a long row of huts swaying to one side, with a gray sky, gray mud and log pavement... Then all these images, at first defined and different, mixed up - the village was decorated with palaces, the city was disfigured by blackened log huts; near the temples burdocks and nettles grew freely; wolves crowded the streets and squares, hungry, bloodthirsty wolves, and devoured each other. But then the cities disappeared into the fog, and the village drowned in a blue, invisible lake, and the wolves disappeared far, far into the dense forests of Ivan Samoilich’s fantasy... But what suddenly struck his ears so sweetly, what suddenly tickled, stirred his poor heart ? With longing and trepidation he listens to these eternally sweet, eternally desired sounds, with longing and sadness he drinks in the wonderful harmony of a simple song that caresses his ears... Oh, she sucks his soul, she makes his heart ache and groan, this strange , little song! Because behind a little song his imagination pictures a little mouth, behind a little mouth a little woman - a plump woman, alive, like mercury. - Nadenka, Nadenka! - Ivan Samoilich says in a pleading voice. But the little woman looks at him, humiliated and begging, proudly and with offensive contempt. A tiny ironic smile flashes on her pink lips; the miniature indignant slightly raised her thin nostrils and colored her elastic cheeks with a delicate purple... But how beautiful she is! God, how beautiful she is, despite her indignation, despite the offensive contempt expressed in every fiber of her face! how willingly Ivan Samoilich bows before her! - Nadenka! - he says in a voice choked with emotion, - it’s not my fault that I love you... What should I do if it’s beyond my strength!.. And he waits with trepidation for her word: he doesn’t notice that he’s standing next to her another face - the face belonging to her learned friend, blond Alexis; she doesn’t notice how languidly she leans on the young man’s hand, how full of tenderness and longing she turns to him from time to time. But then she looked at him, but somehow sternly and with bewilderment. She answers him in an offended tone that she is surprised how he could even think of making her such a strange proposal, that, of course, he is not a stupid person, and even a well-read person, but that she, for her part, is an honest girl, and although not a noblewoman , but no worse than any other noblewoman she will be able to give a carriage not only to him, Ivan Samoilich, but also to anyone else, even better and cleaner than him, who dares to drive up to her with a similar offer. And again everything disappears in an indifferent fog - both the blond, but somewhat apathetic face of Alexis, and the miniature, always anxious figure of Nadenka, and the familiar song about the dear prince and the golden palaces sounds sadly in the distance. -What am I really? - Mr. Michulin asks himself, - what is my purpose, what is my destiny? Pale ghosts gather in crowds around him and mockingly shout to him: “Oh, you’re tired, you’re tired, poor man! Your whole head has been broken!” Pale, trembling, he falls to his knees, asking to spare him, explaining to him this terrible matter, which gives him no rest day or night, but falls so awkwardly and unexpectedly that the pale ghosts instantly disappear. The room is dark, the old cuckoo crowed pitifully twice and fell silent. “The devil knows what kind of rubbish is creeping into my head!” thought Ivan Samoilich, “but the philosophers also claim...” And he was intending, without embarking on further reasoning, to find out in a dream what the philosophers were claiming, when suddenly voices were heard through the thin partition that alone separated his bed from his treasured room. Ivan Samoilich began to listen. “I already see, sir,” chirped a voice familiar to him, “please, don’t give me your reasons, please... I see everything, right through everything...” “No, Nadenka!” you are mistaken, my friend, you are mistaken, my dear man! - Alexis answered, trying to give his voice a flattering tone. - Please, about anything else, but I won’t be mistaken about this... Be ashamed, sir! Do you think you will triumph with your cunning?.. No, we drove up to the wrong one! Excuse me - even though I’m uneducated, even though I don’t know how to do it in your opinion, and for that matter, really, I can say just as well as you what is right and what’s wrong... - Yes, have mercy Well, Nadenka! really, I haven’t been anywhere... What is so and wrong here?.. - I’m telling you that I see right through everything, I see all your tricks, Alexey Petrovich! Whatever you call me - whether I’m educated or uneducated - I still see! Alexis was silent. - Why pretense and deceit? - Nadenka continued meanwhile, - you’d better tell me straight out that I’m the most unfortunate of women!.. I’m a straight girl, Alexey Petrovich; I’m an honest girl, Alexey Petrovich, and I don’t like beating around the bush... Just tell me that I should spend the rest of my days in tears! - Why are you in tears, Nadenka? - Alexis answered laconically and then added: “Why are you in tears, dear, are you a good person?” And again everything fell silent around Ivan Samoilich, but not in his head; there, on the contrary, terrible activity began, noise and clattering began; thoughts ran along the nerves of his brain, interrupted each other's path, and suddenly so many of them accumulated that he himself was not glad that he woke up and, like a stupid creature, succumbed to the rough and animal instinct of curiosity... Before he could he had to figure out how to cunningly dig a hole for his neighbor, taking advantage of a misunderstanding, and he had actually somehow dug under Alexis. A complete and unexpected change suddenly occurred in his fate; in an instant he became decidedly the darling of fortune; he walks along Nevsky Prospekt arm in arm with his young wife, in a bekesh with a gray beaver collar, on his forehead there is a deep scar received in the battle for the fatherland, and on his tailcoat there is a huge Spanish star with countless angles. He exchanges a pleasant smile and bow with significant gentlemen, he is completely satisfied with his fate and constantly takes an unusually massive chronometer out of his pocket, as if to find out what time it is, but in fact only to show the people - Let him see what amazing watches and chains there are in the world. With contempt and an ironic smile, he looks at Alexis passing by and shivering from the cold, in a very worn dark cherry coat with a sparkle, and pretends not to notice him. But from afar Alexis saw a small figure familiar to him; He is already in a hurry to greet her with the usual greeting: “Hello, Nadenka, hello, you are a good, dear person!” - but suddenly a menacing voice is heard right at his ears: “Dear sir! You forget...” - and Alexis, with his tail between his legs, walks away with hasty steps. But now four strikes on the Duma tower; Out of habit, Ivan Samoilich already feels a pleasant melancholy in his stomach. “Would you like to order me, my soul, to go to the store and buy something for dinner?” - he says, turning to Nadenka. - Why not come in? - she answers with such philosophical indifference, as if it really should be so. And in fact, rich people: why not come in! They've been standing in the magnificent store for about a quarter of an hour. Nadenka, like a living creature and mostly gluttonous, runs from one corner to another, goes from grapes to magnificent bonchretiens, from excellent peaches covered with a light fluff of youth to no less excellent pineapple, tastes everything, puts everything in her reticule ... But all this is in the order of things, everything is as it should be; Only one thing seems somewhat strange to Ivan Samoylych: the gray-haired and stern clerk seems to be looking suspiciously, as if from under his brows, at all these fences. He is mentally indignant at such inappropriate distrust; his hand is already outstretched to unbutton his magnificent coat and show the polygonal Spanish star to the greedy scoundrel, when suddenly ... But then his hands drop; cold sweat rolls down from the noble brow, he turns pale, looks around, touches himself. God! there is no doubt! it was all self-delusion: the Spanish star, and the coat with a surprisingly warm collar, and the puffy cheeks, and the proud look... everything, absolutely everything disappeared, as if by magic! As in the old days, hanging on him, like on a mean hanger, is his old and worn out overcoat, more like a hood than an overcoat; his cheeks are still yellow and riddled with rowan berries; His back is still bent and his appearance is humiliated and stingy. In vain he pushes the careless Nadenka on the sly, in vain he tortures his brain, trying to squeeze out of it something resembling ingenuity. Nadenka, without any embarrassment, delights her palate with the gifts of the south, and also without embarrassment, Ivan Samoilich’s brain sleeps, stupidly and indifferently looking at his incredible efforts to get out of trouble and as if laughing at his own powerlessness. Oh, careless Nadenka! oh, stupid brain! - Ten rubles and seven hryvnias, sir! - Meanwhile, the terrible voice of the clerk sounds in his very ears. - Silver? - Ivan Samoilich whispers in response, stuttering and completely confused. - Yes, silver - is it really copper? - the same annoying voice answers decisively and completely unencouragingly. Michulin becomes even more embarrassed. - Yes, sir; silver, sir...” he says, turning pale and meanwhile feeling his pockets, as if looking for money that had fallen into them unknown where, “why, sir?” I would love to - I am a sufficient person. Please tell me, I didn’t even notice! Imagine, my dear, I didn’t even notice that there was a hole in my pocket, and how big it was, tell me! But the clerk just shakes his head. “But you can imagine,” continues Ivan Samoilich in a tone of condolences, “and the coat is completely new!” just brand new! it's awful how fragile these tailors sew! And no wonder! French, I'll tell you, French! Well, the Frenchman is known to be hit by the wind! This is what a nation is like. Not like our Russian brother! he will do everything for glory, - no, far from it! Tell me, please, how long have you been bargaining like this? “We’ve been trading for a long time,” answers the gloomy clerk, “but you still give the money.” -- Oh my god! Really, what a nasty people these French are! really, just brand new! Oh, these tailors are crooks! God forbid, scammers! - Apparently, brother, you are a fraud! - the gloomy clerk answers inexorably and sharply. - We know you! You all have pockets with holes, as if you have to pay back! Ivan Terentich! Go and get Fedosei Lukyanich, brother! He seems to be here, nearby! Hearing the familiar name of Fedosei Lukyanich, Ivan Samoilich completely lost heart. With tears in his eyes and bowing humbly, he shows the gray-haired clerk the tattered pockets of his coat, vainly proving that he is not to blame, that a minute before he had a beaver collar, and a Spanish star, and puffy cheeks, and that all this, by tricks one evil sorceress, who had been haunting him day and night for a long time, suddenly disappeared, and he was left with rubbish, as they say, naked as a falcon, fluffy like a frog. - You know how to serve Mammon! - the dispassionate voice of the gray-haired clerk tells him, - you worship the calf, you please the belly! and what does the Holy Scripture say? forgot? sin, brother, for you! shame on you, my dear! - Served, most respected, misled the evil one, for sure, misled! - Ivan Samoilich answers in a plaintive voice, - but this is the first time, because others eat... - Yes, others are cleaner! You never know what others do! Others don’t have holes in their pockets, brother! And the gray-haired clerk sternly shakes his head, saying. - Look, what did you come up with, you son of anathema! Look, he had a Spanish star too! We know you, brother! We know, gluttons, idolaters! Meanwhile, Michulin timidly looks at Nadenka. She looks at him insolently and with contempt, as if she wants to finally finish off and destroy the unfortunate man. - So that’s how you are, Ivan Samoilich! - she says to him, quickly waving her hands, - so you will use tricks! you wanted to take advantage of my frankness towards you! Do yourself a favor! I understand! Maybe I'm uneducated and haven't read the books. Please don't deny it! I see everything, I understand everything, I understand all your treachery very well... Do me a favor! - What am I, really? - Ivan Samoilich mutters meanwhile, very opportunely remembering that the difficulty lies precisely in this, that he still cannot determine for himself what he is, - but why am I worse than others? - It is known what! - the gray-haired clerk laconically answers, - we know what! Others don't have holes in their pockets. - Others eat, others drink... but what about me? -- It is known that! - the same tough voice sounds, - you can watch others eat! - but it sounds so ironic, as if he wants to say to the perplexed Michulin: “Ugh, how stupid you really are! You just can’t understand the simplest and most ordinary thing!” Ivan Samoilich had already realized what was going on, and began to delve into a detailed consideration of the clerk's answer, when suddenly his ears were struck by another, even more terrible voice - the voice of Fedosei Lukyanich. It is important and without blinking that Fedosei Lukyanich listens to the complaint of the old clerk that, they say, such and such swindlers and crooks ransacked the entire shop, ate ten rubles and seven hryvnias, and now only pockets are shown, and even then they are not whole, but with holes . “Hm,” Fedosei Lukyanych hums, protruding his lips and turning his whole body to Michulin, “are you?” “Yes, that’s me,” mutters Ivan Samoilich, “I was walking and tired... I wanted to freshen up... so I came in!” - Hm, don’t make excuses, but answer! - Fedosei Lukyanovich thoroughly objects, looking around at everyone present, probably in order to make sure what effect his Solomon’s court is having on them. - To his work, to his work! - Nadenka shouts for her part, - he wanted to disgrace me! I'm planning to disgrace you, the villain! Please, stay away with your reasons! I know and see everything very well. -- Surname? - the stern voice of Fedosei Lukyanich asks abruptly, again turning to our hero. “Michulin,” Ivan Samoilich answers, but so timidly, as if he himself is not sure whether this is exactly so and whether this is the same creation of his prodigal imagination, like a warm coat, a Spanish star, puffy cheeks, etc. . -- Name? - Fedosei Lukyanovich asks again, very pleased, however, that he created timidity and fear in the tortured subject. “Ivan Samoilov,” our hero answers even quieter and more timidly. -- Strange! but it can happen even worse! Hey darling, take it! The last words obviously referred to a tall man who happened to be walking nearby. And now they take Ivan Samoilich by the arms; now the doors of hell are opening before him... - Have mercy! Fathers, have mercy! - he shouts, breathless with trepidation. - What is this, have you gone crazy, Ivan Samoilich? - suddenly a familiar voice is heard right next to his ear, - you don’t let good people sleep at all! After all, I understand very well where all this is heading, but it won’t happen! it’s been said, so it’s been said, and in vain you worry and lose your temper! Ivan Samoilich opened his eyes - before him in a tempting negligee stood the pretty Nadenka, the same Nadenka who and so on. “Ah, it’s you, Nadya!” - Ivan Samoilich mutters through his sleep, - why aren’t you sleeping, darling? Can you imagine, I imagined that Fedo... Nadenka shook her head and left. Meanwhile, Leta, this helpful river, again floods Mr. Michulin’s imagination with its waves, again it begins to rustle in his ears, again goes berserk and loses its temper and overflows its banks. And suddenly he found himself on the street again, but he was no longer wearing his former smart coat, but his ordinary worn-out overcoat, and his posture was not handsome and proud, but as if he had become tense, he was wrinkled all over, as if all his limbs were cramped from the cold and hunger... But he does not look into the windows of pastry shops, bakeries and fruit shops. How many temptations are not scattered, but lie in front of him in beautifully and symmetrically arranged heaps and locked up under lock and key! Oh, if all this were scattered! of course, he would have picked up all these amazingly tasty and, by their very sight, appetizing things in a person, and would have taken them to his apartment, and would have put all this sweet burden on the incredibly comfortable legs of an incredibly small, but at the same time incredibly cute Nadenka! But it's all locked, everything is turnkey! for all this you can look! as a stern clerk recently put it with murderous composure... And at home a spectacle awaits him, full of burning, unbearable despair! In a cold room, in a torn dress, his wife sits on a broken chair; near her, pale and exhausted, stands his son. And all this asks for bread, but he asks so sadly, so importunately!.. - Dad, I’m hungry! - the child groans, - give me some bread... - Be patient, my friend, - says the mother, - be patient until tomorrow; tomorrow there will be! Today all the hungry wolves in the market have eaten! many wolves, many wolves, darling! But how does she say this! Is this your voice, dear little Nadya? Is this the same melodic, sweet voice that sang to itself a carefree, simple song, calling the prince to the golden palaces? Where is your prince, Nadya? Where are your golden palaces? Why did your voice become cruel, why did some caustic, unusual bile break out in it? Nadia! what happened, what happened to you, graceful creature? where is your cheerful blush? where is your carefree laughter? where is your fussiness, where is your naive suspicion? where are you, the old, beloved, dear Nadenka? Why are your eyes sunken? Why is your chest dry? Why does secret anger tremble in your voice? Why doesn’t your son believe your words? why is this? “But they told me yesterday,” the child answers, “that all the hungry wolves have eaten!” Yes, other children are full, other children are playing... I’m hungry, mom! - These are the children of hungry wolves playing, they are full! - you answer, hanging your head and not knowing how to dodge the child’s questions. But you try in vain, you try in vain to calm him down! he doesn’t believe you because he needs bread, not words. - Oh, why am I not the son of a hungry wolf! - the child moans, - mother, let me go to the wolves - I’m hungry! And you are silent, depressed and destroyed! You are doubly unhappy, Nadya! You yourself are hungry, and another creature is groaning next to you, your son is groaning, flesh of your flesh, bone of your bones, who also asks for bread. Poor Nadenka! Why is he not coming, why is he not in a hurry to help you, this long-desired dear prince of your imagination? Why doesn’t he call you to his golden palace? With languor and unbearable melancholy, Ivan Samoilich looks at this scene and also assures little Sasha that tomorrow everything will be, that today all the hungry wolves have eaten. What should he do? how to help? And you also know, poor Nadenka, that there is nothing to help him, you understand that he is not one bit to blame for all this; but you are hungry, your beloved child groans next to you, and you reproach your husband, you become unjust. - Why did you get married? - you say to him in a harsh and insulting voice, - why have you tied yourself to others when you are not able to get a piece of bread for yourself? Without you I was happy, without you I was carefree... I was full. Ashamed! In turn, depressed and destroyed, stands Ivan Samoilich. He feels that there is a terrible truth in Nadya’s words, that he had think - and think a lot - about whether it is decent for a poor man to lead love, whether his meager piece will be enough for three. And tirelessly, inexorably, this terrible “shame on you!” haunts him. And meanwhile the room is getting colder and colder; It's getting dark in the yard; the child still groans, still plaintively asks for bread! God! so how will all this end? where will this lead? If only tomorrow would come sooner! what about tomorrow?.. that’s the question! But the child no longer groans; he quietly bowed his head to his mother's chest, but still breathing... - Hush! Nadenka says in a barely audible voice, "quiet!" Sasha fell asleep... But what kind of thought nestles in your head, Nadenka? Why are you smiling, why does that smile suddenly sparkle with despair and evil submission to fate? Why do you carefully place the child on a chair and, without saying a word, open the door of the poor room? Nadenka, Nadenka! where are you going? What do you want to do? You go down a few steps and stop - you hesitate, dear child! You suddenly got this small, kind heart, beat quickly and unevenly... But time flies... there, in a cold room, your hungry husband is wringing his hands in despair, there your son is dying! Oh, how pale he is child's face how clouded his gaze is, how he groans, how melancholy and plaintive his voice is, asking for bread!.. And you do not hesitate; You waved your hand in despair; you don’t get off - you run down the stairs; you're on the mezzanine... you pulled the bell. I'm scared, scared for you, Nadya! And he is already waiting for you, decrepit, powerless red tape, he knows that you will come, that you must come, and smugly rubs his hands, and smiles smugly, looking at his watch... Oh, he has studied human nature in detail and can safely count on hunger! “I’ve made up my mind,” you tell him, and your voice is calm... Yes, calm, your voice did not waver, but still its calmness seems to be dead, grave... And the old man smiles, looking at you ; he tenderly pats you on the cheek and with a trembling hand draws your young form to his decrepit chest... - How pale you are, darling! - he says affectionately, - it’s obvious that you really want to eat ... Eh! he's just a joker! he is a cheerful fellow, this little old man, a hunter of pretty, young women! - Yes, I'm hungry! - you answer, - I need money. And you extend your hand... Therefore, you are still good, despite your suffering, it means that there is still in you, despite your oppressive poverty, something calling, exciting the frozen forces of the playful old man, because he puts hand money; he doesn’t bargain, although he knows that he can buy you for the most insignificant price... “Eat,” you say to your husband and son, throwing the purchased dinner on the table, and you yourself sit in the corner. “These are greedy wolves, mother?” the child asks you as he devours his supper greedily. “Yes, the wolf sent it,” you answer absently and thoughtfully. -- Mother! when will the hungry wolves be killed? the child asks again. - Soon, my friend, soon... - Will they kill everyone, mom? won't there be any left? - Everyone, darling, every single one... not a single one will be left... - And we will be full? will we have dinner? - Yes, soon we will be full, soon we will have fun... very fun, my friend! Meanwhile, Ivan Samoilich is silent; with his head down, with a secret but persistent gnawing remorse in his heart, he eats his share of the dinner and does not dare to look at you, fearing to see his irrevocable condemnation in your gaze. But he eats because he too is tormented by hunger, because he too is a man! But he thinks, he thinks bitterly, your poor husband! A terrible thought burns his brain, persistent grief sucks at his chest! He thinks: today we are full, today we have a piece of bread, but tomorrow? and then? - that's what he's thinking about! because tomorrow you will be must... and there again. This is this terrible, gnawing thought! Nadenka, Nadenka! is it true? is it true that you will must?.. Ivan Samoilich feels stuffy; a muffled sob fills his chest; his head is on fire, his eyes are open and motionlessly fixed on Nadenka... - Nadenka! Nadenka! - he groans, gathering his last strength. - What kind of disgrace is this, really! - he hears a familiar voice, - here I am, here, sir! what do you want? what are you shouting? They didn’t let me close my eyes the whole night! Do you think that I don’t understand, you think that I don’t see... Am I your serf, or what, why are you looking at me so menacingly? Ivan Samoilich opened his eyes; it was light in the room, Nadenka stood by his bed in complete morning desperation. - So it... was a dream! “he said, barely waking up, “so you didn’t... go to the old man, Nadenka?” The girl Ruchkina looked at him in bewilderment. But soon everything became clear to her; she was suddenly struck by the bright thought that all this was not without reason and that the old man was none other than Ivan Samoilich himself, but if she said it once: it won’t happen! - it will never happen, no matter how cunning and evasive the red tape is. - No, damn it! this must end! - Ivan Samoilich said to himself when Nadenka left the room, “you’ll just disappear for a penny this way!” Mr. Michulin looked in the mirror and found a big change in himself. His cheeks were sunken and yellower than before, his face became haggard, his eyes became dull; he was all hunched over and twisted, like a personified question mark. And yet you need to go, you need to ask, because really, perhaps, you won’t be lost for a penny... But that’s enough, should I still go, should I ask? How long did you walk, how many times did you ask and bow - did anyone listen to you? Oh, you should go to the village to your father in a cap, to your mother with a bandaged cheek... But, on the other hand, a question arises right there that requires an urgent explanation. “What are you?” says this obsessive question, “were you really created for this only, to see a stupid cap, a stupid cheek in front of you, to pickle mushrooms and taste homemade liqueurs?” And among all this chaos of contradictory thoughts, the image of the ill-fated Emelya suddenly rises in the imagination of Ivan Samoilich... This image is so clearly and distinctly drawn before his eyes, as if a bent and shaking old man was really standing in front of him, and he could feel and touch him with his hands. Emelya’s whole body seemed to be falling apart in different directions, all the limbs seemed to be unscrewed and dislocated; tears fester in his eyes, and his head is shaking... He pitifully stretches out his exhausted hand, in a trembling voice begs for at least ten kopecks - and then points to a bottle of vodka and says: “The knowledge of evil and good! "Ivan Samoilich stands as if in a daze; he wants to free himself from his terrible nightmare and cannot... The figure of Emelya pursues him, crushes his chest, constricts his breathing... Finally he makes a supernatural effort over himself, grabs his hat and runs headlong from the room But on the threshold Beobachter stops him. “Did you understand what I told you yesterday?” he asks with a mysterious look. “That is... I guess,” answers Ivan Samoilich, completely embarrassed. “Of course, this is there were only a few hints,” the candidate of philosophy begins again, “after all, this matter is complex, very complex, you can’t retell everything!” A minute’s silence. “Here, take this!” Beobachter interrupts, handing Michulin a tiny book, one of those which in Paris, like mushrooms in a rainy summer, spring up in the thousands and are sold for almost one centime. Ivan Samoilich takes the book in bewilderment, absolutely not knowing what to do with it. “Read it!” says Beobachter solemnly, but still it’s extremely soft and insinuating - read it and see... it’s all here!.. you understand! With these words he leaves, leaving Mr. Michulin in complete amazement.

