The image of parsley in the poem Dead Souls. Images of Selifan and Petrushka and their functions in N.V.’s poem

The most underrated hero of Russian literature is perhaps Gogol’s Petrushka. Chichikov's servant, a minor character in the poem "Dead Souls". Petrushka, as everyone knows, loved to read. He had a sincere love for words. He did not read to learn new things, to enjoy the beauty or glibness of the style, or even to pass the time. He enjoyed the process as such: here they are, letters - forming words, and words into sentences. Petrushka reveled in the material. I love Parsley. He is my brother in spirit and in the perception of the text.

There are many ways to achieve literacy. Just as experienced people are knowledgeable in ways to achieve the reciprocity of a woman and willingly talk about their “secrets” (which women themselves make fun of), so literate people will give many examples of how to achieve the reciprocity of a “black box”, that is, language. Lingua is a feminine word. I think that says a lot.

I grew up on the books that my father brought once a month from the library of the auto company where he worked as a driver. These were mainly historical novels. I don't think they found many readers among other drivers. From the thick volumes I gleaned a fair amount of words that to this day I don’t know how to pronounce. In my environment, these words did not sound, and in books, alas, they do not put an accent mark. So, for example, until I was twelve years old, I was sure that the second syllable in the word “Romans” was stressed. Until good people pointed out the mistake. By the way, much later I thought: the “wrong” pronunciation is actually much closer to the original than the literary one: Romanesque... Romanes.

But I got carried away. So, about literacy. I copied my favorite books into a notebook. There was such a common notebook in a square. And I’m in block letters – just like in a book! – transferred into it some stories of Jack London and O. Henry. With paragraphs, with a “red” line. Well, I remember exactly, I rewrote “The Mexican”. And "Piece of Meat", it seems. From O. Henry - "The Roads We Take." You may ask why. Well, firstly, today you can buy or download any book, or almost any, from the Internet. And in those years there was such a word as “scarcity”, and a good book was considered a shortage. And secondly, I just liked the rewriting process itself.

In hindsight, I think: this is how, at an elementary level, writing out every comma, deducing unstressed vowels in difficult words, I developed the mechanical literacy that I now, at the very least, possess. However, the method is far from new. This is how the scribes of Ancient Egypt and Mesopotamia were taught in schools. On the banks of Hapi they rewrote the Wanderings of Sinuhe, and on the clay hills of Uruk - the Tale of Gilgamesh. Not a new method, and probably not optimal. As I said at the very beginning, there are many others. It’s just that this is the only one whose effectiveness I could personally verify. From my own experience.

In ancient times, when there was still an oral tradition of transmission, for example, of the Vedas, forgetting one word was equated to murder. And it was punishable by death. Today, sometimes you listen... and think: how many of them, brother, have you put down in these few minutes... crumbled into cabbage... trampled under the heavy cavalry of ignorance and stupid arrogance.

The clay hills are empty. E-dubba is a thing of the past. The glorious tradition of rewriting is also gone. Only I, bent over the sign, erasing the stylus, am still rewriting my text. Or rather, I’m not rewriting it – I’m reproducing it from the sample. Under the strict supervision of Mr. Senior Scribe.

In the text of the poem "", N.V. Gogol quite openly tries to reveal the folk theme. The author sings and glorifies the common people, describes their best qualities. We repeatedly come across the author’s thoughts about how great and broad the soul of a common man is, how sincere are the feelings of common people.

In the text of the poem, the reader encounters the images of the maidens Mavra and Proshka, the carpenter Probka, and the coachman Mikheev. The central figures for the full disclosure of such an exciting topic for the author are the footman Petrushka and the coachman Selifan.

We are introduced to the images of serfs at the beginning of the poem. Gogol does not reveal the personality of the main character, but already introduces the reader to his faithful servants, gives them names and titles.

How do these people differ from other heroes? They are alive! What could this mean? Their soul and inner world are still capable of giving a healthy assessment of their actions and deeds, unlike those landowners who sold dead peasants to the entertainer Chichikov.

Selifan and Petrusha look natural and real. There is no pretense in their images. Drunk Selifan can communicate with horses, considering them excellent conversationalists. Petrusha, without a single word or objection, carries out all Chichikov’s orders, so that he does not reproach him for anything.

I mentioned more than once that it is in the persons of Selifan and Petrusha that the real, national and popular character of the Russian person is hidden. A servant like Petrusha is always submissive. He speaks little and tries to please his master in everything. The footman has trained his master so well that, without unnecessary orders, he knows what to do and when.

The coachman Selifan was talkative. He always spoke out on any occasion and could even make a remark - to his horse! Selifan was not as responsible as Petrusha. He could drive a carriage while drunk, and could be negligent in breaking down the carriage.

It is these two images that are the most real in the text of the entire poem. They are what they are. Descriptions of the personalities of Selifan and Petrusha help us understand and reveal the image of the main character - Chichikov, understand his character traits and manners of behavior.

The action of the poem "Dead Souls" takes place even before the cancellation

serfdom, therefore the leitmotif of the people's

subject. N.V. Gogol praises the people, practically singing an ode in their honor,

expresses all the best qualities of the Russian national character. Here, the sharpness of the Russian word, the breadth of the soul, and the depth of feelings of the serfs are shown through the prism of the author’s individual perception. The “tools” for creating this perception are the images introduced by the author of the carpenter Stepan Probka, the coachman Mikheev, the girls Proshka and Mavra and the girl Pelageya. However, the central positions in the overall picture of the peasantry created by Gogol are occupied by the serfs of the protagonist: the coachman Selifan and the footman Petrushka.

These images of humble serfs appear before the reader at the very beginning of the poem. Their names are heard even before the reader actually meets Chichikov. At a time when Chichikov is still an unknown gentleman, his coachman and footman already have their own names. In this context, Chichikov’s serfs become, as it were, his preface to his image. Gogol's prose is specific in that the author conducts an internal dialogue with the reader, thereby pushing the narrative forward. Through short, but understandable reasoning for any reader, Gogol comes to the conclusion that in the second chapter it is time for him to reveal the identities of the protagonist’s servants.

N.V. Gogol, with the title of the poem, reflected the entire essence of each of the gallery of landowners, including Chichikov himself. Their souls, according to the author, are a priori dead and rotten, which allows them to commit immoral acts, accumulate anger, engage in collecting and skimp even on necessary things. The title corresponds to the content; the author’s deftly chosen mark of a “dead soul” lies on every landowner. However, this definition does not correspond to the images of Petrushka and Selifan, simple serfs. Their souls cannot be called dead, because they still have living feelings. Parsley, for example, is ashamed of “his own smell” when the owner makes comments to him. And the coachman Selifan has a quick wit, despite his lack of education. The most important feature of Chichikov’s servants is naturalness and spontaneity. This

is expressed in the simplicity of the drunken Selifan, talking to horses as to people, and in the actions of the humble Petrushka, ready to unquestioningly carry out all the orders of the owner, only so that he does not reproach him for anything.

Studying the characters of Petrushka and Selifan, one cannot help but notice that when talking about them, Gogol repeatedly talks about the peculiarities of the Russian soul. For example, in the episode between Manilov and Korobochka, Selifan wanders, but “the Russian driver has a good instinct instead of eyes.” Or after a mistake made by a coachman on the road, Gogol points out that “Russian people do not like to admit to others that they are to blame.” The Russian national character is fully embodied in the images of Selifan and Petrushka, even though they were different people, as the author points out.

