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 - a serf painter, a sister, a priest, a governess worked with him. In 1836, Saltykov-Shchedrin studied at the Moscow Noble Institute, from 1838 - at the Tsarskoye Selo Lyceum.

Military service. Link to Vyatka

In 1845, Mikhail Evgrafovich graduated from the Lyceum and entered the military office. At this time, the writer is fond of the French socialists and George Sand, creates a number of notes, stories ("Contradiction", "A Tangled Case").

In 1848, in a brief biography of Saltykov-Shchedrin, a long period of exile begins - he was sent to Vyatka for free-thinking. The writer lived there for eight years, at first he served as a clerk, and after that he was appointed an adviser to the provincial government. Mikhail Evgrafovich often went on business trips, during which he collected information about provincial life for his works.

State activity. Mature creativity

Returning from exile in 1855, Saltykov-Shchedrin joined the Ministry of the Interior. In 1856-1857 his "Provincial Essays" 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 journals Russky Vestnik, Sovremennik, and Library for Reading.

In 1862, Saltykov-Shchedrin, whose biography was previously associated more with a career than with creativity, leaves the public service. Having stopped in St. Petersburg, the writer gets a job as an editor in the Sovremennik magazine. Soon his collections "Innocent Stories", "Satires in Prose" are published.

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

The last years of the writer's life

Since 1868, Mikhail Evgrafovich retired, actively engaged 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 up the post of executive editor of the journal. 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 power. Soon the collections "Signs of the Times", "Letters from the Province", the novel "Gentlemen Golovlevs" were published.

In 1884, Otechestvennye Zapiski were closed, and the writer began to publish in the Vestnik Evropy magazine.

In recent years, the work of Saltykov-Shchedrin culminates in the grotesque. The writer publishes collections "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, was buried at the Volkovskoye 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 occupation forever.
• Mikhail Evgrafovich made popular literary genre socio-satirical tale aimed at exposing human vices.
• The exile to Vyatka was a turning point in the personal life of 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 made notes on Beccari's book.
• As requested in his will, Saltykov-Shchedrin was buried next to the grave of Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev.

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Born on January 27, 1826 in the village of Spas-Ugol, Tver province, in an old noble family. In 1836 he was sent to the Moscow Noble Institute, from where two years later he was transferred to the Tsarskoye Selo Lyceum for excellent studies.

In August 1844, Saltykov joined the office of the Minister of War. At this time, his first stories "Contradiction" and "A Tangled Case" were published, which caused the wrath of the authorities.

In 1848, Saltykov-Shchedrin was exiled to Vyatka (now Kirov) for a "harmful way of thinking", where he received the post of senior official for special assignments under the governor, and after a while - adviser to the provincial government. Only in 1856, in connection with the death of Nicholas I, the restriction on residence was lifted.

Returning to Petersburg, the writer resumed literary activity, while working in the Ministry of the Interior and participating in the preparation of the peasant reform. In 1858-1862. Saltykov served as vice-governor in Ryazan, then in Tver. After retiring, he settled in the capital and became one of the editors of the Sovremennik magazine.

In 1865, Saltykov-Shchedrin returned to public service again: at various times he headed the state chambers in Penza, Tula, Ryazan. But the attempt was unsuccessful, and in 1868 he agreed with the proposal of N. A. Nekrasov to enter the editorial office of the journal Domestic Notes, where he worked until 1884.

A talented publicist, satirist, artist, Saltykov-Shchedrin in his works tried to direct the attention of Russian society to the main problems of that time.

“Provincial essays” (1856-1857), “Pompadours and pompadours” (1863-1874), “Poshekhonskaya old times” (1887-1889), “Tales” (1882-1886) stigmatize theft and bribery of officials, cruelty of landowners, tyranny of chiefs. In the novel "Lord Golovlyovs" (1875-1880), the author depicted the spiritual and physical degradation of the nobility of the second half of XIX in. In the "History of a City" (1861-1862), the writer not only satirically showed the relationship between the people and the authorities of the city of Glupov, but also rose to criticism of the government leaders of Russia.

"History of one city" (summary)

This story is a "genuine" chronicle of the city of Glupov, "Glupovsky Chronicler", embracing the period from 1731 to 1825, which was "successively composed" by four Stupov archivists. In the chapter "From the Publisher" the author especially insists on the authenticity of the "Chronicler" and invites the reader to "catch the physiognomy of the city and follow how its history reflected the various changes that simultaneously took place in the higher spheres."

The Chronicler opens with "An address to the reader from the last archivist-chronicler." The archivist sees the task of the chronicler in "being a depiction" of "touching correspondence" - the authorities, "daring to the best of their ability", and the people, "giving thanks to the best". History, therefore, is the history of the reign of various city governors.

First, the prehistoric chapter “On the Root of the Origin of the Foolovites” is given, which tells how the ancient people of the bunglers defeated the neighboring tribes of walrus eaters, onion eaters, kosobryukhy, etc. But, not knowing what to do so that there was order, the bunglers went to look for a prince . They turned to more than one prince, but even the most stupid princes did not want to “rule the stupid” and, having taught them with a rod, let them go with honor. Then the bunglers called in a thief-innovator who helped them find the prince. The prince agreed to "volunteer" them, but did not go to live with them, sending a thief-innovator instead. The prince himself called the bunglers "stupid", hence the name of the city.

The Foolovites were a submissive people, but the Novotor needed riots to pacify them. But soon he was stealing so much that the prince "sent a noose to the unfaithful slave." But the innovator "and then dodged:<…>without waiting for the loop, he stabbed himself with a cucumber.

The prince and other rulers sent - Odoev, Orlov, Kalyazin - but they all turned out to be sheer thieves. Then the prince "... arrived in his own person to Foolov and shouted:" I'll screw it up! With these words began historical times.

In 1762, Dementy Varlamovich Brodasty arrived in Foolov. He immediately struck the Foolovites with his sullenness and reticence. His only words were "I won't stand it!" and "I'll ruin it!" The city was lost in conjecture, until one day the clerk, entering with a report, saw a strange sight: the body of the mayor, as usual, was sitting at the table, while his head was completely empty on the table. Foolov was shocked. But then they remembered about the watch and organ affairs of master Baibakov, who secretly visited the mayor, and, having called him, they found out everything. In the head of the mayor, in one corner, there was an organ that could play two pieces of music: “I will ruin!” and "I will not stand it!". But on the way, the head got damp and needed to be repaired. Baibakov himself could not cope and turned to St. Petersburg for help, from where they promised to send a new head, but for some reason the head was delayed.

Anarchy ensued, ending with the appearance of two identical mayors at once. “The impostors met and measured each other with their eyes. The crowd dispersed slowly and in silence. A messenger immediately arrived from the province and took away both impostors. And the Foolovites, left without a mayor, immediately fell into anarchy.

The anarchy continued throughout the next week, during which six mayors changed in the city. The townsfolk rushed from Iraida Lukinichna Paleologova to Clementine de Bourbon, and from her to Amalia Karlovna Stockfish. The claims of the first were based on the short-term activity of the mayor of her husband, the second - of her father, and the third - she herself was a mayor's pompadour. The claims of Nelka Lyadokhovskaya, and then Dunka the fat-footed and Matryonka the nostrils, were even less substantiated. In between hostilities, the Foolovites threw some citizens from the bell tower and drowned others. But they are also tired of anarchy. Finally, a new mayor arrived in the city - Semyon Konstantinovich Dvoekurov. His activity in Foolovo was beneficial. “He introduced mead and brewing and made the use of mustard and bay leaves obligatory,” and also wanted to establish an academy in Foolov.

Under the next ruler, Peter Petrovich Ferdyshchenko, the city flourished for six years. But in the seventh year, "Ferdyshchenko was embarrassed by the demon." The mayor was inflamed with love for the coachman's wife Alenka. But Alenka refused him. Then, with the help of a series of successive measures, Alenka's husband, Mitka, was branded and sent to Siberia, and Alenka came to her senses. A drought fell upon the Foolovs through the sins of the mayor, and famine followed it. People started dying. Then came the end of Foolovsky's patience. First they sent a walker to Ferdyshchenko, but the walker did not return. Then they sent a petition, but this did not help either. Then they finally got to Alenka, and they threw her off the bell tower. But Ferdyshchenko did not doze off either, but wrote reports to his superiors. No bread was sent to him, but a team of soldiers arrived.

Through the next hobby of Ferdyshchenko, archer Domashka, fires came to the city. Pushkarskaya Sloboda was on fire, followed by Bolotnaya Sloboda and Scoundrel Sloboda. Ferdyshchenko again shied away, returned Domashka to the “optism” and called the team.

The reign of Ferdyshchenko ended with a journey. The mayor went to the city pasture. IN different places he was greeted by the townspeople and dinner was waiting. On the third day of the journey, Ferdyshchenko died of overeating.

Ferdyshchenko's successor, Vasilisk Semyonovich Borodavkin, took up his post resolutely. Having studied the history of Glupov, he found only one role model - Dvoekurov. But his achievements were already forgotten, and the Foolovites even stopped sowing mustard. Wartkin ordered that this mistake be corrected, and added Provence oil as punishment. But the fools did not give in. Then Borodavkin went on a military campaign against Streletskaya Sloboda. Not everything in the nine-day campaign was successful. In the dark, they fought with their own. Many real soldiers were fired and replaced with tin soldiers. But Wartkin survived. Having reached the settlement and not finding anyone, he began to pull the houses into logs. And then the settlement, and behind it the whole city, surrendered. Subsequently, there were several more wars for education. In general, the reign led to the impoverishment of the city, which finally ended under the next ruler, Negodyaev. In this state, Foolov found the Circassian Mikeladze.

No events were held during this period. Mikeladze stepped aside from administrative measures and dealt only with the female sex, to which he was a great hunter. The city was resting. "The visible facts were few, but the consequences are innumerable."

The Circassian was replaced by Feofilakt Irinarkhovich Benevolensky, a friend and comrade of Speransky in the seminary. He had a passion for law. But since the mayor did not have the right to issue his own laws, Benevolensky issued laws secretly, in the house of the merchant Raspopova, and scattered them around the city at night. However, he was soon dismissed for relations with Napoleon.

The next was Lieutenant Colonel Pryshch. He did not do business at all, but the city flourished. The harvests were huge. The fools were worried. And the secret of Pimple was revealed by the leader of the nobility. A great lover of minced meat, the leader sensed that the head of the mayor smelled of truffles and, unable to stand it, attacked and ate the stuffed head.

After that, state councilor Ivanov arrived in the city, but "turned out to be so small that he could not contain anything spacious," and died. His successor, the immigrant Vicomte de Chario, constantly had fun and was sent abroad by order of his superiors. Upon examination, it turned out to be a girl.

Finally, State Councilor Erast Andreevich Sadtilov appeared in Foolov. By this time the Foolovites had forgotten the true God and clung to idols. Under him, the city was completely mired in debauchery and laziness. Hoping for their happiness, they stopped sowing, and famine came to the city. Sadtilov was busy with daily balls. But everything suddenly changed when she appeared to him. The wife of the pharmacist Pfeifer showed Sadtilov the path of goodness. The holy fools and the poor, who experienced hard days during the worship of idols, became the main people in the city. The Foolovites repented, but the fields remained empty. The Glupovsky beau monde gathered at night to read Mr. Strakhov and "admiration", which the authorities soon found out about, and Sadtilov was removed.

The last Foolovsky mayor - Ugryum-Burcheev - was an idiot. He set a goal - to turn the Foolovs into "the city of Nepreklonsk, eternally worthy of the memory of the Grand Duke Svyatoslav Igorevich" with straight, identical streets, "companies", identical houses for identical families, etc. Gloomy-Burcheev thought out the plan in detail and proceeded to execution. The city was destroyed to the ground, and it was possible to start building, but the river interfered. She did not fit into the plans of Ugryum-Burcheev. The indefatigable mayor led an offensive against her. All the garbage, all that was left of the city, was put into action, but the river washed away all the dams. And then Moody-Grumbling turned around and walked away from the river, leading the Foolovites with him. A completely flat lowland was chosen for the city, and construction began. But something has changed. However, the notebooks with the details of this story have been lost, and the publisher gives only the denouement: “... the earth shook, the sun went dark<…> It come." Without explaining what exactly, the author only reports that “the scoundrel instantly disappeared, as if dissolved in thin air. History has stopped flowing."

The story is closed by "acquittal documents", i.e., the writings of various city governors, such as: Borodavkin, Mikeladze and Benevolensky, written as a warning to other city governors.

Brilliant and inquisitive mind, lively, filled with sharp satire, language. His works are transferred to the Russian reality of the mid-19th century. With the help of pen and paper, he managed to create accurate and capacious images of an official of that time, to expose the main vices - bribery, bureaucracy, fear of the slightest change.

Mikhail Saltykov-Shchedrin is one of the brightest writers of his time. His "History of a City" and "The Tale of How a Man Feeded Two Generals" are classics and are still relevant today.

Childhood

Mikhail Evgrafovich Saltykov (Shchedrin is a pseudonym) was born on January 15, 1826 in the village of Spas-Ugol, Tver province. Now it is the Taldomsky district of the Moscow region. He was the sixth child in a large noble family. Father Evgraf Vasilyevich Saltykov had the rank of collegiate adviser, and his mother Olga Mikhailovna was from a wealthy merchant family Zabelins. The age difference between the parents was 25 years.

My father, when he retired, did nothing special. He rarely traveled outside the estate, mostly sitting at home and reading books of mystical content. All affairs were run by the mother - a strict, imperious and prudent woman. For several years, he was able to significantly increase the state of his spouse.

The upbringing of children fell on the shoulders of governesses, numerous nannies, and invited teachers. The younger generation of the Saltykovs was kept in strictness; for misconduct, the mother often personally punished with rods. “I remember that they flogged me, for what, who exactly, I don’t remember, but they flog me very painfully with a rod. The governess of my older brothers and sisters is trying to intercede, because I am still too small. I was two years old."

Members big family subsequently become the prototypes of the heroes of various works. The novel "Poshekhonskaya antiquity" does describe the way of life of a noble family and is largely considered autobiographical.

Best on course

At the age of 10, home education finally ends. Mikhail goes to Moscow to enter the Noble Institute. After the entrance exams, the boy is immediately enrolled in the third grade. And two years later talented student, the best in the class, are transferred to the prestigious Tsarskoye Selo Lyceum.

Here Saltykov also demonstrates outstanding abilities. For which he receives the nickname "smart". He is also called "Pushkin of his course." The young man tries himself in poetry, the first poems "Lyrics", "Our Century" are published in major Moscow magazines. But Mikhail is very strict with himself and after a few years, re-reading the works, he understands that poetry is not his and he does not write more poems.

At the Lyceum, Saltykov meets Mikhail Petrashevsky, he studies a few years older. They are united by the ideas of democratic reforms in Russia, the abolition of serfdom and universal equality. The work of Herzen and Belinsky, also imbued with the spirit of change, has a strong influence on the young man.

Mikhail graduated from the Tsarskoye Selo Lyceum in 1844, he was awarded the rank of 10th grade - collegiate secretary.

In the same 1844, 18-year-old Mikhail Saltykov entered the civil service. He is accepted into the office of the War Ministry. At the same time, they take a receipt that he is not, and will not be, a member of any secret societies. The young officer does not like the job.

Salvation - meeting with like-minded people on Fridays at Petrashevsky, theater and literature. The young author writes a lot, his novels - "A Tangled Case" and "Contradictions" - are a reflection of idealistic views on life. The works are published in the journal "Domestic Notes".

It so coincides that at the same time the publication was closely monitored by a special commission created by order of the emperor. The magazine will be considered harmful, and the young official and writer will first be sent to St. Petersburg to a guardhouse, and then into exile in Vyatka (now Kirov). Mikhail Saltykov will spend 7 years there, from 1848 to 1855. Neither the numerous petitions of parents, influential relatives and friends will help. Nicholas I will remain categorical.

In Vyatka, Saltykov first worked as an ordinary scribe. Then he was appointed a senior official for special assignments under the governor, later an adviser to the provincial government. Mikhail Evgrafovich travels a lot around the province, arranges a major agricultural exhibition, conducts an inventory of real estate, writes his thoughts on the topic “Improving social and economic affairs”.

Writer and lieutenant governor

Mikhail Evgrafovich goes to St. Petersburg, where he works in the Ministry of Internal Affairs as an official for special assignments under the minister. He is sent to the Tver and Vladimir provinces to check the work of several committees. What he saw would form the basis of the famous "Provincial Essays", they will be published in 1857 in the "Russian Bulletin" under the pseudonym Nikolai Shchedrin.

The work will bring fame to the author, the essays will be published in a colossal circulation. The created images are so subtle and truthful, show the psychology of a Russian official so accurately that the author will be referred to as the founder of accusatory literature.

For a long time, Mikhail Evgrafovich manages to combine two types of activities: public service and writing. Mikhail Saltykov is building a career, holding the position of vice-governor in the Ryazan and Tver provinces, fighting bribery and bureaucracy. Mikhail Saltykov-Shchedrin is a successful author who writes a lot and is published in all the famous magazines in Moscow and St. Petersburg. He is faithful to the chosen path - to expose the shortcomings of Russian reality. The most famous work is the satirical novel "The History of a City", which tells about the structure of the fictional Glupov and its residents, the Foolovites.

Also among the popular books of the author are a cycle of fairy tales, the novel "Poshekhonskaya antiquity", "Lord Golovlevs". In addition, Saltykov-Shchedrin was a successful publisher; under his leadership, Otechestvennye Zapiski and Sovremennik significantly increased their circulation.

CONFUSED MATTER

Happening.