The weather outside was damp and cloudy; just like the day before, some unknown substance fell from the clouds; just as then, the feet of tired pedestrians were kneading the mud through the streets; as then, a gentleman wrapped in a fur coat with puffy cheeks was riding in a carriage, and another gentleman was riding in galoshes, to whom the wind whistled after him: “Cold, chill, chill, poor man!” In a word, everything was as before, with the only minor addition that this whole unseemly picture was bathed in some kind of pale, muddy light, the original colors of which had hitherto eluded the all-corrupting gaze of optics with even greater success. A very comfortable and comfortable carriage was traveling towards Ivan Samoilich, designed for the benefit of poor people, in which, as you know, you can travel around half of St. Petersburg for a dime. Ivan Samoilich sat down. At another time, at “this opportunity,” he would have thought, perhaps, about the industrial direction of the century and would have expressed his approval of this circumstance, but at the present moment his head was full of the strangest and darkest thoughts. Therefore, the conductor did not receive from him either a smile or encouragement - nothing that other hunters of other people's affairs so generously like to bestow. Meanwhile, other gentlemen are being recruited into the carriage; first a modest girl came in with her eyes downcast; Poor girl, but honest, she must live by her own labors, and she’s so cleanly dressed, and holds a cardboard in her hands - a nice girl! Following the girl, a blond student of very pleasant appearance entered the carriage and sat down directly opposite her. Ivan Samoilich involuntarily began to listen. - We wish you good health! - said the blond student, turning to the girl. But the girl does not answer, but, looking from under her brows at the young man and smiling slyly, brings a handkerchief to her mouth and turns her face to the window, occasionally emitting from under the handkerchief a modest “gi-gi-gi!” - Our respect, sir! - the student began again, addressing the cheerful girl. But this time there was no answer; only a modest "gi-gi-gi!" expressed itself somehow more sharply and boldly. - What can you say about this innovation? - a very neatly dressed gentleman with a briefcase under his arm asked Ivan Samoilich affectionately. Mr. Michulin nodded his head in agreement. - Isn’t it true how cheap and economical it is? - the briefcase addressed him again and even more affectionately, especially tenderly, although not without energy, pressing on the word “economically” and, apparently, harboring considerable hope of raising dying humanity from the dust through it. - Yes, sir, profitable speculation! - answered Ivan Samoilich, intensifying, in turn, an encouraging smile. - Oh, very profitable! very economical! - responded a gentleman in another corner with knitted eyebrows and a thinking face, - your remark is completely fair, your remark was taken from nature! And the furrowed eyebrows, uttering the words: “Plucked from nature,” accompanied them with such an intensified movement of the hands, as if they were digging a deep, deep hole with an extremely blunt spade. “However, it depends on what point of view you look at the subject from,” said the gentleman with a huge black mustache thoughtfully, and immediately his physiognomy took on such a mysterious look, as if it was in a hurry to tell everyone: we know, we have seen! - Fathers, let me in! Yes, open the door, lackey! Fathers, I'm sweating and exhausted! Well, it's a city! he was lucky! The conversation, which was taking a somewhat edifying direction, was suddenly interrupted, and the eyes of all the passengers turned to the fat gentleman in some strange lilac color a Hungarian who, puffing and groaning, climbed sideways into the carriage. - Well, the city! - said the Hungarian woman, - truly I tell you, divine punishment! I, if you please see, am here on my own business - so, would you believe it, I’m simply, that is, tormented, damned! They pull at your soul and don’t let you breathe! And all this - with white gloves! he's a scoundrel and doesn't want to look at the red one - who, they say, do you take us for, but our justice is not corrupt! but, like a hundred rubles... What a beast, what a beast! Believe it or not, I even started sweating! And the Hungarian woman again began to grunt and puff, fanning herself from all sides with a handkerchief, which aroused considerable gaiety in the modest girl, and barely audible “gi-gi-gi!” again began to fly out from under the scarf covering her mouth. - Excuse me, madam! - the Hungarian woman began again, - I may be embarrassing you with my corruption... I’ll tell you, gentlemen, there’s a strange thing going on in our family! my mother, may she rest in heaven! - the surname Chesotkin, if you deign to hear, and father, and we all go by him, by the surname Chekalin, I have the honor to recommend myself! So, sir, this is where the real thing lies! here I am, brother Platon Ivanovich, sister Lukerya Ivanovna and sister Avdotya Ivanovna - she was a good woman, a deceased woman, and a bread winner! - so we all came into the name of the Chekalins - and sweaty people! that is, he took two steps - and he was already sweating! but brother Semyon Ivanovich and sister Varvara Ivanovna - they went by the name Chesotkin and do not sweat. Truly I tell you! I assure you on my honor, I’m not lying!.. Oh, I’m sweating! that is, he was just sweating like some rascal! - That is, what do you mean by point of view? - interrupted the briefcase, who was apparently embarrassed by the dignity [ease (from French sans-faГon)] lilac Hungarian - if you want to say by this what the French so aptly call poin de vu, tow... [point of view, look (from French point de vue, coup d'oeil)] “We know! “The cabbies will say something about this... that’s what!” Those present shuddered; indeed, until then it had never occurred to any of them that the cabbies would say something about it, but now around them, both behind and in front, and on the sides, suddenly thousands of cabbies' voices began to speak, thousands of cabbies' heads nodded, the whole world was covered with a continuous mass of imaginary cabbies, interrupted here and there... by empty cabbies! a terribly large block of frozen earth with a blunt spade. - Yes, if you have this kind of consideration [discretion (from French consideration)], - the briefcase whispered, turning pale, - but the intricate word “consideration” did not save the sunken humanity. - What's wrong with that? - Meanwhile, the mustache said even more mysteriously, hitting himself in the chest with his fists, - I already know that you me ask! I know this matter like the back of my hand! And the mustache actually showed a bare palm of considerable detail and, bending over even more and first looking in all directions, they said in a low voice: “I already know this matter more closely - I serve.” there...- So you too bureaucrat?- asked the briefcase, recovering from the first stupor and hitting the word “bureaucrat” like a stone wall. - But again, this is from what point of view to look at the subject! - the mustache answered laconically. “And I’ll tell you, gentlemen, that all this is nonsense!” perfect nonsense! boomed the Hungarian. A familiar “gi-gi-gi!” was barely audible in the neighborhood. cheerful girl. - It's true! - the Hungarian woman continued to thunder, - truly so! what kind of people are these, even cab drivers! rubbish, I dare to tell you, just slush!.. If only you would visit us, in our side, here are the people! he really is going to suck! that's nature, that's nature! This, truly, I tell you, you can watch for your own pleasure! And what kind of people you have is hard to see! just rubbish, slush! And the Hungarian woman shook her head sadly. -- Yes; “That’s if you look at the subject from one point,” the briefcase said meanwhile, smiling and not paying attention to the Hungarian woman’s pessimistic objection, “but if you look at the matter, for example, from the perspective of the emancipation of animals...” The mustache hummed pitifully. - Yes, it's all poof! - they said, - the French brought all this! Cab drivers - that's the main thing! cab drivers - that's the root cause! cabbies, cabbies, cabbies! And again, cabbies, cabbies, cabbies flashed in the eyes of everyone present! -- That's it! - the mustache continued, - he’s full, he’s full, - you can’t get him off the stove with a stake! But as soon as there was no bread, he went and went, and as soon as he went, we know what will happen! we know! we saw! - Oh, your remark is absolutely correct! your remark is taken from nature! - the eyebrows responded, - hunger, hunger and hunger - that’s my system! here is my way of thinking! - So this is the point of view from which one should look at the subject! - the mustache mysteriously repeated, - what an animal! The animal is known to be a brute! the beast is and will remain forever! - However, did you read the article in the Petersburg Gazette? [article (from French l"article)] - objected the briefcase, pressing with extraordinary effort on the word "article". - We know! We read! All this is nonsense, a sham! Gog and Magog! - However, it was written with great passion. ? - the Hungarian woman thundered, - please, about the hobby. - Gi-gi-gi! - responded from the neighborhood. - So, if you please see, I’m all about the hobby! - continued the Hungarian woman, - Yes, the young lady finds everything funny - a cheerful young lady! , sometimes, with his hands... oh! He stood up for himself, there’s nothing to say! He still knew how to stand up for his own people, he’s a dead man! No, nowadays such people are gone! You won’t find such people with a lantern! Nowadays they’re taking everything apart: maybe, they say, he’s right!.. oh “Oh, oh, tough times have come!.. and the young lady is still laughing... a cheerful young lady!” “When can I see you?” the student said meanwhile, stealthily. “Oh, how strange you really are!” - answered the cheerful young lady, covering herself even more with her scarf. -- You find? the student began again. - Of course! gi-gi-gi! - Why, of course? -- Yes, how is it possible! - Why isn’t this possible? - Yes, you can’t! -- Strange! - said the student, although, apparently, he did not yet despair of the success of his enterprise. “The main thing is,” the mustache thought out loud, “that a person should be given a goal, that a person should see why he exists, that’s the main thing—and the rest is all nonsense!” Ivan Samoilich began to listen. - Oh, your remark is absolutely correct! your remark, so to speak, was snatched from nature! It is obvious that the words: “so to speak” were spoken by the eyebrows solely for the beauty of the syllable and that in fact the eyebrows did not have the slightest doubt about snatching a thoughtful mustache remark from nature itself. - So you mean by this what the French call the problem of life? - asked the briefcase, strongly emphasizing the word “problem”. - What are the French? what about the Germans? - the mustache answered laconically, - believe my experience, I know this matter better, I there and I serve... it’s all a swindle, it’s all Gog and Magog!.. I know this matter as I know it! And again the mustache showed a bare palm of extremely respectable size. - However, agree with me, after all, the French nation also has its inalienable merits... Of course, they are a flighty people, a cowardly people - who can argue against this?.. But, on the other hand, where will you find so much selflessness, what they themselves so aptly called - rezinyasion? but this, I’ll tell you... And the briefcase assured and insisted on his speech with such enthusiasm that all those present nodded their heads and were truly convinced that the “rezinyasyon”, except the French, could not be found anywhere. - We know! We saw both French and Germans! have lived in their lifetime! - said the insensitive mustache, - all this is nonsense! the main thing is for a person to see that he is a man, to know the goal!.. The goal, the goal - that’s the thing, but the rest - what? nonsense! it's all nonsense! believe my experience... “You deigned to express yourself about the purpose of our existence,” Ivan Samoilich modestly interrupted, “if you see, I myself have studied a lot about this subject, and it would be interesting to know your thoughts.” The mustache became thoughtful; Michulin waited with trepidation and excitement for the solution to the riddle. - Lackey! Why won't you stop, brother! You think the raven is a parasite! boomed the Hungarian. “So I’ll come out here too,” said the mustache melancholy. - What are your thoughts about this circumstance? - Ivan Samoilich noted timidly. - It all depends on what point you look at the subject from! - the mustaches realized at once. - Oh, that's absolutely fair! your remark is taken from nature! - the raised eyebrows responded, digging an imaginary hole with an imaginary spade for the last time with special tension, - everything, absolutely everything depends on the point of view... The mustache and eyebrows came out of the carriage. Slowly and clumsily the economic carriage trudged along the smooth pavement again. - When can I see you? - the student continued to ask the cheerful young lady. - Oh, how strange you are! - the young lady responded as before, covering her mouth with a handkerchief. - Why is it strange? - the student pestered. - How is this possible! - Why is this impossible? - Yes, because it’s impossible! “But I think quite the opposite,” answered the student and pulled the string. - Let's go! - said the student. The young lady sighed. - Let's go! - the young man said again. - Gi-gi-gi! The carriage stopped, the student got out, the young lady thought a little - and still followed him, saying, however: “Oh, really, how strange you are! “What are these men going to think of!”—but she said this resolutely only to clear her conscience, because the student had already gone out and was waiting for her on the street. Finally, Ivan Samoilich had to go out. On the street, as usual, a crowd was scurrying back and forth, as if she was looking for something, fussing about something, but at the same time she scurried about so indifferently, as if she herself didn’t really understand what she was looking for and what she was fighting for. And our hero went looking and fussing, like everyone else. But also this time, fortune, with her usual persistence, continued to show him her not at all plausible backside.As if on purpose, the desired man, to whom Ivan Samoilich had come for a countless time to ask for a place, spent the whole morning in the open air on the occasion of some celebration. The man in question was out of sorts, constantly tore and stained the papers in front of him, gnashed his teeth and for the hundredth time promised to bend the ram’s horn and put him “where else have you never thought” of the little man standing in front of him with a very dashing upturned gray tuft on the head. The right man's face was blue from a still fresh feeling of cold and old and already rancid annoyance; shoulders raised, voice hoarse. Ivan Samoilich timidly entered the office and was completely at a loss. -- What else? - asked the right person in a jerky and frozen voice, - haven’t you been told? Ivan Samoilich timidly approached the table, in a convincing and soft voice began to tell about his cramped circumstances, asking for at least something, at least some, even a tiny place. “I wouldn’t dare,” he said, stuttering and becoming more and more timid, “but judge for yourself, I’ve spent my last, I have nothing to eat, put yourself in my position.” - There is nothing to eat! - the right person objected, raising his voice, - is it really my fault that you have nothing to eat? Why are you pestering me? I have an almshouse or something, so I have to pick up all the ragamuffins from the street... There’s nothing to eat! how impudently he speaks! If you please, it’s my fault that he’s hungry... The gray-haired old man with the tuft was also quite surprised. “But I’m not to blame for this either, judge for yourself, be lenient,” remarked Ivan Samoilich. - Not guilty! that's how he answers! At the answers, brother, you are all masters... It’s not your fault! Well, let’s assume that it’s not your fault, but what do I have to do with it? The right person walked around the room in excitement. - Well, why are you standing there? - he said, approaching Mr. Michulin and as if intending to take him into a fight, - did you hear? “Yes, I’m all about the place,” Ivan Samoilich objected in a somewhat firm voice, as if determined to achieve his goal at any cost. - They tell you that there is no room! do you hear? In Russian they tell you: no, no and no!.. Do you understand me? - I understand! - Michulin answered in a dull voice, - but you still need to eat! - Why are you attached to me? Yes, do you know that I, as ill-intentioned and annoying, will put you somewhere you don’t even think about? Do you hear? need to eat! I’m definitely his serf! Well, go to the almshouse, my dear! go into service... go to hell, just don’t pester me with your “there’s nothing to eat”! And the right person again began to stretch the stiff limbs around the room. “It’s been a whole morning here in the cold and damp... you yell and scream as if you were beasts, and yet they don’t even give you peace at home...” “But it’s not my fault,” Ivan Samoilich objected again in a trembling voice, poorly hiding the anger that was boiling in his chest, “it’s not my fault that the whole morning was in the cold and destitute.” - Is it my fault? - the right person shouted passionately, stamping his foot and moving his shoulders violently, - guilty? A? come on, answer me! Ivan Samoilich was silent. - Why are you getting attached? No, tell me, why are you pestering me? Is it my fault that you have nothing to eat? guilty? A? “It’ll be a shame if they raise a fuss on the street,” Ivan Samoilich remarked quietly. - Get off me! - cried the right person, losing patience, - well, let them raise it in the street! I tell you: there is no room, no, no and no. Ivan Samoilich flushed. - There is no room! - he shouted beside himself, approaching the right person, - so let them raise a fuss on the street! so that's what you are like! and others, don’t be afraid, have a place, others, don’t be afraid, eat, others drink, but there’s no place for me!.. But suddenly he died, he was a quiet little guy and unresponsive, and his timid nature suddenly surfaced. His hands dropped; my heart sank in my chest, my knees buckled. - Don't destroy it! - he said in a whisper, - it’s my fault! I'm the only one to blame for everything! Have mercy! The man in question stood there in a daze; he looked at Ivan Samoilich with unconscious amazement, as if he didn’t yet have a good idea of ​​what was going on. - Out! - he finally shouted, recovering from amazement, “get out of here!” and if you dare again - do you understand? The right person threatened, flashed his eyes and left the room.