Petrushka is submissive and silent, his remarks in the poem are few and insignificant. But he always fulfills his duties, whether with love or displeasure, he looks after Chichikov. He has become close to his master to such an extent that he does not need to give unnecessary orders. Parsley knows when to help his master get dressed, undressed, or clean his feathers. Without him, Chichikov, as a master not accustomed to cleaning and other household chores on his own, with all his pedantry, would have found it difficult to keep himself and his surroundings in proper shape. The uniqueness of Parsley’s image is indicated by its special smell, which allows it to easily and unpretentiously settle in any place. The author does not reveal Petrushka’s thoughts, they remain between the lines (“it’s difficult to know what a serf in the yard is thinking at a time when the master is giving him instructions”). Selifan, unlike Petrushka, can speak freely and even “made very sensible comments ... to the horse.” He knows his business, is constantly on the move, but is by no means as scrupulous about his duties as Petrushka. Selifan may drive a chaise while drunk, may not obey the master's direct order, and may turn a blind eye to obvious faults in the carriage. He is even capable of manipulation

Chichikov's actions: without laying the britzka on time, he delayed the departure. This was to some extent beneficial to him, however, to what extent, the author does not indicate, but only limits himself to the mysterious phrase: “Scratching the back of the head means a lot of different things to the Russian people.” Selifan has an analytical mind; he can make value judgments about landowners. His obstinacy is contrasted with Petrushka’s humility, but it can be said that even Selifan’s disobedience has a tinge of humility and shame. At the end of the seventh chapter, a mysterious merger of souls occurs between Selifan and Petrushka. Together, without saying a single word, they leave the hotel for an hour and return the same way, and even fall asleep on the same bed, clumsily perched. The author again leaves their activities “behind the scenes.”

Petrushka and Selifan are necessary to construct the image of Chichikov. They complement it and are an integral part of it. Selifan provides the action of that very “road motif” that permeates the entire poem. Parsley is necessary to give an external gloss to the main character, to endow him with special character properties. The road is always accompanied by Petrushka and Selifan; without them it is impossible, since, fulfilling Chichikov’s orders, they are the engines of the chaise traveling across Russia.

The artist’s illustrations to Gogol’s “Dead Souls” have already become classic.Peter Boklevsky , first published in"Bee" magazine in 1875. Boklevsky specialized in caricatures and visualized characters in works of Russian literature. The drawings of the heroes from “The Inspector General” and “Dead Souls” were so life-like that theater actors made themselves up “to resemble Boklevsky.” The drawings for “Dead Souls” were first published in the magazine of art and literature “Pchela,” an important but short-lived publication. The Bee published stories by fashionable writers of the time and reproductions of paintings (many of which became classics). The series of drawings for “Dead Souls” was completed not by Boklevsky, but by another artist, Panov.

Let us reproduce, along with illustrations, verbal portraits of Gogol himself.

Main character

Pavel Ivanovich Chichikov

A rather beautiful small spring chaise, in which bachelors travel: retired lieutenant colonels, staff captains, landowners with about a hundred peasant souls - in a word, all those who are called middle-class gentlemen, drove into the gates of the hotel in the provincial town of NN. In the chaise sat a gentleman, not handsome, but not bad-looking either, neither too fat nor too thin; One cannot say that he is old, but not that he is too young. His entry made absolutely no noise in the city and was not accompanied by anything special; only two Russian men, standing at the door of the tavern opposite the hotel, made some comments, which, however, related more to the carriage than to those sitting in it. “Look,” one said to the other, “what a wheel! What do you think, if that wheel happened, would it get to Moscow or not?” “It will get there,” answered the other. “But I don’t think he’ll get to Kazan?” “He won’t get to Kazan,” answered another. This is where the conversation ended...

... Having rested, he wrote on a piece of paper, at the request of the tavern servant, his rank, first and last name for reporting to the appropriate place, to the police. On a piece of paper, going down the stairs, I read the following from the warehouses: “Collegiate adviser Pavel Ivanovich Chichikov, landowner, according to his needs”...

… . The gentleman had something dignified in his manners and blew his nose extremely loudly. It is not known how he did it, but his nose sounded like a trumpet. This, in my opinion, a completely innocent dignity, however, gained him a lot of respect from the tavern servant, so that every time he heard this sound, he shook his hair, straightened up more respectfully and, bending his head from on high, asked: is it necessary? what?

Chichikov woke up, stretched his arms and legs and felt that he had slept well. After lying on his back for about two minutes, he snapped his hand and remembered with a beaming face that he now had nearly four hundred souls. He immediately jumped out of bed, did not even look at his face, which he sincerely loved and in which, it seems, he found the chin most attractive, for he very often boasted of it to one of his friends, especially if this happened while shaving. “Look,” he usually said, stroking it with his hand, “what a chin I have: completely round!”

...He didn’t even like to allow himself to be treated with familiarity in any case, unless the person was of too high a rank...

The next day Chichikov went for lunch and evening to the police chief, where from three o'clock in the afternoon they sat down to whist and played until two o'clock in the morning. There, by the way, he met the landowner Nozdryov, a man of about thirty, a broken fellow, who after three or four words began to say “you” to him. Nozdryov was also on first name terms with the police chief and the prosecutor and treated him in a friendly manner; but when they sat down to play the big game, the police chief and the prosecutor examined his bribes extremely carefully and watched almost every card he played with. The next day Chichikov spent the evening with the chairman of the chamber, who received his guests in a dressing gown, somewhat oily, including two ladies. Then I was at an evening with the vice-governor, at a big dinner with the tax farmer, at a small dinner with the prosecutor, which, however, was worth a lot; at the after-mass snack given by the mayor, which was also worth lunch. In a word, he never had to stay at home for a single hour, and he came to the hotel only to fall asleep. The newcomer somehow knew how to find his way around everything and showed himself to be an experienced socialite. Whatever the conversation was about, he always knew how to support it: whether it was about a horse factory, he talked about a horse factory; were they talking about good dogs, and here he made very practical remarks; whether they interpreted the investigation carried out by the treasury chamber, he showed that he was not unaware of the judicial tricks; whether there was a discussion about the billiard game - and in the billiard game he did not miss; they talked about virtue, and he talked about virtue very well, even with tears in his eyes; about making hot wine, and he knew the use of hot wine; about customs overseers and officials, and he judged them as if he himself were both an official and an overseer. But it’s remarkable that he knew how to dress it all up with some kind of sedateness, he knew how to behave well. He spoke neither loudly nor quietly, but absolutely as he should. In a word, no matter where you turn, he was a very decent person. All officials were pleased with the arrival of a new person. The governor explained about him that he was a well-intentioned person; the prosecutor - that he is a sensible person; the gendarme colonel said that he was a learned man; the chairman of the chamber - that he is a knowledgeable and respectable person; the police chief - that he is a respectable and kind man; the police chief's wife - that he is the most kind and courteous person. Even Sobakevich himself, who rarely spoke kindly of anyone, arrived quite late from the city and had already completely undressed and lay down on the bed next to his thin wife, said to her: “I, darling, was at the governor’s party, and at the police chief’s. had lunch and met the collegiate adviser Pavel Ivanovich Chichikov: a pleasant person! “To which the wife answered: “Hm!” - and pushed him with her foot.

This opinion, very flattering for the guest, was formed about him in the city, and it persisted until one strange property of the guest and the enterprise, or, as they say in the provinces, a passage about which the reader will soon learn, led almost to complete bewilderment. the whole city.

Landowners

Nastasya Petrovna Korobochka

... A minute later, the owner, an elderly woman, came in, in some kind of sleeping cap, put on hastily, with a flannel around her neck, one of those mothers, small landowners who cry about crop failures, losses and keep their heads somewhat to one side, and meanwhile gain a little money in colorful bags placed in chest of drawers. All the rubles are taken into one bag, fifty rubles into another, quarters into a third, although from the outside it seems as if there is nothing in the chest of drawers except linen, night blouses, skeins of thread, and a torn cloak, which can then turn into a dress if the old one will somehow burn out while baking holiday cakes with all sorts of yarn, or it will wear out on its own. But the dress will not burn and will not fray on its own: the old woman is thrifty, and the cloak is destined to lie for a long time in an open form, and then, according to the spiritual will, go to the niece of her grandsister along with all other rubbish...