"Be kind to your elders, not arrogant to your subordinates, do not argue, do not argue, humble yourself - and you will be greatly exalted, for an affectionate calf sucks two wombs." This kind of parting testament was uttered by Samoil Petrovich Michulin to his twenty-year-old offspring, who was leaving his parent's house to serve in St. Petersburg. Samoilo Petrovich, a poor small-scale nobleman, in the simplicity of his soul was completely sure that, provided with such practical instructions, his Vanechka, without any doubt, would be received in the capital with open arms. Just in case, the old man, however, in addition to a soul-saving word, handed over to his son a thousand rubles of money with a decent instruction to always carry it with you, not to wind, not toil, but spend yourself little by little. "He's a young child," thought the virtuous old man, "and he wants to have fun and enjoy life - God bless him! And, besides, hugs ... who knows! - a man has become tight-fisted, dry-hearted today." And yet, immediately, for the sake of warning, he added, turning to his son: - Look at me! There, they say, the actors wound up; he’ll get into your soul, you beast, and you won’t sniff out how you pull a little white one out of your pocket - so don’t hang out with them, with actresses, and take care of your money! This is what a passing officer told me last year at the 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 actresses, he was more frightened not by the moral side of the issue, but by the money side, that, they say, at once white and never happened in your pocket. It was also evident that in the darkness the old man seemed to be dreaming of the truth about open arms, and that his mental strength was lazy to rise! it was much hard to think, and even to unpleasant results you will reach, what good! And now a young man has been living in St. Petersburg for about a year, for about a year he is good-natured, does not contradict, humbles himself and in practice implements his father's code of worldly wisdom in every detail - and not only two, but even one uterus does not suck on an affectionate body! And meanwhile, didn’t he evade, didn’t he please, didn’t he bend down! A gentler heart, a humbler soul, it seems that in the whole world it was impossible to find a person! And yet, from the whole figure of fortune, he saw only one behind ... an unpleasant thing! Ivan Samoilych leaned in to ask the right person for a place, but the right person flatly said that the places were all occupied; he also poked his head into the commercial part, into the merchant's office, and there were all numbers and figures, dazzling in the eyes, aching in the head; I also tried to write poetry - but there is no wit! Whether by nature his head was so sparingly arranged, or some circumstances flattened and squeezed it, but it turned out that only one sphere of activity was possible for him - the sphere of mechanical copying, whitewashing - and even there people are teeming with , there is nowhere for an apple to fall, everything is busy, everything is given away, and everyone clings to his own teeth ... In a word, Mr. Michulin's whole life, from his very entry into St. Petersburg, was a series of painful attempts and searches, and all without result ... the money kept leaving and leaving, but the stomach asked to eat as before, and the blood is still young and warm in the veins - it just doesn’t look like anything! Bowing his head, Ivan Samoilych returned home with a quiet step after one of his daily and unsuccessful expeditions. It was already ten o'clock in the evening. A sad and unpleasant spectacle presents Petersburg at ten o'clock in the evening and, moreover, in autumn, 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 with the speed of lightning along the pavement of Nevsky Prospekt, smooth as parquet, then a rainy autumn evening can have not only a tolerable, but even an attractive physiognomy. In fact, both 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 through the locked windows of the carriage, and the wind that groans and howls plaintively, vainly trying to invade the dandy carriage, in order to offend with his immodest breath the full and smugly shining cheeks of the well-fed gentleman sitting in it, and the crow's feet of lit gas, here and there breaking through the thick layer of rain and fog, and sonorous, but so no less, like a vague echo, flying by the “fall” of a sharp-sighted, like a cat, postilion - all this, taken together, gives the city some kind of poetically vanishing physiognomy, some deceptive color, making all the surrounding objects look like those strange, indifferent creatures which so often amused us in the days of our youth in the enticing pictures of a magic lantern... and an indefinite, but nonetheless soft drowsiness, an unusually insinuating, but at the same time an unusually sweet half-forgetfulness ... And it reminds him, this magical half-forgetfulness, that blissful state that each of us more or less felt in childhood, listening to a long winter evening endlessly monotonous and meanwhile never tiring, re-heard a long time ago and meanwhile always new, always arousing convulsive curiosity, the stories of the old nanny about Baba Yaga the bone leg, about the hut on chicken legs, etc. The children hid around the table in the narrow and low nursery, they are silent and do not move, there is no smile on their pink lips, no fresh, sonorous laughter is heard, which a minute earlier filled the room - all the muscles on these vital little faces expressed some kind of tense attention, a dim and trembling light pours around the long-forgotten and terribly burnt lamp of a tallow candle, usually the ancient voice of an ancient nurse with copper and round glasses of the very circle on her nose and from time immemorial a stocking started in her hands, the old tale of the Serpent Gorynych . I love that wrinkled face of the old nurse, I love her bony yellow hands, I love her confidence that she really knits a stocking, while in reality she only lowers 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 her decrepit fist on the table, saying: “Polkan the hero pulls by the hand - hand away; grabs by the head - head away” ... And shrinks the child’s heart with great fear, and sympathizes with Ilya Muromets, follows his struggle with the terrible Nightingale the Robber, and keen eyes peer timidly into the dark corner of the room, looking for Baba Yaga, if the malicious Serpent Gorynych is hiding somewhere, and the children laugh and clap their hands merrily when the nanny proves to them with irrefutable arguments that the Serpent Gorynych has long died and died, the reptile, through the efforts of various virtuous knights ... And they sweetly fall asleep, frisky children, and the most pink dreams lull their young imaginations, as if just as they lull that gentleman who, through the fog and the wind, rides in his cozy carriage, by the way firmly convinced that neither the fog nor the wind will upset his plump and well-bred cheeks ... But he did not ride in the carriage, but walked se Ivan Samoilych walked modestly, and therefore it was quite natural that the Petersburg autumn evening lost in his eyes its plausible and well-intentioned character. The cold and harsh wind, which hit him right in the face, did not bring sweet drowsiness to him, did not lull him with childhood memories, but moaned plaintively and melancholy around him, brazenly threw the hood of his overcoat over his eyes and whistled into his ears with visible hostility one and the same same familiar refrain: "The poor man is cold! it would be nice for a poor man by the fire and in a warm room! Yes, he has neither a fire nor a warm room, the poor man is cold, cold, cold!" And again the cold wind yearned and groaned, and again upset all the dreams of the ill-fated Ivan Samoilych, who vainly invented all possible means to get rid of his annoying friend, and played with the poor man, as if with a piece of paper accidentally thrown on the road.Of course, even in humanity stepping cautiously through the mud, some thoughts were born about rain, wind, slush and other troubles, but these were rather black and unintentional thoughts, revolving for the most part near the point that there is, they say, in the world, and even in St. in a carriage, flashing from the chairs to a pretty and intricately raising her leg actress, sitting one on one with a pretty girlfriend and so on - not at all it, humanity wandering in the darkness of dirt and ignorance, but a completely different one, a complete stranger to him. “What a bitter fate for me!” thought Ivan Samoylych, going up the dirty and dark stairs to the fourth floor, “I’m not happy in anything ... really, it would be better not to go here, but to stay in the village And sometimes it’s hungry and cold ... ”He was met at the door by the landlady of the apartment, Charlotte Gotlibovna Gotlich, from whom he rented a very small room with one half-blinded window overlooking the very garbage pit. Charlotte Gotlibovna looked at him incredulously and shook her head; in the first room the noisy voices of the assembled freeloaders were heard; These voices struck Ivan Samoilitch unpleasantly. From some time on, he became somehow thoughtful, became a misanthrope, ran away from any company, and generally behaved rather strangely. And today, as always, he crept quietly into his room and locked himself, silently drank the glass of tea served to him, unconsciously smoked his usual waqshtaff pipe, and began to think. This time there were an unbearably many thoughts, and they were all so wonderful, one stranger than the other. They suddenly began to fuss terribly in his head, with the speed of lightning they began to run across all the nerves of his cerebral substance and forge such ancient wrinkles on his forehead, which, probably, no other inhabitant of the modest "garnish" had. In fact, the matter was extremely simple and not complicated. Ivan Samoylych's circumstances were so bad, so bad, that it was just in the water: Russia is a vast, abundant and rich state - yes, some other person is stupid, he is dying of hunger in an abundant state! And then, besides lack of money, other sorrows ensued and finally 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 deceived himself about humility, evasion, good-naturedness and other useful virtues. For the first time, as if through a dream, it flashed through his brain that his father's code of worldly wisdom required an immediate and radical correction, and that in some cases an attack and pressure were needed rather than a silent bowing of the head. But as a young man, he was mostly modest and unresponsive, and besides, he was terribly timid. He came to St. Petersburg from the provinces; life seemed rosy, people looked touchingly and virtuously, threw off their hats in front of each other extremely politely, shook hands with each other with great feeling ... Don't put your finger in their mouth! Well, where can one meddle 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 Prospekt - the head of the department is coming towards him, and the cross on his neck, and the view is so attractive ... But still a young man! Of course, he is already plump and with a paunch, but still a young man. Here he is also a young man, and not the head of the department ... What a parable such! He also met smart droshky, excellent horses, the harness just throws 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 turn the dira in the universe. - Look, - they say all around, - this is B *** going! scoundrel, fist, beast! But what a goal, what a goal it was! simply, so to speak, in one shirt went around. And meanwhile B*** is still a young man, but he too, Michulin, is a young man, and he doesn't ride in a smart droshky! And there is another young man - this even quite pink young man, and yet on him one coat costs six hundred rubles; he is both cheerful and careless, all his movements are lively and unconstrained, his laughter is ringing and free, his eyes are cheerful and bright, health is in full swing on his cheeks. If an actress passes by, she smiles at him, and he smiles at the actress, an important person meets, shakes his hand, jokes with him, laughs ... - This young man is Prince S ***, - everyone around says. .. Why, even Ivan Samoilych is a young man, and he is already frail, and yellow, and bent, and the actress does not smile at him ... Yes, what's the point of walking far, indulging in abstraction! in the same sphere as him, beside him, in the very "garnish", all parasites enjoy at least some role, some meaning - in a word, they act like adults and independent people. Ivan Makarych Perezhiga, for example, was once a peaceful village dweller and hunted down more than one hundred birds with one stone in his lifetime. Of course, both the hares and the village - all this was a very long time ago; Of course, at the present moment Ivan Makarych enjoyed a somewhat ambiguous reputation as regards the ways of life, but, after all, his own prodigal nature was to blame for this, and moreover, at least somehow, but he did get himself a piece of bread. Wolfgang Antonych Beobachter, a Ph.D. in philosophy, also lived there; 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; this one wrote poetry, put a feuilleton in a newspaper. Finally, Nadenka Ruchkina lived next to Ivan Samoilych: and she was a well-versed girl, although only in her own way ... This thought had long since crept into the heart of Ivan Samoilych, and suddenly envy, deep, but powerless and timid, boiled in his chest . Everyone, absolutely everyone, turned out to have bread, everyone was in the right place, everyone was sure of their tomorrow; alone he seemed to be superfluous in the world; no one wants him, no one needs him, as if he were destined to eat bread for nothing for a lifetime, like a weak, half-witted baby. He alone cannot definitely say what will happen to him tomorrow. “But 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 a large step, - why do all misfortunes fall on me, precisely on me? Why do others live, others breathe, but I don’t dare to live and breathe?! What is my role, what is my purpose? - Life is a lottery! - began, out of paternal habit, the code of worldly wisdom, - humble yourself and endure! - It is so, - meanwhile some unfriendly voice beckoned, - but why is it a lottery, why shouldn’t it just be life? Ivan Samoilitch thought for a moment. "After all, if only this prince! - he thought, - here he is happy and cheerful ... Why is he, and not me? Why should I not be born a prince?" And the thoughts grew and grew and took on the strangest forms. “Yes, what am I, what am I?” he repeated, wringing his hands with impotent rage, “after all, I’m good for something, there’s a place for me somewhere! where is this place, where is it? So this is what a strange string suddenly rattled in Ivan Samoilych's heart, and rattled so importunately and smartly that he himself, in his usual timidity, was not glad that he called it. 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, they interrogated him in a hoarse bass voice: tell us what are you really like that? Pale, frightened, he fell on an armchair, covered his face with his hands and wept bitterly... His village house was suddenly distinctly drawn in his head, his parent in a yarmulke knitted from wool, his mother, who was always sick with her teeth and with her cheek forever bandaged, the father, the deacon, and the deaconess. , father priest with priest. How simple everything is there, how everything breathes with rustic, bucolic silence, how it calls everything to rest and tranquility! .. And why was it necessary to leave all this? why was it necessary to change the known, full of the most pleasant and delicious sensations, for the unknown, fraught with sorrows, grief and other squabbles? Why meddle with meekness and humility where boldness and stubborn pursuit of a goal are needed? Meanwhile, in the next room, a voice familiar to Ivan Samoylych rang out, singing the famous aria from The Mermaid: Come to my golden chamber, Come, O prince, you are my dredge ... The voice was small, but unusually soft and fresh. Mr. Michulin involuntarily began to listen to the singing and fell into thought. And he thought a lot, and thought sweetly, because in the familiar little voice there was something young, as if giving wings to his weary imagination. A strange effect is sometimes produced on us by the most insignificant, apparently, phenomena! Often the most empty circumstance, just the sounds of some ridiculous hurdy-gurdy or the voice of a peddler, sadly and drawlingly crying out: "Children's toys! sell toys!" - enough to upset the whole 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 mankind. So it was exactly with the song flying out of the next room. The song was the simplest, flowing to itself evenly and without pretensions, and suddenly struck Ivan Samoilych's auditory organ and, not knowing how, completely upset all his considerations about the meaning and significance of life, about final causes, and so on, in contrast to final causes, - - to infinity. And Mr. Michulin himself began to sing along and call the dear prince to him in a trembling voice, he began to beat time with his foot and smile and shake his head ... But then the last sound of the song died away quietly, once again, and for the last time the beat of Ivan Samoilych's foot, his heart thudded once more at an accelerated pace, and suddenly nothing could be heard, and the former darkness descended on his soul, the former cold seized his heart. Because it was not he, but the other, that dear prince, whom the song called to the golden palaces, because he was flatly told, "that what should not be, will not be, and don't worry about it ..." in grief, in order to somehow dispel his sad thoughts, he decided to go to the common room. There, in clouds of tobacco smoke, all the usual company of Charlotte Gottliebovna was talking. In the foreground sat Ivan Makarych Perezhiga. He was wearing a very dashing Hungarian coat and at the present moment he was smoking tobacco from a fat 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 drank, whether he played to the down, 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 Petersburg. He was a prominent, strong and dense fellow, despite his forty years, and therefore did not remain long without occupation ... In general, since he settled with Charlotte Gottlibovna, the noble German woman began to look at the world somehow more favorably, smiled more often and provided incomparably more indulgences and benefits to freeloaders. 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, played, without ceasing, twenty games of billiards, for which from childhood he had a very tender passion; sometimes he gave ten and fifteen ahead, sometimes he gave fifteen and ten ahead. Having finished the morning in this way, he went home for dinner, on the way he examined from time immemorial a dead cat thrown onto the pavement and not cleaned 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 followed with participation successes in the decomposition of the mortal earthly creature. In the evening Ivan Makarych used to relay 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 vegetative and reproductive forces. He had a naturally cheerful character, but not without a slight sardonic tinge. He willingly liked to play a joke on scientists and never missed an opportunity to tell the blond Alexis, who in the sciences, as they say, ate a dog and read both Bruno Bauer and Feuerbach in his lifetime. - Well, and what, Binbacher, everything stands on its own? everything says that something is not there ... the main thing, the greatest thing, is not there? Beast, Beast, this Binbacher! these Germans are for me! .. here they are, here they are sitting with me! Ivan Makarych slapped his throat with the flat of his hand, wanting to express by this that the Germans had slaughtered him, and, not without cunning, looked at Charlotte Gotlibovna, who blushed and smiled at the same time, and with childishly naive innocence answered: - Oh, you are very kind cavalier, Ivan Makarvich! But at the same time, it remained shrouded in a completely impenetrable mystery 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 "garnish" herself was drawn. It was a long, straight and thin figure, as if it had just swallowed a arshin. The noble German woman's movements were distinguished by a peculiar listlessness and dullness, which struck the eye unpleasantly. It was as if all her thoughts, her whole organism rushed in one direction - to her dear friend, Ivan Makarych. She looked into his eyes with mute subservience, listened with a self-satisfied smile to the sounds of his heroic voice, as if she wanted to cut down 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 lowered, 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 at the whole company. From everything it was evident that she remained completely satisfied with her fate and, in particular, could not boast enough of Perezhiga. In addition to the hostess and Perezhiga, there were two more persons in the room: the candidate of philosophy, Wolfgang Antonych Beobachter, and the minor from the nobles, Alexis Zvonsky. Beobachter, small and squat, walked around the room with quick but small steps, muttering some spells under his breath and at the same time constantly making 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, long and emaciated, sat by the table, his moist eyes fixed on the ceiling, in perfect optimism. The young man was thinking at that moment about the love of humanity, and on this occasion he licked his lips vigorously, as if after a tasty and fatty dinner. As usual, it was about things that provoke reflection, and the mysterious Binbacher turned out to be a complete scoundrel ... - After all, I'll tell you, they all lie, you beasts! shouted Perezhiga, “how can you get along without him!” It's in their land - well, hang down there once or twice - and you're done! You can do it there, but go and tinker somewhere else - after all, not a single step without dirty tricks ... You ask me - I know this business as well ... And Peregiga showed the astonished listeners a huge palm . -- Oh, how true it is! oh how very true! exclaimed Charlotte Gotlibovna, 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. Herr Beobachter, in the softest tenor, hastened to announce that, in spite of this, he "still hopes," and immediately considered it his duty with extraordinary grace to shake off the head of some fantastic, but nevertheless inveterate enemy of transformations - transformations mysterious, but already in advance drawn in all the details in his scrofulous imagination. “You are a materialist, Ivan Makarych,” Alexis replied, “you don’t understand what sweetness lies in the word “hope”! Without hope, cold, dry, bleak! In a word, there is no love without hope—that 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 up by suffering, foreheads raised by bitter thought, and cheeks dug up by longing; but what was this "suffering, grief and anguish" about - this secret was deeply hidden in the darkness of his cunning brain substance. -- Perhaps to itself, hope! so he hopes, - interrupted Perezhiga, pointing to Ivan Samoilych, - but after all, will he get a eaten 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 put his word in somehow, but the conversation was dry and learned, and besides, no one turned to him, as if everyone tacitly agreed among themselves that for a learned conversation he no good. - Well, how are you, how are you? Ivan Makarych turned to him. Michulin did not answer, but even more despondently than before, cast his gaze over the company. “I told you, you are a bitter soul,” Perezhiga continued, “I told you, go to the village!” where are you here! an orphan looks like an orphan - but you climb there! Charlotte Gotlibovna did not miss an opportunity to be immediately surprised at the high justice of the remarks of her kind friend, and Beobachter more and more played with his little hand the cherished movement from top to bottom. “But I think you did very well to stay here,” he said, stopping quickly 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 the most insinuating tenor voice: “After all, in our days, suffering is salutary!” “Suffering is the destiny of man on earth,” Alexis began, “to suffer and 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 were a matter of an extremely tasty dinner, “it is so pleasant that here, how it will slap here, but it will crush it there, but in another place, then ... And he with special pleasure he pressed on the words "slam" and "squeeze". “No, I can’t agree with you,” Alexis objected, not at all trying to find out what would happen after the mysterious “then”. Ivan Samoylych did not know at all whose party he should join: whether it was 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 at all. philosophy; or, finally, to Perezhiga, who assured in honor that all this was nonsense, but, they say, ask him, that's how he knows. - Love is good! why not love? meanwhile, Beobachter was saying, as if addressing only Ivan Samoylych, but in fact, apparently wanting to hurt Alexis, “Yes, love after, but before that, away with everything, damn it! .. Mr. Beobachter, apparently, with with special tenderness he loved words containing the letter R.-- Do you understand me? he went on, looking even more intently into Ivan Samoilitch's eyes. "I can guess," answered Michulin timidly. -- From what after love? - molested Alexis, - and now love, and then love! Why this rigorism! And he fell silent, as if with the word "rigorism" he pierced his opponent through and through. Ivan Samoilitch, meanwhile, collected his thoughts and remarked to the company that, of course, maybe love and suffering are things that are useful and saving, but his circumstances are very bad - how can you help them? 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 the case. To this Beobachter muttered something about individualism, saying that it was mean to think of yourself; that even if he dies, it still does not mean anything and even in some respects will bring undoubted benefits for the future, like a reagent. -- Yes, like a reactive! he repeated, flashing lightning from his tiny eyes. In general, the candidate of philosophy in this case did not spare the personality of Ivan Samoylych 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 crackled. - Why are you listening to them? Ivan Makarych interceded, “no, apparently, you and Binbacher are the only ones who say that you have read!” In my opinion, you just go to the village and snore on your side! Indeed, it will be a glorious life! So what? Ivan Samoilitch smiled timidly; he himself had long been caressed by this delicious prospect. - And then, brother, you will be lost, by God, you will be lost! Perezhiga continued, “or you’ll 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 was not listening: he rolled his eyes under his forehead and talked to humanity. “Here we have a retired official going to the tavern,” Perezhiga continued, “he’s all shaking, so tattered and plucked, and his eyes are festering, and his hands are trembling; it seems, in what the soul is kept, but everything sticks: bring, they say, vodka to Emelya. Yes, even if there was some benefit, otherwise the vodka only jars and burns him ... Again a minute of tense silence. - But after all, he was an official, he served in the service, he wore a uniform, and not Emeley, but Danil Alexandrich was nicknamed, and Emeley was so, after they called the taverns! Yes, he was expelled from a state-owned place, his owner drove him out into the street for non-payment - well, he had a glass of grief, then another, and there he went and went ... Knowledge is evil and good! Another few seconds of painful silence followed. "But, as you know, I do!" Perezhiga continued, turning to Michulin, “of course, if you like, he’s happy!” they gave him vodka - and he forgot that he was walking around in torn boots ... that's right! And suddenly, due to some incomprehensible linkage of ideas, a fit of sentimentality attacked Perezhiga, and he began to admire what for a minute he had presented in the eyes of Ivan Samoilych as a thing that should be guarded in every possible way. Charlotte Gotlibovna, too, abruptly changed her way of thinking and took a deep breath beforehand. - How happy, too! - said Ivan Makarych, - more happy than any prince; come on, tea, what dreams he sees! He does not need any palaces or chambers! here it is, the school of life, here it is! and the fact that you are 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 of his. .." But that there was every tear, Perezhiga concealed, although Charlotte Gotlibovna considered it necessary in advance to agree unconditionally with him in everything. unconsciously rather than with intent; Alexis licked his lips even more, talking with mankind; Ivan Samoylych became embarrassed and deduced some homegrown conclusions from what he had seen and heard. At this time, the clock chimed depressingly eleven. But the clock also struck this time somehow It seemed to Ivan Samoylych that every beating of the hour bell contained deep meaning and reproachfully said to him: "Each 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 chime of the clock never told him this before? why hadn't the objects surrounding him looked at him with such an inquiring, 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 in a pendant [to match (French) ] to this significant movement - a terrible thought, which had not given him rest for a long time, and which was nothing else than the reader already knows 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-rotten, trembling old man appeared on the stage and, pointing to vodka, said: "Knowledge is evil and good." “But he wasn’t Emelya at all, but, listen, Danilo Alexandrich, he served once, and he was once young, but they kicked him out of the service and he became Emelya, by the grace of good people. Ivan Samoylych recalled this strange anecdote with horror and shudder; a thought suddenly ran through his head: "Well, like me - Emelya?" - and immediately froze to the brain - to such an extent this thought frightened him. In just such a state of mind he went up to his room, when suddenly a rustle was heard behind the next door, which led to the secluded dwelling of the maiden Ruchkina. His heart began to beat; the wonderful song sounded more importunately in my ears than before - and it kept calling, kept calling the dear prince. "To go or not to go?" thought Ivan Samoilitch. In the meantime, he was knocking. -- Who's there? came a familiar, fresh voice from behind the door. "It's me... aren't you resting, Nadezhda Nikolaevna?" - No, I'm not sleeping ... come in. Ivan Samoilitch entered; in front of him stood a small, cozy creature, but so lively and fidgety that at the same time he could see in all corners of the room - a pink and fresh creature, clothed only in a large cashmere scarf, which poorly concealed the pleasant tenderness of her forms and constantly swung open due to the incredible liveliness of the movements of a small creature. "Oh, how 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 stay so long today, Ivan Samoilitch?" 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 go to waste, because ahead, on a rainy day, it would come in handy. "Yes, that's how it is... I'm talking about that," muttered the embarrassed Michulin. “So what about that one?” perishing again not about whether former? And-and-and don't think, Ivan Samoilitch! Michulin was silent, although inwardly he grieved, perhaps that he was even forbidden to think. - And I was at the theater today - they gave "Ugolino" ... I love tragedies to a 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 too... But here his brain resolutely refused to act. -- Very funny! I'm telling you, I was crying terribly ... especially when that darling Veronica ... - Was anyone with you? - Yes, gentleman ... you see, he used to be my fiancé, when I was still living with my parents - he wooed me ... Such a prominent man, too, he bought us apples ... but I kept crying, I there were no apples. Silence. - And the apples were so nice too - such a pity, really, and I didn’t try it. Michulin sighed. Why are you so gloomy today? asked Nadia. “Yes, I am…” he answered again, stammering, “I don’t… But Nadya understood what was the matter; she at once, by her usual suspicion, guessed that all this had to do with that case, as before. "No, no, don't even think about it, Ivan Samoilitch!" - she said, excited and waving her hands, - you will never, never get it! What I said, I said so! my word is sacred ... and do not think! And as before, with imperturbable indifference, the little woman picked up pieces of paper from the floor, hung different dresses and skirts from one hanger to another, without any, however, absolutely need, but solely from the satisfaction of the liveliness and liveliness of her character. - Hm, in life! .. and what is a life? -- meanwhile Mr. Michulin was pondering, “that’s the point, Nadezhda Nikolaevna, what is a life? Is this not a deceit, an empty dream? Nadenka ceased her fussing for a moment and stood in amazement in the middle of the room. In front of her stood the same ordinary Mr. Michulin, whom she saw carefully every morning and every evening; the color of his rowan-streaked face was still hemorrhoidal, only a smile, not devoid of causticity and self-satisfaction, played on his lips barely perceptibly, as if this smile was saying: her!" So how is it a scam? asked Nadenka in her turn, timidly and hesitantly, thinking that Ivan probably, he spoke of deceit, that he himself intended to use some malicious trick in relation to her. “Yes, yes, deceit!” just cheating! Judge for yourself, because if I really lived, I would occupy some place, play some role! Nadenka had completely lost her faith and was thinking about what she could pick up from the floor. "So you think," she said at a slow pace, "that he alone lives who plays any part?" Ivan Samoylych understood that by the word "roles" Nadenka meant only those played by Mr. Karatygin, and therefore he could not find anything to answer. “Hm,” said the girl Ruchkina. "So I'm all about this case," Michulin began again. "So what about it, Ivan Samoilitch?" if it’s about that, then be completely calm: I’ve already said what I said, but if it’s about something else, if you please, I’ll be happy to. Ivan Samoilitch did not answer; his heart was breaking; the words died away on his lips, and even something like a tear flashed in his eyes. How many times did he receive this callous refusal! how many times he humiliated himself and begged, and all in vain! “It’s not the same, Nadezhda Nikolaevna,” he said in a trembling voice, “everything could still be demolished!” Why other! After all, others drink, others eat, others have fun! Why others? Whether his misfortune really came from the fact that others are alive, others are cheerful, or simply the presence of a small creature, for whom you yourself have a slight weakness, makes our grief even bitterer, - be that as it may, but our hero really became hard and insulting. And meanwhile Nadenka, too, was lost in thought; she, of course, noticed this tear, but she still somehow thought that Ivan Samoilych was cunning, that he was all about that case, about the former one, and the appointment and role were only a pretext to throw dust in her eyes and, taking advantage of her blindness, put it on her own. “Yes, it’s insulting, of course,” she said subtly 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 Samoilitch confessed that it was really late and that it was time for bed. “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 Samoilitch could not sleep for a long time. He kept imagining Nadenka's lively, plump little face, and this miniature, cozy figure, always fussing, always running around, 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 was his thought, what future he is preparing for her, this dear, forever unforgettable Nadenka! not that future, fraught with sorrows and hardships, which actually awaited her, but an even and calm future, where everything was arranged so conveniently and deftly, where every desire became right, every thought became a deed - if only she knew! But she did not see, she did not know anything! The affection of Mr. Michulin seemed insulting and rude to her, and the heart of a modest youth opened in vain, his imagination played in vain: he was facing an eternal and cold, cold haze!