Ivan Samoilich was completely destroyed. In his ears there were sad and annoying sounds scary words the right person: no room! no, no and NO! - Why is there no place for me? where is my place finally? My God, where is this place? And all the passers-by looked at Ivan Samoilich, as if from under their brows, and ironically sang along with him: “Where, really, is this place? After all, it’s someone’s fault that this place doesn’t exist!” Michulin decided to immediately address this question to knowledgeable people, especially since he was tormented not only by material deprivation, not only by the hope of dying of hunger, but also by his very soul that demanded calm and rest from the incessant questions and doubts that besieged it. The knowledgeable people were none other than Wolfgang Antonich Beobachter, a candidate of philosophy, already known to the reader, and Alexis Zvonsky, a runt from the nobility. Both friends had just had lunch and were sitting on the sofa, smoking cigarettes. Wolfgang Antonich had a guitar in his hands, on which he strummed some terrible bravura in the most sweet-sounding way; Alexis had some kind of cloudy moisture floating in his eyes, about which he constantly and bitterly complained, saying that it prevented him from looking directly and cheerfully right in the eyes cold, impassive And bleak reality. The friends seemed to be in good spirits, because they were talking about the future destinies of mankind and about the aesthetic sense. Both friends stood equally with their breasts for suffering and oppressed humanity; the only difference was that Beobachter, as a candidate of philosophy, certainly demanded destruction, and Alexis, on the contrary, was ready to lay his head on the chopping block in order to prove that the period of destruction had passed and that it was now necessary create, create and create...“Well, put it down,” Beobachter said in the most indifferent voice, making the usual movement with his unclenched hand from top to bottom and already completely preparing to wave Alexis’s light head away. But Alexis didn’t lay his head down. “Don’t be deceitful,” Beobachter exclaimed in a melodic voice at the moment when Ivan Samoilich entered, “don’t shy away, but speak directly: do you love or don’t love?” if you love them, get away from them, from the face of the earth - that’s what! Otherwise you don’t love! - However, why are they taken off the face of the earth? - Alexis noted, for his part, - I really can’t understand this cruelty. And indeed, from Alexis’s face one could guess that he definitely couldn’t understand. The candidate of philosophy described the most imperceptible arc with a tiny clenched fist. “And I don’t want to know anything, and I don’t want to see anything!” - he said in his honeyed voice, - and don’t give me your reasons! all this is sophistry, dear friend! You don’t love, I tell you, you don’t love - and that’s all! I would have said so from the first word! Destroy, I tell you, destroy - that's what you need! and the rest is all nonsense! And Mr. Beobachter made a few chords on the guitar and sang a very special and extremely intricate bravura, but he sang in such a voice as if he was patting someone on the head, saying: “Good boy, darling! Clever, dear!” - It’s strange, though! - Alexis remarked after some silence, having collected his thoughts. Beobachter made a completely imperceptible movement of his shoulders. Letter R fell again in terrible abundance. - It’s strange, though! - Alexis, for his part, did not cease to object, each time gathering his thoughts more and more. “I know you, you scoundrel, through and through,” said Beobachter, “after all, you are the “bourgeoisie,” I know you. To this Alexis replied that, by God, he is not a “bourgeoisie,” and that, on the contrary, he is ready to sacrifice everything in the world for humanity, and that, for that matter, then, perhaps, even now, in broad daylight , will walk along Nevsky Prospect arm in arm with an uneducated, ignorant man. - Well, it won’t be aesthetically pleasing! - Mr. Beobachter noted. “Well, I don’t think so,” answered Alexis, once again collecting his thoughts. -What is aesthetic feeling? asked Mr. Beobachter, apparently intending to give his evidence the interrogative form so often used by the most famous orators. Alexis thought about it. “The aesthetic feeling,” he said, collecting his thoughts, “is the feeling that the artist possesses to the highest degree.” -What is an artist? - the candidate of philosophy asked just as abruptly. Alexis thought again. “An artist,” he said, collecting his thoughts for the last time, “is that mortal who has an aesthetic sense to the highest degree...” “Hm,” noted Mr. Beobachter, “away with them!” from the face of the earth! There is no mercy for them!.. I know you, I see right through your whole soul: you are a scoundrel, a renegade... “It’s strange, however,” Alexis remarked. But Wolfgang Antonich did not listen; he struck a chord on the guitar and sang the famous song in a sweet tenor: “Raskaya, bright and loving,” trying in every possible way to express something daring, to break off some desperate note, but absolutely without any success, because the song turned out to be the most meek and indulgent. “And I’m coming to you, gentlemen, about a certain businessman,” Ivan Samoilich began. Beobachter and Alexis began to listen. Michulin briefly outlined to them his morning adventures, told them how he had been with the right person, how he asked for a place and how the right person answered that there was no place for him, no place, no place. Then Ivan Samoilich sadly hung his head, as if awaiting the decision of knowledgeable people. But Beobachter and Alexis remained stubbornly silent: the first - because he could not suddenly find in his head a strong thought that had fallen somewhere unknown, which he had long stored up and which could at once knock the questioner off his feet; the second - because he had the noble habit of always waiting for the opinion of the candidate of philosophy in order to immediately object to him in a decent way. “But I need to eat,” Ivan Samoilich began again. “Hm,” said Beobachter. Alexis began to collect his thoughts. “Of course, it’s not his fault,” continued Michulin, bitterly remembering the harsh refusal he received from the “right person” in the morning, “of course, life is a lottery, but that’s the thing, it’s a lottery.” Yes, I don’t have a ticket for this lottery... Beobachter put his guitar aside and looked him closely in the eyes. - So you didn’t understand me? - he said reproachfully, - have you read the book? Ivan Samoilich replied that he did not have time yet. Beobachter shook his head sadly. - You will read it! - he convinced in the most melancholy tone, - there you will learn everything, everything is said there... Everything that I told you is all just preliminary concepts, hints; everything is explained more fully there... but believe me, it cannot be otherwise! Either you love or you don’t love: there is no middle ground: I’m telling you! - However, this is strange! - Alexis immediately objected, although he did not develop his thought further. - So what do you think? - interrupted Ivan Samoilich. - Away with them! from the face of the earth! that's my opinion! Rrrrr...-What about this matter? - Michulin asked, turning to Alexis. - My chest is equally open to everyone! - Alexis answered completely innocently. This was followed by deep silence. “Sorry to bother you, gentlemen,” said Ivan Samoilich, intending to retire to his home. To this, knowledgeable people replied that it was nothing, that, against, they are very happy, and that if any need arises in the future, I would boldly turn directly to them. At the same time, with considerable skill, he was able to notice that if there is some disagreement between them, it is only in details, that in the main they both adhere to the same principles, that, incidentally, progress itself is nothing more than like a daughter there is disagreement, and if their opinions are not absolutely correct, then at least they can be argued about. Michulin, of course, could not but agree with all this, although, on the other hand, he could not help but admit internally that all this, however, moved him forward extremely little. On his desk he found a carefully folded note. The note had the following content. "Ivan Makarovich Perezhiga, showing your utmost respect His Highness Ivan Samoilich, I have the honor to humbly ask his Highness, on the occasion of his name day, to welcome you to eat at the dinner table tomorrow, at three o'clock in the afternoon." With annoyance, he threw away the intricate note and lay down on the bed. But he could not sleep "; his blood was agitated, anger was boiling in his chest, and a secret voice kept whispering some insinuating and at the same time terrible legend. Everything was quiet around; not a rustle could be heard in the neighbor's room. Michulin got out of bed and began to walk around the room - a remedy , to which he resorted whenever something greatly disturbed him. Meanwhile, the wind kept making noise in the street, kept knocking on Ivan Samoilich’s window and whistled quite intelligibly in his very ears: “The poor wind is cold! let him go, good man, God will reward you for this!" And our hero absolutely does not know who to answer: to the chilled wind or to the mahogany chest of drawers and the painting that depicted, contrary to the evidence of all history, the burial of a cat by mice, and no longer hanging , but as if she was running along the wall, because both the chest of drawers and the painting, in turn, were terribly annoying and mockingly asked: “Answer us, why is it a lottery? what is your purpose?" Mr. Michulin was about to apologize, to say that he, they say, is a man and in this capacity cannot burst out and satisfy all the demands at once, but then such a noise and commotion arose; the clumsy chest of drawers so insistently stepped on his feet, the fidgety picture shone so loudly on the wall, demanding immediate satisfaction, and on the other hand, the poor wind was so chilled, waiting on the street, that Ivan Samoilich absolutely did not know what to do. Meanwhile, Nadenka was eating in the next room on her small bed an amazing dish, full of various desserts and incredibly airy cakes, which is called sleep. There was something unusually graceful and virginal in her pose; her small, cozy mouth was half open; her pin-shaped heart was beating quickly and intensely in her miniature prison. But she did not pay any attention at the passionate riot of the wind, which, looking at her from the window, was angry and howled, nor at the gaze of the young moon, full of languor, who had just thrown off his black cape of clouds, which, to his chagrin, had not yet allowed him to show off his beauty in front of people youth and daring. She was sleeping peacefully, like any other mortal, and some evil enemy had to disturb and wake her up at this sweet moment; she must have had some ugly white figure pull her hand at the most pathetic moment of her dream! .. Opening her sleepy eyes, Nadenka got quite scared. Rumors had long been circulating in the neighborhood about some strange disease that seemed to go from house to house in the strangest forms, penetrated into the most secret nooks and crannies of apartments and, finally, very indifferently invited to the next world. Realizing all these circumstances, Nadenka was greatly alarmed, because she was extremely animal-loving and would not have agreed to die for anything in the world. Meanwhile, the ghost did not move and silently fixed its eyes on her. Nadenka concluded that something was wrong and that her end had come irrevocably, and therefore, mentally saying goodbye to her learned friend and entrusting her tiny soul to whom she should, she pondered which one she would give there answer in his mortal and somewhat easy earthly wandering, when suddenly the young and dapper moon looked straight into the face of the ghost. - So you are! - Nadenka cried, suddenly recovering from her fright and quickly jumping out of bed, despite the obvious lightness of her suit, - that’s how you are! You’re not satisfied with moaning all night long and not letting me sleep - you also decided to spy on me! You think that I’m not noble, not a madam, but with me everything, they say, is possible! They were mistaken, sir, very mistaken! Of course, I’m a simple girl, of course, I’m Russian, but no worse than another lady, no worse than a German; that's it! And her small eyes burned, her small nostrils flared, her small lips trembled with anger and indignation... But the ghost, which was none other than Ivan Samoilich himself, instead of answering, made an extremely simple and monosyllabic sound, more like a moo than a a clear answer. -- I understand! - Meanwhile, Nadenka briskly poured out, - I understand everything as well as anyone else... Shameless, sir, disgraceful! Ivan Samoilich answered, but somehow abruptly and incoherently, and, moreover, the sound of his voice was so dry and soundless-passionate, as if it was seriously painful and sickening for him to live in the world. He kept telling his old story, that, they say, others eat, others drink... everyone else... Nadenka listened to him in fear and trembling; She had never seen him so determined; her heart sank; the voice froze in my chest; she wanted to call for help but could not; begging, she extended her small hands to the crafty violator of her peace, her gaze was plaintive and silently eloquent, crying out for mercy... The ghost stopped. “So you feel very disgusted with me?..,” it said in a voice muffled by the sobs boiling in its chest, “so I am very disgusted?..” “Leave me!” - Nadenka whispered barely audibly. The ghost was not touched; it stood silently at the cherished bedside, and involuntary tears of unacknowledged grief, tears of offended pride, crept down its sunken and pale as death cheeks. -- God with you! - it said in a whisper and slowly directed its steps towards the door. Nadya sighed freely. In the heat of the moment, she wanted to scream and announce to everyone that this is how it is; but - strange thing! - for no apparent reason she felt as if something had suddenly stirred in her chest, which, on the one hand, very, very hinted at conscience, and on the other, could perhaps be called pity. She looked sadly after the retreating Ivan Samoilich and even slightly did not dare to call him back to explain to him that it was not her fault that things had taken such a turn. .. and yet she did not say anything, but simply watched him leave the room, locked the door more tightly, shook her head, cleaned up two or three slips of paper from the floor, and again lay down to rest. And the wind still trembled in the yard and knocked on the windows of the poor inhabitants of the poor "garnish" and begged them to let him warm his hands, stiff from the cold - and as before no one wanted to take pity on his orphan fate ... On the other hand on the other hand, the young moon was still walking across the sky, peeping through all the windows, as a dandy from officials sometimes walks along Nevsky, also peeping into the windows of magnificent shops, and at times winking at some beauty who lives by her labors and flies like a fly, with a cardboard in his hands... In a word, everything was fine; even a drunken man lay calmly in the middle of the street and was not raised.