Plyushkin

...His face did not represent anything special; it was almost the same as that of many thin old men, one chin only protruded very far forward, so that he had to cover it with a handkerchief every time so as not to spit; the small eyes had not yet gone out and ran from under their high eyebrows, like mice, when, sticking their sharp muzzles out of the dark holes, pricking their ears and blinking their whiskers, they look out to see if a cat or a naughty boy is hiding somewhere, and sniff the very air suspiciously. Much more remarkable was his outfit: no amount of effort or effort could have been used to find out what his robe was made of: the sleeves and upper flaps were so greasy and shiny that they looked like the kind of yuft that goes into boots; in the back, instead of two, there were four floors dangling, from which cotton paper came out in flakes. He also had something tied around his neck that could not be made out: a stocking, a garter, or a belly, but not a tie. In a word, if Chichikov had met him, so dressed up, somewhere at the church door, he would probably have given him a copper penny. For to the honor of our hero it must be said that he had a compassionate heart and he could not resist giving the poor man a copper penny. But it was not a beggar who stood before him, a landowner stood before him. This landowner had more than a thousand souls, and would anyone try to find someone else who had so much bread in grain, flour and simply in storerooms, whose storerooms, barns and drying rooms were cluttered with so many canvases, cloth, dressed and rawhide sheepskins, dried fish and any vegetable or gubina..

... But there was a time when he was just a thrifty owner! he was married and a family man, and a neighbor came to have dinner with him, listen and learn from him about housekeeping and wise stinginess.

Manilov

God alone could have said what Manilov’s character was. There is a kind of people known by the name: so-so people, neither this nor that, neither in the city of Bogdan nor in the village of Selifan, according to the proverb. Maybe Manilov should join them. In appearance he was a distinguished man; His facial features were not devoid of pleasantness, but this pleasantness seemed to have too much sugar in it; in his techniques and turns there was something ingratiating favor and acquaintance. He smiled enticingly, was blond, with blue eyes. In the first minute of a conversation with him, you can’t help but say: “What a pleasant and kind person!” The next minute you won’t say anything, and the third you’ll say: “The devil knows what it is!” - and move away; If you don’t leave, you will feel mortal boredom. You won’t get any lively or even arrogant words from him, which you can hear from almost anyone if you touch an object that offends him. Everyone has their own enthusiasm: one of them turned his enthusiasm to greyhounds; to another it seems that he is a strong lover of music and amazingly feels all the deep places in it; the third master of a dashing lunch; the fourth to play a role at least one inch higher than the one assigned to him; the fifth, with a more limited desire, sleeps and dreams of going on a walk with the adjutant, in front of his friends, acquaintances and even strangers; the sixth is already gifted with a hand that feels a supernatural desire to bend the corner of some ace or deuce of diamonds, while the hand of the seventh is trying to create order somewhere, to get closer to the person of the stationmaster or the coachmen - in a word, everyone has his own, but Manilov had nothing. At home he spoke very little and spent most of his time reflecting and thinking, but what he was thinking about was also unknown to God. It’s impossible to say that he was involved in farming, he never even went to the fields, farming somehow went on by itself. When the clerk said: “It would be nice, master, to do this and that,” “Yes, not bad,” he usually answered, smoking a pipe, which he made a habit of smoking when he was still serving in the army, where he was considered the most modest, most delicate and educated officer . “Yes, it’s not bad,” he repeated. When a man came to him and, scratching the back of his head with his hand, said: “Master, let me go away to work, let me earn some money,” “Go,” he said, smoking a pipe, and it didn’t even occur to him that the man was going out to drink. Sometimes, looking from the porch at the yard and the pond, he talked about how nice it would be if suddenly an underground passage was built from the house or a stone bridge was built across the pond, on which there would be benches on both sides, and so that people could sit in them merchants sold various small goods needed by the peasants. At the same time, his eyes became extremely sweet and his face took on the most contented expression; however, all these projects ended with only words. In his office there was always some kind of book, bookmarked on page fourteen, which he had been constantly reading for two years. There was always something missing in his house: in the living room there was beautiful furniture, upholstered in smart silk fabric, which was probably quite expensive; but there wasn’t enough for two chairs, and the chairs were simply upholstered in matting; However, for several years the owner always warned his guest with the words: “Don’t sit on these chairs, they are not ready yet.” In another room there was no furniture at all, although it was said in the first days after marriage: “Darling, you will need to work tomorrow to put furniture in this room, at least for a while.” In the evening, a very dandy candlestick made of dark bronze with three antique graces, with a dandy mother-of-pearl shield, was served on the table, and next to it was placed some simple copper invalid, lame, curled up to the side and covered in fat, although neither the owner nor mistress, no servant. His wife... however, they were completely happy with each other. Despite the fact that more than eight years of their marriage had passed, each of them still brought the other either a piece of apple, or candy, or a nut and said in a touchingly tender voice, expressing perfect love: “Open your mouth, darling, I’ll put this one for you.” a piece". It goes without saying that the mouth opened very gracefully on this occasion.

Nozdryov

He was of average height, a very well-built fellow with full rosy cheeks, teeth white as snow and jet-black sideburns. It was fresh, like blood and milk; his health seemed to be dripping from his face.

- Ba, ba, ba! - he suddenly cried, spreading both arms at the sight of Chichikov. - What destinies?

Chichikov recognized Nozdryov, the same one with whom he had dined with the prosecutor and who in a few minutes got on such friendly terms with him that he began to say “you”, although, however, he, for his part, did not give any reason for this...

... Nozdryov’s face is probably already somewhat familiar to the reader. Everyone has met many such people. They are called broken fellows, they are reputed even in childhood and at school for being good comrades, and for all that they can be beaten very painfully. In their faces you can always see something open, direct, and daring. They soon get to know each other, and before you know it, they’re already saying “you.” They will make friends, it seems, forever: but it almost always happens that the person who has become friends will fight with them that same evening at a friendly party. They are always talkers, carousers, reckless people, prominent people. Nozdryov at thirty-five was exactly the same as he was at eighteen and twenty: a lover of a walk. Marriage did not change him at all, especially since his wife soon departed for the next world, leaving behind two children who he absolutely did not need. However, the children were looked after by a pretty nanny. He could not sit at home for more than a day. His sensitive nose heard him several dozen miles away, where there was a fair with all sorts of conventions and balls; in the blink of an eye he was there, arguing and causing chaos at the green table, for, like all of them, he had a passion for cards. At cards, as we have already seen from the first chapter, he did not play completely sinlessly and purely, knowing many different overexposures and other subtleties, and therefore the game very often ended in another game: either they beat him with boots, or they gave him overexposure to a thick and very good sideburns, so that he sometimes returned home with only one sideburn, and then a rather runny one. But his healthy and full cheeks were so well created and contained so much plant power that his sideburns soon grew back, even better than before. And what’s strangest of all, which can only happen in Rus', is that after some time he already met again with those friends who were pestering him, and he met as if nothing had happened, and he, as they say, was nothing, and they were nothing.