The medulla of Ivan Samoylych was already shrouded in a veil, at first soft and translucent, then more and more dense and cloudy; already his auditory organ was filled with that monotonous and drawn-out trembling, which is something between the distant sound of a bell and the haunting buzz of a mosquito; already past his eyes flashed a huge city, not captured by the gaze, with its thousands of domes, with its palaces and movable courtyards, with its spitz, proudly crashing into the very clouds, with its eternally noisy, always 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 a log pavement ... Then all these images, at first certain and different, mixed up - the village was adorned with palaces, the city was disfigured by blackened log huts; burdocks and nettles grew freely near the temples; 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 the blue, indescribable lake, and the wolves hid far, far away in the dense forests of Ivan Samoilych's fantasy ... But what suddenly struck his ear so sweetly that suddenly tickled, stirred his poor heart ? With longing and trembling he listens to these eternally sweet, eternally desired sounds, with languor and sadness he drinks into himself the wonderful harmony of a simple song that caresses his ear ... Oh, she sucks his soul, she makes his heart whine and moan, this strange , little song! Because behind a little song his imagination draws a small mouth for him, behind a small mouth a little woman - a plump woman, alive, like mercury. - Nadya, Nadya! Ivan Samoilitch says in a pleading voice. But proudly and with insulting contempt looks at him, humiliated and pleading, a small woman. A tiny ironic smile flickers on her pink lips; a petite indignation lifted her thin nostrils slightly and tinted her firm cheeks with a delicate purple... But how pretty she is! God, how beautiful she is, despite her indignation, despite the insulting contempt expressed in every fiber of her face! how eagerly Ivan Samoilitch bows before her! - Nadya! he says in a breathless voice with excitement, “it’s not my fault that I love you ... What should I do if this is beyond my strength! .. And he awaits her words with trepidation: he does not notice that the other face is that of her learned friend, the blond Alexis; he does not notice how languidly she leans on the young man's hand, what looks full of bliss and languor she turns from time to time to him. But now she looked at him, but somehow sternly and with bewilderment. In an offended tone, she answers him that she is surprised how he could even think of making such a strange proposal to her, 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 will be able to give a carriage not only to him, Ivan Samoylych, but also to any other, even better and cleaner than he, who dares to drive up to her with such a proposal. And again everything disappears in an indifferent fog - both the blond, but somewhat apathetic face of Alexis, and the diminutive, eternally anxious figure of Nadenka, and the familiar song about the dear prince and the golden palaces sounds drearily in the distance. “What am I, really? - Mr. Michulin asks himself, - what is my purpose, what is my fate? Crowds of pale ghosts gather around him and mockingly shout to him: "Oh, you are tired, you are tired, poor man! Your whole head has been broken!" Pale, trembling, he falls on his knees, asking to be spared, explaining to him this terrible deed, which does not give him peace day or night, but falls so awkwardly and unexpectedly that the pale ghosts instantly disappear. The room is dark, the old cuckoo crowed plaintively twice and fell silent. "The devil knows what kind of rubbish gets into your head!" thought Ivan Samoilych, "and here's another philosophers assert..." through a thin partition, which alone separated his bed from the cherished room, voices were heard. Ivan Samoilitch began to listen. “I see, sir,” a voice he knew twittered, “please, don’t give me your reasons, please ... I see everything, everything through and through ...“ No, Nadya! you are mistaken, my friend, you are mistaken, you dear man! replied Alexis, trying to make his voice flattering. - Oh, please, in something else, but I won’t be mistaken in this ... Be ashamed, sir! do you think of triumphing with your cunning? .. No, they drove up to the wrong one! Excuse me - even though I'm uneducated, even though I don't know how, in your opinion, and if it comes to that, really, I can tell just as well as you what is right and what is wrong ... - Yes, have mercy Well, Nadya! Really, I've never been anywhere... What's wrong with that? Whatever you call me, whether I'm educated or uneducated, I can still see! Alexis was silent. - Why the pretense and deceit? meanwhile Nadenka continued, “you'd better tell me straight out that I'm the most unfortunate of women!... I'm a straight girl, Alexei Petrovich; I'm an honest girl, Alexei Petrovich, and I don't like to beat around the bush... Tell me simply that I must spend the rest of my days in tears! "Why are you in tears, Nadya?" Alexis answered laconically, and then added: “Why are you in tears, dear, good man?” And again everything fell silent around Ivan Samoilitch, but not in his head; there, on the contrary, terrible activity began, noise and rattling began; thoughts ran through his cerebral nerves, interrupted each other's way, and suddenly they accumulated so many that he himself was not glad that he woke up and, like a stupid creature, succumbed to the crude and bestial instinct of curiosity ... He had not yet had time to think carefully about how, taking advantage of a misunderstanding, to cunningly dig a hole for a neighbor, how he really dug under Alexis in some way. A complete and unexpected change suddenly took place in his fate; in the twinkling of an eye he became decidedly the darling of fortune; he walks along the Nevsky, arm in arm with his young wife, in a bekesh with a gray beaver collar, a deep scar flaunts on his forehead, received in the battle for the fatherland, and on his tailcoat is a huge Spanish star with countless angles. He exchanges a pleasant smile and a bow with significant gentlemen, he is completely satisfied with his fate and constantly takes out an unusually massive chronometer from his pocket, as if in order to find out what time it is, but in fact only to show the people - let him see what wonderful watches and chains there are in the world. With contempt and an ironic smile, he looks at Alexis, who is passing by and shivering from the cold, in a worn, utterly dark cherry coat with a spark, Alexis and pretends not to notice him. But Alexis from afar saw a familiar little figure; he already hurries to her with the usual greeting: "Hello, Nadenka, hello, you are a good, dear person!" - but suddenly a menacing voice is heard at his very ears: "Dear sir! you forget ..." - and Alexis, tail between his legs, retires with hasty steps home. But now four beats on the tower of thought; Ivan Samoilitch, out of habit, already feels a pleasant melancholy in his stomach. “Will you order me, my soul, to go into the store and buy something for dinner?” he says, turning to Nadenka. - Why don't you come in? - she answers with such philosophical indifference, as if it really should be so. And in fact, rich people: why not come in! For a quarter of an hour they have been standing in a magnificent store. 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 incredulity; 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, feels himself. God! there is no doubt! it was all self-deception: the Spanish star, and the coat with the 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 vile hanger, his old and worn overcoat, more like a hood than an overcoat; his cheeks are still yellow and pitted with mountain ash; 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 something resembling ingenuity out of it. Nadenka, not at all embarrassed, delights her palate with the gifts of the south, and also without embarrassment, Ivan Samoilych's brain sleeps, looking dully and indifferently at his incredible efforts to get out of trouble and as if laughing at his own impotence. Oh, careless Nadya! oh stupid mind! "Ten rubles and seven hryvnias, sir!" meanwhile, the terrible voice of the clerk sounds in his very ears. - Silver? whispers Ivan Samoilitch in reply, stuttering and completely bewildered. “Yes, silver—can it be copper?” replies the same annoying voice resolutely and completely unencouragingly. Michulin is even more embarrassed. -- Yes, sir; silver, sir...” he says, turning pale and meanwhile feeling his pockets, as if searching for the money that was in them, who knows where, heaped up, “why, sir? I am happy - I am a sufficient person. Please tell me, I didn't even notice! Imagine, my dear, I did not even notice that there was a hole in my pocket, and what a big one, tell me! But the clerk just shakes his head. “But you can imagine,” Ivan Samoylych continues in a tone of condolence, “and the coat is brand new!” just straight off the bat! 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 such a nation. 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 have been trading for a long time,” the gloomy clerk answers, “but you still give the money back. -- Oh my god! Really, what a nasty people these French are! right, just straight to the point! Oh, these tailors are swindlers! god forbid scammers! "It's obvious, brother, you're a swindler!" - the sullen clerk replies inexorably and sharply. - We know you! you all have pockets with holes, how to pay back! Ivan Terentyich! but go, brother, for Fedosey Lukyanitch! He seems to be right here! Hearing the familiar name of Fedosey Lukyanitch, Ivan Samoilitch completely lost heart. With tears in his eyes and bowing humbly, he shows the grey-haired clerk the tattered pockets of his overcoat, vainly proving that it was not his fault, that a minute before he had both a beaver collar, and a Spanish star, and puffy cheeks, and that all this, through tricks one evil sorceress, who had been chasing him day and night for a long time, suddenly disappeared, and he was left rubbish rubbish, as they say, naked like a falcon, fluffy like a frog. - You know how to serve Mamon! - the impassive voice of the gray-haired clerk tells him, - you worship the calf, you please the womb! What does the Holy Scripture say? forgot? sin, brother, you! ashamed, my dear! - He served, most venerable, beguiled the evil one, for sure, beguiled! Ivan Samoylych replies in a plaintive voice, “but this is the first time, because the others eat the same ...” “Yes, the others are cleaner!” You never know what others are doing! others have something in their pocket, brother, not a hole! And the gray-haired clerk sternly shakes his head, sentencing. “Look what you came up with, an anathema son!” Look at you and he had a Spanish star! We know you brother! we know, gluttons, idolaters! Meanwhile, Michulin looks timidly at Nadenka. She looks at him impudently and with contempt, as if she wants to finally finish off and destroy the unfortunate. "So that's how you are, Ivan Samoilitch!" she says to him, rapidly waving her arms, “so you please in tricks! you wanted to take advantage of my frankness to you! Do yourself a favor! I understand! Maybe I'm uneducated and haven't read the books. Please don't give up! I see everything, I understand everything, I understand all your cunning very well... Do me a favor! “But what am I, really? meanwhile Ivan Samoilitch mutters, remembering very appropriately that the difficulty lies precisely in this, that he still cannot determine for himself what he is, “but why am I worse than others? - Know what! - laconically answers the gray-haired clerk, - you know what! others don't have holes in their pockets. "Others eat, others drink... but what about me?" -- It is known that! - the same hard voice sounds, - you can watch how others eat! - but it sounds so ironic, as if he wants to say to the bewildered Michulin: "Fu, what a fool you really are! You can't understand the simplest and most ordinary thing!" Ivan Samoilitch had already realized what was the matter, and was beginning to go deeper into a detailed consideration of the clerk's answer, when suddenly another, even more terrible voice, the voice of Fedosey Lukyanitch, struck his ears. Fedosey Lukyanich listens solemnly and without blinking to the complaint of the old clerk that, they say, such and such swindlers and eaters rummaged through the whole shop, ate ten rubles and seven hryvnias, and now they show only pockets, and then not solid, but with holes . "Hm," mumbles Fedosey Lukyanitch, protruding his lips and turning his whole body towards Michulin, "you? “Yes, I’m the one,” mutters Ivan Samoylych, “I was walking and I was tired ... I wanted to freshen up ... so I went in!” “Hm, don’t make excuses, but answer!” - Fedosey Lukyanitch retorts thoroughly, looking around at all those present, probably in order to ascertain the effect his Solomon's judgment has on them. - For his work, for his work! - Nadenka shouts from her side, - he wanted to shame me! dishonor, villain, conceived! Oh, please, away with your reasons! I know and see everything very well. -- Surname? - the stern voice of Fedosey Lukyanitch asks abruptly, again turning to our hero. “Michulin,” answers Ivan Samoilych, but so timidly, as if he himself is not sure whether this is exactly the case and whether this is the same creation of his prodigal imagination, like a warm coat, a Spanish star, puffy cheeks, etc. . -- Name? - Fedosey Lukyanitch asks again, very pleased, however, that he has produced timidity and fear in the tortured subject. “Ivan Samoilov,” our hero answers even more quietly and timidly. -- Weird! And yet, it gets even worse! Hey darling, take it! The last words, obviously, referred to one tall man, who somehow happened to be walking right there. And now they take Ivan Samoylych by the arms; the doors of hell are opening before him... - Have mercy! fathers, have mercy! he shouts, breathless with trepidation. “But what is it, are you out of your mind, Ivan Samoilitch?” - a familiar voice suddenly sounds at his very ear, - you don’t let good people sleep at all! After all, I understand very well what all this is leading to, but it will not happen! It’s said, it’s said so, and in vain you worry and lose your temper! Ivan Samoylych opened his eyes - in front of him in a tempting negligee stood the pretty Nadenka, the same Nadenka who, and so on. “Ah, it’s you, Nadya!” mutters Ivan Samoilitch in 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 rages and goes out of itself and over its banks. And suddenly he again found himself in the street, but he was no longer wearing his former dapper coat, but his ordinary worn overcoat, and his posture was not plausible and proud, but seemed to be shriveled, he 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 it were all 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 Nadya! But all this is locked, everything is under the key! for all this you can look! as a stern clerk recently put it with deadly composure... And at home awaits his spectacle, full of burning, unbearable despair! In a cold room, in a tattered dress, his wife is sitting on a broken chair; beside her, pale and exhausted, stands his son. And all this asks for bread, but so melancholy, so importunately asks! .. - Dad, I'm hungry! - the child groans, - give me bread ... - Be patient, my friend, - says the mother, - be patient until tomorrow; tomorrow! Today in the market all the hungry wolves have eaten! many wolves, many wolves, darling! But how does she say it? Is that your voice, dear little Nadia? Is it that melodious, sweet voice that sang to itself a carelessly simple song, calling the prince to the golden palaces? Where is your prince, Nadia? Where are your golden halls? Why does your voice become cruel, why does it break through some kind of caustic, uncharacteristic bile? Nadia! what happened, what happened to you, graceful creature? where is your cheerful blush? where is your carefree laugh? where is your troublesomeness, where is your naive suspicion? where are you, old, beloved, pretty Nadenka? Why are your eyes sunken? Why is your chest dry? Why does your voice tremble with secret malice? why does your son not believe your words? why is this? “Why, they told me yesterday,” the child replies, “that all the hungry wolves have eaten!” yes, other children are full, other children are playing ... I want to eat, mom! - These are the children of hungry wolves playing, they are full! - you answer, bowing your head and not knowing how to dodge the child's questions. But you are trying in vain, you are trying in vain to calm him down! he does not believe you, because he needs bread, not words. “Ah, why am I not the son of a hungry wolf!” - the child groans, - mother, let me go to the wolves - I want to eat! And you are silent, depressed and destroyed! You are doubly unhappy, Nadia! You yourself are hungry, and another creature groans beside you, your son groans, flesh of your flesh, bone of your bones, who also asks for bread. Poor Nadia! why doesn’t he come, why doesn’t he hurry to help you, this long-desired dear prince of your imagination? why does he not call you to his golden chamber? With languor and unbearable longing, Ivan Samoylych looks at this scene and also assures little Sasha that everything will be fine tomorrow, 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 to blame for all this; but you are hungry, your beloved child groans beside 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 did you bind 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, crushed and destroyed, stands Ivan Samoylych. He feels that there is a terrible truth in Nadia's words, that he had think - and think a lot - about whether it is decent for a poor person to drive love, whether his meager piece will be enough for three. And tirelessly, inexorably pursues him this terrible "shame!". And meanwhile the room is getting colder and colder; it becomes dark in the yard; the child still groans, still plaintively asks for bread! God! so where does it all 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 did despair and malicious submission to fate suddenly flash in this smile? Why do you carefully place the child on a chair and, without saying a word, open the door of a poor room? Nadia, Nadia! 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, your son is dying there! Oh, how pale his childish face is, how cloudy his gaze is, how he groans, how sad and plaintive his voice, asking for bread! .. And you do not hesitate; in desperation you waved your hand; you don't get off - you run down the stairs; you're in 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 should come, and smugly rub his hands, and smile smugly, glancing at his watch... Oh, he has studied human nature in detail and can safely count on hunger! “I have made up my mind,” you say to him, and your voice is calm... Yes, calm, your voice did not tremble, and yet his calmness is as if dead, grave... And the old man smiles, looking at you ; he affectionately pats you on the cheek and with a trembling hand draws your youthful body to his decrepit chest... - Yes, how pale you are, my dear! - he says affectionately, - it’s obvious that you really want to eat ... Eh! he's just a joker! he is a merry fellow, this little old man, a hunter for pretty, young women! - Yes, I want to eat! - you answer, - I need money. And you stretch out your hand... Therefore, you are still good, in spite of your suffering, therefore, there is still in you, in spite of your oppressive poverty, something calling, arousing the frozen forces of the playful old man, because, in addition to counting, he puts you in hand money; he does not bargain, although he knows that he can buy you for the most insignificant price ... - Eat, - you say to your husband and son, throwing the dinner you bought on the table, and you yourself sit in a 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 all be killed, mother? none left? - Everyone, darling, every 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!” And meanwhile Ivan Samoilitch is silent; bowing his head, with a secret, but relentlessly gnawing remorse in his heart, he eats his share of dinner and does not dare to look at you, afraid to see his irrevocable condemnation in your eyes. But he eats because he is tormented by hunger, because he is also a man! But he thinks, thinks bitterly, your poor husband! A terrible thought burns his brain, relentless grief sucks his chest! He thinks: today we are full, today we have a piece of bread, and tomorrow? and then? -- that's what he's thinking about! because tomorrow you will should... and there again. What a terrible, gnawing thought! Nadia, Nadia! is it true? is it true that you will should?.. Ivan Samoilitch becomes stifled; a muffled sob fills his chest; his head is on fire, his eyes are open and fixed fixedly on Nadenka... "Nadya!" Nadia! he groans, gathering the last of his strength. “Yes, what a shame, really! - a familiar voice is heard to him, - here I am, here, sir! what do you want? what are you screaming? They didn't let me close my eyes all night! You think I don't understand, you think I don't see... I'm your serf, or what, why are you looking at me so menacingly? Ivan Samoilitch opened his eyes; there was light in the room, Nadenka was standing by his bed in the most perfect morning debility. “So… it was a dream!” - he said, barely waking up, - so you, that ... didn’t go to the old man, Nadenka? The girl Ruchkina looked at him in bewilderment. But soon everything became clear to her at a glance; the bright thought suddenly dawned on her that all this was not without reason and that the old man was precisely none other than Ivan Samoilitch himself, but if she had once said: do not happen! - so it will never happen, no matter how cunning and dodging the red tape. - No, damn it! this must end! said Ivan Samoylych to himself, when Nadenka left the room, "you're just going to get lost for nothing like that!" Mr. Michulin looked in the mirror and found a great change in himself. His cheeks sagged and turned yellow more than before, his face was haggard, his eyes became cloudy; he was all hunched over and arched like a personified question mark. And meanwhile, you have to go, you have to ask, because really, perhaps, you will be lost for a penny ... Yes, that’s enough, should I go further, 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 immediately arises nearby, requiring an urgent explanation. “What are you?” says this obsessive question, “are you really created for this only, to see before you a stupid cap, a stupid cheek, salt mushrooms and try homemade liquors?” And in the midst of all this chaos of contradictory thoughts, the image of the ill-fated Emelya suddenly arises in the imagination of Ivan Samoilych ... This image is drawn so clearly and distinctly before his eyes, as if a bent and trembling old man really stands before him, and he can feel and touch him with his hands. The whole torso of Emelya seems to be bursting into pieces. different sides, all members seem to be unscrewed and dislocated; tears fester in his eyes, and his head trembles... Pitifully he stretches out his exhausted hand, begging in a trembling voice for at least ten kopecks - and then points to a bottle of vodka and says: "Knowledge is evil and good!" Ivan Samoilitch 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, restricts his breathing... Finally, he makes a supernatural effort on himself, grabs his hat and runs headlong out of the room. But on the threshold he is stopped by Beobachter. "Did you understand what I told you yesterday?" he asks mysteriously. "That is... I guess," answers Ivan Samoilitch, completely embarrassed. “Of course, these were only some hints,” the candidate of philosophy begins again, “after all, this is a complicated matter, very complicated, you can’t tell everything! Minute silence. “Here, take this!” - interrupts Beobachter, handing Michulin a tiny little book, one of those that in Paris, like mushrooms in a rainy summer, are born in thousands and are sold almost a centime each. Ivan Samoilitch, perplexed, takes the book, absolutely not knowing what to do with it. -- Read! - says Beobachter solemnly, but still extremely softly and insinuatingly, - read it and you will see ... everything is here! ... you understand! With these words, he departs, leaving Mr. Michulin in complete astonishment.