The birthday dinner table was arranged to perfection. Charlotte Gottliebovna spared no effort or expense to please her amiable gentleman. She trampled all over her feet, but by three o'clock everything was ready. Even she, the lean and elongated housewife, having put on a decent amount of makeup, showed off in the dining room, making a pleasant noise to the ear with her starched skirt, like cardboard. When Ivan Samoilich appeared in the dining room, the whole company was already present. In front of everyone, the jet-black mustache of the dear birthday boy stuck out; immediately, as an inevitable addition, the lean and straight, like a stick, figure of Charlotte Gottliebovna turned up; stood on the sides known to the reader : Ph.D. Beobachter and the seductive, but somewhat apathetic undergrowth Alexis on the arm of the girl Ruchkina. It seemed that Nadenka was completely happy with her fate, because she really loved decent company and in general felt a certain ailment towards people who did not belong to the so-called trash - artisans, footmen, coachmen and so on ad infinitum. Of course, speaking strictly, the origins of Charlotte Gottliebovna were covered in a very thick darkness of uncertainty, but Nadenka looked at this subject especially condescendingly. She, of course, could not help but admit that Charlotte Gottliebovna was indeed not Russian. And now, as always, Ivan Makarych joked about the scientist Alexis, saying: “But Binbacher is a scoundrel!” He doesn't want to know anything! nothing, he says, is not necessary! I will destroy everything, out of sight! And all the Germans! cunning Germans! And, as usual, Charlotte Gottliebovna, with downcast eyes, answered: “Oh, you are a very kind gentleman, Ivan Makarvich!” and, as usual, it remained shrouded in the darkness of uncertainty as to what exactly Mr. Perezhiga meant by the word Binbacher. - Shouldn't we have some vodka, madam? - the birthday boy cried, turning to Charlotte Gottliebovna, - these are dangerous times! Hey, cholera is spreading around the world! and here we are, cholera! here we are! in our own way, in our way! And indeed, cholera probably winced greatly when Mr. Perezhiga took out in one gulp a huge glass, which he, not without causticity, called a glass with a stem. It was a lot of fun at dinner, everyone’s faces looked somehow favorable and encouraging. Alexis was constantly smiling, both appropriately and inappropriately, Beobachter also did not make the usual movement of his hand from top to bottom, Perezhiga honestly assured everyone that Binbacher did not know anything, because he was German, but if you ask him, he is Russian and knows , and he also knows that Charlotte Gottliebovna’s eyes rolled under her forehead at this very thought. - Oh, how I was on my side! - he thundered, twirling his mustache with a smug look, - that was the time! what a life it was! Truly I will say, it was already life! He killed more than a thousand hares, and there’s nothing to say about the other, small game! Ivan Makarych pressed the word “game” with particular pleasure, but what he wanted to tell them remained a mystery. “I’ll tell you,” he continued, “I had a courtyard!.. that is, all these local courtyards!” just rubbish! There were about fifty huntsmen alone! There were musicians! It was a home theater! There were dancers and they performed comedies! What a life it was! kind life! Of course, Ivan Makarych boasted more than half, but those present, out of courtesy, considered it their duty not to object to him, and Charlotte Gotlibovna was even completely sure of the truth of the words of her kind gentleman and with unfeigned participation intervened in the conversation, saying in brackets: It must have been terribly wonderful! - It’s so wonderful that it’s simply impossible! Let me tell you, they were such actors - simply wonderful! The whole province came to watch - truly I tell you! Regarding Mr. Perezhiga’s actors, the conversation generally turned to an assessment of a person’s aesthetic and other abilities, and at the same time the most sophisticated and intricate thoughts were developed by the guests. Beobachter, waving his little hand from top to bottom, said in the most pleasant and insinuating tenor that he was, of course, nothing bad, but still it was not bad, and even useful, if he “slammed” and “pressed.” Letter R, as usual, she played a very important role here too. Alexis was wagging his tongue in his mouth and unconsciously waving his arms in all directions. Charlotte Gottliebovna asserted something so cruel and offensive about this subject that Nadenka considered it her duty to stand up and immediately caustically make her feel that although she was a noble German (oh! no one doubts this!), and although “to everyone, Of course, it is known" that in theirs There are nobles in the land, but, they say, in other lands not all are artisans or some kind of crazy people, oh no, not all of them! All this noise was covered by the thick bass voice of Perezhiga, who boldly asserted that all this was nonsense, that it couldn’t be “otherwise” and that, they say, ask him, he knows and will explain everything in an instant. “Tell me, please,” Ivan Samoilich began meanwhile, obviously trying to gradually give the conversation a turn that interested him, “here you are, Ivan Makarych, you are an experienced, experienced person... If only you had: after all, I think , each of them had its own special purpose, its own special, so to speak, role in life?.. - Of course it was! something that doesn’t happen in the world! - answered Ivan Makarych, nodding his head approvingly in all directions from frequent libations, - it is known - one is a huntsman, another is a huntsman, the third is just a freak! How not to be! And again there was talk about the difficulty of finding a purpose for a person in his mortal life. Perezhiga said that in general “you’ll break your head” here, and indeed, at the same time, he began to break his head with such zeal at the sight of the incessantly growing and again rising difficulties from everywhere that he would certainly have died in this struggle if he had not saved his famous stemmed glass, to which he never ceased to pay his respects. - This is my opinion here! - Mr. Beobachter intervened, - all this is nonsense, but what is needed is... - And he waved his hand from top to bottom. Although last words were said in a particularly melodic tenor, but Alexis did not fail to object to his learned adversary, saying that he did not see why it was necessary to say “here,” and that it would be much better if arms were equally open to everyone. At the same time, Alexis waved his arms and really opened his arms to everyone. “So you deigned to notice,” Michulin again turned to Perezhiga, “that one is a plague, the other is a huntsman... well, this is understandable: they are such people - well, and the roles are according to them.” In general, how do you understand? - that is, in general, what role does a person have in life? I wish I could, for example,” he added by way of an assumption. And he fell silent. And all the guests were also sternly silent, as if no one had foreseen such a philosophical question from Mr. Michulin. “My opinion is this,” the mellifluous Beobachter finally burst out, “away with everything! .. And this time Alexis, as usual, responded that can’t understand this rigorism and what is much better if the arms are open for all equally. But doubt still remained doubt, and the complicated matter did not move forward one step. "So what do you think, Ivan Makarych?" Michulin pushed again. “You just ask them,” Perezhiga answered laconically, closing his eyes from the excess of libations, “they will know better!” With these words, Ivan Makarych, followed by all the guests, left the table. But the birthday boy was greatly mistaken if he included the scientist Alexis among the mysterious “them.” Alexis seemed to want every happiness for the dear birthday boy so much that from the fullness of his feeling he could barely move his tongue in his mouth. “Don’t worry, friend,” he said, turning to Ivan Samoilich, “you’re a friend, I know you; you are humble and meek - behold! here he is - so violent, I know what he wants! Yes, they won't give you anything! Yes! just to spite you, the open space is open for everyone! He didn’t touch anything, because when he was drunk, he certainly considered it his duty to indulge in confidentiality and bare his tiny soul. “Leave me alone, get away from me, you good, dear man,” he said, turning his head, “because I know what you think about me, that he too... that’s the one from philosophy.” ... I know everything, but I don’t care... I myself know that I’m stupid, I feel it myself, you’re a dear person, I see it myself... Well, well! stupid, so stupid... such, apparently, my weak head. And he laughed, as if he was congratulating himself with all his heart for being stupid and weak-headed. Beobachter, for his part, did not object to anything, because he himself felt pleasant gaiety in his heart and waved his hand not from top to bottom, but from bottom to top. - Don’t hide... you! from philosophy! - Alexis continued meanwhile, - because I see... I see that you despise me... well, despise me! After all, I myself feel that I am worthy of contempt... ugh! But what can you do if your head is weak? head, head, that’s what!.. “Well, you’ve licked yourself, brother,” Ivan Makarych remarked laconically. - And also a master! he's called a master there! - picked up the girl Ruchkina. - What a gentleman I am! - Alexis complained in response, - master!.. sometimes there is nothing to eat - master! There are no boots - master!.. The coat on the shoulders is torn - master!.. That's the master! Yes, I see that you despise me!.. you! from philosophy! And again Alexis’s imagination began to paint him the most woeful pictures, and again, more than ever, he began to complain about his weak head, about fate, about one mysterious stranger who was cheating him in the literary department, and to everything he added - master! Finally, the girl Ruchkina considered it her duty to take him to her room. Ivan Samoilich looked sadly after the departing guests. He saw how Ivan Makarych walked arm-in-arm with Charlotte Gottliebovna, how Alexis, for his part, walked with Nadenka - also arm-in-arm... And philosophy candidate Wolfgang Antonich Beobachter hastily put on his overcoat and went out into the street, probably with that intention to walk with someone - also arm in arm! And he, too, walked arm in arm, but not with Nadenka and not even with Charlotte Gottliebovna, but with some incorporeal and extremely long creature called: “What are you? What is your purpose?” - and so on - an ugly creature, which, despite its apparent incorporeality, terribly pulled both his hands away.

Flushed with wine and sorrowful thoughts, Ivan Samoilich went out into the street. There was a biting frost outside, which in St. Petersburg very often follows the most unbearable slush; the cabbies, huddled in a ball, walked along the well-trodden road and clapped their hands. Lights flashed in the windows of the tall buildings, welcoming lights... These lights so hospitably beckoned the wanderer, frozen and blue in the cold, the cab drivers looked at them so sadly and at the same time incredulously. To the ragged and gnawed it always seems that the light seems to be on him looks out of the window with special friendliness. But Ivan Samoilich did not think about the lights or the cab drivers. He walked mechanically in his light overcoat, as if he did not feel the cold at all; his head was completely empty, only one thought spread monstrously in his imagination - the thought that he only had one ruble left in his pocket, and meanwhile he had to live, he had to eat, he had to pay the rent... But The cold was still doing its job. No matter how much Ivan Samoilich was chained in the triple armor of failures and deprivations, he could not help but feel the tingling and pinching of his familiar friend. Waking up involuntarily, he saw in front of him a huge expanse of snow, more like a field than a city square. In the middle of the field stood a magnificently lit stone building; At the entrances, carriages, sleighs, carts bustled about, coachmen and footmen shouted; Here and there, lit fires blazed under the awnings. Meanwhile, the cold stung my face, ached my skull, hurt my eyes, my overcoat provided poor and meager protection. The sight of a building flooded with light greatly shook the lust in the numb body of Ivan Samoilich; he remembered the ruble that was in his pocket, and then, by some unconscious impulse, he looked at the fires... the fires burned with red flames and spread thick and acrid smoke far across the square... “Well... You can warm up here too!” - thought Ivan Samoilich. But a strange, tempting thought suddenly flashed in his head; for a second, no more than a second, he stood in thought; then he took a ruble out of his pocket, looked at it with bitterness - and in the blink of an eye he was already at the theater box office and buying himself a ticket in the fifth tier. As if on purpose, on this day they were performing some kind of heroic opera. There were a lot of people in the theater; the doors of the boxes were noisily opened and locked, a vague and dense conversation rushed through the huge hall from the stalls to the barn. Ivan Samoilich found himself in the middle between one gallant officer, defender of the fatherland, and some rather beautiful, but heavily oiled girl. He looked down angrily at the constantly filling boxes, at the ladies in flirtatious outfits who flew into them like light and transparent visions. To a hungry and frozen person, even the stupa will seem like a light vision - if only it were richly dressed! But then the talking died down. In the midst of general silence, a distant mountain horn was suddenly heard; in some kind of half-asleep, Ivan Samoilich began to listen to his simple and plaintive melody. The long-ago years of his childhood, vast and flat clearings, dense Pine forest, a blue lake, lazily splashing its waves, and in the midst of all this, the most silent, deep silence, and only a horn, just a horn, sounds intrusively in the very ear, and exactly the same simple and sober melody. But then the flute begins to echo the horn, the violin hesitantly joins the flute - and suddenly the sounds begin to grow, grow, and finally whole streams of them burst out with noise from the orchestra and began to flow around the hall. The double basses hummed, the tender flutes complained sadly about their fate; the violin was annoyingly sawing and tearing at the soul, the drum was abruptly and dryly commanding. Our hero came to life; pale, holding his breath, he reveled in the plaintive moan of the flute, the desperate cry of the violin; all his nerves were in some kind of painful, unprecedented tension, his head was burning, his lips and eyes were dry, the same storm was playing out in his whole being as was happening in the orchestra. - This is so good! so them! cut them down! mo-shen-ni-ki, hello-sellers! - he whispered, not really realizing why the bravura music reminded him of swindlers and Christ-sellers. - Well, clap! express your pleasure! - some son of nature with a huge mustache and beard, sitting behind him, remarked in Michulin’s ear. The curtain was raised; on the stage, no one knows what, but very smoothly, a dense crowd was talking about; then the crowd parted and a gentleman began to sing something. Ivan Samoilich had neither a libretto nor an obligatory neighbor; so he understood very little of all this. However, it was clear from everything that the gentleman was pleased with himself and sympathized a lot to the rising sun, because he was throwing up his hands a lot. - Phrases, brother! it's all nonsense! we know! - said Mr. Michulin, who apparently began to be influenced by Beobachter’s way of thinking, “we know this nature!” give us some drums - that's it! And the drum was not long in coming; the music thundered again with a full orchestra, and again the thunder came and swayed in waves throughout the hall. - Express your pleasure! - pestered the above-mentioned son of nature. The sensation produced by this loud, but at the same time deeply harmonious music was somehow strange and new for Ivan Samoilich. He never expected that he could hear a crowd behind the sounds - and what a crowd! - not at all the one that he was used to seeing every day on Sennaya or Konnaya, but one that he had never seen before, and, what is strangest of all, the possibility of which he suddenly began to very clearly and distinctly realize. - Yes, things would be better! - he thought, walking along the corridor during the intermission, - then, maybe, I too... And he did not finish his sentence, because even without further explanation he very well and clearly comprehended what would have happened then. But then the orchestra started playing again. First came the inevitable lovers' explanations; some skinny lady, in a voice marinated in vinegar, conveyed her feelings to the meek and unrequited minion; the minion listened completely indifferently and was just waiting for an opportunity to give a pull behind the scenes. Then a gentleman in a velvet sweatshirt came skipping out from behind the bushes, as if on purpose. Michulin kept nodding his head negatively, apparently finding that all these were phrases. But then night fell on the scene; the reddish moon burned in the canvas sky; the lake turned blue in the distance; all the trees seemed to have become silent and hidden in anticipation of something terrible, extraordinary; nowhere, not a rustle, not a rustle... And suddenly, in the middle of the silence, a call is heard, and again everything became quiet, here comes another call, and another, and another; the trees seemed to come to life and straighten their sleepy tops; the lake set in canvas waves; the moon is burning redder and redder... Again there is a whole thunder on the stage, again everything is agitated and swaying, and Ivan Samoilich hears shots and the sound of sabers, and he smells smoke. He looks with all his eyes at the stage with excitement; watches every movement of the crowd with convulsive attention; it really seems to him that everything will finally be over, he wants to run after the crowd and smell the charming smoke along with them. With special tenderness he looks at young man, with a tearing voice begging to leave him his love and naive dreams. He is so young, so fresh, young man! he is so sorry to suddenly part with his charming idols, he would like to deceive his heart for a long time and lull himself with a golden dream. But all his efforts are in vain: the truth is obvious; she soberly and without fear removes the excess covers from his soul... And sadly repeats the mountain echo of the young man’s cry, his last cry!.. That’s what the sounds said to the soul of Ivan Samoilich. But the drums and the wine he drank at dinner rather undermined his imagination. He walked quickly down the street, humming some completely unambiguous tune and trying very hard to imitate the drum. The son of nature, who was sitting behind him in the theater, also found himself next to him. Another gentleman walked with the son of nature, who constantly nodded his head in the affirmative and smiled. - Well, how did you like the opera? - the son of nature began to Ivan Samoilich, - but there’s an opera with pepper? A! how do you feel about this? -- Yes; I think that if only...” Ivan Samoilich muttered through his teeth. - Don’t even say that! I thought a lot about this myself, but there aren’t enough of us... that’s what! And I was already thinking about this, how not to think about it! Just ask him. Antosha! Friend! buddy! Well, tell me, I thought about this? Antosha hastily nodded his head and exposed a row of very sharp and long teeth. - I recommend it to you! - continued the son of nature, leading Antosha to Ivan Samoilich and almost forcibly uniting them into one common embrace, - a most noble man! I'll tell you, we think a lot about him, damn it! most wonderful soul! and how compassionate! Really, no one is so compassionate! Antosha! Friend! buddy! Antosha grinned. “I’m very glad,” muttered Ivan Samoilich, completely embarrassed by such unceremoniousness. - Perhaps such frankness is strange to you? - said meanwhile the gentleman with a mustache and beard, - I’ll tell you, don’t be surprised, - I’m the son of nature! I am simple, so simple that... in a word, I am a son of nature! I assure you... Antosha, and Antosha? Friend! Why don't you say a word? you murderer, you dear soul! Antosha, hearing the familiar affectionate epithets, nodded his head so hard that he almost broke his forehead on the pavement. “After all, I noticed you in the theater,” continued the son of nature, “I saw that next to me Human suffers, that's what! Well, he opened his arms, by God he opened his arms! I am a son of nature, and I’m frank, frank - I was even whipped once, you know, for my frankness! No, apparently this is his character: again, sir, he became frank, and even more frank than before. Silence. - So what do you think, should we unite in one common embrace? A? After all, how will we live! We'll have a great time, by God, we'll live a great life. Brotherhood is a channel! brotherhood - that's my method! I don’t want to know anything more! that is, take away my brotherhood - there will simply be nothing left, I’ll just become rubbish! So, what? brotherhood, or what? Eh, you bastard, answer me, you rake, you such a drunkard! And as soon as Ivan Samoilich began to figure out how he could suddenly arouse so much sympathy for himself in a stranger, the son of nature squeezed him in his arms and, as if with a stiff brush, tore his cheeks with his mustache and beard, constantly saying: “That’s how I love you! I understood you at once! I saw at once what you are! Oh, let’s do things for them together now!” - Come on, climb up! - he said, turning to his friend Antosha and pitting him against Ivan Samoilich. Antosha threw his whole body into the arms of our dumbfounded hero. The travelers found themselves near a house whose windows were brightly lit. The son of nature stopped. - Shouldn’t we capture it? - he asked with such an air, as if he had suddenly had an extremely bright and beneficial thought, - Antosha! buddy! Friend! to capture it? A? And he blinked his eyes at the elaborate sign, on which billiards, cups, a ham with a fork stuck into it, and decanters of vodka were displayed in picturesque disorder. Antosha smiled three times and nodded his head six times. -- Well, what about you? said the son of nature to Ivan Samoylych. "I don't know," muttered Michulin, "I forgot... I would love to, but I forgot." - Antosha! Friend! and friend! What is he talking about? A? after all, he seems to be talking about money, a traitor, a traitor! "Ka..." Antosha began and did not finish, but only pecked at the wall with the tip of his nose. The son of nature stood in front of Ivan Samoilich, spread his legs, rested his hands on his sides like a ferret, looked into his eyes with an air of bitterly wounded friendship and shook his head reproachfully. “Ah, so that’s what you are, a traitor!” Money! did I ask you for money! did you ask? A? so here I am for you - money! Antosha! Friend! And both friends instantly took Ivan Samoilich by the arms and quickly dragged him up the dimly lit stairs. Michulin was completely taken aback. For the first time, he saw so much sympathy for himself, so much ardent sympathy. And in whom? in people completely strangers to him, in people whom he only had the chance to see once, and then in passing. The sex workers began to fuss. The car started playing. - Hey, kid! - shouted the son of nature, - why is she, brother, some kind of rascal is playing there with you! give us some drums - that's it! eh? does it come with drums? “No way, sir,” answered the sexton, cheerfully shaking his curls. - Why not? “No, it’s not required,” answered the sexton. -- Not required? Eh, brother, it’s obvious that these people are coming to you, the little people are all such scumbags - they come to you! No, brother, the three of us, we are strong, seasoned souls... Antosha, and Antosha! Friend! hardened souls, eh? - Oh, oh! - the son of nature complained, twirling his mustache, - our times have not come yet, otherwise the three of us would not have done something! By God, yes! The light would be turned inside out! Listen, you donkey! Do you hear, you idiot? - he continued, turning to the sexton, - what kind of people the three of us are! so give us drums, give us bravura - that's what! understand? Well, get lost, and quickly bring what you have there. The polovoi grinned, shook his head and muttered to himself: “You are truly wonderful, gentlemen!” A minute later the table was covered with bottles, decanters and glasses. The appetizer stood modestly to the side. - That’s just who I am! - said the son of nature, pouring glasses, - I’m all here in the palm of your hand, do whatever you want with me! If you love, friend, if you don’t love, God be with you! and here I am, as I am, a son of nature! No guile, no cunning! Ivan Samoilich drank bitterly. - Come on, drink! she, vodka, is frank! Here I am being frank! So they whipped me once, but still frankly - I can’t, I can’t do it any other way! Antosha, Antosha! - he continued reproachfully, - and are you a friend after that? and you're not ashamed < nrzb > the gift of nature stands before you, and are you not ashamed? And friend! oh my friend! Well, I disgraced you, brother! Antosha drank it in one go. And they drank a lot, and drank for a long time. Ivan Samoilich didn’t even remember the count; As soon as he emptied the glass, a new and completely full one grew in front of him. Vaguely, as if in a dream, he imagined toasts offered by the loud voice of the son of nature. Ivan Samoilich lost all feeling. He saw, however, that the son of nature seemed to be getting ready to go out somewhere with Antosha and was pointing something at him to the sex, but he understood nothing from all these gestures and conversations. When he woke up, it was already light outside. On the table there were leftovers from yesterday's snack, and there were decanters of unfinished vodka. His head was heavy, his arms and legs were shaking. He began to remember what had happened, looked for his comrades with his eyes, but there was no one in the room. Suddenly an alarming doubt crept into his soul: “What if these are scammers?” he thought, “what if they took me in for dinner, and then, after getting me drunk, they left me on bail?” This thought tormented him; he tiptoed to the door and put his ear to the keyhole. In the next room the swearing voices of sleepy sex were heard. He came out of the ambush and asked for the overcoat. We started looking for the overcoat - there was no overcoat; It was as if Ivan Samoilich was doused with varnish. The sex workers began to fuss; there was a rush, but nothing helped - the overcoat could not be found. - Who did you come with? - asked the barman. -- I don't know; I saw them for the first time. - Fraudsters! Some kind of lickers! - How can I live without an overcoat? “I don’t know,” answered the barman with an arrangement, “it’s obvious that you’ll have to do it without an overcoat; It got warm at night... But the bill hasn’t been paid yet... Ivan Samoilich’s tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. “Sleep in hand,” he thought and his whole body shook. “So goodbye... I mean it,” he said, heading out the door. - What about the counter? - objected the barman. “I don’t know... it’s them,” Ivan Samoilich muttered and kept walking towards the door. But they didn’t let him in; Michulin decided to force his way onto the stairs; but two burly guys held him tightly by the hands and did not want to let him go. The struggle began; Despair seemed to have increased his strength tenfold, he was already lifting his leg over the threshold, he was already on the stairs, when suddenly, right in front of his nose, from nowhere, a policeman of astonishing size grew up, and in his ears it sounded most unpleasantly: “Where are you going, you little baller?” ?" To such an apostrophe, Ivan Samoilich considered it necessary to answer that he was not a harlot at all, but was accustomed, they say, to delicate and subtle addresses; but the policeman, apparently, did not even want to know the delicate treatment. It suddenly seemed very clear to him that the baller was being rude, when in fact Ivan Samoilich was only making excuses and explaining that, they say, this is how it is, and nothing more... - Ah! You're still being rude! you are still speculating! Hey, who's there? take it and dispose of it! Before Mr. Michulin had time to look around, three assistants appeared next to him, although they were much smaller than the policeman. All four grabbed him and took him outside. In vain did Ivan Samoilich beg the policeman to let him go, in vain did he seduce him, showing in his hand the two two-kopeck coins that had survived in his hand, in vain! The policeman walked dispassionately next to him, and not only forced him by the sleeve, but even in order to publicly express his selflessness, shouted at the top of his lungs: “And what are you doing!” God be with you! I won’t let you out for a hundred rubles! You, brother, know your rules, you, brother, obey if your superiors order - that’s what! and not just being rude and contradicting! We don’t need this at all, brother! And a whole crowd of people had gathered, and there was laughter in the crowd, there was fun in the crowd! They took, they say, a gentleman in a German dress! - Evosya! - says the bearded young man, who had already raised the hem of his sheepskin coat to wipe his nose, and remained in a position of complete amazement, - look, brother Vanyukha! Look, they're leading the short-haired man!.. - So, apparently, your honor would like to take a walk? - picks up another, also, apparently, a very lively fellow - Gi-gi-gi! - responded the voice of a girl known to Ivan Samoilich, who lived by her labors. - Our respect to you! - a blond student standing nearby picked up. - Ha-ha-ha! - was heard in the crowd. Michulin was neither alive nor dead. What will friends say about him? - and his acquaintances are certainly all there, standing next to him and looking him straight in the face. What will Nadenka say? - and Nadenka is certainly here, and probably thinks that he, having forgotten himself, went for a handkerchief, instead of his own, in someone else’s pocket... Oh! this is very sad!.. And he again took the treasured two-kopeck notes out of his pocket, again turned them over in the policeman’s eyes, trying to somehow let a ray of sunlight hit them and give them a dazzling, irresistible shine. Finally he was pushed into some dark closet filled with cockroaches; but even here his sworn persecutors did not abandon him. -- Let me go! - Ivan Samoilich cried in a plaintive voice to one of his guards, called Mazuley, - my dear! most respected! let me go! I will thank you later, most honorable! I will forever be grateful to you all my life, my dear!.. Judge for yourself: I’m not some kind of guy. .. - Oh, you’re a friend, really, really! - Mazulya answered in a tone, however, rather soft, - well, what are you asking for, you shameless soul! You don’t know the rules, dude! Sit down! look at the people! after all, they will pat you down, they will pat you down - and march! That's what! other! that's it, you friend! shameless soul! but to me... And the compassionate mentor turned to the window. - Borodaukin! and Borodaukin! - he shouted to a comrade standing outside, - where, brother, did you hide the horn? I want to die - my nose is completely cramped! Well, oh well, you don’t know the rules! wow! The door opened, and Wartkin’s friendly hand reached out and opened her gifts to the hunter of strong sensations, Mazula. - How will all this end? - Ivan Samoilich asked through tears. - It is known what! - Mazulya answered phlegmatically, - we know what! The biggest one will knock twice and then let him go - that’s what! There was silence. - Or maybe it will be three! As he pleases! - said the mentor, after thinking a little. New silence. Ivan Samoilich was in the most painful situation. What is he, really, that his fate pursues him so inexorably? Isn’t he some kind of prince, overthrown from the throne through the sedition of a power-hungry courtier and now wandering incognito? But in this case, he was ready immediately, both for himself and for his heirs, to renounce all claims to all possible benefits, if only they would leave him alone at that moment. Meanwhile, Wartkin also entered. Oh, how cruel he was to Ivan Samoilich! how contemptuously and insultingly he treated him! And the first insult was that he, without any ceremony, began to throw off his dress in front of him, and for the hundredth time he did not recognize his overcoat, although for the hundredth time he had held it in his hands, for the hundredth time he looked and turned it over everything. side - and still could not find out - and looked again, and again did not find it. - Where is she? - he asked himself, adding to this a somewhat harsh expression, - but where did she go, damned? - Yes, it’s in your hands! - Ivan Samoilich dared to remark, but he dared extremely timidly and softly, as if he was doing terrible crime . -- In hand? - Wartkin grumbled under his breath, as if he had not heard that the remark came from Ivan Samoilich, - but who knows? maybe even in your hands! That’s how you don’t need her, the damned one - she keeps climbing and climbing! hurts my eyes! but as a need - there is none here! That's right! Cunning, the people have become wicked today! Well, climb up! come on, they tell you! - When will all this end? - asked Michulin. Wartkin looked at him intently and turned away. - What is my fault? judge for yourself! After all, I did nothing, really, nothing... Wartkin did not answer. - How will all this end? - Ivan Samoilich screamed again. - You sit down! - said Wartkin laconically. - Judge for yourself, most respected! because I just... why? - You, brother, are just like a little child! - objected Wartkin, - you don’t understand anything, there’s no order! Well, why are you whining? sit down! - Judge for yourself, my dear... after all, I am an educated person. - Educated! Well, how educated are you, if you don’t know the rules, have you been rude to the greatest extent? And educated! Yes, sit down, but I won’t even talk to you, and I don’t want to listen to you! And Wartkin plunged into thought. - After all, brother, that’s what it is for me! - he said like Mazula, after thinking for a while. Finally, Ivan Samoilich was led away; The guides walked around again. They led him for a long time, a very long time; On the road we met different faces who turned around and looked mockingly at the hero of this story, pale and almost alive with shame. - He must be a fraudster! - said a dandy in a brown coat and with an equally brown nose. - Or maybe even a state criminal! - answered the gentleman with a suspicious face, constantly looking back. -- Scammer! I'm telling you - a scammer! - the brown coat objected passionately, - he was just stealing scarves! Look what a face! For nothing, just for pleasure, I’m ready to kill a man... y! thief soul! But the suspicious gentleman did not calm down and still stood his ground that this must be an important state criminal. Ivan Samoilich heard many wise speeches during his earthly journey, a lot of useful worldly advice passed through his auditory organ, but truly nothing like this could even be imagined by his not entirely lively imagination to what was uttered by the lips of the greatest. His speech was simple and artless, like truth itself, and yet not without some salt, and from this side it resembled fiction, so that it represented one majestic synthesis, a combination of truth and fable, simplicity and fiction decorated with sparkles of poetry. - Oh, young man! young man! - said the biggest one, - think about what you did? look into your actions, and don’t skim the surface, but go into the very depths of your conscience! Ah, young man! young man! And indeed, Ivan Samoilich delved into it, and somehow it suddenly seemed to him that he had actually committed a terribly heinous crime. - Well, what can we do? - he answered, suddenly suppressed by the mighty force of remorse, - such a sin happened! forgive me generously! right, sorry! But the larger one walked quickly around the room, probably figuring out how to once again convince his defendant even more and finally evoke in him the awakening of his hardened conscience. - Oh, young man! young man! - he said after a few minutes. And he walked around the room again. “You will kindly judge for yourself,” Ivan Samoilich began meanwhile, “after all, I am a well-bred man and I am dressed, it seems, as a well-bred person should, and not just some peasant!” - Oh, young man! young man! - the big one objected in a mysterious voice and shaking his head, as if at the same time he was surprised at Michulin’s inexperience, and wanted to tell him something extremely secret, - that’s inexperience! You don’t know what things are going on in the world! Yes, another with a beaver, sir, walks! in French, in German - and the devil knows what else - a rogue! scammer, sir! the most natural swindler! Ah, young man! young man! Ivan Samoilitch lowered his head again, and again the larger one paced the room. - What should I do with you? asked the largest, after a brief reflection. - Yes perishing be generous! Sorry! - noted Ivan Samoilich. - Really, I don’t know! I tell you truly, you have placed me in a most difficult position! On the one hand, I feel sorry for you - you think, due to his inexperience, the young man will disappear for a penny! but on the other hand, an example is needed, duty commands!.. our duty... oh, you don’t know what our duty is! Michulin agreed that the duty was indeed responsible, but still asked to be generously released. - Is it really for such a day? - said the largest in the form of an assumption (the day was, apparently, solemn). - Yes, at least for a day! “Really, I don’t know... the matter is so difficult...” And the bigger one began to walk again, still thinking about how he could get out of the difficult situation. - Well, God bless you - it wasn’t! I’ll answer to God, apparently there’s nothing to do - that’s my temperament!.. that is, would you believe it, I’m ready to take off my last shirt, but I won’t leave my neighbor without a shirt, no! Ivan Samoilich, for his part, replied that he was ready to take off his last shirt in order to express his most sensitive gratitude to the greatest gentleman, but that he would remember the benefit shown to his grave, rest assured! - What is your memory to me! - answered the big one with a sigh, - what is your gratitude to me? Peace of conscience - that's where the reward is! peace of mind - that is true pleasure! And as for the shirt, please don’t worry - I have enough of my own! Ah, young man! young man!