Nozdryov was in some respects a historical person. Not a single meeting he attended was complete without a story. Some kind of story would certainly happen: either the gendarmes would lead him out of the hall by the arm, or his own friends would be forced to push him out. If this doesn’t happen, then something will happen that won’t happen to anyone else: either he’ll be so bad at the buffet that he only laughs, or he’ll lie in the most cruel way, so that he’ll finally become ashamed himself. And he will lie completely without any need: he will suddenly tell that he had a horse with some kind of blue or pink wool, and similar nonsense, so that those listening finally all leave, saying: “Well, brother, it seems you have already begun to pour bullets.” " There are people who have a passion to spoil their neighbor, sometimes for no reason at all. Someone, for example, even a person in rank, with a noble appearance, with a star on his chest, will shake your hand, talk to you about deep subjects that provoke thought, and then, lo and behold, right there, before your eyes, he will spoil you. And he will spoil things like a simple college registrar, and not at all like a man with a star on his chest, talking about subjects that provoke thought, so that you just stand there and marvel, shrugging your shoulders, and nothing more. Nozdryov had the same strange passion. The closer someone got with him, the more likely he was to annoy everyone: he spread a tall tale, the stupidest of which is difficult to invent, upset a wedding, a trade deal, and did not at all consider himself your enemy; on the contrary, if chance brought him to meet you again, he would treat you again in a friendly manner and even say: “You’re such a scoundrel, you’ll never come to see me.” Nozdryov was in many respects a multifaceted man, that is, a man of all trades. At that very moment he invited you to go anywhere, even to the ends of the world, to enter into any enterprise you want, to exchange whatever you have for whatever you want. A gun, a dog, a horse - everything was the subject of exchange, but not at all in order to win: this simply happened from some kind of restless agility and liveliness of character. If at a fair he was lucky enough to attack a simpleton and beat him, he bought a bunch of everything that had previously caught his eye in the shops: collars, smoking candles, scarves for a nanny, a stallion, raisins, a silver washstand, Dutch linen, grain flour, tobacco, pistols, herrings, paintings, sharpening tools, pots, boots, earthenware - as much as there was enough money. However, it rarely happened that it was brought home; almost on the same day it descended to another, happiest player, sometimes even adding his own pipe with a pouch and mouthpiece, and other times the whole foursome with everything: with a carriage and a coachman, so that the owner himself set off in a short frock coat or arkhaluk to look for some a friend to use his carriage. That's what Nozdryov was like! Maybe they will call him a beaten character, they will say that now Nozdryov is no longer there. Alas! those who speak like this will be unjust. Nozdryov will not leave the world for a long time. He is everywhere between us and, perhaps, only wears a different caftan; but people are thoughtlessly undiscerning, and a person in a different caftan seems to them a different person.

Mizhuev, Nozdryov's son-in-law, Fetyuk

He was a tall man, with a thin face, or what is called shabby, with a red mustache. From his tanned face one could conclude that he knew what smoke was, if not gunpowder, then at least tobacco...

... Blonde was one of those people whose character, at first glance, has some kind of stubbornness. Before you even have time to open your mouth, they are already ready to argue and, it seems, will never agree to something that is clearly opposite to their way of thinking, that they will never call a stupid person smart and that in particular they will not agree to dance to someone else’s tune; but it will always end with the fact that their character will turn out to be soft, that they will agree to exactly what they rejected, they will call stupid things smart and then go off to dance as best they can to someone else’s tune - in a word, they will start as a smooth surface and end up as a viper.

Sobakevich

When Chichikov looked sideways at Sobakevich, this time he seemed to him very similar to a medium-sized bear. To complete the similarity, the tailcoat he was wearing was completely bear-colored, his sleeves were long, his trousers were long, his feet walked this way and that and constantly stepped on other people’s feet. His complexion was red-hot, the kind you get on a copper coin. It is known that there are many such persons in the world, over the finishing of which nature did not spend much time, did not use any small tools, such as files, gimlets and other things, but simply chopped from her shoulder: she took the ax once and her nose came out, she took it another time. - her lips came out, she picked her eyes with a large drill and, without scraping them, released them into the light, saying: “He lives!” Sobakevich had the same strong and amazingly well-made image: he held it more downward than up, did not move his neck at all, and due to such non-rotation, he rarely looked at the person he was talking to, but always either at the corner of the stove or at the door . Chichikov glanced sideways at him again as they passed the dining room: bear! perfect bear! We need such a strange rapprochement: he was even called Mikhail Semenovich. Knowing his habit of stepping on his feet, he moved his own very carefully and gave him the way forward. The owner seemed to feel this sin behind him and immediately asked: “Did I bother you?” But Chichikov thanked him, saying that no disturbance had yet occurred.

Tentetnikov

Who was the tenant, lord and owner of this village? What lucky person did this nook belong to?

And to the landowner of Tremalakhansky district Andrei Ivanovich Tentetnikov, a young thirty-three-year-old gentleman, collegiate secretary, an unmarried man.

What kind of person was landowner Andrei Ivanovich Tentetnikov, what disposition, what properties and what character was he?

Of course, you should ask your neighbors. A neighbor, who belonged to the family of retired staff officers and firemen, expressed himself about him in a laconic expression: “A natural brute!” The general, who lived ten miles away, said: “The young man is not stupid, but he has taken a lot into his head. I could be useful to him, because with me both in St. Petersburg, and even with...” The general did not finish his speech. The police captain remarked: “But the job on him is rubbish; but tomorrow I’ll go to him for the arrears!” The peasant of his village, when asked what kind of master they had, did not answer anything. In a word, public opinion about him was more unfavorable than favorable.

Meanwhile, in his being, Andrei Ivanovich was neither a good nor a bad creature, but simply a smoker of the sky. Since there are already quite a few people in this world who smoke the sky, why shouldn’t Tentetnikov smoke it too? However, here in a few words is the entire journal of his day, and from it let the reader judge for himself what kind of character he had.

In the morning he woke up very late and, getting up, sat on his bed for a long time, rubbing his eyes. Unfortunately, the eyes were small, and therefore rubbing them took an unusually long time. During all this time, the man Mikhailo was standing at the door with a washstand and a towel. This poor Mikhailo stood for an hour, then another, then went to the kitchen, then came again - the master was still rubbing his eyes and sitting on the bed. Finally, he got out of bed, washed, put on a robe and went out into the living room to drink tea, coffee, cocoa and even fresh milk, sipping a little of everything, crumbling the bread mercilessly and shamelessly littering pipe ash everywhere. He sat for two hours drinking tea; this was not enough: he took the still cold cup and with it moved towards the window facing the courtyard. The following scene took place every time at the window.

First of all, the unshaven barman Grigory roared, referring to Perfilyevna, the housekeeper, in these expressions:

- You little soul, such an insignificance! You, vile woman, should be silent, and that’s all.

- I won’t listen to you, insatiable throat! - shouted the insignificance, or Perfilyevna.

- But no one will get along with you, after all, you will get into trouble with the clerk, you little thing in the barn! - Grigory roared.

- Yes, and the clerk is a thief just like you! - the insignificance shouted so loudly that it could be heard throughout the village. - You are both drinkers, destroyers of the master’s, bottomless barrels! Do you think the master doesn't know you? After all, he is here, because he hears you.

- Where is the master?

- Yes, here he is sitting by the window; he sees everything.

And sure enough, the master was sitting by the window and saw everything.

To top it off, the yard child, who had received a slap on the wrist from his mother, screamed and screamed; the greyhound squealed, crouching with his back to the ground, about the hot boiling water with which the cook, peeking out from the kitchen, poured it over him. In a word, everything screamed and squealed unbearably. The master saw and heard everything. And only when this was done to such an unbearable degree that it even prevented the master from doing anything, he sent out to tell them to keep the noise down.