The weather outside was damp and muddy; as on the previous day, some unknown substance was falling from the clouds; as then, the feet of weary pedestrians kneaded the dirt through the streets; as then, a gentleman wrapped in a fur coat with puffy cheeks rode in a carriage, and another gentleman rode in galoshes, to whom the wind whistled after him: "Cold, cold, cold-I-yab, poor man!" In a word, everything is as before, with the only slight addition that this whole unseemly picture was bathed in some kind of pale, muddy light, whose original colors have so far eluded the all-disintegrating gaze of optics with great success. A very comfortable and quiet carriage, designed for the benefit of poor people, was riding towards Ivan Samoylych, in which, as you know, you can drive around half of Petersburg for a dime. Ivan Samoilitch sat down. At another time, at "this opportunity," he might have thought about the industrial direction of the century and expressed himself approvingly about this circumstance, but at the present moment his head was full of the most strange and black thoughts. Therefore, the conductor received neither a smile nor encouragement from him - nothing with which other hunters are so generously fond of endowing other people's affairs. Meanwhile, other gentlemen are being recruited into the carriage; at first some modest girl entered with downcast eyes; poor girl, but honest, she must live by her own labors, and dressed so cleanly, and holding a cardboard box in her hands - a nice girl! Following the girl, a fair-haired student of very pleasant appearance entered the carriage and sat down directly opposite her. Ivan Samoilitch 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 frowningly at the young man and smiling slyly, she brings the handkerchief to her mouth and turns her little face towards the window, occasionally emitting a modest “gee-gee-gee!” from under the handkerchief! the student began again, addressing the merry girl. But there was no answer this time either; only modest "gi-gi-gi!" expressed it in a more poignant and bolder way. - What do you think about this innovation? a very neatly dressed gentleman with a briefcase under his arm asked Ivan Samoilitch affectionately. Mr. Michulin shook his head in agreement. - Isn't it how cheap and economical? - again and even more affectionately addressed the briefcase, especially tenderly, although not without energy, emphasizing the word "economically" and, apparently, harboring no small hope to raise dying humanity from the dust with it. “Yes, sir, profitable speculation!” answered Ivan Samoilitch, in his turn strengthening his smile of encouragement. - Oh, very profitable! very economical! ' replied a gentleman in another corner with raised eyebrows and a thinking physiognomy, 'your remark is perfectly just, your remark is snatched from nature! And the raised eyebrows, pronouncing the words: "Snatched 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 the point of view from which one looks at the object,” the gentleman with the huge black mustache remarked thoughtfully, and immediately his physiognomy took on such a mysterious look, as if in a hurry to say to everyone: we know, we have seen! - Fathers, let go! open it, lackey! Father, sweat, exhausted! Well, it's a city! ek got him! The conversation, which was taking a somewhat edifying direction, suddenly broke off, and the eyes of all the passengers turned to a fat gentleman in some strange purple Hungarian coat, who, puffing and groaning, climbed sideways into the carriage. - Well, the city! - said the Hungarian woman, - I tell you truly, divine punishment! I, if you please, am here on my own business - so, believe me, simply, that is, exhausted, damned! pull the soul, do not give a breath! And all that way - in white gloves! the scoundrel doesn't even want to look at the red - for whom, they say, do you take us, but our justice is not corrupt! but, like a hundred rubles ... Eka beast, eka beast! Believe me, I even sweat all over! And the Hungarian woman again began to groan and puff, fanning herself with her handkerchief from all sides, which aroused considerable gaiety in the modest girl, and barely audible "gi-gi-gi!" again began to fly out from under the handkerchief that covered her mouth. “Excuse me, ma'am!” the Hungarian woman began again. my mother, the kingdom of heaven to her! - the names of the Chesotkins, if you deign to hear, and the father, and all of us by him, by the name of Chekalin, I have the honor to be recommended! So, sir, here is the very thing! here I am, brother Platon Ivanovich, sister Lukerya Ivanovna, and sister Avdotya Ivanovna - I was a good woman, a dead woman, and a superb salter! - so we all went into the name of the Chekalins - and the 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 of Chesotkin and do not sweat. Truly I tell you! I assure you with honor, I'm not lying! .. Oh, I'm sweating! that is, just sweating like some kind of scoundrel! So what do you mean by point of view? - interrupted the briefcase, which was apparently embarrassed by the sanitary style [easelessness (from French sans-faGon)] purple Hungarian - if you want to say by this what the French so aptly call poigne de vu, tow ... [point of view, look (from French point de vue, coup d "oeil)] - We know! We lived! And we saw the French, and the Germans too! - answered the mustache - and then, bending down with a mysterious air and looking around in all directions, whispered in an undertone: - "The cabbies will say something about it... that's what! Those present shuddered; in fact, it never occurred to any of them until then that the cabbies would say something about it, and now near them, both behind and in front, and on the sides, suddenly, thousands of cabbies' voices spoke, thousands of cabbies' heads nodded, the whole world was covered with a continuous mass of imaginary cabbies, interrupted here and there ... by empty cabbies! with a blunt spade a terribly large block of frozen earth. - Yes, if you have this kind of consistency [prudence (from French consideration)], - turning pale, whispered the briefcase, - but no longer saved the mired humanity with the intricate word "consideration". -- What is it here? meanwhile, his mustache was saying even more mysteriously, and hitting himself on the chest with his fists, “I already know that you me ask! I know this business like my own hand! And the mustaches really showed a bare palm of considerable detail, and, bending even more and looking around in advance in all directions, they said in an undertone: there...- so you too bureaucrat? asked the briefcase, recovering from the first stun and, as if against a stone wall, resting on the word "bureaucrat". “Why, again, from what point of view to look at an object! mustaches answered succinctly. "I'll tell you, gentlemen, that it's all nonsense!" perfect nonsense! boomed the Hungarian. In the neighborhood, the familiar "gi-gi-gi!" cheerful girl. - It's true! - the Hungarian woman continued to thunder, - truly so! what kind of people are they, even cabbies! rubbish, I dare to report to you, just slush! he really sucks! that's nature, that's nature! this, I tell you truly, you can look at your pleasure! And what kind of people you have, there’s nothing to look at! just rubbish, slush! And the Hungarian woman shook her head sadly. -- Yes; this is if you look at the subject from one point, - said the briefcase meanwhile, smiling and not paying attention to the pessimistic objection of the Hungarian woman, - but if you look at the matter, for example, from the point of view of the emancipation of animals ... The mustache moaned plaintively. - Yes, it's all poof! - they said, - the French brought it all! Cabbers - that's the main thing! cabbies - that's the root cause! cabbies, cabbies, cabbies! And again, in the eyes of all those present, cabbies, cabbies, cabbies flashed! -- That's it! - continued the mustache, - there he is full, he ate, - you can’t even turn him off the stove with a stake! But how there is no bread, he went and went, and how he went, it is so known what will happen! we know! we saw! - Oh, your remark is quite right! your remark is snatched from nature! - answered the eyebrows, - 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 object!” - the mustache repeated mysteriously, - and what an animal! Animal, you know, cattle! cattle is, and will be forever! “However, have you read the article in Peterburgskie Vedomosti?” [article (from French l "article)] - objected the briefcase, with an unusual effort emphasizing the word "article". - We know! We read! It's all nonsense, a swindle! Gog and Magog! - However, it was written with great enthusiasm. - Passion boomed the Hungarian woman, “excuse me, about the hobby.” “Gee-gee-gee!” called from the neighborhood. “So, if you please, I’m all about the hobby!” yes, everything is funny to the young lady - a merry young lady! .. so, about something, I have, I dare to report to you, the dead father, the kingdom of heaven to him! - he was the leader, and so this is a hobby! "He used to use his hands... u! He defended, there's nothing to say! He knew how to stand up for his own, dead man! No, these days such people have come out! You won't find such people with a lantern! Nowadays they take everything apart: maybe, they say, they're right!.. oh "O-oh, hard times have come!... and the young lady is still laughing... a merry young lady!" -- answered a cheerful young lady, covering herself even more with a scarf. -- You find? the student began again. -- Of course! gi-gi-gi! - Why, of course? -- Yes, how is it possible! - But why is it not possible? -- Yes it is impossible! -- Weird! said the student, although, apparently, he did not yet despair of the success of his undertaking. - The main thing is, - the mustache thought aloud, - that a goal be given to a person, that a person can see why he exists, that's the main thing - and the rest is all trifles! Ivan Samoilitch began to listen. - Oh, your remark is absolutely correct! your remark, so to speak, snatched from nature! It is obvious that the words "so to speak" were spoken with the eyebrows solely for the beauty of the style, and that in fact the eyebrows did not doubt a bit about snatching from the very nature of the thoughtful remark of the mustache. “So you mean by that what the French call the problem of life?” asked the briefcase, heavily emphasizing the word "problem." - What are the French? what are the Germans? - the mustache answered laconically, - believe my experience, I’ll know better this matter, I there and I serve ... all this is a swindle, all Gog and Magog! .. this is the case, as I know! Once again, the mustache showed a bare palm of extremely respectable size. “However, you must agree with me that even the French nation has its inalienable virtues... Of course, they are a windy people, a cowardly people—who can argue against that?.. But, on the other hand, where can you find so much selflessness what they themselves have so aptly named - rezinyasyon? but this, I'll tell you ... And the briefcase assured and emphasized his speech with such enthusiasm that all those present nodded their heads and were really convinced that "rezinjasyon", except for the French, was nowhere to be found. - We know! we saw both the French and the Germans! live your life! - said the insensitive mustache, - all this is nonsense! the main thing is for a person to see that he is a person, to know the goal! nonsense! all nonsense! believe my experience ... - So you deigned to express yourself about the purpose of our existence, - Ivan Samoilitch modestly interrupted, - if you please, I myself have studied a lot about this subject, and it would be interesting to know your thoughts. The mustache thought; Michulin waited with trepidation and excitement for the solution of the riddle. - Lackey! what are you, brother, do not stop! You think the raven is a parasite! boomed the Hungarian. “So I’ll go out here, too,” the mustache said melancholy. “And what are your thoughts on this circumstance?” Ivan Samoilitch remarked timidly. “It all depends on what point you look at the subject from! - the mustache realized at once. - Oh, that's perfectly fair! your remark is snatched from nature! replied the raised eyebrows, digging an imaginary hole with an imaginary spade for the last time with particular tension. Slowly and clumsily, the economic carriage again trudged along the smooth pavement. - When can we see you? the student continued to ask the cheerful young lady. “Oh, how strange you are! the young lady answered as before, covering her mouth with a handkerchief. - Why is it strange? ' said the student. -- How is that possible! - But why is it impossible? - Yes, because it is 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 nevertheless went after him, saying, however,: “Ah, really, how strange you are! what can these men think of!" - but she said this resolutely only to clear her conscience, because the student had already gone out and was waiting for her in the street. as if looking for something, fussing about something, but at the same time scurrying around so indifferently, as if she herself did not fully understand what she was looking for and what she was fighting for. And our hero went to look for and fuss, like all the others. this time fortune, with her usual perseverance, continued to show him her not at all plausible ass.As if on purpose, the necessary man, to whom Ivan Samoilich had come to ask for a place on countless occasions, spent the whole morning in the air on the occasion of some kind of celebration. The right person was out of sorts, constantly tore and soiled the papers in front of him, gnashed his teeth, and for the hundredth time promised to bend into a ram's horn and bake "where else you didn't think" the little man standing in front of him in the line with a very famously upturned m with a gray tuft on his head. The face of the right person was blue from a still fresh feeling of cold and an old and already rancid annoyance; shoulders raised, voice hoarse. Ivan Samoilitch timidly entered the office and was completely at a loss. -- What else? - asked the right person in a jerky and cold voice, - didn’t you say? Ivan Samoilitch timidly approached the table, in a persuasive and soft voice he began to tell his straitened circumstances, asking for at least something, at least some, even a tiny place. “I wouldn’t dare,” he said, stammering and becoming more and more timid, “but judge for yourself, I’ve spent the last, there’s nothing to eat, enter into my position. -- There is nothing! - the right person objected, raising his voice, - but is it really my fault that you have nothing to eat? so why are you coming to me? I have an almshouse, or something, that I have to pick up all the ragged people from the street ... There is nothing to eat! because how impudently he speaks! If you please, it's my fault that he wants to eat... The gray-haired old man with the crest was also quite surprised. “But I’m not to blame for this either, judge for yourself, be indulgent,” observed Ivan Samoilitch. - Not to blame! how he answers! To the answers, brother, you are all masters ... Not to blame! Well, let's assume that you are not to blame, but what do I have to do with it? The person in question paced the room excitedly. - Well, why are you standing there? - he said, approaching Mr. Michulin and as if intending to take him into a scuffle, - did you hear? “Yes, I’m all about the place,” Ivan Samoilitch objected in a somewhat firm voice, as if he had decided to achieve his goal at all costs. - They tell you that there is no place! do you hear? In Russian they say to you: no, no and no! .. Do you understand me? - I understand, I understand! Michulin answered in a dull voice, “but you still need to eat something! - Why are you attached to me? Yes, do you know that I will take you there, as unintentional and intrusive, where you don’t even think? Do you hear? need to eat! I'm definitely his serf! Well, to the almshouse, my dear, go! 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 knead the stiff members around the room. “It’s been here all morning in the cold, but in dampness ... you yell, scream like at beasts, but they still don’t give rest at home ... “But it’s not my fault,” Ivan Samoilich again objected in a trembling voice, badly hiding the anger that boiled in his chest, - it’s not my fault that the whole morning in the cold, but in the orphanity. - Am I to blame? - the right person shouted with impatience, stamping his foot and moving his shoulders strongly, - is it guilty? but? yes, please answer! Ivan Samoilitch was silent. - What are you tying? No, you tell me, why are you pestering something? Is it my fault that you have nothing to eat? guilty? but? "It will be a shame if they raise one in the street," Ivan Samoilitch remarked quietly. - Get rid of me! - the right person cried, losing patience, - well, let them raise it in the street! I tell you: there is no place, no, no and no. Ivan Samoilitch flushed. - So there is no place! - he shouted beside himself, approaching the right person, - so let them raise it in the street! so that's what you are! and others, don’t be afraid, there is a place, others, don’t be afraid, eat, others drink, but I don’t even have a place! .. But suddenly he became dead, he was a meek and unresponsive kid, and his timid nature suddenly surfaced. His hands dropped; my heart sank in my chest, my knees buckled. - Don't lose it! - he said in a whisper, - it's my fault! I'm the only one to blame! Have mercy! The person in question stood as if stupefied; he looked at Ivan Samoilitch with unconscious amazement, as if he did not yet have a good idea of ​​what was the matter. -- Out! he cried at last, recovering from his astonishment, "get out of here!" and if you dare again - understand? The right person threatened, flashed his eyes and left the room.