Unnoticed by anyone, Ivan Samoilich made his way into his secluded room. Without saying a word to anyone about the incident that had happened to him, he locked the door and thought, thought bitterly... The incident finally finished him off. And then the fever hits, and such thoughts come into your head... it’s hard, really hard to live in the world!.. And the fever keeps hitting! and the thoughts keep creeping in, they keep creeping in! And Michulin thought and thought... until a red-haired, broad-shouldered man with a fiery beard came to him and began to urgently demand satisfaction; after the man Nadenka rushed at him, showing the most terrible and long claws - and also sought satisfaction... Ivan Samoilich was completely at a loss, especially since above all this chaos the infinite rose on infinitely small legs, completely buckling under the enormous weight that suppressed them. But the most offensive thing is that, peering into this terrible, all-consuming infinity, he clearly saw that it was nothing more than the embodiment of the same terrible question that so painfully and persistently tortured his bitter fate. And in fact, the infinite smiled so strangely and ambiguously, looking at this finite being, which, under the name “Ivan Samoilov Michulin,” groveled at his feet, that the poor man became timid and completely lost... - Wait, I’ll play with you thing! - said the infinite, bouncing on its elastic legs, - do you want to know what you are? if you please, I will lift the veil that hides the mysterious reality from you - look and admire! And indeed, Ivan Samoilich suddenly found himself in space and time, in a state completely unknown to him, in a completely unknown era, surrounded by a thick and impenetrable fog. Looking, however, more closely, he noticed, not without surprise, that a countless number of columns suddenly began to separate from the fog and that these columns, taking an upward and more inclined position, finally connected at one common peak and formed a completely regular pyramid. But what was the astonishment of the poor mortal when, approaching this strange building, he saw that the columns forming it were not made of granite or any similar mineral, but were all made up of the same people like him - only different colors and shapes, which, however, gave the entire pyramid a pleasing to the eye character of diversity. And suddenly various familiar faces flashed into his eyes - there was Beobachter, a candidate for philosophy, with a guitar in his hands, spinning unconsciously in one of the columns, there was Vanya Maraev, who was studying literature, a stately and handsome man, but with somewhat drunken eyes, and that’s all these familiar faces stand so low, smile so unconsciously, impersonally, upon seeing Ivan Samoilich, that he felt ashamed of them, and even of himself, that he could make acquaintance with such insignificant people, not worth spitting on. “What if I too...” he thought, but he didn’t think of it, because his thought froze halfway - he was so frightened, suddenly remembering that this way he might, perhaps, see himself in a not quite intricate situation. And as if on purpose, the huge pyramid, which until then had shown him, one after another, all its sides, suddenly stopped. The unfortunate man's blood froze in his veins, his breathing began to tighten in his chest, his head began to spin when he saw at the very bottom of the unusually voluminous column the same Ivan Samoilich, like himself, but in such a disastrous and strange situation that he did not want to believe his eyes. And indeed, the mass standing in front of him presented a curious sight - it was all made up of countless people, piled on top of each other, so that Ivan Samoilich’s head was so disfigured by the weight weighing over it that it lost even the signs of its human character! and the part called the skull even turned into complete insignificance and was finally written out of cash. In general, the whole figure of this strange, mythical Michulin expressed such mental pauperism, such moral beggary that the real Michulin, watching from afar, felt both cramped and heavy, and he rushed with force to snatch his suffering double from under the oppressive weight. But some horrible power chained him to one place, and he, with tears in his eyes and gnawing melancholy in his heart, turned his gaze higher. But the higher this gaze climbed, the more complete people seemed to Ivan Samoilich............. He himself now felt what a terrible weight was pressing on his head; he felt how, one after another, those qualities that made him a well-known image were disappearing... Cold sweat poured over his body; breath froze in my chest; the hairs, one after another, moved and stood up; his whole body was trembling in panicked anticipation of something unheard of... He made a desperate, exorbitant effort - and... woke up. All Charlotte Gottliebovna's residents stood around his bed in thoughtful silence. The first thing that especially struck his eyes, heavy with sleep, was Nadenka Ruchkina, that same proud and unshakable Nadenka who had told him so many times that if she said anything, she said it and would never change her words, and who at the moment she was sitting on his bed and carefully wrapping his feet. This joyful phenomenon in one minute so absorbed all his attention that he forgot everything around him; something similar to a mirage suddenly flashed in his soul, and a quiet, but complete happiness began to appear in his imagination. family life with his loving and beloved wife, with his beloved children... He really wanted to jump out of bed cheerfully and cheerfully to kiss those pink lips, the pinkest that can only be found on the entire surface of the globe, and then, deftly winking with one eye and looking under the bed first from one side and then from the other, immediately say, as befits an affectionate father of a family: “Where has that rogue boy Koko hid?”, or “that cunning girl Varenka...”; all this was already flashing in the soul of Ivan Samoilich, when suddenly reality was presented to his eyes - the most naked and joyless reality that one could imagine; in a word, reality made up of Charlotte Gottliebovna, Ivan Makarych, Mr. Beobachter and Alexis Zvonsky. - And we thought that you really wanted... Karachun came! - the hoarse bass of friend and acquaintance Ivan Makarych roared, as if from a barrel, right next to Michulin’s ear. “Yes, that’s exactly what I thought, that you were a complete karachun,” responded the skinny figure of Charlotte Gottliebovna, leaning languidly on Perezhiga’s powerful shoulder. “Looking at you at this moment, I finally understood the riddle of life!” I saw pale death waving the inexorable blade of its scythe... Oh, it was a terrible, solemn moment! I imagined this pale death... pallida mors... Have you read Horace, Ivan Samoilich? This is how Mr. Beobachter said his greeting, but he said it in such a sweet and pleasant voice, as if it was about the most ordinary thing. - Yes, we thought that you were completely dead! - responded, for his part, the apathetically laconic Alexis. Ivan Samoilich thanked the gentlemen of the “garnish” for their participation, told them that he was still completely alive, and as proof of this he began to get out of bed. But he couldn't; his head was burning, his eyes were dim, his strength weakened, and no matter how hard he tried to appear cheerful and fresh, he inevitably had to sink back onto the pillow. - Thank God, brother, that you have not died yet and that there was no quarter warden here! - Ivan Makarych roared again and stretched out his hand to hit the patient on the shoulder, as a sign of sympathy - and would certainly have hit him if Nadenka had not held him back. - Quarterly overseer! - whispered Ivan Samoilich in a barely intelligible voice. - What, did I do anything... that? -- Yes bro; we already know... that. - Oh, you did a very free thought! - interrupted Charlotte Gottliebovna. “That is, if I or someone else reported it, just if some kind of scoundrel, a seller of Christ, was found, they would make them rich, by God, they would make them rich!” If I weren’t Ivan Perezhiga!.. well, and you, as you know, would be given a government-owned apartment with heating and lighting... ha-ha-ha! Is it so, Charlotte Gottliebovna? - Oh, you are a very kind gentleman, Ivan Makarvich. - Yes, it's terrible! to be shackled in heavy chains, condemned to eternal darkness, to forever see the same dry and prosaic face of the prison guard, to hear how your life flows out drop by drop!.. oh, this is terrible!.. - said Mr. Beobachter, especially gently pressing on the words: “drop by drop.” “As I went, brother, according to my dreams,” Ivan Makarych remarked again, “and began to turn out all sorts of things in my head, so here it is, brother, hello mon plaisir [farewell, my joy (from French adieu, mon plaisir)] write it’s gone... So I’ll tell you about myself - I’ve never dreamed of it in my life, but just look for another guy like him... Charlotte Gottliebovna blushed. - Well, why don’t you get up? - he continued, turning to Michulin and shaking him vigorously by the hand, - you really can’t sleep all day! Don't be afraid, you're limp, have the brownies rocked you? Eka woman! It’s just disgusting to even look at you! You just look like such a bastard that you want to spit! But Ivan Samoilich was silent; pale as a sheet, he lay without any movement on the bed, his pulse beat weakly and slowly; in his entire being he felt some kind of unprecedented, painful weakness. Nadenka Ruchkina leaned towards him and, taking his hand, asked if he needed anything that he felt - and so on, as compassionate young girls usually ask. - I don’t know... it hurts! - Ivan Samoilich answered barely audibly, - it hurts me very much. -- A! Don't be afraid, and your tongue is loosened? - meanwhile Perezhiga roared, - don’t be afraid, he’s stirred up, as the female sex has approached! - Leave me alone, I'm sick! - Ivan Samoilich whispered in a pleading voice. - And really, let him play around here! You are welcome, gentlemen, to me! And you, Charlotte Gottliebovna, would give us some vodka! Oh-oh-oh, Lord! You will punish us for the sins of this world! Ivan Samoilich was left alone with Nadenka, his eyes motionlessly fixed on her; the pale, thin face expressed unbearable suffering; He slowly took her hand and pressed it to his lips for a long, long time. - Nadenka! good! - he said in a broken voice, - kiss me... for the first and last time!.. Nadenka was amazed. Due to her characteristic suspicion, she began to realize that all this was not for nothing, that it was all a trick, that he only wanted to lull her vigilance; but when she looked at this haggard face, at these eyes turned to her with prayer and expectation, she suddenly felt somehow ashamed of her suspicions; Her little heart felt tight and awkward, and at the same time a tear, the most miniature, tiny tear, somehow completely accidentally came to her eyes and fell from her eyes onto Michulin’s open chest. There is nothing to do, Nadenka wiped away a tear, leaned over and kissed the patient. Ivan Samoilich's face smiled. - What is the matter with you, Ivan Samoilich? - asked Nadenka, - is it true that you have a cold? -- Oh no! this is all... all about that matter... remember why I came to you? - Is it really some important matter that has upset you so much? -- Yes; it’s, you know... a major matter!.. And how it hurts me, it hurts, if you only knew! Nadya shook her head. - Shouldn't we send for a doctor, Ivan Samoilich? - For the doctor?.. yes; it wouldn't be bad! Maybe I would have prescribed something; but why? After all, he still won’t explain things to me! no, you don't need a doctor! - Yes, at least he would help you, Ivan Samoilich. - No, this is a waste of time, Nadenka! the most empty! I’m telling you, but I already know... It might help, but what good will it do! Well, I’ll get better, and then what? no, you don’t need a doctor... Nadenka was silent. - Yes, besides, the doctor needs money; a good one won’t even want to go to a poor person... that’s it! and whoever comes across it - Christ is with him! It will only torment you... it’s better to die like that! At this time, the door opened noisily, and the plump figure of Perezhiga burst into the room with a damask in one hand and a glass in the other hand. - Here, grab the balm, my friend! - roared a voice familiar to Ivan Samoilich, - this, brother, you know how it will take your soul away, by God, it will take you away! And you will die, obviously, that’s how it should be, obviously, that’s how God wants it! Come on, have a drink. Don't frown, grandma! And Michulin saw with horror how Perezhiga’s hand, trembling and unfaithful from frequent sacrifices to Bacchus, filled a glass with the composition, burning like fire, contained in the decanter. He began to refuse, saying that he felt better, that he was - thank God, but in vain: the glass was already poured, and besides, Nadenka, in her soft voice, convinced him to try - maybe, they say, this will make him feel a little better to him. Without taking a breath, Ivan Samoilich drank the vodka served and fell almost unconscious on the bed. - Eka vodka! what a vodka thief! - Meanwhile, friend and acquaintance Ivan Makarych said, looking at Michulin’s face, distorted by convulsions. - Ek is taking her, Ek is taking her! oh, bestian vodka! He hasn't choked yet! right, yes! tenacious, tenacious! But what does the soul hold in! And Perezhiga, with a self-satisfied smile, admired the exhaustion and suffering of Ivan Samoilich, as if he wanted to tell him. “What, brother! Did I give you a task? Let’s see how you somehow get out of it... but you’re resilient! Indeed, it was quite difficult to get out. Nadenka ran after the doctor and soon brought in some German, somewhat tipsy, constantly sniffing tobacco and spitting in all directions. The doctor approached the patient, felt his pulse for a long time and with tension, as if he wanted to drill a hole in his hand, and shook his head; He ordered him to stick out his tongue, examined it and also shook his head; then he sniffed tobacco, again felt his pulse and carefully examined his tongue. -- Schlecht [bad] (German)], said the doctor thoughtfully. -- Well? is there any hope? - asked Nadenka. - Oh, none! and don't assume! but by the way, raise the patient’s head... They raised their head. - Hm, no hope! Believe me, I already know!.. did you give him anything? - Yes, Ivan Makarych gave him vodka. - Vodka? schlecht, sehr schlecht [bad, very bad (German)]. Do you have vodka? -- Don't know; I’ll ask Ivan Makarych. - No, it’s not necessary: ​​I did it more out of curiosity; but, if you have it, why not drink it? Nadenka went out and returned about five minutes later with a decanter. “Vodka is very often healthy, but very often harmful,” the doctor remarked thoughtfully. - Well, is it necessary to die? - Ivan Samoilich asked timidly and barely audibly. - Yes, be calm! you will die, you will certainly die! - How soon? - the patient asked again. - Yes, in two, three hours, it will be necessary... Farewell, most respected; I wish you good night! However, the night was restless. At times the patient actually fell asleep, but then suddenly jumped out of bed, grabbed his head and in a plaintive voice asked Nadenka where his brain had gone, why they had crushed his soul, and so on. To this Nadenka replied that his head was intact, thank God, but, they say, would he like to drink chamomile - so there is chamomile. And he took the cup in his hand and unquestioningly drank the chamomile. The next day, by lunchtime, he seemed to feel better - he was calm, and although very weak, he could nevertheless speak. He took Nadenka’s hands, pressed them to his heart, kissed them, pressed them to his eyes, to his forehead, and cried... he cried with quiet, sweet tears. And Nadya, for her part, also felt sorry for him. For the first time, she seemed to understand that a person was dying in her eyes, that this person loved her, and she harshly and hostilely pushed him away from her. Who knows what caused this death? Who knows, maybe he would have been healthy and cheerful if - oh, if you had looked, kind, wonderful creature, looked with the eyes of compassion and empathy at this face turned to you! If only you could drop even one ray of love on this poor soul, tormented by grief and need! Oh, if only it were possible! “Listen,” Ivan Samoilich said meanwhile, taking her hand, “you forget that I bothered you, that I insulted you... Of course, I am guilty a lot, but what can I do?” After all, I’m alone, Nadenka, completely alone. I don’t have anyone, it was hard for me, but being alone is boring, so boring!.. After all, it’s not my fault that I’m not handsome and not learned—what should I do about it? Of course, it’s not your fault that you couldn’t love me... The patient caught his breath with difficulty; He looked sadly into Nadenka’s face, but Nadenka was silent and, with her eyes downcast, looked at the ground. “It seems to me, however,” Ivan Samoilich began again in a weak voice, “that if from childhood... at a time when the blood in us was warm, if at that time they had not put me under pressure but if they hadn’t chained me, maybe something would have come of me. They brought me up in such a way that I became good for nothing ... from childhood they led me like that, as if for a whole century I should have remained foolish and walked on the harness. That's how I had to work hard to get a piece for myself - and nowhere, and nothing ... Yes, and here, really, I don’t know if I can blame anyone ... my father is an old man and uneducated, my mother too: they are not to blame, that you haven't seen. “Perhaps I myself am to blame for everything,” he continued after a minute, “because, after all, God gave me free will, and I acted like a rude animal! .. Yes, I am guilty, and not in front of myself alone I’m guilty, and I’ll give God an answer too, that I allowed myself to be mocked like that ... And yet, and here, again, God knows if I could have done something alone! And again Ivan Samoilych fell silent, and again, with downcast eyes, Nadenka made no answer. - So that’s it, Nadenka! - the patient continued, - often we ourselves are to blame for everything, but we blame others! It is precisely in him that my death lies! but it’s not at all like I’ve caught a cold ... The body can catch a cold, a cold can be cured, but how sick the soul is, how the heart aches and groans, that’s when it’s scary, Nadya! God forbid it’s so scary! He fell silent; Nadya thoughtfully lowered her head and thought about something for a long time. Did she think that Ivan Samoilych himself was really to blame for allowing circumstances to deprive himself of all vigor to such an extent, or did she justify him by saying that circumstances are circumstances, no matter how you fight against them ... Is this, is it something else? she thought, the point is that somehow sad, unusually sad, I will become a poor girl. Perhaps these thoughts were joined by another, no less bitter and hopeless thought - the thought of her own bleak future, fraught with hardships and labor, the thought that she was in a similar position, and she must fight ... forever and stubbornly. fight?.. And she forgot both about Ivan Samoilych and the apathetic-laconic Alexis, in her recollection a village hut, an old master's house, a neglected garden with paths overgrown with grass, a river that languidly and as if reluctantly rolled its sleepy waves into some distant, unknown state; a flock of ducks rinsing listlessly in the water; a crowd of dirty and ragged children, just as apathetically digging in the mud and manure ... But all this was so vivid, so quickly resurrected in her memory, so quickly, one after another, were replaced - and the pine forest turning blue in the distance, and the plowed furrows of the fields , and an old wooden church. .. Was she better then? Was it better, was it cleaner at that time? Would it be better if suddenly, by some magical chance, she again had to return to this long-past life, long since erased from memory? Meanwhile, it was already dark outside; the room is quiet, not a rustle, not a sound; Nadenka thought that Ivan Samoilich had fallen asleep and decided to go to her room. But before leaving, in order to make sure more closely whether the patient was really sleeping, she leaned over to him and began to listen to his breathing. But no breathing was heard... She took his hand - the hand was cold... Nadya felt scared. For the first time in her life she was alone with a dead person... and moreover, the motionless eyes of the dead man looked and looked at her, as if they wanted to embarrass the poor woman, as if they were reproaching her for some terrible crime ... With an involuntary feeling of shudder, she quickly threw a blanket over the face of the deceased and ran out of the room. Five minutes later, all of Charlotte Gotlibovna's freeloaders, including herself arm in arm with Ivan Makarych, came to bow to the dead man. There was a lot of talk; some even doubted whether Ivan Samoilich really died. For a moment Nadenka herself flashed her usual thought: "But what if he is only cunning to lull her vigilance?" And Ivan Makarych even resolutely asserted that it was all nonsense, that Mr. Michulin could not die, because yesterday he had given him such a medicine, from which even the dead would rise from the grave. “I must tell you, gentlemen,” he said, addressing those present, “that sometimes wonderful things happen in the world!” If I'm drunk or something, this is done, and suddenly the person does not move, does not blink - but meanwhile he is alive and hears everything that is happening around him! .. I tell you, gentlemen, that there were even examples that they buried the living in the ground . This did not happen in my village, because I had supervision and order in everything - God forbid! But in Holland, until recently, the peasants of a state-owned village played such a thing with one police officer ... I assure you with honor! No one answered Ivan Makarych to this, although the scientist Alexis knew that there were no police officers in Holland. But in order to finally make sure that Ivan Samoilych really died, and to have the right to develop his knowledge about those buried alive, the inquisitive Perezhiga came closer to him, shook his nose - his nose was cold, put his hand to his mouth - there was no breath . -- Who knows? maybe he really died! he said with deadly indifference, moving away from the soulless corpse, "and the vodka didn't save you, woman's soul!" And it’s good, brother, that he died! However, since Michulin had no relatives or acquaintances at all, Charlotte Gotlibovna considered it necessary to send for a police official, having checked in advance everywhere whether there was anything of value. But all that was valuable was a worn frock coat and some linen. As a result of such a poverty of capital, all the freeloaders immediately decided to pool money in order to bury their brother in a decent Christian way. The police official did not keep him waiting long. He was a cheerful little guy and generally loved to joke when the opportunity presented itself, without, however, going beyond the bounds of decency. .. oh, no, no, how is this possible! -- Tell me please! - he began when they explained to him the reason for his call, - so what strange thing happened to you? Well, there's nothing to do! Let's start the examination, let's see if there are any military or violent signs! Charlotte Gottliebovna knew that the official was deigning to joke; therefore she was not at all embarrassed, but only told him with the most charming smile: “Oh, you are a very kind gentleman, Demetrius Osipich!” - Yes, sir! this, if you please, is what the law requires, and I am a tool, nothing like an insignificant tool... Yes, sir, let's see, let's see - maybe he was poisoned?.. Ha-ha-ha! maybe he had money, he was a millionaire, ha ha ha! And the merry Dmitri Osipich burst into good-natured and sonorous laughter. Having examined the body of Ivan Samoilich and making sure that there was no poison or strangulation, the good-natured Dmitry Osipych expressed a desire to inquire about the property of the deceased. - Well, give us them here, give us millions! - he said with his usual gaiety, - after all, there will be unequal heirs, ha-ha-ha!.. Eh! he continued, sorting through the belongings of the deceased, “but he had six whole shirts! and a warm sweatshirt... but he died! “Tell me, please, gentlemen,” he addressed those present, “what kind of reason would it be that a man lived and lived, and then suddenly died?..” “That is, you want to learn philosophy.” of death? - Beobachter noted. “Yes, sir, you know, sometimes in the evening I like to engage in such different thoughts, and, I admit, there are things that greatly intrigue me; for example, even this - a man lived and lived, and suddenly died!.. A strange, very strange thing! - Oh, it's not easy to explain to yourself! There's a whole science here! - answered Mr. Beobachter, - many philosophers have worked a lot on this... Yes, it is difficult, very difficult!.. it’s endless! - What is difficult here? - Perezhiga interrupted, - difficult, difficult! and it's very easy to explain! If you please see, how the man went through his dreams, how he started throwing out all sorts of things and squiggles in his head, it’s well known - it’s a bad thing! So death happened! What is infinite here? what kind of philosophy? That's it, brother! you all climb with your frostbites! I already say, stretch out to you, as he does! That's right, mark my word! - That is, what do you mean by the words "went on a dream"? - asked Dmitry Osipych. - Well, yes, it’s already known that - skepticism, father, skepticism has overcome! that's what! - Hm, skepticism? ' thought Dmitri Osipych, 'skepticism? that is, what do you mean by this? - But, approximately, a man walks with a dog: well, we just say that, they say, a man walks and a dog runs after him, and the skeptic: no, he says, this, if you please, is a dog walking and leads the person. - Shh, tell me! So, then, the dead man was a strange person? - asked Dmitry Osipych and immediately shook his head reproachfully at Ivan Samoilich. - I'm telling you - I followed my dreams! What kind of nonsense he has been spouting lately, blaspheme the saints: both this is bad and this is bad... - Shh, tell me, please! - continued Dmitry Osipych, shaking his head sternly, - but what was not life for a person! and he was fed and dressed! title, my sir, you had! and now he had no doubt about grumbling against his creator... I have the honor to report to you that there is no more ungrateful animal in the world than man. Warm him up, feed him - he will bite, he will certainly bite! This is apparently his nature, gentlemen!