Betrishchev (character in the second volume)

The general struck him with his majestic appearance. He was wearing a quilted satin robe of magnificent purple. An open look, a courageous face, a mustache and large sideburns streaked with gray hair, a low, combed haircut at the back of the head, a thick neck at the back, called three layers, or three folds, with a crack across; in a word, he was one of those picture generals with whom the famous 12th year was so rich. General Betrishchev, like many of us, had a lot of advantages and a lot of disadvantages. Both, as is usual with a Russian person, were sketched out in some kind of pictorial disorder. In decisive moments - generosity, courage, boundless generosity, intelligence in everything and, mixed with this, whims, ambition, pride and those small personalities that not a single Russian can do without when he is sitting idle. He did not like everyone who went ahead of him in the service, and expressed himself caustically about them, in caustic epigrams. Most of all went to his former comrade, whom he considered inferior to himself both in intelligence and abilities, and who, however, overtook him and was already the governor-general of two provinces, and, as luck would have it, those in which his estates were located, so he found himself, as it were, dependent on him. In retaliation, he was sarcastic at him on every occasion, denigrated every order and saw in all his measures and actions the height of unreason. Everything about him was somehow strange, starting with enlightenment, of which he was a champion and zealot; he loved to show off and also loved to know what others did not know, and did not like those people who knew something that he did not know. In short, he liked to show off his intelligence a little. Brought up by a semi-foreign upbringing, he wanted to play at the same time the role of a Russian master. And it is not surprising that with such unevenness in character and such large, striking contrasts, he was bound to inevitably encounter many troubles in his service, as a result of which he resigned, blaming some hostile party for everything and not having the generosity to blame or yourself. In retirement, he retained the same picturesque, stately posture. Whether in a frock coat, a tailcoat, or a dressing gown, he was still the same. From his voice to the slightest movement, everything about him was powerful, commanding, inspiring in the lower ranks, if not respect, then at least timidity.

Pyotr Petrovich Rooster (character of the second volume)

The master was already riding next to him, dressed in a grass-green nankeen coat, yellow trousers and a neck without a tie, in the manner of Cupid! He sat sideways on the droshky, taking over all the droshky... When he drove up to the porch of the house, to his greatest amazement, the fat gentleman was already on the porch and took him into his arms. How he managed to fly like that was incomprehensible. They kissed, according to the old Russian custom, crosswise three times: the master was of an old cut.

“I brought you greetings from His Excellency,” said Chichikov.

“From what Excellency?”

“From your relative, from General Alexander Dmitrievich.”

“Who is this Alexander Dmitrievich?”

“General Betrishchev,” Chichikov answered with some amazement.

“Stranger,” said x with amazement<озяин>.

Chichikov was even more amazed...

“How is this?.. I hope, at least, that I have the pleasure of speaking with Colonel Koshkarev?”

“No, don’t get your hopes up. You came not to him, but to me. Petr Petrovich Rooster. Rooster Pyotr Petrovich,” the owner picked up.

Afanasy Afanasyevich Murazov, charitable rich man (character in the second volume)

“This is our tax farmer Murazov.”

“I’ll hear about him another time!” cried Chichikov.

“This is a man who, not only from the estate of a landowner, will manage the entire state. If I had a state, I would immediately make him minister of finance.”

“And, they say, a man who surpasses the measure of all belief: ten million, they say, he made.”

“What ten! has passed forty! Soon half of Russia will be in his hands.”

"What are you saying!" cried Chichikov, his eyes wide and his mouth agape.

“By all means. It is clear. The one who has just hundreds of thousands gets rich slowly, and the one who has millions, his radius is large: whatever he grabs, he will do it twice or three times against himself. The field is too spacious. There are no rivals here. There is no one to compete with him. Whatever price he assigns to something, it will remain that way: there is no one to beat it.”

Servants and serfs

Footman Chichikov Petrushka

... The suitcase was brought in by the coachman Selifan, a short man in a sheepskin coat, and the footman Petrushka, a fellow of about thirty, in a spacious second-hand frock coat, as seen from the master’s shoulder, a little stern-looking fellow, with very large lips and nose.

Petrushka wore a somewhat wide brown frock coat from a lord's shoulder and, according to the custom of people of his rank, had a large nose and lips. He was more of a silent character than a talkative one; he even had a noble urge to educate himself, that is, to read books whose contents he did not find difficult: he did not care at all whether it was the adventures of a hero in love, just a primer or a prayer book - he read everything with equal attention; if they had given him chemotherapy, he wouldn’t have refused it either. He liked not what he read about, but more the reading itself, or, better to say, the process of reading itself, that some word always comes out of the letters, which sometimes means God knows what. This reading was performed in a supine position in the hallway, on the bed and on the mattress, which, as a result of this circumstance, had become dead and thin, like a flatbread. In addition to the passion for reading, he had two more habits, which constituted his other two characteristic features: sleeping without undressing, as is, in the same frock coat, and always carrying with him some kind of special air, his own smell, which resonated somewhat living quarters, so all he had to do was build his bed somewhere, even in a hitherto uninhabited room, and drag his overcoat and belongings there, and it already seemed that people had been living in this room for ten years. Chichikov, being a very ticklish person and even in some cases picky, sniffed the fresh air into his nose in the morning, only winced and shook his head, saying: “You, brother, the devil knows, you’re sweating or something. You should at least go to the bathhouse.” To which Petrushka did not answer anything and tried to immediately get busy with some business; or approached with a whip to the hanging master's coat, or simply tidied up something. What was he thinking at the time when he was silent - maybe he was saying to himself: “And you, however, are good, aren’t you tired of repeating the same thing forty times” - God knows, it’s difficult to know what the servant is thinking a serf at that time, the master gives him instructions.

Coachman Selifan

The coachman Selifan was a completely different person [in relation to Petrushka]... But the author is very ashamed to keep readers occupied for so long with people of the low class, knowing from experience how reluctantly they become acquainted with low classes. Such is the Russian man: a strong passion to become arrogant with someone who is at least one rank higher than him, and a casual acquaintance with a count or prince is better for him than any close friendly relationship.

Clerk Manilov

The clerk appeared. He was a man about forty years old, shaved his beard, wore a frock coat and, apparently, led a very quiet life, because his face looked somehow plump, and his yellowish skin color and small eyes showed that he knew too well, What are down jackets and feather beds? One could immediately see that he had fulfilled his career, as all the master's clerks do: at first he was just a literate boy in the house, then he married some Agashka the housekeeper, the lady's favorite, and became a housekeeper himself, and then a clerk. And having become a clerk, he acted, of course, like all clerks: he hung out and made friends with those who were richer in the village, contributed to the taxes of the poorer ones, woke up at nine o’clock in the morning, waited for the samovar and drank tea.

Fetinya, Korobochka's maid

- Do you hear, Fetinya! - said the hostess, turning to the woman who was going out onto the porch with a candle, who had already managed to drag the feather bed and, fluffing it up on both sides with her hands, released a whole flood of feathers throughout the room. “You take their caftan along with their underwear and first dry them in front of the fire, as they did for the deceased master, and then grind them and beat them thoroughly.”

- I’m listening, madam! - Fetinya said, laying a sheet on top of the feather bed and placing pillows.

“Well, the bed is ready for you,” said the hostess. - Farewell, father, I wish you good night. Isn't there anything else needed? Maybe you’re used to having someone scratch your heels at night, my father? My deceased could not fall asleep without this.

But the guest also refused to scratch his heels. The mistress came out, and he immediately hurried to undress, giving Fetinya all the harness he had taken off, both upper and lower, and Fetinya, also wishing good night on her part, took away this wet armor. Left alone, he looked, not without pleasure, at his bed, which was almost to the ceiling. Fetinya, apparently, was an expert at fluffing feather beds.

Gnarled old lady

A flabby old woman, looking like a dried pear, slipped between the legs of the others, approached him, clasped her hands and squealed: “You are our little snivel, how thin you are! The damned little thing has worn you out!” - “Fuck you, woman! - the beards immediately shouted to her with a spade, shovel and wedge. - Look where you went, you clumsy one!” Someone attached a word to this that only a Russian peasant could help but laugh at.