Ivan Samoylych was finally destroyed. In his ears, the terrible words of the right person were heard sadly and importunately: there is no place! no, no and NO! Why is there no place for me? where is my place? My God, where is this place? And all the passers-by looked at Ivan Samoylych, as if from under their brows, and ironically sang along with him: “But where, in fact, is this place? Michulin decided to immediately turn this question to knowledgeable people, especially since he was tormented not only by material deprivations, not only by the hope of dying of hunger, but his very soul demanded reassurance and rest from the incessant questions and doubts that besieged it. Knowledgeable people were none other than Wolfgang Antonych Beobachter, already known to the reader, a candidate of philosophy, and Alexis Zvonsky, an undersized nobleman. The two friends had just had dinner and were sitting on the sofa smoking cigarettes for themselves. Wolfgang Antonych had a guitar in his hands, on which he strummed some terrible bravura in the most mellifluous way, some kind of cloudy moisture floated in Alexis's eyes, about which he complained incessantly and bitterly, saying that it prevented him from looking directly and cheerfully in the very eyes cold, impassive And bleak reality. The friends seemed to be in a good mood, because they talked about the future destinies of mankind and about the aesthetic feeling. Both friends equally stood breastfeedingly for suffering and oppressed humanity; the only difference was that Beobachter, as a candidate of philosophy, invariably demanded rrr-rrr-destruction, while Alexis, on the contrary, was ready to put his head on the chopping block to prove that the period of destruction had passed and that now create, create, 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 quite ready to wave Alexis off his lightweight head. But Alexis did not lay down his head. “Don’t be cunning,” Beobachter exclaimed in a melodious voice at the moment when Ivan Samoilich entered, “don’t evade, but speak plainly: do you love or do you not love? love - so away from them, from the face of their earth - that's what! Otherwise you don't love it! - But why are they off the face of the earth? Alexis, for his part, remarked, “I really cannot understand this cruelty. Indeed, one could guess from Alexis's face that he certainly could not understand. With a tiny, clenched fist, the Ph.D. made the most imperceptible arc. "And I don't want to know anything, and I don't want to see anything!" he said in his honey-coloured voice, “and don’t present your reasons to me! All this is sophism, dear friend! You don't love, I tell you, you don't love - and that's it! That's what I would say from the first word! Destroy, I tell you, rr destroy - that's what you need! and everything else is nonsense! And Mr. Beobachter played 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 stroking someone on the head, saying: "Good-bye, darling! clever, dear!" - It's strange, but! - said after some silence, collecting his thoughts, Alexis. Beobachter made a completely imperceptible movement of his shoulders. Letter R again fell in terrible abundance. - It's strange, but! - Alexis, for his part, did not cease to object, each time more and more collecting his thoughts. “I already know you, scoundrel, through and through,” said Beobachter, “after all, you are the “bourgeoisie,” I know you. To this Alexis replied that, by God, he was not a "bourgeoisie", and that, on the contrary, he was ready to sacrifice everything in the world for humanity, and that if it comes to that, then, perhaps, at least right now, in broad daylight , will pass along the Nevsky under the arm of an uneducated, ignorant peasant. Well, it won't be aesthetically pleasing! said Mr. Beobachter. "Well, I don't think so," replied Alexis, once more collecting his thoughts. What is an aesthetic feeling? asked Mr. Beobachter, apparently intending to give his proofs the interrogative form so often used by the most famous orators. Alexis considered. “Aesthetic feeling,” he said, collecting his thoughts, “is that feeling that the artist possesses in the highest degree. - What is an artist? asked the candidate of philosophy just as curtly. Alexis thought again. “An artist,” he said, gathering his thoughts for the last time, “is that mortal who possesses the highest degree of aesthetic sense…” “Hm,” remarked Mr. Beobachter, “away with them!” off the face of their earth! No mercy for them! .. I know you, I see right through your soul: you are a scoundrel, a renegade ... - Strange, but, - Alexis remarked. But Wolfgang Antonych did not listen; he struck a chord on the guitar and sang in a sweet tenor the well-known: "Reckless, bright and loving", trying in every possible way to express something daring, to break off some desperate knee, but decisively without any success, because the knee turned out to be the most meek and indulgent. "And I'm to you, gentlemen, about a business," Ivan Samoilitch began. Beobachter and Alexis began to listen. Michulin briefly outlined his morning adventures to them, told how he was with the right person, how he asked for a place and how the right person answered that there was no place for him, no and no. Then Ivan Samoilitch drooped his head dejectedly, as if waiting for the decision of knowledgeable people. But Beobachter and Alexis were stubbornly silent: the first, because he could not suddenly find in his head a strong thought that had fallen somewhere, which he had long ago stored up and which could knock the questioner off his feet at once; the second, because he had the noble habit of always waiting for the opinion of the candidate of philosophy, in order to immediately and decently object to him. "But I need to eat," Ivan Samoilitch began again. “Hm,” said Beobachter. Alexis began to collect his thoughts. “Of course, he’s not to blame for this,” Michulin continued, bitterly recalling the harsh refusal received from the “necessary person” in the morning, “of course, life is a lottery, but that's the thing, that here it is a lottery, Yes, I don’t have this ticket in the lottery ... Beobachter put the guitar aside and looked him intently in the eyes. "So you don't understand me?" he said reproachfully, “have you read the book?” Ivan Samoilitch answered that he did not yet have time. Beobachter shook his head sadly. - You read it! he assured in the most melancholy tone, “there you will find out everything, everything is said there ... Everything that I have not told you is all only preliminary concepts, hints; everything is more fully explained there ... but believe me, it cannot be otherwise! Either you love or you don't love: there is no middle ground: I tell you! “However, this is strange! Alexis immediately objected, although he did not develop his thought further. - So you think? interrupted Ivan Samoilitch. -- Away with them! off the face of their earth! here is my opinion! Rrrrr...- How about this case? asked Michulin, turning to Alexis. “My chest is equally open to everyone!” Alexis replied innocently. This was followed by a deep silence. "Forgive me for disturbing you, gentlemen," said Ivan Samoilitch, intending to retire on his way. To this, knowledgeable people answered that it was nothing, that, against, they are very glad, and that if there was any need ahead, then I would boldly turn to them directly. At the same time, with no small skill, it was also given him to notice that if there was some disagreement between them, it was only in details, that in the main they both adhere to the same principles, that, incidentally, progress itself is nothing but like the daughter of discord, and if their opinions are not unquestionably 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 but admit inwardly that all this, however, did not move him forward very much. He found a carefully folded note on his desk. The note was as follows. "Ivan Makarovich Pereziga, showing your perfect respect His Excellency Ivan Samoylych, I have the honor to have the honor to humbly ask his Excellency, on the occasion of the name day, to welcome tomorrow, at three o'clock in the afternoon, to eat the dinner table. "; his blood was agitated, anger boiled in his chest, and a secret voice kept whispering some insinuating and at the same time terrible legend. All is quiet around; not a rustle is heard in the neighbor's room. Michulin got out of bed and began to walk around the room - a means to which he resorted whenever something greatly disturbed him. Meanwhile, the wind kept making noise in the street, kept knocking on Ivan Samoilitch's window and whistling quite intelligibly in his very ears: "The poor wind is cold! let him go good person God will reward you for this!" And our hero absolutely does not know to whom to answer: whether the wind has shuddered or the chest of drawers under the mahogany and the picture depicting, contrary to the testimony of the whole story, the burial of a cat by mice, and no longer hanging, but as if running on the wall, because both the chest of drawers and the picture, in turn, were terribly pissed and asked mockingly: “And tell us, why is it a lottery? what is your purpose?" Mr. Michulin was just about to apologize, to say that he, they say, is a man, and as such cannot be torn apart and satisfy all the demands at once, but then there was such a noise and uproar; an awkward chest of drawers stepped on his feet so insistently, the fidgeting picture glowed so loudly on the wall, demanding immediate satisfaction, and on the other hand, the poor wind was so chilled, waiting in the street, that Ivan Samoilich definitely did not know what to do. an amazing meal, full of various desserts and incredibly airy cakes, which is called sleep. There was something unusually graceful and virgin in her posture; to the passionate riot of the wind, which, looking at her from the window, got angry and howled, nor to the gaze full of languor new moon, who had just thrown off his black coat from the clouds, which, to annoyance, did not allow him until then to flaunt his youth and daring in front of people. She slept peacefully for herself, like any other mortal, and some evil enemy must disturb and wake her at this sweet moment; it is necessary that some ugly white figure tugged at her hand at the most pathetic moment of sleep! .. Opening her sleepy eyes, Nadenka became quite frightened. 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. And 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 the answer in its mortal and somewhat light earthly journey, when suddenly a young and dapper moon looked straight into the face of a ghost. - So you are! cried Nadenka, suddenly recovering from her fright and quickly jumping out of bed, in spite of the obvious lightness of her costume, “that's how you are! you are not satisfied with groaning all night long and not letting me sleep - you also thought of spying! You think that I am not noble, not madam, so with me everything, they say, is possible! Wrong, sir, very wrong! Of course, I'm a simple girl, of course, I'm Russian, but no worse than some lady, no worse than a German; here's something! And her little eyes burned, her little nostrils flared, her little lips trembled with anger and indignation... But the apparition, which was none other than Ivan Samoilitch himself, instead of answering, uttered an extremely simple and monosyllabic sound, more like a lowing than a intelligible answer. -- I understand! meanwhile, Nadenka was briskly pouring out, “I understand everything as well as anyone else ... Shameless, sir, shameful! Ivan Samoilitch answered, but somehow abruptly and incoherently, and, moreover, the sound of his voice was so dry and soundlessly impassive, as if it was not jokingly painful and sickening to live in the world. He kept on repeating his previous story, that, they say, others eat, others drink... all others... Nadenka listened to him in fear and trembling; she had never seen him so resolute; her heart sank; the voice froze in the chest; she wanted to call for help and could not; pleading, she stretched out her little hands to the crafty violator of her peace, her eyes were plaintive and silently eloquent, crying out for mercy ... The ghost stopped. - So you are very disgusted with me? .. - it said in a voice drowned out by sobs seething in the chest, - so I am very disgusted? .. - Leave me! whispered Nadya almost inaudibly. The ghost did not move; it stood silently at its cherished headboard, and involuntary tears of unrecognized 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 and everyone that here, they say, so and so; but it's strange! - for no reason at all, she felt as if something 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 Ivan Samoylych, who was leaving, and even almost did not dare to call him back in order 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 box in his hands ... In a word, everything was all right; even the drunken muzhik lay calmly in the middle of the street itself and was not roused.