Mikhail Evgrafovich Saltykov-Shchedrin was born on January 15 (27), 1826 in the village of Spas-Ugol, Tver province, into an old noble family. The future writer received his primary education at home - he was taught by a serf painter, sister, priest, and governess. In 1836, Saltykov-Shchedrin studied at the Moscow Noble Institute, and from 1838 at the Tsarskoye Selo Lyceum.

Military service. Link to Vyatka

In 1845, Mikhail Evgrafovich graduated from the lyceum and entered service in the military chancellery. At this time, the writer became interested in the French socialists and George Sand, and created a number of notes and stories (“Contradiction”, “An Entangled Affair”).

In 1848, in a short biography of Saltykov-Shchedrin, a long period of exile began - he was sent to Vyatka for freethinking. The writer lived there for eight years, first serving as a clerical official, and then was appointed adviser to the provincial government. Mikhail Evgrafovich often went on business trips, during which he collected information about provincial life for his works.

Government activities. Mature creativity

Returning from exile in 1855, Saltykov-Shchedrin entered service in the Ministry of Internal Affairs. In 1856-1857 his “Provincial Sketches” were published. In 1858, Mikhail Evgrafovich was appointed vice-governor of Ryazan, and then Tver. At the same time, the writer was published in the magazines “Russian Bulletin”, “Sovremennik”, “Library for Reading”.

In 1862, Saltykov-Shchedrin, whose biography was previously associated more with career than with creativity, left public service. Stopping in St. Petersburg, the writer gets a job as an editor at the Sovremennik magazine. Soon his collections “Innocent Stories” and “Satires in Prose” will be published.

In 1864, Saltykov-Shchedrin returned to service, taking the position of manager of the treasury chamber in Penza, and then in Tula and Ryazan.

The last years of the writer's life

Since 1868, Mikhail Evgrafovich retired and was actively involved in literary activities. In the same year, the writer became one of the editors of Otechestvennye Zapiski, and after the death of Nikolai Nekrasov, he took the post of executive editor of the magazine. In 1869 - 1870, Saltykov-Shchedrin created one of his most famous works - “The History of a City” (summary), in which he raises the topic of relations between the people and the authorities. Soon the collections “Signs of the Times”, “Letters from the Province”, and the novel “The Golovlev Gentlemen” will be published.

In 1884, Otechestvennye zapiski was closed, and the writer began to publish in the journal Vestnik Evropy.

In recent years, Saltykov-Shchedrin’s work has reached its culmination in the grotesque. The writer publishes the collections “Fairy Tales” (1882 – 1886), “Little Things in Life” (1886 – 1887), “Peshekhonskaya Antiquity” (1887 – 1889).

Mikhail Evgrafovich died on May 10 (April 28), 1889 in St. Petersburg, and was buried at the Volkovsky cemetery.

Chronological table

Other biography options

• While studying at the Lyceum, Saltykov-Shchedrin published his first poems, but quickly became disillusioned with poetry and left this activity forever.
• Mikhail Evgrafovich made popular the literary genre of the social-satirical fairy tale, aimed at exposing human vices.
• The exile to Vyatka became a turning point in personal life Saltykov-Shchedrin - there he met his future wife E. A. Boltina, with whom he lived for 33 years.
• While in exile in Vyatka, the writer translated the works of Tocqueville, Vivien, Cheruel, and took notes on Beccari’s book.
• In accordance with the request in his will, Saltykov-Shchedrin was buried next to the grave of Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev.

Biography test

After reading a short biography of Saltykov-Shchedrin, take the test.

NOTES

CONFUSED CASE

First published in the journal "Otechestvennye zapiski", 1848, No. 3, dep. I, pp. 50-120 (censored February 29). Subtitle - "Case". Signed: "M.S." Manuscript unknown. In this volume, the story is reproduced from the text of "Notes of the Fatherland" with the elimination of typos and some obvious oversights.

The lack of a manuscript and the author’s dating do not allow us to accurately determine the time of Saltykov’s work on “A Confused Case.” The newspaper and magazine polemics “about the emancipation of animals” mentioned in the story, rumors about the cholera epidemic and the discontent of St. Petersburg cab drivers date back to September 1847 - January 1848, when “A Confused Affair” was apparently written. At the beginning of 1848, Saltykov read the newly completed story to V. E. Kankrin, who “was delighted with it.” Taking advantage of friendly relations with I. I. Panaev, Kankrin handed over the manuscript to Sovremennik. Panaev, having met her, rejected Saltykov’s story, citing censorship difficulties as the reason for the refusal [A. Y. Panaeva, Memoirs, Goslitizdat, M., 1956, pp. 360 - 361]. "A Confused Affair" was accepted by the editors of Otechestvennye zapiski.