Ivan Antonovich seemed not to have heard and plunged completely into the papers, not answering anything. It was suddenly clear that he was already a man of reasonable years, not like a young talker and helipad. Ivan Antonovich seemed to be well over forty years old; His hair was black and thick; the whole middle of his face protruded forward and went into his nose - in a word, it was the face that in the hostel is called a jug's snout.

Ivan Petrovich, ruler of the office in the distant state

Suppose, for example, there is an office, not here, but in a distant country, and in the office, let us suppose, there is a ruler of the office. I ask you to look at him when he sits among his subordinates - but you simply cannot utter a word out of fear! pride and nobility, and what does his face not express? just take a brush and paint: Prometheus, determined Prometheus! Looks out like an eagle, acts smoothly, measuredly. The same eagle, as soon as he left the room and approaches the office of his boss, is in such a hurry as a partridge with papers under his arm that there is no urine. In society and at a party, even if everyone is of low rank, Prometheus will remain Prometheus, and a little higher than him, Prometheus will undergo such a transformation that Ovid would not have imagined: a fly, less than even a fly, was destroyed into a grain of sand! “Yes, this is not Ivan Petrovich,” you say, looking at him. - Ivan Petrovich is taller, but this one is short and thin; he speaks loudly, has a deep bass voice and never laughs, but this devil knows what: he squeaks like a bird and keeps laughing.” You come closer and look - exactly Ivan Petrovich! “Ehehe,” you think to yourself...

Elderly police officer

But despite all this, his road was difficult; he fell under the command of an already elderly police officer, who was the image of some kind of stony insensibility and unshakeability: always the same, unapproachable, never in his life showing a smile on his face, never greeting anyone even with a request for health. No one had ever seen him be anything other than what he always was, whether on the street or at home; at least once he showed his participation in something, even if he got drunk and laughed while drunk; even if he indulged in the wild joy that a robber indulges in during a drunken moment, there was not even a shadow of anything like that in him. There was absolutely nothing in him: neither villainous nor good, and something terrible appeared in this absence of everything. His callous, marble face, without any sharp irregularity, did not hint at any resemblance; his features were in stern proportionality with each other. Only the frequent rowan trees and potholes that punctured them ranked him among those faces on which, according to popular expression, the devil came to thresh peas at night. It seemed that there was no human strength to approach such a person and attract his favor, but Chichikov tried. At first, he began to please in all sorts of unnoticeable details: he carefully examined the mending of the feathers with which he wrote, and, having prepared several according to their model, placed them under his hand every time; blew sand and tobacco off his table; got a new rag for his inkwell; I found his hat somewhere, the worst hat that had ever existed in the world, and every time I placed it next to him a minute before the end of his presence; cleaned his back if he stained it with chalk against the wall - but all this remained absolutely without any notice, as if none of this had happened or been done. Finally, he sniffed out his home, family life, learned that he had a mature daughter, with a face that also looked like it was threshing peas at night. It was from this side that he came up with the idea to launch an attack. He found out which church she came to on Sundays, stood opposite her every time, cleanly dressed, with a very starched shirt front - and the matter was a success: the stern police officer staggered and invited him to tea! And before the office had time to look back, things had worked out in such a way that Chichikov moved into his house, became a necessary and indispensable person, bought flour and sugar, treated his daughter like a bride, called the police officer papa, kissed his hand; Everyone in the ward decided that there would be a wedding at the end of February before Lent. The stern police officer even began to lobby his superiors for him, and after a while Chichikov himself became a police officer in one vacant position that had opened up. This, it seemed, was the main purpose of his connections with the old police officer, because he immediately sent his chest secretly home and the next day he found himself in another apartment. The police officer stopped calling him daddy and no longer kissed his hand, and the matter of the wedding was hushed up, as if nothing had happened at all. However, when meeting him, he always affectionately shook his hand and invited him to tea, so that the old police officer, despite his eternal immobility and callous indifference, shook his head every time and said under his breath: “You cheated, you cheated, you damn son !

Teacher Chichikova

It should be noted that the teacher was a great lover of silence and good behavior and could not stand smart and sharp boys; it seemed to him that they must certainly laugh at him. It was enough for the one who was reprimanded for his wit, it was enough for him to just move or somehow inadvertently wink his eyebrow to suddenly fall under anger. He persecuted him and punished him mercilessly. “I, brother, will drive arrogance and disobedience out of you! - he said. - I know you through and through, just as you don’t know yourself. Here you are, standing on my knees! I’ll make you go hungry!” And the poor boy, without knowing why, rubbed his knees and went hungry for days. “Abilities and gifts? “It’s all nonsense,” he used to say, “I only look at behavior.” I will give full marks in all sciences to someone who doesn’t know the basics but behaves commendably; and in whom I see a bad spirit and mockery, I am zero to him, although he put Solon in his belt! So said the teacher, who did not love Krylov to death because he said: “For me, it’s better to drink, but understand the matter,” and always told with pleasure in his face and eyes, as in the school where he taught before, There was such silence that you could hear a fly flying; that not a single student coughed or blew his nose in class all year round, and that until the bell rang it was impossible to know whether anyone was there or not. ||

CHAPTER NINE

In the morning, even earlier than the time appointed for visits in the city of N., a lady in a dandy checkered blouse fluttered out of the door of an orange wooden house with a mezzanine and blue columns, accompanied by a footman in an overcoat with several collars and gold braid on a round polished hat. At the same hour, the lady fled with extraordinary haste up the folded steps into the carriage standing at the entrance. The footman immediately slammed the door on the lady, threw her up the steps and, grabbing the straps behind the carriage, shouted to the coachman: “Go!” The lady was carrying the news she had just heard and felt an irresistible urge to tell it quickly. Every minute she looked out of the window and saw, to her unspeakable chagrin, that she was still halfway there. Every house seemed longer than usual to her; The white stone almshouse with narrow windows dragged on for an unbearably long time, so that she finally could not bear to say: “This is a damned building, and there is no end!” The coachman has already received the order twice: “Hurry up, hurry up, Andryushka! You’re taking an unbearably long time today!” Finally the goal was achieved. The carriage stopped in front of a one-story wooden house of a dark gray color, with white bas-reliefs above the windows, with a high wooden lattice in front of the windows and a narrow front garden, behind the lattice of which the thin trees that were located were whitened from the city dust that never left them. Pots of flowers flashed through the windows, a parrot swinging in a cage, clinging to a ring with its nose, and two little dogs sleeping in front of the sun. A sincere friend of the visiting lady lived in this house. The author is extremely at a loss as to how to name both ladies in such a way that they will not be angry with him again, as they were angry of old. It is dangerous to give a fictitious surname. Whatever name you come up with, you will certainly find it in some corner of our state, fortunately, someone bearing it will certainly be angry not to death, but to death, and will begin to say that the author came secretly on purpose in order to find out everything that he is, and what sheepskin coat he wears, and what Agrafena Ivanovna he visits, and what he likes to eat. Call them by rank - God forbid, and even more dangerous. Now all ranks and classes among us are so irritated that everything that is in a printed book already seems to them to be a person: such, apparently, is the mood in the air. It is enough to just say that there is a stupid person in one city, this is already a person; suddenly a gentleman of respectable appearance will jump out and shout: “After all, I am also a man, therefore, I am also stupid,” - in a word, he will instantly realize what’s going on. And therefore, to avoid all this, we will call the lady to whom the guest came, as she was called almost unanimously in the city of N.: namely, a pleasant lady in all respects. She acquired this name in a legal way, because, of course, she spared nothing to become amiable to the last degree, although, of course, through the amiability, oh, what a bright agility of a woman’s character crept in! and although sometimes in every pleasant word of hers, what a pin stuck out! and God forbid what was boiling in the heart against the one who would somehow and somehow get through to the first. But all this was clothed in the most subtle secularism that only happens in a provincial city. She made all sorts of movements with taste, she even loved poetry, she even sometimes knew how to hold her head dreamily - and everyone agreed that she was definitely a pleasant lady in all respects. The other lady, that is, the one who arrived, did not have such versatility in her character, and therefore we will call her: just a pleasant lady. The arrival of the guest woke up the little dogs, shining in the sun: shaggy Adele, constantly getting tangled in her own fur, and the male Popuri on thin legs. Both of them, barking, carried their tails in rings into the hallway, where the guest freed herself from her tuft and found herself in a dress of a fashionable pattern and color and long tails around her neck; jasmines flew throughout the room. As soon as the otherwise pleasant lady found out about the arrival of a simply pleasant lady, she already ran into the hallway. The ladies grabbed hands, kissed and screamed, as college girls scream when they meet soon after graduation, when their mothers have not yet had time to explain to them that one’s father is poorer and of lower rank than the other’s. The kiss took place loudly, because the little dogs began to bark again, for which they were slapped with a handkerchief, and both lamas went into the living room, blue, of course, with a sofa, an oval table and even screens entwined with ivy; after them ran, grumbling, shaggy Adele and tall Popuri on thin legs. “Here, here, in this corner!” the hostess said, seating the guest in the corner of the sofa. “That’s it! That’s it! Here’s a pillow for you!” Having said this, she pushed a pillow behind her back, on which a knight was embroidered with wool in the same way as they are always embroidered on canvas: the nose came out as a ladder, and the lips as a quadrangle. “I’m so glad that you... I hear someone driving up, and I’m thinking to myself who could do it so early. Parasha says: “Lieutenant Governor,” and I say: “Well, here the fool has come again to bother you.” “, and I really wanted to say that I’m not at home. .."