The birthday dinner table was arranged to perfection. Charlotte Gotlibovna spared neither labor nor expense to please her amiable cavalier. She trampled all her feet, but by three o'clock everything was ready. Even she, a lean and elongated hostess, with decent make-up, showed off in the dining room, making a noise pleasant to the ear with her starched skirt like cardboard. When Ivan Samoilitch appeared in the dining room, the whole company was already there. In front of them all stuck out the jet-black mustache of the dear birthday boy; immediately, in the form of an inevitable addition, the lean and straight figure of Charlotte Gotlibovna turned up; standing on the sides known to the reader: the candidate of philosophy Beobachter and the seductive, but somewhat apathetic undergrowth Alexis, arm in arm with the girl Ruchkina. It seemed that Nadenka was completely satisfied with her fate, because she was very fond of decent company and generally felt a certain malaise towards people who did not belong to the so-called trash - artisans, lackeys, coachmen, and so on ad infinitum. Of course, arguing strictly, Charlotte Gotlibovna's origins were shrouded in a very thick darkness of obscurity, but Nadenka looked at this subject with particular indulgence. She, of course, could not help admitting that Charlotte Gotlibovna was indeed not Russian. And now, as always, Ivan Makarych was joking with the scientist Alexis, saying: "What a scoundrel Binbacher!" Doesn't want to know! nothing, says no! I will destroy everything, out of sight! All Germans! smart Germans! And, as usual, Charlotte Gotlibovna, lowering her eyes, answered: "Oh, you are very kind cavalier, Ivan Makarvich!" and, as usual, remained shrouded in obscurity as to what exactly Mr. Perezhiga meant by the word Binbacher. "Shouldn't we have some vodka, ma'am?" cried the birthday man, turning to Charlotte Gotlibovna, “because these days are dangerous times! Hear you, cholera is roaming the world! and here we are, cholera! here we are! in our own way, in our own way! And indeed, the cholera probably frowned heavily when Mr. Perezhiga drew out in one gulp a huge glass, which he, not without causticity, called a glass on a stem. It was a lot of fun at dinner, the faces of everyone looked somehow favorable and encouraging. Alexis constantly, and by the way and inopportunely, smiled, Beobachter also did not make the usual movement with his hand from top to bottom, Perezhyga assured everyone in honor that Binbacher did not know anything, because he was German, but ask him, so he is Russian and knows and, moreover, he knows that Charlotte Gotlibovna's eyes rolled under her forehead at the mere thought of this. - Oh, how I was on my side! he thundered, twirling his moustache with a self-satisfied look, “that was the time! that was life! Truly, I will say that there was life! Some hares strangled more than a thousand, and about the other, about some small game, and there is nothing to say! Ivan Makarych emphasized 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 yard! .. that is, that all these local yards! just rubbish! Some rangers were fifty people! There were musicians! The theater was home! there were dancers, comedies were presented! Here it is, 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 amiable 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! I'll tell you, these were the actors - just for the glory! The whole province came to watch - I tell you truly! With regard to the actors of Mr. Perezhiga, the conversation generally turned to an assessment of the aesthetic and other abilities of a person, and at the same time the guests developed the most sophisticated and intricate thoughts. Beobachter, waving his little hand from top to bottom, said in the most pleasant and insinuating tenor voice that he was, of course, not a bad person, but still not bad, and even useful if he "slapped" and "squeezed". Letter R, as usual, played a very important role here. Alexis chattered in his mouth with his tongue and unconsciously waved his arms in all directions. Charlotte Gotlibovna asserted something so cruel and insulting about this subject that Nadenka considered it her duty to intercede and immediately caustically make her feel that although she was a noble German (oh! no one doubts that!), and although "everyone, it is known, of course, that theirs nobles are found on the earth, but, they say, in other lands, not all artisans or some kind of chumics are by any means, oh no, far from all! All this noise was covered by the thick bass of Perezhyga, who boldly asserted that all this was nonsense, that there could be no "other way" here, and that, they say, ask him, that's how he knows and will explain everything in an instant. “But tell me, please,” Ivan Samoilitch began meanwhile, obviously trying to gradually give the conversation a turn of interest to him, “here you are, Ivan Makarych, you are an experienced, experienced person ... If only you had: after all, I think , each of them had his own special purpose, his own special, so to speak, role in life? .. - Of course, it was! what does not happen in the world! answered Ivan Makarych, nodding his head approvingly in all directions from frequent libations. How not to be! And again there was talk about the difficulty of finding a destination for a person in his mortal life. Perezhiga responded that here, in general, “you’ll break your head,” and indeed, at the same time, he began to rack his brains with such zeal at the sight of incessantly growing and again rising difficulties from everywhere, that he would certainly have perished in this struggle if he hadn’t saved his famous glass on a stem, to which he never ceased to pay his respects. - Here is my opinion! - Mr. Beobachter intervened, - all this is nonsense, but it is necessary - here ... - And he waved his hand from top to bottom. Although the last words were spoken in a particularly melodic tenor, Alexis did not fail to retort to his learned opponent, saying that he did not see why it was necessary - "here", and that it would be much better if arms were opened equally for everyone. At the same time, Alexis waved his arms and really opened his arms to everyone. - So you deigned to notice, - Michulin turned to Perezhiga again, - that one is a chumicka, the other is a huntsman ... well, that's understandable: they are such people - well, and roles for them. In general, how do you understand? - that is, in general, what is the role of a person in life? At least for me, for example, ”he added in the form of an assumption. And shut up. 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 sweet-sounding Beobachter broke out at last, “away with everything—here! .. And this time Alexis, as usual, replied that can't understand this rigor and what is much better if the arms are open for all equally. But the doubt still remained a doubt, and the complicated matter did not move forward a single step. "So what do you think, Ivan Makarych?" Michulin pushed again. “Ask them about that,” Perezhiga answered laconically, closing his eyes from the excess of libations, “they will know that better!” With these words, Ivan Makarych, followed by all the guests, left the table. But the birthday boy was greatly mistaken if he understood the scientist Alexis among the mysterious "them". Alexis, it seemed, so much wished every happiness to the dear birthday man, that from the fullness of the feeling he could hardly speak his tongue in his mouth. “Do not grieve, friend,” he said, turning to Ivan Samoilych, “you are a friend, I know you; you are humble and meek - lo! here he is - so violent, I know what he wants! Yes, they won't give you anything! Yes! here, in spite of you, the arms are open for everyone! .. yes ... the hug-i-ti-i ... Nadya sat down next to him, began to admonish, persuaded him to be at least a little smarter, but Alexis did not touch anything, because when drunk he certainly considered it his duty to indulge in confidentiality and bare his tiny soul naked. “Leave me, you get away from me, you good, dear man,” he said, shaking his head, “because I know what you think about me, that he too ... that’s the one from philosophy, then ... I know everything, but I don’t give a damn ... I myself know that I’m stupid, I feel it myself, you dear person, I see it myself ... Well, well! stupid, so stupid... such, apparently, my weak head. And he laughed, as if he were congratulating himself from the bottom of his heart on being stupid and weak-headed. Beobachter, for his part, did not object to anything, because he himself felt a pleasant cheerfulness in his heart and waved his hand not from top to bottom, but from bottom to top. - Yes, you do not hide ... you! from philosophy! Alexis went on meanwhile, “because I see ... I see that you despise me ... well, despise me! After all, I myself feel that I am worthy of contempt ... friend! but what to do if the head is weak? head, head, that's what! .. - Well, you got drunk, brother, - Ivan Makarych remarked laconically. - And also the barin! there is called a barin! - picked up the girl Ruchkina. - Oh, what a gentleman I am! - Alexis complained in response, - master! .. sometimes there is nothing to eat himself - master! There are no boots - the master! .. The coat on the shoulders is tattered - the master! yes, I see that you despise me! .. you! from philosophy! And again Alexis's imagination began to draw the most woeful pictures for him, and again, more than ever, he began to complain about his weak head, about fate, about one mysterious stranger who cheated on him in the literary part, and added to everything - master! At last the maiden Ruchkina considered it her duty to take him to her room. Ivan Samoilitch looked dejectedly after the dispersing guests. He saw how Ivan Makarych went arm in arm with Charlotte Gottlibovna, how Alexis, for his part, went with Nadenka - also arm in arm ... And the candidate for philosophy, Wolfgang Antonich Beobachter, hurriedly 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 Gottlibovna, but with some kind of 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 of his hands away.