In 1863, Saltykov-Shchedrin included “A Confused Affair” in the collection “Innocent Stories,” significantly shortening the text of the story and straightening it stylistically (see vol. 3 of this edition). Considering that in 1848 the stories were blamed for “semi-mysterious hints,” the satirist considered them unsafe even in the context of censorship persecution in 1863. The writer eliminated in most cases Beobachter’s booming “r-r-r” - a kind of satirical allusion to the “revolutionaryism” of this character (p. 213, lines 19-20, p. 214, lines 1-2); removed multiple descriptions of the threateningly energetic gesture of the passenger “with raised eyebrows” (p. 233, lines 31-34, p. 235, lines 1-3), shortened the discussion about the “resignation” of the French nation (p. 237, lines 22-25 ); removed the story of the “son of nature” who suffered for his frankness (p. 256, lines 17-22), Perezhiga’s hint about the incident with the police officer buried alive (p. 273, lines 24-30, etc.).

However, most of the notes - the removal of repetitions, lengths, naturalistic details - should be attributed to increased skill. The text of 1863 lacks Samoila Petrovich’s warning about “actors” and the author’s commentary on it (pp. 201-202, lines 20-28, 1-8), the scene of the daily examination of the Burnt Dead Cat (p. 209, lines 34-40) , the story of a “Hungarian woman” about a hereditary tendency to sweat (p. 234, lines 13-27), etc.

Despite extensive editing, “A Confused Affair”, even in the 1863 edition, remained in many ways a typical story of the forties, retaining characteristics worldview of young Saltykov. While preparing for publication the second and third editions of “Innocent Stories” (1881, 1885) and the first collected works (1889), Saltykov-Shchedrin continued to work on “A Confused Case,” improving it stylistically. But no significant reductions or changes were made compared to the 1863 revision.

In this volume, which contains the works of the young Saltykov, the story is reproduced in the 1848 edition, which fully reflected the creative experience and socio-philosophical quest of the writer in the first period of his activity, which ended with arrest and exile.

The entire complex of socio-psychological problems of “The Entangled Case” is inextricably linked with the tense situation in the second half of the forties, when the question “of the fate of the lower classes” became one of the “most important issues of our time” [Contemporary, 1847, No. 12, dep. III, p. 141].

In an atmosphere of lively talk about the abolition of serfdom and expectations of revolutionary events in France, Belinsky demanded from writers of the “natural school” to “arouse humanity and sympathy” for the oppressed part of society, especially highlighting the works of Dostoevsky, Nekrasov, Butkov and others, whose “muse loves people” in attics and basements" ["Petersburg collection" - "Notes of the Fatherland", 1846, No. 3, dep. V, p. 9. Cf. V. G. Belinsky, vol. IX, p. 554].

Herzen's fiction and journalism were directed against the humiliation of the human person. His attention was occupied by “the situation of people who shed blood and sweat, suffered and exhausted” [“Letters from Avenue Mangny”. - "Contemporary", 1847, No. 11, dept. I, p. 128. Cf. A.I. Herzen, vol. V, p. 236].

In October 1847, Turgenev’s most acute anti-serfdom stories, “The Burmister” and “The Office,” were published on the pages of Sovremennik; a month later, Grigorovich’s story “Anton Goremyka” appeared, a passionate protest against the lack of rights and poverty of the people. The thought of the Petrashevites developed in the same direction: “What do we see in Russia?” asked N.A. Mombelli. “Tens of millions suffer, are burdened by life, deprived of human rights, but at the same time a small caste of privileged lucky people, impudently laughing at the misfortunes of their neighbors , is exhausted in the invention of luxurious manifestations of petty vanity and low debauchery" ["The Case of the Petrashevites", vol. I, ed. Academy of Sciences of the USSR, M. - L. 1937, pp. 290-291.]

The main motive of Saltykov’s work also becomes the contrast between the poor man, exhausted from need, and the rich loafers, “greedy wolves” who have taken over life. As in the first story, Saltykov sought to expose the tragic side of poverty, which was for the hero of “Contradictions” “an inevitable synonym for death.” In "Entangled Affair" this idea became ideological and art center narrations about the death of “as if the world were superfluous” Ivan Samoilich Michulin.

In his interpretation of the everyday philosophy of the “poor man,” Saltykov again echoed Milyutin, who analyzed not only the economic, but also the moral nature of “pauperism” in order to “give a true understanding of the real depth of this social wound.” “If a poor person,” Milyutin emphasized, “sees prosperity, abundance and even luxury around him everywhere, then comparing his fate with the fate of other people should naturally further intensify his torment and add moral suffering to physical suffering” [“Proletarians and Pauperism in England and in France" - "Notes of the Fatherland", 1847, No. 1, dep. II, p. 8. Cf. V. A. Milyutin, Selected works, page 166].

It is these tragic contrasts that are the source of Michulin’s sad thoughts, embodied in his allegorical dreams. The power of exposing social inequality increases with each new vision of Michulin.

Michulin's first dream about his unexpected transformation into a “darling of fortune,” despite the sad ending, is presented in Gogolian, sympathetically mocking tones. The second dream was essentially a detailed illustration of Nagibin’s sorrowful thoughts regarding the fate of a poor man who decided to have a family. Rethinking the plot of Nekrasov’s poem “Am I Driving Down a Dark Street at Night” [Sovremennik, 1847, No. 9], Saltykov painted a picture “full of burning, unbearable despair,” strengthening the denunciation and protest by introducing the allegorical motif of “greedy wolves” who “need kill" - "every one of them."

These gloomy visions are completed by the image of a social pyramid, symbolizing repression, lack of rights, “mental pauperism,” “moral poverty” of the oppressed masses, personified by Michulin, whose head was “so disfigured by the weight weighing over it that it lost even the signs of its human character.”

In his portrayal of Michulin, Saltykov followed traditional ideas about the “little man” that developed under the influence of Gogol and Dostoevsky. The episode with the stolen overcoat, the description of Michulin’s death, his first dream, which palpably echoed Piskarev’s dreams, and the characterization of St. Petersburg with its ugly poverty and insane luxury went back to Gogol’s stories in “An Entangled Case.” However, Saltykov did not repeat Gogol; his Michulin was a kind of synthesis of a destitute “poor man” and a reflective philosopher like Nagibin. This was the same “poor man” in whom “education,” according to Milyutin, “developed a consciousness of one’s own dignity and a wide variety of needs” [Otechestvennye zapiski, 1847, No. 1, dep. II, p. 8]. Michulin is trying to comprehend his " plight" and find some way out of the "circumstances" that are "so bad, so bad that you just get into the water."

Michulin is also significantly different from Dostoevsky’s “poor people,” although, in comparison with Gogol’s “little man,” the hero of “Entangled Affair” is much closer to the reasoning Devushkin or Golyadkin than to the silently submissive Bashmachkin. Saltykov sought to show in “An Entangled Case” the complexity of the poor man’s mental world with his “outward timidity” and “hidden ambition,” his “murmur and liberal thoughts,” “expressing the individual’s protest against external violent pressure” [N. A. Dobrolyubov, Works, vol. 7, Goslitizdat, M. - L. 1963 pp. 250-256]. However, the nature of the protest in Saltykov’s story differs significantly from the position of Dostoevsky with his broad interpretation of humanism, devoid of the harsh intransigence that was inherent in “A Confused Affair.” The scene of Michulin’s collision with the “right person,” reminiscent of Gogol’s “significant person” (cf. “The Overcoat”), contrasted with the idyllic description of the meeting of Devushkin, “loyal to his superiors,” with “His Excellency,” who not only “took pity” on the unfortunate official and helped him money, but, in the words of Makar Alekseevich, “you yourself, a straw man, a drunkard, deigned to shake my unworthy hand” (“Poor People”, 1846).

The analysis of Michulin's oppressed psyche was subordinated by Saltykov to the comprehension and "research" of social reality, the reflection and consequence of which was Michulin's "sick" soul, exhausted by reflections on the "meaning and meaning of life, on ultimate causes, and so on." Michulin, in essence, solved the same "damned questions" that Nagibin asked Valinsky in the story "Contradictions", demanding an explanation, "why would it be only in carriages that we go on foot through the mud."

But now the hero of Saltykov is intensely looking for opportunities to act, so as not to die of hunger at least. In desperation, he even decides to break the "father's code" of "humility, patience and love", entering into angry bickering with the "right person". However, Michulin's attempts to find "his role" in life ended in failure - "there is no place for him, no, no and no."

One of the objects of criticism of Saltykov was the notion, characteristic of the teachings of utopian socialists, of the possibility of establishing a just social system by promoting ethical ideals, in particular the Christian commandment of love for one's neighbor. “Society itself,” Petrashevsky declared, for example, following Saint-Simon and Feuerbach on the pages of the “Pocket Dictionary of Foreign Words,” should become “the practical implementation of the covenant of brotherly love and communication left to us by the Savior in one word, so that everyone consciously loves his neighbor , as himself" ["Philosophical and socio-political works of the Petrashevites", p. 187, see also p. 339].

The ironic theme of “open arms” runs through the entire story, from the allusion to the “truth about open arms” that Michulin’s father imagined, and ending with Ivan Samoilich’s meeting with the “son of nature,” who proposed to “unite in one common embrace.”

A poisonous caricature of the theorists of dreamy “love” for humanity” and “embraces” is given in the image of the poet Alexis Zvonsky.

According to the assumption of P.N. Sakulin, Saltykov used for satirical characterization Zvonsky some details from the biography of the Petrashevsky poet A. N. Pleshcheev with his “anonymous enthusiasm” and “social sadness” [P. N. Sakulin, Sociological satire - "Bulletin of Education", 1914, No. 4, p. 9]. V.I. Semevsky joined this hypothesis, pointing out that “a minor from the nobility” Zvonsky, like Pleshcheev, did not complete a university course and published feuilletons in newspapers [V. I. Semevsky, Saltykov-Petrashevets - “Russian Notes”, 1917, No. 1, p. 39].

With no less irony, the image of Zvonsky's friend, Wolfgang Antonych Beobachter (in German - observer), who "necessarily demanded destruction" and hinted at the fall of the guillotine knife with a "tiny movement of his hand from top to bottom", is outlined in the story. According to V. I. Semevsky [Ibid., p. 40], such extreme opinions as Beobachter, of all Petrashevites, could be expressed by N. A. Speshnev, whom Saltykov met at Petrashevsky's "Fridays". A supporter of the "immediate uprising", Speshnev, traveling around Europe, specially studied history and experience secret societies(for example, Blanks, Barbesa) with the aim of organizing a revolutionary upheaval in Russia.

Calls for an uprising and revolutionary terror in the conditions of Russian reality of the forties seemed to Saltykov just as utopian as appeals for "universal" love, so he directly pointed out that the "disagreements" between Beobachter and Zvonsky "only in details", and "in the main they both hold on to the same principles," remaining within the bounds of contemplative theory. Like Zvonsky, Beobachter turned out to be completely powerless in the face of Michulin's "tangled case", recommending to him, instead of real help, "a tiny book from those that in Paris, like mushrooms in a rainy summer, are born by the thousands."

Michulin came to the consciousness of social injustice and spontaneous protest under the influence of life itself, and not book ideas about it. Convinced in practice that "silent bowing of the head" threatens starvation, Michulin begins to think about "Beobachter's way of thinking." These moods seized Michulin with particular force in the theater, when, under the influence of heroic music, he dreamed of the "charming smoke" of the uprising and the indignant crowd that he would like to see in reality. Dressing Michulin's "rebellious" thoughts in the form of dreams, dreams, delirium, Saltykov emphasized the vagueness and uncertainty of his freedom-loving intentions, emphasizing their illusory nature with an ironic description of the inhabitants of the "garnish" and Michulin's unexpected allies who robbed him after assurances of "love and brotherhood." By the very death of Michulin, who had not resolved the issue of his "life purpose", Saltykov once again pointed out that the Michulins' case remains "confusing" for the time being, and aroused the idea of ​​the need for fundamental changes in the situation of "suffering mankind"

In his second story, Saltykov mastered the ideological and aesthetic principles of the "natural school" more deeply. Instead of "intricate syllogisms" and abstract reasoning Nagibin about A, B And WITH, “calmly and effortlessly enjoying life,” in “An Entangled Affair,” very specific, colorful figures appear, depicted in sharply accusatory tones. The owners of the “fashionable droshky”, the irritable “necessary man”, the formidable “big one”, the angry Wartkin, the “gloomy” clerk and the old red tape from Michulin’s dreams - all of them, from different sides, demonstrated intransigence social contradictions in the forms of real life.

The severity of the problem, the anti-serfdom orientation (see Perezhiga’s stories about the cruel treatment of serfs and the massacre of peasants against the police chief), the saturation of politically bold reminiscences from progressive philosophical and socio-economic literature (see hints at the denial of God by Feuerbach, the disputes between Beobachter and Zvonsky, Aesop’s description conversation in the carriage) immediately attracted the attention of both progressive and conservative circles of the Russian public to Saltykov’s story.

“I cannot be surprised at the stupidity of the censors who let such works through,” wrote P. A. Pletnev on March 27, 1848, not yet having read the end of “The Confused Affair.” “Nothing else is proven here than the necessity of the guillotine for all the rich and noble” [ Correspondence of J. K. Grot with P. A. Pletnev", vol. 3, St. Petersburg 1896, p. 209].

The “destructive spirit of the story” alarmed the employees of the III Department, one of whom (M. Gedeonov) wrote a special note about “The Confused Case.” “Wealth and honors,” wrote the secret censor of the III Department, defining “ general meaning"the story, - in the hands of unworthy people, who should be killed every last one. How to equalize wealth? Is it not the punitive machine of the candidate Beobachter, that is, the guillotine? This question, which breathes the whole story, is not resolved by the author, and therefore the title of the story is explained "It's a complicated matter."

“Among the general panic” in connection with the French revolution, Herzen’s “Confused Affair” and “The Thieving Magpie,” according to M. N. Longinov, “became reasons for criminal proceedings against literature” [Saltykov-Shchedrin in the memoirs of contemporaries, p. 772]. Saltykov was arrested by the authorities and, by decision of Nicholas I, exiled to Vyatka as the author of stories - they were also talking about “Contradictions” - “the entire presentation” of which “reveals a harmful way of thinking and a destructive desire to spread ideas that have already shaken the whole Western Europe and overthrew the authorities and public peace" [Archival documents are quoted from the book by S. Makashin, Saltykov-Shchedrin, where they were cited for the first time, see pp. 288, 279-280, 293].

Radical youth, excited by the revolutionary events in France, saw in “Entangled Affair” a direct attack against the autocratic-serf system. In I. I. Vvedensky’s circle, which included Chernyshevsky, Blagosvetlov and others, “they knew Saltykov’s exile very well and took Saltykov’s exile to heart” [A. N. Pypin, My Notes, 1910, p. 77].

The tragic image of a “pyramid of people” was perceived in progressive circles as Saltykov’s speech against the autocratic-serf system, at the top of which “Emperor Nicholas stands and crushes some people over others” [V. V. Bervi-Flerovsky, Memoirs - “The Voice of the Past”, 1915, No. 3, p. 139, see also N. G. Chernyshevsky, Complete. collection cit., vol. I, Goslitizdat, M., 1939, p. 356. For more information about the perception of the “Confused Case” in the 40s, see: S. Makashin, Saltykov-Shchedrin, pp. 273-296].

“The Confused Affair,” which, according to Chernyshevsky, made “a big splash” in the forties, continued to “arouse interest among people of the younger generation” [“Materials for the biography of N. A. Dobrolyubov,” M., 1890, p. 316]. In the mid-fifties, Dobrolyubov, along with Herzen’s story “Who is to Blame?”, tried to promote Saltykov’s work among young people, explaining the reasons and significance of the success of “The Entangled Case” among democratic readers in the article “ Downtrodden people". "In none of his "Provincial Sketches" did we find such a living, painfully heartfelt attitude towards poor humanity as in his "Confused Affair", published 12 years ago. It is clear that there were different years, different forces, different ideals. It was a living and active direction, a truly humane direction, not confused or weakened by various legal and economic maxims, and if this direction had continued, it would, without a doubt, be more fruitful than all those that followed it." Contrasting "Entangled Affair" liberal accusatory fiction, Dobrolyubov further argued that Saltykov’s story not only indicated the main source of evil, but also awakened a “courageous thought” about the fight against it [Contemporary, 1861, No. 9, p. 119. Cf. N. A. Dobrolyubov , vol. 7, p. 244].

Page 201. . ..white- hundred-ruble banknote.

Page 205. Vakshtaf- type of tobacco.

Page 208. Come to the palace, you are my dear. - Words from an aria from the opera “Rusalka” by F. Cauer and S. I. Davydov, popular in the thirties and forties (libretto by N. S. Krasnopolsky).

Page 210. I have read both Bruno Bauer and Feuerbach in my time... - The works of L. Feuerbach, especially The Essence of Christianity (1841), were actively studied in the leading circles of the forties, where the books of Bruno Bauer were also popular (see note on p. 248). F. G. Toll, for example, spoke at Petrashevsky's "Fridays" with an essay on Bauer and Feuerbach, without separating the teachings of the great materialist from Bauer's atheistic declarations, masking his subjective-idealistic view of nature and society (see V. I. Semevsky, From the history of social ideas in Russia in the late 1940s, 1917, p. 44, The Case of the Petrashevites, vol. II, p. 165).

Does Binbacher stand his ground? Everyone says that there is no main thing, no big thing?- Saltykov hints at the denial of God by L. Feuerbach. With the teachings of Feuerbach, the Petrashevites associated a new stage in the development of philosophy, when it, "containing materialism in itself, considers the deity nothing more than a general and supreme formula of human thinking, passes into atheism" ("Pocket Dictionary of Foreign Words" - In the book "Philosophical and socio-political works of the Petrashevites", p. 184). The ironic name of Feuerbach by Binbacher was common in the vocabulary of the progressive youth of the forties, possibly borrowing it from Saltykov's story (see N. G. Chernyshevsky, vol. XIV, pp. 206, 791).

Page 211. ... a monstrously colossal punitive machine.- We are talking about the guillotine.

How can you manage without him here! It's in their land- well, whistle once or twice- everything is ready!- “Without him” - that is, without the king. Perezhiga rethinks in his own way the opinion of the "mysterious Binbacher" about the "principal", "greater" (see footnote to p. 210).

Page 212. Alexis in his poems constantly depicted breasts plowed with suffering... "suffering, grief and melancholy"- In the lyrics of A. N. Pleshcheev of 1845-1848, as well as in the poetry of D. D. Akhsharumov, S. F. Durov and other poets of the liberal wing of the Petrashevites, against whom the image of Zvonsky was obviously directed (see. above, p. 421), the motives of “unaccountable sadness” prevailed. Compare, for example, Pleshcheev’s lines: “To suffer for everyone, to suffer immeasurably, to find happiness only in torment...”, “And my chest sank, tormented by melancholy,” “Your chest is tormented by suffering and melancholy,” etc. (A. N. Pleshcheev, Poems, "Poet's Library", L. 1948, pp. 56, 60-62, 69).