The guest was about to get down to business and break the news. But the exclamation that the lady, pleasant in all respects, uttered at that time, suddenly gave a different direction to the conversation.

What a cheerful chintz! - exclaimed a pleasant lady in all respects, looking at the dress of a simply pleasant lady.

Yes, very funny. Praskovya Fedorovna, however, finds that it would be better if the cells were smaller, and that the specks were not brown, but blue. They sent her sister a piece of cloth: it is such a charm that simply cannot be expressed in words; Imagine: the stripes are as narrow as the human imagination can imagine, the background is blue and through the stripes there are eyes and paws, eyes and paws, eyes and paws... In a word, incomparable! We can say decisively that there has never been anything like it in the world.

Honey, it's colorful.

Oh, no, not colorful.

Ah, colorful!

It should be noted that in all respects the pleasant lady was partly a materialist, prone to denial and doubt, and rejected quite a lot in life.

Here a simply pleasant lady explained that this was by no means colorful, and cried out:

Yes, congratulations: they don't wear frills anymore.

Why don't they wear it?

In their place are scallops.

Oh, this is not good, scallops!

Scallops, all scallops: a cape made of scallops, scallops on the sleeves, epaulettes made of scallops, scallops below, scallops everywhere.

It’s not good, Sofya Ivanovna, if everything is scalloped.

Sweet, Anna Grigorievna, incredibly; it is sewn with two rib stitches: wide armholes and at the top... But now, that’s when you’ll be amazed, that’s when you’ll say that... Well, be amazed: imagine, the bras have gone even longer, with a toe in front, and the front bone is completely out of bounds ; the whole skirt gathers around, as it used to be in the old days, they even put a little cotton wool on the back so that there is a perfect belle femme.

Well, it’s simple: I confess! - said the lady, pleasant in all respects, making a movement of her head with a sense of dignity.

Exactly, that’s for sure, I admit,” the simply pleasant lady answered.

Whatever you want, I will never imitate this.

Me too... Really, as you can imagine, what fashion sometimes comes to... is unlike anything else! I begged my sister for a pattern on purpose for fun; My Melania began to sew.

So do you have a pattern? - the pleasant lady in all respects cried out, not without a noticeable movement of the heart.

Well, my sister brought it.

My soul, give it to me for the sake of all that is holy.

Oh, I already gave my word to Praskovya Fedorovna. Perhaps after it?

Who will wear it after Praskovya Fedorovna? It will be too strange on your part if you prefer strangers to your own.

Why, she is also my great aunt.

God knows what kind of aunt she is to you: on her husband’s side... No, Sofya Ivanovna, I don’t even want to hear it, it comes out like this: you want to inflict such an insult on me... Apparently, you’re already bored with me, apparently you want to stop with I am every acquaintance.

Poor Sofya Ivanovna did not know at all what to do. She felt herself between what strong fires she had placed herself. So I bragged about you! She would be ready to prick her stupid tongue with needles for this.

Well, what about our charmer? - Meanwhile, the lady, pleasant in all respects, said.

Oh my god! Why am I sitting like this in front of you! that's good! After all, you know, Anna Grigorievna, what I came to you with? - Here the guest’s breath choked, the words, like hawks, were ready to set off in pursuit one after another, and only one had to be as inhuman as a sincere friend was in order to decide to stop her.

No matter how you praise and extol him,” she said with more vivacity than usual, “but I will tell him straight, and I will tell him to his face that he is a worthless person, worthless, worthless, worthless.

Just listen to what I will reveal to you...

They spread rumors that he was good, but he is not good at all, not good at all, and he has a nose... the most unpleasant nose.

Let me, let me just tell you... darling, Anna Grigorievna, let me tell you! After all, this is history, you understand: history, sconapelle istoar,” said the guest with an expression of almost despair and a completely pleading voice. It doesn’t hurt to notice that a lot of foreign words and sometimes long French phrases were mixed into the conversation of both ladies. But no matter how the author is filled with reverence for the saving benefits that the French language brings to Russia, no matter how filled with reverence for the laudable custom of our high society, speaking in it at all hours of the day, of course, out of a deep feeling of love for the fatherland, but for all that, in no way he does not dare to introduce a phrase of any foreign language into this Russian poem of his. So, let's continue in Russian.

What's the story?

Oh, my life, Anna Grigorievna, if you could only imagine the situation in which I was, imagine: the archpriest comes to me today - the archpriest, Kirila’s father’s wife - and what would you think: our humble one, a newcomer ours, what is it like?

How, did he really build chickens like his predecessor?

Ah, Anna Grigorievna, even if there were only chickens, that would be nothing; Just listen to what the archpriest told: the landowner Korobochka, she says, came to her, frightened and pale as death, and she tells, and as she tells, just listen, a perfect romance: suddenly, in the dead of midnight, when everyone was already asleep in the house, there is a sound at the gate a knock, the most dangerous one imaginable; They shout: “Open, open, otherwise the gate will be broken down!” How will it feel to you? What is the charmer like after this?

But Korobochka, isn’t she young and pretty?

Not at all, old woman.

Oh, the delights! So he set to work on the old woman. Well, the taste of our ladies is good after that, they found someone to fall in love with.

But no, Anna Grigorievna, it’s not at all what you think. Just imagine something like Rinald Rinaldin, armed from head to toe, and demanding: “Sell,” he says, “all the souls that have died.” The box answers very reasonably, saying: “I can’t sell them because they are dead.” - “No, he says, they are not dead, it is my business, he says, to know whether they are dead or not, they are not dead, not dead, he shouts, not dead.” In a word, he created a terrible scandal: the whole village came running, the children were crying, everyone was screaming, no one understood anyone, well, just orrer, orrer, orrer!.. But you can’t imagine, Anna Grigorievna, how alarmed I was when I heard all this. “My dear lady,” Mashka tells me, “look in the mirror: you are pale.” - “No time for the mirror, I say, I have to go tell Anna Grigorievna.” At that very moment I order the carriage to be laid: the coachman Andryushka asks me where to go, but I can’t say anything, I just look into his eyes like a fool; I think he thought I was crazy. Oh, Anna Grigorievna, if you could only imagine how worried I was!