Excited by wine and woeful thoughts, Ivan Samoilitch went out into the street. There was a bitter frost in the yard, which in Petersburg very often follows the most intolerable slush; cabbies, huddled in a ball, passed along the rolled road and clapped their hands. Lights flickered in the windows of tall houses, welcoming lights... These lights so hospitably beckoned to themselves the wanderer, who was chilly and blue in the cold, the cabbies looked at them so sadly and at the same time incredulously. It always seems to the tattered and gnawed that the light seems to be precisely on him looks out of the window with special friendliness. But Ivan Samoilitch thought neither of the lights nor of the cabbies. 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 in his pocket, and meanwhile he had to live, he had to eat, he had to pay the rent ... But The cold still did its job. No matter how shackled Ivan Samoylych was in the triple armor of failures and hardships, he could not help but feel the tingling and tingling of his usual friend. Waking up involuntarily, he saw before him a vast expanse of snow, more like a field than a city square. In the middle of the field rose a splendidly lit stone building; carriages, sleighs, wagons bustled about at the entrances, coachmen and footmen shouted; here and there bonfires blazed under awnings. Meanwhile, the cold pinched his face, broke his skull, cut his eyes, his greatcoat protected him poorly and meagerly. The sight of the building flooded with light greatly shook the desire in the stiff body of Ivan Samoylych; he remembered the rouble, which was in his pocket, and then, by some unaccountable impulse, looked at the fires laid out ... the fires blazed with a red flame and spread thick and acrid smoke far across the square ... "Well ... You can warm up here too! thought Ivan Samoilitch. But a strange, tempting thought flashed suddenly in his head; a second, no more than a second, he stood in thought; then he took out a ruble note from his pocket, looked at it with bitterness - and in the twinkling of an eye he was already at the box office of the theater and bought himself a ticket in the fifth tier. As if on purpose, some kind of heroic opera was given that day. There were a lot of people in the theater; the doors of the boxes opened and closed noisily, a vague and thick conversation rushed through the huge hall from the parterre to the district. Ivan Samoylych found himself in the middle between a brave officer, defender of the fatherland, and some rather beautiful, but heavily smeared girl. Angrily he looked down at the boxes that were constantly filling up, at the ladies in coquettish dresses who flew into them like light and transparent visions. To the hungry and the frozen, even the stupa will seem like a light vision - it would only be richly dressed up! But now the conversation has died down. In the midst of the general silence, a distant mountain horn was suddenly heard; in some kind of half-asleep Ivan Samoilitch began to listen to his simple and plaintive melody. In his memory suddenly resurrected the long-standing years of his childhood, boundless and even glades, a dense pine forest, a blue lake lazily splashing its waves, and in the midst of all this the most soundless, deepest silence, and only a horn, namely a horn, annoyingly sounds 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 entered the hall. Double basses hummed, tender flutes lamented their fate; importunately they sawed and tore at the soul of the violin, abruptly and dryly commanded the drum. 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 a kind of painful, unprecedented tension, his head was on fire, his lips and eyes were dry, and the same storm was played out in his whole being, which occurred in the orchestra. -- This is so good! so them! cut them! mo-shen-ni-ki, hri-hundred-pro-sellers! he whispered, quite unaware himself 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, who was sitting behind him, remarked in Michulin's ear. The curtain was raised; on the stage, no one knows what, but very coherently, a dense crowd was talking; then the crowd parted, and some gentleman began to sing something. Ivan Samoylych had neither a libretto nor an obligatory neighbor; so he understood very little of it all. However, from everything it was clear that the gentleman was pleased with himself and had a lot of sympathy for the rising sun, because he made a big gesture with his hands. - Phrases, brother! all this nonsense! we know! - said Mr. Michulin, on whom, apparently, Beobachter's way of thinking began to act, - we know this nature! you give us drums - that's what! And the drum was not long in coming; the music again thundered with a full orchestra, and again the thunder came and rippled through the hall in waves. - Express your pleasure! - molested 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 Samoilitch. He did not expect that behind the sounds he could hear the crowd - and what a crowd! - not at all the one he was accustomed to seeing every day on the Sennaya or on the Horse, but such as he had never seen before, and, what was strangest of all, the possibility of which he suddenly began to realize very clearly and distinctly. “Yes, things would be better!” he thought as he strolled down the corridor during the intermission, “then maybe I would too… And he didn’t finish his sentence, because even without further explanation he understood very well and distinctly what would have happened then. But the orchestra played again. First came the inevitable explanations of the lovers; some skinny mistress, in a voice pickled in vinegar, was exceedingly conveying her feelings to the meek and unrequited slander, the slander listened with complete indifference and only waited for an opportunity to give traction backstage. Then, skipping out from behind the bushes, as if on purpose, a gentleman in a velvet katsaveyka suddenly found himself right there. Michulin kept nodding his head negatively, apparently finding that these were all phrases. But then night descended on the stage; the reddish moon burned in the canvas sky; the lake was blue in the distance; all the trees seemed to have quieted down and hid in anticipation of something terrible, unusual; nowhere is there a rustle, not a rustle... And suddenly, in the midst of the silence, a hail is heard, and again everything is quiet, here is another hail, and another, and another; the trees seemed to revive and straighten their sleepy tops; the lake came in canvas waves; the moon burns redder and redder ... Again, a whole thunder on the stage, again everything is agitated and swaying, and Ivan Samoylych hears both shots and the sound of sabers, and he smells smoke. With excitement he looks with all his eyes at the stage; with convulsive attention follows every movement of the crowd; it really seems to him that everything is finally over, he wants to run after the crowd himself and smell the charming smoke along with it. With special tenderness he looks at the young man, who in a tearing voice begs to leave him his love and naive dreams. He is so young, still 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 there; she soberly and without fear removes his superfluous covers from his soul... And sadly repeats the cry of the young man, the last cry! But the drums and the wine he drank at dinner did shake his imagination quite a bit. With quick steps he walked along the street, singing some completely unambiguous tune and trying hard to imitate the drum. Next to him was the son of nature, who was sitting behind him in the theater. Another gentleman walked with the son of nature, who incessantly nodded his head in the affirmative and smiled. - Well, how did you like the opera? - the son of nature began to Ivan Samoylych, - and after all, opera with pepper? but! how about this? -- Yes; I think that if…” Ivan Samoilitch gritted through his teeth. - Don't talk about it! I myself thought a lot about this, but there are few of us ... that's what! And I already thought about it, how not to think! ask him at least. Antosha! friend! Buddy! Well, tell me, did I think about it? Antosha hurriedly nodded his head and showed a row of very sharp and long teeth. - I recommend it to you! - continued the son of nature, leading Antosha to Ivan Samoilych and almost forcibly uniting them in one common embrace, - a most noble man! I'll tell you, we think a lot with him, damn it! wonderful soul! and how compassionate! Really, no one is so sympathetic! Antosha! friend! Buddy! Antosha grinned. "I'm very glad," muttered Ivan Samoilitch, completely embarrassed by such impudence. “Perhaps such frankness is strange to you?” meanwhile the gentleman with the mustache and beard was saying, "I'll tell you, don't be surprised, I'm a son of nature!" I am simple, so simple that ... let me put it in a word, son of nature! I assure you... Antosha, and Antosha? friend! why don't you say a word? you are a murderer, you are such a darling! Antosha, hearing the familiar affectionate epithets, nodded his head so strongly that he almost bruised his forehead on a gouge in the pavement. “After all, I noticed you in the theater,” continued the son of nature, “I saw that beside me human suffering, that's what! Well, and opened his arms, by golly opened! I am a son of nature, and I am frank, frank - I was even beaten once, you know, for frankness! No, it’s evident that this is such a temper: again, sir, he became frank, and even more frank than before. Silence. “So what do you think, should we unite in one common embrace?” but? after all, how will we live! famously, by God, famously live. Brotherhood is a channel! brotherhood -- that's my method! I don't want to know more! that is, take away my brotherhood from me - there will simply be nothing left, I will just turn rubbish into rubbish! So what? brotherhood, right? Eh, canalism, but answer me, rakalya, you sort of bastard! And as soon as Ivan Samoylych began to think 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 at his cheeks with his mustache and beard, incessantly saying: “I love you so much! I understood you at once! I saw at once what you are! oh, yes, let's do something for them now together! " - Yes, come on! he said, turning to his friend Antosha and pushing him against Ivan Samoilitch. Antosha rushed with 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. - Why don't we take a picture? he asked with an air as if an extremely bright and beneficial thought had suddenly occurred to him, “Antosha! Buddy! friend! to capture? but? And he blinked his eyes at the pretentious signboard, on which billiards, cups, a ham with a fork stuck in it, and carafes of vodka flaunted in a 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! a friend! what is he talking about? but? 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 Samoilych, spread his legs, rested his hands on his sides like a fort, 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? but? So here I am - money! Antosha! friend! And both friends instantly took Ivan Samoilitch 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 alien to him, in people whom he had only once seen, and then in passing. The sex workers fussed. The car played. - Hey, little one! - shouted the son of nature, - but what is it, brother, there you play some kind of slob! you give us drums - that's what! uh? with drums? "Not at all, sir," answered the clerk, cheerfully shaking his curls. - Why not? “Yes, it is not required,” answered the sexual. -- Not required? Eh, brother, it’s clear that such people come to you, all such little people - a weakling - go! No, brother, there are three of us, we are strong, tempered souls ... Antosha, and Antosha! friend! hardened souls, huh? -- Oh, oh-oh! - the son of nature complained, twirling his mustache, - our times have not come yet, otherwise we wouldn’t have done something together! Oh god, yes! The world would be turned inside out! Listen, donkey! do you hear, fool? he continued, turning to the sex, “the three of us are what kind of people! so you give us drums, bravura come on - that's what! understand? Well, get out, but bring what you have there. The floorman chuckled, shook his head, and muttered to himself: "You're really wonderful, gentlemen!" A minute later the table was lined with bottles, decanters and glasses. To the side stood a modest snack. -- I am like that! - said the son of nature, pouring glasses, - I'm all here in the palm of my hand, do what you want with me! If you love - friend, if you don't love - God bless you! and I'm already here all as it is, the son of nature! No cunning, no cunning! Ivan Samoilitch drank - bitterly. - Yes, well, drink it! she, vodka, frank! Here I am being honest! so they beat me once, but still frankly - I can’t, I can’t do otherwise! Antosha, Antosha! he continued reproachfully, “and you are a friend after that?” and you're not ashamed < nrzb > the gift of nature stands before you, and you are not ashamed? And friend! hey friend! Well, shame, brother! Antosha drank at once. And they drank a lot, and drank for a long time. Ivan Samoilitch did not even remember the account; as soon as he emptied his glass, a new one, completely full, would rise in front of him. Dimly, as if in a dream, he imagined toasts offered by the sonorous son of nature. Ivan Samoilitch lost all feeling. True, he saw that the son of nature seemed to be about to go out somewhere with Antosha and was pointing at him sexually, but did not understand anything from all these gestures and conversations. When he woke up, it was already light outside. On the table were leftovers from yesterday's snack, there were decanters with half-drunk vodka. His head was heavy, his arms and legs were trembling. He began to remember what had happened, looked around for his comrades, but there was no one in the room. Suddenly, a disturbing doubt crept into his soul: "What if these are swindlers?" he thought, "what if they took me in to have supper, and then, after drinking, they left me on bail?" This thought tormented him, - he went on tiptoe to the door and put his ear to the keyhole. In the next room, the swearing voices of the sleepy genitals could be heard. He came out of the ambush and asked for an overcoat. They began to look for an overcoat - there was no overcoat; Ivan Samoylych seemed to have been doused with a brew. Sexual fussed; running around arose, but nothing helped - the overcoat could not be found in any way. - Who did you come with? asked the barman. -- I do not know; I saw them for the first time. - Fraudsters! Some slimes! - Yes, how can I be without an overcoat? “I don’t know,” answered the barman with an arrangement, “it’s already clear that you’ll have to do without an overcoat; it warmed up at night... Yes, they still haven't paid the bill... Ivan Samoylych's tongue stuck to his palate. "Dream in my hand," he thought, and his whole body shook. "So goodbye... I'm already like that," he said, heading out the door. - What about the counter? the bartender objected. "Yes, I don't know... it's them," muttered Ivan Samoilitch, and kept walking towards the door. But they didn't let him in; Michulin took it into his head to force his way onto the stairs; but two hefty guys held him tightly by the hands and did not want to let go in any way. The struggle began; despair, it seemed, had multiplied his strength tenfold, he was already putting his foot over the threshold, he was already on the stairs, when suddenly at his very nose, from nowhere, a policeman of surprising size grew up, and in his ears it sounded unpleasantly: ?" To such an apostrophe Ivan Samoilitch considered it necessary to reply that he was not a charomy at all, but was accustomed, they say, to delicate and subtle treatment; but the policeman, apparently, did not want to know the delicate treatment. It suddenly seemed very clear to him that the Sharomyka was being rude, when in fact Ivan Samoilych was only justifying himself and explaining that, they say, this is how it is, and nothing more ... - Ah! you're still being rude! you're still talking! Hey who's there! take it and dispose! Before Mr. Michulin had time to look around, three assistants appeared beside him, although much smaller than the policeman. All four grabbed him and took him outside. In vain did Ivan Samoylych beg the policeman to let him go, in vain did he tempt him, showing in his hand the two two-kopeck pieces that had survived in his hand, in vain! The policeman walked dispassionately beside him, and not only forced him by the sleeve, but even in order to publicly express his disinterestedness, yelled at the top of his voice: - 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 the authorities orders - that's what! and not something to be rude and argue! This, brother, we do not need at all! And a whole crowd of people 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 fellow, who has already raised the half of his mutton coat to wipe his nose, and remains in a position of complete amazement, - look, brother Vanyukha! Look, they're leading the short-haired one! - picks up another, also, apparently, a very lively fellow - Gee-gi-gi! replied the voice of a girl known to Ivan Samoylych, who lived by her labors. - Our respect to you! ' said a blond student standing nearby. -- Ha-ha-ha! resounded in the crowd. Michulin was neither alive nor dead. What will friends say about him? - and acquaintances are certainly all here, standing next to him and looking him straight in the face. What will Nadia say? - and Nadenka is certainly here, and she probably thinks that he, forgetting himself, went for a handkerchief, instead of his own, into someone else's pocket ... Oh! this is very sad!.. And he again took out the treasured two-kopeck pieces from his pocket, turned them over again in the eyes of the policeman, trying to somehow strike a ray of sunlight and give them a dazzling, irresistible brilliance. Finally he was pushed into some kind of dark closet full of cockroaches; but even here the sworn persecutors did not leave him. -- Let me go! Ivan Samoilych cried out in a plaintive voice to one of his officers, who was called Mazulya, “my dear! most venerable! let me go! I'll thank you later, sir! Forever, all my life I will be grateful to you, my dear! .. - Oh, you are a friend, right, friend! - answered Mazulya in a tone, however, rather soft, - well, what are you asking, you shameless soul! You don't know the rules, friend! You sit down! look at the people! after all, they will beat you, they will beat you - and the march! That's what! friend! something, you friend! heartless 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 death - my nose is completely cramped! That's it, friend, you don't know the rules! ahti-hi! The door opened, and a tavlinka, thrust through by the friendly hand of Wartkin, opened its gifts to the hunter until strong sensations Mazule. - How will it all end? asked Ivan Samoilitch through tears. - Know what! - answered Mazulya phlegmatically, - you know what! he will knock twice the most, and let him go - that's what! There was silence. “Maybe it will hit three!” As he pleases! said the teacher after a moment's thought. New silence. Ivan Samoilitch was in the most painful position. What is he, in fact, such that his fate is so inexorably pursuing? Is he really some kind of prince, dethroned from the throne through the sedition of a power-hungry courtier and now wandering incognito? But in this case, he was ready right away, 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 Samoilitch! how contemptuously and insultingly he treated him! And the first insult was that, without any ceremony, he began to throw off his dress in front of him, and for the hundredth time did not recognize his overcoat, although for the hundredth time he already held it in his hands, for the hundredth time he looked and turned it over at all side - and yet he could not find out in any way - and again he searched, and again he did not find it. - But where is she? he asked himself, adding to this a somewhat harsh expression, “but where did she go, cursed? - Yes, she is in your hands! Ivan Samoilitch ventured to remark, but he ventured extremely timidly and gently, as if committing a terrible crime. -- In hand? Wartkin grumbled under his breath, as if he hadn't heard that the remark came from Ivan Samoilitch, "but who knows?" maybe even in your hands! That's how you don't need her, cursed, - and climbs, and climbs! prickly eyes! but as a need - here it is not! Right, yes! Heather, the people have become crafty today! Well, get in! come on, they tell you! “But when will all this end?” asked Michulin. Wartkin looked at him intently and turned away. - Why am I to blame? judge for yourself! It's nothing, really, nothing... Wartkin didn't answer. - How will it all end? cried Ivan Samoilitch again. - You sit down! said Wartkin laconically. - Judge for yourself, my dear! because I'm just like that ... why? “You, brother, are just like a small child!” - objected Wartkin, - you do not understand anything, no order! Well, what are you whining about? you sit down! “Just judge for yourself, my dear… after all, I am an educated person. -- Educated! well, what kind of educated are you, if you don’t know the rules, have you been more rude? And educated! Yes, you sit down, but I won’t even talk to you, and I don’t want to listen to you! And Wartkin plunged into thought. “For me, brother, that’s what!” he said, like Mazula, after thinking for a while. At last Ivan Samoilitch was led away; the conductors again walked around. They led him for something long, very long; on the road there were various faces who turned around and looked mockingly at the pale and slightly alive with shame hero of this story. "Must be a swindler!" said a dandy in a brown coat and with an equally brown nose. “And perhaps a state criminal!” answered the gentleman with a suspicious countenance, constantly looking back. -- Scammer! I'm telling you - a scammer! the brown coat objected with warmth, “he just stole handkerchiefs!” Look what a face! For nothing, out of sheer pleasure, I'm ready to stab 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 Samoilych heard many wise speeches during his earthly journey, many useful worldly advice passed through his auditory organ, but truly nothing like this could even be imagined by his not quite lively imagination of what the lips of the greatest spoke. His speech was simple and artless, like truth itself, and yet not without some salt, and from this side it looked like fiction, so that it was one majestic synthesis, a combination of truth and fable, simplicity and fiction adorned with spangles of poetry. “Ah, young man! young man! - said the largest, - you think what you did? you delve into your act, but not slide over the surface, but descend into the very depths of your conscience! Ah, young man! young man! And indeed, Ivan Samoilitch penetrated, and somehow suddenly it seemed to him that he really had committed a terribly heinous crime. -- Yes perishing that same to do? - he answered, suddenly crushed by the mighty force of remorse, - such a sin has happened! you forgive me generously! right, sorry! But the larger one was pacing the room with quick steps, probably thinking up how to convince his defendant again and finally awaken in him the awakening of a hardened conscience. “Ah, young man! young man! he said after a few minutes. And he walked across the room again. “If you please, graciously judge for yourself,” Ivan Samoilych began meanwhile, “after all, I am a well-bred man and, it seems, is dressed as a well-bred man should, and not just some peasant!” “Ah, young man! young man! retorted the big one in a mysterious voice, 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, dude! natural scammer! Ah, young man! young man! Ivan Samoilitch lowered his head again, and again the larger one paced the room. "What am I to do with you?" asked the largest, after a brief reflection. - Yes perishing be generous! sorry! remarked Ivan Samoilitch. “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 too - you think that a young man will be lost for nothing, due to his inexperience! but on the other hand, an example is needed, duty dictates!... our duty... oh, you don't know what our duty is! Michulin agreed that the duty was really responsible, but nevertheless asked generously to let him go. “Is it for a day like this?” - 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… it’s such a difficult matter…” And the bigger one began to pace again, all thinking about how he could get out of the difficult situation. - Well, God be with you - was not! I’ll answer to God, it’s obvious there’s nothing to do - I have such a temper! .. that is, believe me, I’m ready to take off my last shirt, but I won’t leave my neighbor without a shirt, no! Ivan Samoylych, for his part, replied that he was ready to take off his last shirt in order to express his most sensitive gratitude to the greater master, but that the beneficence rendered would be remembered to the grave, be sure of that! What is your memory to me! - answered the largest with a sigh, - what is your gratitude to me? Peace of mind - that's where the reward! peace of mind - that's true delight! and as for the shirt, I beg you, do not worry - I have enough of my own! Ah, young man! young man!