“After all, in our days suffering is saving!”- line from Turgenev’s poem “Parasha” (1843), stanza V.

he’ll slam you here, he’ll squeeze you there, he’ll squeeze you in another place... then...- Beobachter’s mysterious “then”, as well as his love for words containing the letter “r”, are Aesopian designations for the words revolution, revolutionary uprising.

Page 214. ... looked sideways at him, like Bertram looked at Robert- We are talking about the heroes of D. Meyerbeer’s romantic-fantasy opera “Robert the Devil” (libretto by E. Scribe and J. Delavigne), staged in St. Petersburg by the Italian Opera in 1847-1848. Bertram is a tempter devil sent to earth to force his son Robert to sign a pact with hell at any cost.

Page 216 "Ugolino"- a romantic drama by N. Polevoy, first staged in St. Petersburg in 1837-1838 and renewed in the theater seasons of 1846-1848. In "Ugolino" the famous tragic actor V. A. Karatygin played the role of Nino, Veronica's lover.

Page 223. bonchretienam - pear variety

Page 232. a carriage invented for the benefit of poor people... “at this opportunity,” he would think, perhaps, about the industrial direction of the century.- Here and further, the text is filled with a number of topical responses to the emergence of omnibus transport and to the newspaper and magazine discussion that arose in connection with this innovation “about the benefits and benefits of public spring carriages,” in which “you can ride from one end to the other for a dime, and, moreover, ride calmly, comfortably and even in pleasant company" ("Contemporary", 1847, No. 12, department IV, "Modern Notes", p. 172).

Page 234. Red- a ten-ruble banknote.

Page 235. ... if you look at the matter, for example, from the side of animal emancipation.- The question of “the emancipation of animals” was raised in V.S. Poroshin’s articles about Krylov’s fables (“St. Petersburg Gazette”, 1847, No. 113-116) and did not leave the pages of newspapers and magazines for a long time. "Domestic Notes" described V. S. Poroshin's speech as "an energetic protest against the ruthless treatment of animals by our fellow countrymen. A horse, this kind, intelligent and extremely useful creature, arouses compassion in him" ("Domestic Notes", 1847, No. 8, Dept. VIII, p. 71; see also No. 11, Dept. VIII, p. 76, 1848, No. 1, Dept. V, p. 13). In contrast to these rumors about a “humane” attitude towards horses, Sovremennik pointed out the “plight” of the working people, responding to the controversy with a description of the hungry, cruel and hopeless life of St. Petersburg cab drivers (Sovremennik, 1848, No. 2, department IV, "Modern Notes", pp. 151 -155). In the same ironic sense, the question of “the emancipation of animals” is mentioned in Saltykov’s story.

Page 235. But it's all poof! The French brought it all!- an ironic response to the feuilleton "Vedomosti of the St. Petersburg City Police" dated September 19, 1847, No. 206. The police newspaper condemned the position of the "St. Petersburg Gazette", seeing in the articles of V. S. Poroshin and A. P. Zabolotsky (see below) undermining patriotic feelings, an attempt to “make” the Russian people “angrier and harsher than all the peoples of Europe” and the intention to “introduce foreign institutions that do not agree with the climate, character, or needs of the people. What is good and useful abroad can It’s bad or even harmful to be with us.”

Page 235-236. Cab drivers- that’s the main thing... as soon as the bread is gone, it goes, and once it goes, we know what will happen! - Here and in other places, topical allusions to the rumors and rumors circulating in St. Petersburg were woven into the conversation in the carriage that the dissatisfaction of the capital's cab drivers with the introduction of city omnibuses competing with them could take the form of open indignation, “rebellion.”

Page 236. ... Have you read the article in the Petersburg Gazette?- We are talking about the article “On cruelty to animals”. Its author, A.P. Zabolotsky, supported V.S. Poroshin (see above), turning the conversation into general discussions about the humanization of morals using the example of “the extensive activities of the English Royal Society for the Protection of Animals,” ultimately aimed at improving the morality of common people. In “A Few Words of Answer,” V. S. Poroshin picked up the idea of ​​“moral education of the commoner” by introducing “humane” treatment of horses, etc. on Russian soil. ("St. Petersburg Gazette", 1847, NoNo 201 and 202 of September 3 and 6).

Page 237. "resignation" can't be found anywhere except in the French. - The words of the “gentleman with the briefcase,” who hoped to “raise dying humanity from the dust” through economic reforms, apparently contain a hint of the utopian projects of French socialists and economists who proposed reforming the distribution of public goods on the principle of equality and conscious concessions (resignation) on the part of the propertied classes in favor of the poor (see about this V.A. Milyutin, Experience on National Wealth, or On the Principles of Political Economy - Sovremennik, 1847, No. 12). At the end of 1847, in particular, Proudhon repeatedly wrote about this, defending the idea of ​​an “economic revolution” through credit and the people’s bank (see, for example, Le representant du peuple, 1847, No. 1). These projects of Proudhon were noted by Sovremennik (1847, No. 12, department IV, p. 220).

Page 243. "Rampant, bright and loving"- the first line of a song widespread among students of the thirties and forties based on the words of N. M. Yazykov (1828) (see N. M. Yazykov, complete collection poems, "Academia", 1934, p. 325).

Page 244. a painting depicting the burial of a cat by mice. - We are talking about the famous popular print"The Burial of a Cat by Mice", created in the 18th century. The painting reflects the dissatisfaction of the adherents of antiquity with the transformations of Peter, who is depicted in the form of a cat lying on a log, tied up with mice (D. A. Rovinsky, Russians folk pictures, book first, St. Petersburg. 1881, pp. 395-396).

Page 245. For a long time there had been rumors about some strange disease... which indifferently invited me to the next world. - Here and further we refer to the cholera epidemic. “Cholera, which has spread its wide arms over the whole of Russia,” wrote A.V. Nikitenko on November 2, 1847, “is slowly but surely approaching St. Petersburg” (A.V. Nikitenko. Diary, vol. I, Goslitizdat, M. , 1955, p. 308).

Page 248. And that scoundrel Binbacher! He doesn't want to know anything! nothing, he says, is not necessary! I will destroy everything, out of sight!- A satirical response to the broadcast, but superficial radicalism of Bruno Bauer, which attracted the sympathy of the opposition youth of the forties. In his books "Critique of the Evangelical Theory of John" (1840) and "Criticism of the Synoptic Gospels" (1841 - 1842), Bauer "spared neither religion in general, nor the Christian state" (see G. V. Plekhanov's notes to F. Engels' book " Ludwig Feuerbach and the end of classical German philosophy", M., 1931, p. 104).

Page 253. They were performing some kind of heroic opera.- We are talking about Giacomo Rossini's opera "William Tell", libretto by I. Bee and V. Zhui (1829). At the request of censorship, this opera with a pronounced national liberation content was staged in St. Petersburg according to a modified libretto by R. M. Zotov under the title "Karl the Bold". However, the opera retained its heroic sound. “Do you know,” wrote the theatrical reviewer of Sovremennik, “anything fresher, more indestructible than Rossini’s Karl the Bold?” (“Sovremennik”, 1847, No 1, sec. IV, p. 76). "Saltykov-Shchedrin later repeatedly noted the leading St. Petersburg youth, for example, in the article "Petersburg Theaters" (1863). See note on p. 255.

Page 254. and what a crowd!- not at all the one he was used to seeing every day on Sennaya or Konnaya.- Michulin’s thoughts about the heroic crowd of the popular uprising and the ordinary market crowd of the famous trading areas of the capital are interesting as one of the first sketches of Saltykov’s thoughts about the people “embodying the idea of ​​democracy” and the “historical people” who have not yet risen to the consciousness of their position and role in history . See about this in the notes to the essay “Foolish debauchery” (vol. 4 of this edition) and “History of a city” (vol. 8 of this edition).

Page 255. . ..he wants to run after the crowd himself and sniff the charming smoke along with them.- This refers to the second act of the opera (see note on page 253), in which the freedom-loving Swiss discuss the plan of uprising and vow to throw off the yoke of the Austrian tyrant. “There are places in “William Tell” in which the blood boils, tears on the eyelashes,” Herzen wrote in his diary in 1843, speaking about the “thrilling” action of both the music and “the drama itself developed in the opera” (A.I. Herzen, vol. II, p. 313).

Page 257. ... give us some drums- that's what!- An allusion to “La Marseillaise” (1792), which embodies the music of the revolution - marching rhythms, the beat of drums, the rumble of cannon carriages, etc.

Page 265. ... the columns... form a completely regular pyramid... not made of granite or any similar mineral, but all are made up of the same people. - By creating this image of the property and legal hierarchy, Saltykov rethinks the famous pyramid of Saint-Simon. Its “granite” base was made up of workers, the middle layers “made of valuable materials” - scientists, people of art, and the upper part - nobles, rulers and other “rich parasites” supporting the “magnificent diamond” - royal power, was made of gilded plaster (Sen -Simon, Selected Writings, vol. II, pp. 330-331). Close to the image of Saint-Simon's pyramid is the image of the "arch" composed of the nobility, bourgeoisie and people in George Sand's novel "The Wandering Apprentice", which Saltykov read - See note. to page 102). The people, J. Sand warned, will be able to throw off the “overhanging arch” and “straighten up to their full height” (J. Sand, Selected Works, vol. I, M 1950, p. 717). Michulin’s dream about the pyramid served as one of the main points of accusation brought against Saltykov’s story, after the intervention of the III Department, by the so-called “Menshikovsky” censorship committee, whose members “found” that “in this dream one cannot help but see a daring intention - to portray in an allegorical form Russia" (K. S. Veselovsky, Echoes of old memory - "M. E. Saltykov-Shchedrin in the memoirs of contemporaries", pp. 412-414).

Page 267. pale death pallida mors ...You've read Horace.- This refers to lines from Horace’s ode to his friend Lucius Sestius (“Evil Winter Surrenders”), book. I, ode 4: “Pale death breaks with one and the same foot //Into the hovels of the poor and into the palaces of kings” (Quintus Horace Flaccus, Complete Works, “Academia”, M-L 1936, p. 13).

Page 273. But in Holland...- censorship replacement for Russia.

27. M.E. Saltykov-Shchedrin: from stories in the spirit of the “natural school” (“Contradiction”, “Entangled Affair”) to a satirical epic (“The History of a City”, “The Golovlevs”)

The awakening of Saltykov-Shchedrin’s literary enthusiasm is usually attributed to his lyceum years. The beginning of his work was lyrical melodicism, which lasted for five years. Saltykov’s poetic experiments were not distinguished by thematic diversity - he mainly reproduced themes (two worlds, the image of heaven, the motif of alienation from the earthly world, tragic love) that were discovered by Western European and Russian romanticism. It is in Saltykov’s early poetry that the artistic dominant of all his subsequent work is determined: it is in the motive of alienation from the earthly world, which Saltykov even then perceived as an element hostile to man. Already at the beginning of his literary activity, Saltykov’s artistic world was open to a wide variety of traditions - Rabelais, Swift, Zola, Dickens, Krylov, Griboedov, Gogol. To the greatest extent literary fate the writer turned out to be dependent on Pushkin. The literary stimulus of the first years was the alignment with Pushkin and his advance. Over time, convinced of the futility of his attempts, Saltykov begins to write poetry in general and, upon leaving the lyceum, switches to literary criticism and prose. His creative debut was the story “A Confused Affair,” published in the March book of “Notes of the Fatherland” for 1848. The story, defending the “little man” and denying the right to be chosen by the greats of this world, aroused anger, and the young writer was quickly exiled to the city of Vyatka. A year earlier, in 1847, Saltykov wrote the story "Contradiction". Apparently, it was not published immediately: 1) it was not possible to find any information about its publication; 2) as a debut, it is “Entangled Affair” of 1848 that appears everywhere. Let’s move on from general words to texts:

Contradictions.

· Narrative technique – two narrators (Nagibin, the letter writer, and Tanya, the diary writer). The story can well be considered as a love story between Nagibin and Tanya, complicated (and ruined!!) by Nagibin’s pathological addiction to a heart-chilling and soul-destroying analysis of the surrounding reality in the spirit of “Tanya loves me, and I seem to do the same, but how can I be with her, if I’m not rich, and in general, somehow everything turns out incomprehensibly.” Such pan-analyticism and all-consuming reflection on a phenomenon of any order (feeling, person, action, etc.) clearly refer to the traditions of the natural school (Belinsky, Grigorovich, Dahl, Nekrasov, Panaev).

· Motif of study and description: occurs quite often throughout the story and characterizes Nagibin’s attitude to the world around him (What kind of people do you think there are in the world! How many subjects to study! // I will describe the Kroshin family to you).

· Action: the action in the story is maximally weakened and reduced to a minimum - the story consists of letters and excerpts from Tatyana’s diary, differing, first of all, in the retelling on behalf of the narrator and comprehension - the transmission of certain events in pseudo-real time is extremely rare .

· Descriptive complexity and tendency to typology: 1) Kroshyn (that same gentleman) as a representative of the type of Russian landowners distinguished by the discrepancy between internal content and external image: hoarding egoism VS good Christian, venerable father of a family, well-meaning citizen, friend of humanity; 2) Kroshin as a typical everyday character: morning tea, going to the field, fighting, lunch, fighting, rest, tea, etc.

· The nature of the Nagibinsky method of comprehending the surrounding reality: in addition to the familiar detailed registration of facts (not as detailed as those of physiologists), the story contains their comprehension, analysis of causes and consequences - the formation of an essay of the 60s. As an example, I cite Nagibin’s reflection on condescension and benevolent pathos (the impulse is “lenience and benevolent pathos” of the landowner, in whose house Nagibin serves as a tutor):

<…>A rich man, no matter how gentle and civilized he may be, as soon as he accepts the services of a poor man, will certainly make him feel the full weight of his imaginary benefit.<…>AND educated person, just by the fact that he has, and I don’t have, he still hasn’t given up social prejudices so much as not to see a simple mercenary in the person whose service he uses, but since he understands that to have and not to have is not at all It depends on us that this is more a game of chance than the result of reasonable reasons, so we try in every possible way to smooth out and make the distance inconspicuous<…>but I assure you, this innocent eclecticism is much more unbearable for a thinking person than any bearish antics of a steppe ignoramus.

I think that's enough. Now it's very important point: The story “Contradiction” is primarily a work of art and its essence is not in the physiological knowledge of the world. The entire typology of the Russian landowner and powerful woman contained in it is a deception. Naturalism in Saltykov-Shchedrin's story is an object of depiction and reflection. Naturalism as a type of character. One could even say that Controversy is a story about a "naturalist". Of course, the entire content is not exhausted by naturalism (there are also a lot of parallels with “Eugene Onegin”, etc.); the formulation of the question forces me to focus on it. In general, “naturalism as a character type” sounds harsh and somehow unconventional... Okay, the main thing is to convey the essence. Yes, about the differences (which are much more than similarities):

· Heroes are drawn deeper: 1) Biography; 2) Personal experiences (Tanya’s diary is filled with childhood fears and longing for her dead mother).

· The emotional dryness and rigor of the physiological essay does not correspond to Shchedrin’s traditional penchant for satire and grotesque (daguerreotypicality VS artistry):

<речь Крошина на похоронах>“Why,” he said, “did you leave us? Why are you angry with us? You were little - we raised you, we hired a madam for you, we bought dresses for you! You grew up - we married you, we gave you a dowry! You went to us - your horses were fed with oats! Why did you leave us, why are you angry with us?”

· It's a complicated matter. So, I will not write in detail about this story - all of the above remains in force, and the state. does not last forever - demonstrate this period in the work of S-Shch using the material “Contradictions”. So, there are physiological motives (“Ivan Samoilich’s brain matter was shrouded in a veil”), increased attention to detail (far from physiological scope), the content is not limited to detail.

In 1856, Saltykov returned from exile and resumed his literary activity. « Provincial essays» . The cycle has nine sections, including thirty-one works of different genres (essay, memoir, short story, short story, dramatic scenes). The final part “The Road” (the thirty-second work) is a travel essay. The main connecting link here is N. Shchedrin: he is both a narrator, a narrator, and actor. The “end-to-end” nature of Shchedrin’s image is a factor contributing to the achievement of the narrative integrity of the cycle. The structure of the cycle is completely subordinated to Saltykov’s satirical logic: if the “Krutogorsk” world is hostile to man, then it must be destroyed. The “funeral” scene has precisely this eschatological orientation. Next major work - "The Story of a City"(1869-70). In between - "Satires in Prose" (1863), where the image of the city of Foolov was born. The conversation about this work can be structured in different ways; I recommend touching on the genre and the controversy around it. The fact is that this is quite an interesting question that will help you avoid an unfashionable conversation about Saltykov’s incrimination, the spirit of protest and social orientation. There was controversy surrounding the genre of “IOG” - some researchers, relying on the name and features of the form, attributed the work as a “historical chronicle.” Others considered this definition unsatisfactory, since, reminiscent in its structure of a satirical cycle and chronicle, “IOG” is a grotesque satirical novel-epic: before us is a wide epic canvas with cross-cutting heroes (city governors and Foolovites), genre homogeneity of its component parts-chapters ( and not individual essays) and a cross-cutting plot, representing a historical chain of events unfolding in the city of Foolov. The narrator is a chronicler. The satirical attitude is manifested not in direct assessments and judgments of the narrator-chronicler, but in showing the internal absurdity and comedy of the events depicted.

In the process of working on “The History of a City,” the idea of ​​the satirical cycle “Fairy Tales” began to take shape in the writer’s work. The first texts (3 pieces) were published in Otechestvennye zapiski in 1869, but the entire cycle took shape much later, when Saltykov wrote 29 more fairy tales from 1883 to 1886.

"Messrs. Golovlevs" (). The path of the writer to "GG" was very long. Saltykov began his first novel experiments in the second half of the 40s, diligently copying “Eugene Onegin” in “Contradictions” and the unfinished novel “Chapter”. Gradually, Saltykov begins to argue (journalism) with Pushkin's novel: the main objects of controversy are the "Onegin" collision and love affair as the basis for the novel in general. In the polemic, Saltykov develops the genre form of the novel, which will be realized in “GG”. By its genre nature, "GG" is a combination family romance with the psychological: the plot develops as a family chronicle with the parallel emergence of a psychological plot element. In accordance with this, the composition of the work is formed, in which more shapes, meeting the needs psychological analysis: end-to-end parallel Porfiry - Judas (the parallel is brought to the end - Porfiry commits life with something very similar to suicide), narrative psychological comments, psychologically sharpened portrait characteristics, monologues, including internal, psychologically rich dialogues and landscape sketches. The noted biblical parallel and the theme of human alienation make “GG” also a parable novel.