Unnoticed by anyone, Ivan Samoilitch 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 pondered, pondered bitterly ... The incident finally finished him off. And then the fever beats, and such thoughts creep into my head ... it's hard, it's hard to live in the world! .. And the fever beats everything! and thoughts all climb, all climb! And Michulin thought and thought ... until a red-haired, broad-shouldered peasant with a fiery beard came to him and began urgently demanding satisfaction, after the peasant she threw herself at him, showing the most terrible and long claws, Nadenka - and also sought satisfaction ... Ivan Samoilych was completely bewildered, all the more so because above all this chaos towered the infinite on infinitely small legs, which completely buckled under the enormous weight that overwhelmed them. But the most offensive thing is that, peering into this terrible, all-consuming infinity, he clearly saw that it is nothing but 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 of "Ivan Samoilov Michulin", groveled at its feet, that the poor man became timid and completely lost ... - Wait a minute, 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, at once Ivan Samoylych 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. Peering, however, more closely, he noticed, not without surprise, that an innumerable number of columns suddenly began to separate from the fog, and that these columns, taking upwards more and more inclined position, finally united in one common peak and made up a completely regular pyramid. But what was the amazement of the poor mortal when, approaching this strange building, he saw that the columns that formed it were not made of granite or any similar mineral at all, but were all composed of the same people as he was - only different colors and shapes, which, however, gave the whole pyramid a pleasing to the eye character of diversity. And suddenly various familiar faces flashed into his eyes - there and Beobachter, a candidate of philosophy, with a guitar in his hands, unconsciously spinning in one of the columns, there Vanya Maraev, engaged in literature, a stately and handsome man, but with somewhat drunken eyes, and that’s it. these familiar faces stand so low, so unconsciously, impersonally smile, seeing Ivan Samoilych, that he felt ashamed for them, and even for himself, that he could make acquaintance with such insignificant, not worth spitting people. “But what if I, too…” he thought, and didn’t think it through, because his thought froze halfway through—he was so frightened, suddenly remembering that he could perhaps see himself in a not quite intricate position. And as if on purpose, the huge pyramid, until then showing him, one after another, all its sides, suddenly stopped. The unfortunate man's blood froze in his veins, his breath caught in his chest, his head began to spin when he saw at the very bottom of an unusually voluminous column the same Ivan Samoilych as himself, but in such a distressed and strange position that his eyes did not want to believe. And indeed, the mass standing in front of him presented a curious sight - it was all made up of countless people, one on top of the other, so that Ivan Samoilych's head was so mutilated by the weight that weighed on it that it lost even the signs of its human character! and the part called the skull even turned into a complete nonentity and was finally written out of cash. In general, the whole figure of this strange, mythical Michulin expressed such mental pauperism, such moral begging, that the real, observing from a distance, Michulin felt both cramped and heavy, and he rushed with force to wrest his suffering double from under his oppressive weight. But some terrible force chained him to one place, and he, with tears in his eyes and gnawing anguish in his heart, turned his gaze higher. But the higher this gaze climbed, the more finished the people seemed to Ivan Samoilych. He himself now felt what a terrible weight was crushing his head; he felt how, one by one, those qualities that made him a well-known image disappeared ... Cold sweat poured over his body; breath stopped in chest; hair, one by one, stirred and stood up; the whole organism trembled in panic expectation of something unheard of... He made a desperate, exorbitant effort - and... woke up. All around Charlotte Gotlibovna's tenants stood in thoughtful silence around his bed. The first thing that particularly struck his sleep-heavy eyes was Nadenka Ruchkina, that same proud and unshakable Nadenka who had told him so many times that if she said something, she said it and would never change her words for life, and who at the present moment she was sitting on his bed and carefully wrapping his legs. This gratifying phenomenon in one minute so absorbed all his attention that he forgot everything around him; something resembling a mirage suddenly flashed in his soul, and a quiet but full of happiness family life with a loving and beloved wife, with beloved children, imperceptibly began to be drawn in his imagination. .. He really wanted to jump out of bed merrily and cheerfully to kiss those pink lips, the pinkest that can be found on the entire surface of the globe, and then, deftly winking with one eye and looking under the bed, first with one, and then on the other hand, immediately say, as befits an affectionate father of the family: "Where did this rogue boy Koko hide?", Or - "this cunning girl Varenka ..."; all this was already flashing through the soul of Ivan Samoilitch, when suddenly reality presented itself to his eyes - the most naked and desolate reality that one could imagine; in a word, reality, composed of Charlotte Gotlibovna, Ivan Makarych, Mr. Beobachter and Alexis Zvonsky. - And we thought it was too much for you ... Karachun came! roared, as if from a barrel, the hoarse bass of Ivan Makarych's friend and comrade just above Michulin's ear. “Yes, it was we who thought you were quite a karachun,” replied the thin figure of Charlotte Gottliebovna, leaning languidly on the powerful shoulder of Perezhiga. “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, that was a terrible, solemn moment! I imagined this pale death... pallida mors... Have you read Horace, Ivan Samoilitch? Thus Mr. Beobachter uttered his greeting, but he delivered it in such a sweet and pleasant voice, as if it were a matter of the most ordinary thing. “Yes, we thought you were completely dead!” said, for his part, the apathetically laconic Alexis. Ivan Samoylych thanked the gentlemen of the inhabitants of the "garnish" for their participation, told them that he was still completely alive, in proof of which he began to get out of bed. But he couldn't; his head burned, his eyes were cloudy, his strength weakened, and no matter how hard he tried to appear cheerful and fresh, he involuntarily had to sink back onto the pillow. “Thank God, brother, that you haven’t died yet and that there wasn’t a district warden here! Ivan Makarych roared again, and stretched out his hand to strike the sick man on the shoulder as a token of sympathy—and he would certainly have struck him if Nadenka had not held him back. - Warden! whispered Ivan Samoilitch in a scarcely intelligible voice. “But what, am I something ... that?” -- Yes bro; already known ... that. - Oh, you are very free thought did! interrupted Charlotte Gotlibovna. - That is, just inform me or someone else, just find some sort of rogue, Christ-seller - they will get rich, by God, they will get rich! If it weren't for me Ivan Perezhiga!.. well, as you know, in a state-owned apartment with heating and lighting... ha-ha-ha! Is that so, Charlotte Gotlibovna? “Oh, you are very kind cavalier, Ivan Makarvich. - Yes, it's terrible! to be shackled in heavy chains, condemned to eternal darkness, to see forever the same dry and prosaic face of the prison guard, to hear your life flowing out drop by drop! .. oh, this is terrible! .. - said Mr. Beobachter, especially gently pressing on the words: "drop by drop." “As soon as I went, brother, according to a dream,” Ivan Makarych remarked again, “and began to twist all sorts of things in my head, so here, brother, adyo mon plaisir [farewell, my joy (from French adieu, mon plaisir)] write wasted... I'll tell you about myself - I never dreamed in my life, but go and look for another such a fine fellow... Charlotte Gotlibovna blushed. "Well, why don't you get up?" he went on, turning to Michulin and shaking him violently by the arm, "I haven't been able to sleep all day, really!" Don't be afraid, limp, did the brownies rock you? Eka baba! It's just disgusting to even look at! You just look like such a reptile that you want to spit! But Ivan Samoilitch was silent; pale as a sheet, he lay motionless on the bed, his pulse beating weakly and slowly; in his whole being he felt some unprecedented, painful weakness. Nadenka Ruchkina leaned over to him and, taking him by the 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 Samoilitch replied in a barely audible voice, “it hurts me a lot. -- BUT! don't be afraid, and the tongue is untied? Perezhiga meanwhile roared, “don’t be afraid, he stirred, as the female gender approached! Leave me alone, I'm sick! whispered Ivan Samoilitch in an imploring voice. - Yes, and in fact, let him be here! You are welcome, gentlemen, to me! And you, Charlotte Gotlibovna, would give us some vodka! Oh-oh-oh, Lord! for the sins of this world you punish us! Ivan Samoylych was left alone with Nadenka, his eyes fixed fixedly on her; his pale, thin face expressed unbearable suffering; he slowly took her hand and pressed it to his lips for a long, long time. - Nadya! good! he said in a broken voice, "kiss me... for the first and last time!" Nadenka was amazed. In her characteristic suspiciousness, she began to realize that all this was not without reason, that it was all a thing, that he only wanted to lull her vigilance; but when she looked at that emaciated face, at those eyes turned to her with supplication and expectation, she suddenly felt somehow ashamed of her suspicions; her little heart felt both cramped and awkward, and besides, a tear, the most miniature, tiny tear, somehow completely accidentally welled up in her eyes and fell from her eyes onto Michulin's open chest. Nothing to do, Nadenka wiped away a tear, leaned over and kissed the patient. Ivan Samoilitch's face smiled. "What's the matter with you, Ivan Samoilitch?" - asked Nadenka, - is it true that you caught a cold? -- Oh no! it's all that ... everything about that case ... remember, on which I came to you? “Well, is it some important matter that has upset you so much?” -- Yes; it is, you know... a capital matter!.. And how it hurts me, it hurts, if you only knew! Nadia shook her head. "Shouldn't you send for a doctor, Ivan Samoilitch?" - For a doctor? .. yes; it wouldn't be bad! maybe he 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 Samoilitch. “No, it’s an empty business, Nadya! most empty! I'm telling you, but I already know ... It may turn out to help, but what good will it be! Well, I'll recover, and then something? No, you don't need a doctor... Nadya was silent. “Yes, besides, the doctor needs money; a good man won't want to go to a poor man... that's it! and whichever one comes across - Christ be with him! only torment ... it's better to die like that! At that moment, the door opened with a noise, and the plump figure of Perezhiga burst into the room with a damask in one hand and a glass in the other hand. - And here, enough, friend, balm! roared a voice familiar to Ivan Samoylych. And if you die, it’s like that, it’s obvious, that’s how it should be, it’s obvious that it’s God’s will! come on, have a drink. Don't frown, baba! And Michulin saw with horror how Perezhiga's hand, trembling and unfaithful from frequent sacrifices to Bacchus, filled the glass with the composition contained in the decanter, burning like fire. He began to refuse, saying that it was easier for him, that he was - thank God, but in vain: the glass was already poured, and besides, Nadenka, in her soft voice, urged him to try - maybe, they say, this will make it a little easier to him. Without taking breath, Ivan Samoylych drank the served vodka and almost unconsciously fell on the bed. - Eka vodka! eka vodka thief! meanwhile Ivan Makarych was saying, looking at Michulin's contorted face. "Ek is taking her, Ek is taking her!" wow, bestian vodka! How did he not choke! right, yes! alive, alive! But what is the soul kept in? And Perezhiga, with a self-satisfied smile, admired the exhaustion and suffering of Ivan Samoylych, as if he wanted to tell him. "But what, brother! Did I set you a task? Let's see how you get out of it somehow ... but tenacious! tenacious!" Indeed, it was quite difficult to get out. Nadenka ran after the doctor and soon brought in a German, somewhat tipsy, who incessantly sniffed tobacco and spat in all directions. The doctor went up to the patient, felt his pulse for a long time and with tension, as if he wanted to make a hole in his hand, and shook his head; ordered to stick out his tongue, examined it and also shook his head; then he sniffed the tobacco, felt his pulse again, and intently examined his tongue. -- Schlecht [bad (German)], said the doctor thoughtfully. -- Well? is there any hope? asked Nadia. - 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? -- I do not know; I'll ask Ivan Makarych. - No, it is not necessary: ​​I am so, more out of curiosity; but if there is, then why not drink? Nadenka went out and returned five minutes later with a decanter. "Vodka is very often healthy, but very often harmful," the physician remarked sagely. “Well, is it necessary to die, or what?” asked Ivan Samoilitch timidly and hardly audibly. -- Yes perishing this be calm! die, surely die! - And soon? the patient asked again. - Yes, that way in two, three hours, it will be necessary ... Farewell, most respected; I wish you good night! However, the night was restless. From time to time the sick man would indeed fall asleep, but then he would suddenly jump out of bed, clutch his head and ask Nadenka in a plaintive voice where his brain had gone, why his soul had been crushed, and so on. To this Nadenka replied that his head was intact, thank God, but, they say, if he doesn’t want to drink chamomile, then there is chamomile. And he took the cup in his hand and unquestioningly drank the chamomile. The next day, towards dinner, 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 wept ... wept soft, sweet tears. And Nadenka, for her part, felt sorry for him too. For the first time, she seemed to understand that a man was dying in her eyes, that this man loved her, and she pushed him hard and hostilely away from her. Who knows what caused this death? Who knows, perhaps he would have been both healthy and cheerful if—oh, if only you had looked, good, wonderful creature, looked with the eyes of compassion and sympathy at that face turned towards you! if you could shed even one ray of love on this poor soul, torn by grief and need! oh, if that were possible! “Listen,” Ivan Samoylych was saying meanwhile, taking her by the hand, “forget that I annoyed you, that I insulted you ... Of course, I am much and much to blame, but what can I do? because I'm alone, Nadya, all alone. I don’t have anyone, I had a bitter experience, but it’s boring, how boring! .. After all, it’s not my fault that I’m not handsome and not learned - what should I do with this? 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, lowering her eyes, looked at the ground. “It seems to me, however,” Ivan Samoilich began again in a weak voice, “what if from childhood ... at a time when the blood is warm in us, if at that time they had not put me under pressure Yes, they didn’t shackle, so maybe something would come out 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 had to remain foolish and walk 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 should blame anyone ... my father is an old man and uneducated, my mother too: they are not to blame, that have not been removed. “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 brute 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, 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, Nadya!" - continued the patient, - often we ourselves are to blame for everything, but we blame others! it is precisely my death! 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 how scary! He stopped; Nadenka lowered her head thoughtfully and pondered something for a long time. Did she think that Ivan Samoilich himself was really to blame for allowing circumstances to deprive him 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. to 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 lapping 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 she better, cleaner herself at that time? Would it have been better if, suddenly, by some magical chance, she had again had to return to this long-gone, long-lost memory life? And meanwhile it was getting dark outside; the room is quiet, not a rustle, not a sound; Nadenka thought that Ivan Samoilitch had fallen asleep, and made up her mind 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... Nadenka felt frightened. For the first time in her life she was alone with a dead man... 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 hangers-on, including herself, arm in arm with Ivan Makarych, came to bow to the dead man. There were many rumors; some even doubted whether Ivan Samoylych really died. Nadenka herself for a moment 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 approached him closer, shook his nose - his nose was cold, put his hand to his mouth - there was no breath . -- Who knows? maybe he really is dead! he said with deadly indifference, moving away from the soulless corpse, "and the vodka didn't save you, woman's soul!" And well, brother, he did that he died! However, since Michulin had absolutely no relatives or acquaintances, Charlotte Gotlibovna considered it necessary to send for a police official, having checked in advance everywhere whether there was anything of value. But the only thing of value 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 officer did not keep him waiting long. He was of a cheerful disposition, and in general liked to joke when the opportunity arose, without, however, exceeding the limits of decency. .. oh, no, no, how is that possible! -- Tell me please! - he began, when they explained to him the reason for his call, - so what a strange thing happened to you? Well, there's nothing to be done! let's start the survey, let's see if there are any combat and violent signs! Charlotte Gotlibovna knew that the gentleman deigned to joke; therefore she was not in the least embarrassed, but only said to him with the most charming smile: - Yes, sir! this, if you please, the law requires it, but I am a tool, nothing, like an insignificant tool... Yes, sir, let's see, let's see - maybe they poisoned him?... 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. After examining the body of Ivan Samoylych 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 cheerfulness, - after all, the heirs will be unequal, ha-ha-ha! .. Eh! he continued, sorting through the belongings of the deceased, “but he had six whole shirts! and a warm jersey ... but he died! - Tell me, please, gentlemen, - he turned to those present, - what kind of reason would it be such that a person lived and lived, and suddenly died? .. - That is, you want to learn philosophy of death? said Beobachter. “Yes, sir, you know, I sometimes like to occupy myself in the evening with all sorts of different thoughts, and, I confess, there are things that greatly intrigue me; for example, even though this is - 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 lot of science here! answered Mr. Beobachter, “many philosophers have worked hard on this... Yes, it is difficult, very difficult!.. here is the infinite! - What is difficult here? - Perezhiga interrupted, - difficult, difficult! and it's very easy to explain! If you please, see how a man went after a dream, how different things went in his head and throw out squiggles, it’s already known - it’s a bad thing! Here comes death! What is the 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 Dmitri Osipich. - Well, yes, it’s already known that - skepticism, father, skepticism has overcome! that's what! “Hm, skepticism? ' thought Dmitri Osipych, 'skepticism? I mean, what do you mean by that? - And here, approximately, a man with a dog is walking: well, we are just saying that, they say, a man is walking and a dog is running after him, and a skeptic: no, he says, this, if you please, see, a dog is walking and leads the person. - Shh, tell me! So, therefore, the dead man was a strange person? asked Dmitri Osipych, and immediately shook his head reproachfully at Ivan Samoilitch. - I'm telling you - went on a dream! What nonsense he has been talking about lately, so at least bring the saints out: both are not good, and that is bad ... - Shh, tell me, please! continued Dmitri Osipych, sternly shaking his head, “but what was not life to a man! and was full, and was dressed! rank, my sir, you had! and now he did not hesitate to grumble at his creator ... I will honestly report to you that there is no animal in the world more ungrateful than man. Warm him up, feed him - he will bite, he will certainly bite! Such, apparently, is his nature, gentlemen!

How many expectations! The young man enters life full of hope. And it turns out to be unclaimed. How much kindness was shown to him in childhood by his parents, protecting him from harsh realities. The boy grew up and felt the power to help him find a place in life. After receiving instruction, he went to the capital. Did he find himself big city? How successfully did he apply the knowledge he had previously acquired? Saltykov answered this in the work "Confused Case". Having reproached the state, in the future Mikhail was forced to go to Vyatka, to serve his sentence in exile.

The father told his son to humble himself and live. No matter what troubles fall on him, no matter how society behaves, it is supposed to calmly accept what is happening and worthily bear the burden of an honest person. No depravity and free thinking, only the creation of a positive self-image. Where could a young man with such instructions get a job? He tried to meet the expectations of his parents, but the money they gave for the road was spent, and now the only way left for the main character of Saltykov's work is to become like the majority.

Having nothing, the young man now leads a defiant lifestyle, claiming to possess what he does not have enough money and abilities to possess. Not ready for such behavior, the protagonist will not find understanding among those who live by similar principles. Certainly, upbringing had an effect. Raised in a greenhouse under the close attention of gentle eyes and caring hands, he can be worthy of others if they agree to accept him. But who in the capital needs a man from the provinces?

If you want to live, make an effort: such an instruction should have been given. Nothing happens just like that, even if you are at least thrice a well-bred person. You won’t be able to find a job, therefore, you will be deprived of the opportunity to earn a living, which means you have to rethink the parental mandate. And it will certainly be rethought if the main character does not want to peacefully starve to death. Since childhood, not accustomed to harsh realities, a young man will not be able to fully adapt to the orders of society. This is to the question of why a weed is able to grow everywhere, and cultivated flowers will surely wither without someone else's care. A person is not a flower - he must think about himself without hope for the help of others.

We will not assume why Saltykov did not please the authorities by describing the situation presented above. Every generation will see that what is presented in the pages of Tangled has happened at all times. There have always been carefully educated, losing the fight presented to themselves from an early age. Any good thing is necessarily subject to a breakdown, resulting in a revision of life philosophy, up to a complete replacement of ideas about the true side of a positive understanding of reality.

Orientation towards social disorder became characteristic of all of Saltykov's early work. Having previously described Onegin's case of a young man's refusal of a girl's sympathies due to fear of an unsecured future, Mikhail worked out the reverse case in drafts, when the girl is already forced to refuse a man, citing a number of reasonable reasons as proof. First, she is seventeen years old, and he is forty. Secondly, she does not want to reciprocate, because it is more difficult for a woman to regain her lost decency after intimacy. A work with such content is called "Chapter"- during the life of Saltykov was not published.

Why then attach importance to what remains in drafts? Saltykov did not consider it necessary, but the researchers of his work decided otherwise. They carefully restored the text, according to its content they attributed it to 1847, reasonably finding similarities with the work “Contradictions”. It remains for the reader to listen to the legacy he has inherited: he has the opportunity to better represent the thoughts of the writer.

Additional tags: Mikhail Saltykov-Shchedrin A Complicated Affair analysis, review, book, content

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