“This, however, is strange,” said the pleasant lady in all respects, “what could these dead souls mean?” I admit, I understand absolutely nothing here. This is the second time I’ve heard everything about these dead souls; and my husband still says that Nozdryov is lying; Surely there is something.

But imagine, Anna Grigorievna, what my position was when I heard this. “And now,” says Korobochka, “I don’t know, he says, what should I do. He forced me, he says, to sign some kind of false paper, threw me fifteen rubles in banknotes; I, he says, am an inexperienced helpless widow, I don’t know anything... "So these are the incidents! But only if you could just imagine how worried I was.

But, as you please, there are not dead souls here, something else is hiding here.

“I admit, too,” said the simply pleasant lady, not without surprise, and immediately felt a strong desire to find out what could be hiding here. She even said deliberately: “Well, do you think someone is hiding here?”

Well, what do you think?

What do I think?.. I admit, I am completely lost.

But, however, I would still like to know, what are your thoughts about this?

But the pleasant lady had nothing to say. She only knew how to worry, but in order to form some kind of smart guess, she was in no way available for this, and therefore, more than anyone else, she had a need for tender friendship and advice.

“Well, listen to what these dead souls are,” said the lady, pleasant in all respects, and at such words the guest’s ears became all ears: her ears stretched out of their own accord, she stood up, almost unable to sit or support herself on the sofa, and, despite Although it was somewhat heavy, it suddenly became thinner, became like light fluff that would fly into the air just like that with a breath.

So a Russian gentleman, a dog and a hunter, approaching the forest, from which a hare, trampled by the arrivals, is about to jump out, all with his horse and a raised arapnik in one frozen moment, turns into gunpowder, to which fire is about to be brought. He fixed his eyes firmly on the muddy air and was about to overtake the beast, the unstoppable one would finish him off, no matter how the whole turbulent snowy steppe rose up against him, sending silver stars into his mouth, into his mustache, into his eyes, into his eyebrows and into his beaver hat.

Dead souls... - said a pleasant lady in all respects.

I'm sorry, what? - the guest picked up, all in excitement.

Dead Souls!..

Oh, speak, for God's sake!

This was just made up as a cover, but the point is this: he wants to take away the governor’s daughter.

This conclusion, of course, was in no way unexpected and in all respects unusual. The pleasant lady, having heard this, froze on the spot, turned pale, turned pale as death and, as if, was seriously worried.

Oh my god! - she screamed, clasping her hands, - I could never have imagined this.

“And I admit, as soon as you opened your mouth, I already realized what was going on,” answered the lady, pleasant in all respects.

But what is college education like after that, Anna Grigorievna! after all, this is innocence!

What innocence! I heard her make such speeches that, I confess, I would not have the courage to utter them.

You know, Anna Grigorievna, it simply tears your heart apart when you see what immorality has finally reached.

And men are crazy about her. But for me, I admit, I don’t find anything in her... The mannerisms are unbearable.

Ah, my life, Anna Grigorievna, she is a statue, and at least she has some expression on her face.

Oh, how mannered! oh, how mannered! God, how mannered! I don’t know who taught her, but I have never seen a woman with so much affectation.

Darling! she is a statue and pale as death.

Oh, don’t tell me, Sofya Ivanovna: she’s blushing shamelessly.

Oh, what are you, Anna Grigorievna: she is chalk, chalk, pure chalk.

Darling, I was sitting next to her: the blush was as thick as a finger and was falling off like plaster, in pieces. The mother learned it, she is a coquette herself, and the daughter will still surpass her mother.

Well, let me, well, make whatever oath you want, I’m ready this very hour to lose my children, my husband, my entire property, if she has even one drop, even a particle, even the shadow of some kind of blush!

Oh, why are you saying this, Sofya Ivanovna! - said the lady, pleasant in all respects, and clasped her hands.

Oh, what are you really like, Anna Grigorievna! I look at you in amazement! - said the pleasant lady and also clasped her hands.

Let it not seem strange to the reader that both ladies disagreed with each other about what they saw almost at the same time. There are, of course, many things in the world that already have this property: if one lady looks at them, they come out completely white, but another lady looks at them, they come out red, red like lingonberries.

Well, here’s more proof for you that she is pale,” the pleasant lady continued, “I remember, as now, that I was sitting next to Manilov and telling him: “Look how pale she is!” Really, you have to be as stupid as our men to admire her. And our charming one... Oh, how disgusting he seemed to me! You cannot imagine, Anna Grigorievna, to what extent he seemed disgusting to me.

Yes, however, there were some ladies who were not indifferent to him.

Me, Anna Grigorievna? You can never say this, never, never!

Yes, I don’t talk about you as if there is no one besides you.

Never, never, Anna Grigorievna! Let me tell you that I know myself very well; and perhaps from some other ladies who play the role of unavailable.

Excuse me, Sofya Ivanovna! Let me tell you that such scandals have never happened to me before. For anyone else, and certainly not for me, let me point this out to you.

Why are you offended? after all, there were other ladies there, there were even those who were the first to grab a chair at the door in order to sit closer to him.

Well, after such words uttered by a pleasant lady, a storm should have inevitably followed, but, to the greatest amazement, both ladies suddenly calmed down, and absolutely nothing followed. In all respects, the pleasant lady remembered that the pattern for a fashionable dress was not yet in her hands, but the pleasant lady simply realized that she had not yet had time to find out any details about the discovery made by her sincere friend, and therefore peace followed very quickly. However, both ladies cannot be said to have in their nature the need to cause trouble, and in general there was nothing evil in their characters, and so, insensitively, in their conversation a small desire to prick each other was born by itself; It’s just that, out of a little pleasure, each other will, on occasion, slip in another lively word: here, they say, for you! here, take it, eat it! There are different kinds of needs in the hearts of both male and female.

“I cannot, however, understand,” said the simply pleasant lady, “how Chichikov, being a visiting person, could decide on such a brave passage. It cannot be that there are no participants here.

Do you think there are none?

Who do you think could help him?

Well, at least Nozdryov.

Is it really Nozdryov?

So what? after all, he will be on it. You know, he wanted to sell his own father or, even better, lose him at cards.

Oh, my God, what interesting news I learn from you! I could never imagine that Nozdryov would be involved in this story!

And I always assumed.

Just think, really, what doesn’t happen in the world! Well, was it possible to imagine when, remember, Chichikov had just arrived in our city, that he would make such a strange march in the world? Oh, Anna Grigorievna, if you only knew how worried I was! If it weren’t for your benevolence and friendship... now, for sure, I’m on the brink of death... where would I go? My Masha sees that I am pale as death. “Dear lady,” she tells me, “you are as pale as death.” - “Masha, I say, I have no time for that now.” So this is the case! So Nozdryov is here, I humbly ask!

The pleasant lady really wanted to find out further details about the abduction, that is, what time it was, etc., but she wanted a lot. In all respects, the pleasant lady directly responded with ignorance. She did not know how to lie: to assume something is another matter, but even then in such a case when the assumption was based on inner conviction; if inner conviction was felt, then she knew how to stand up for herself, and if some lawyer, famous for his gift of defeating other people’s opinions, tried to compete here, he would see what inner conviction means.

That both ladies were finally decisively convinced of what they had previously assumed only as an assumption, there is nothing unusual in this. Our brothers, smart people, as we call ourselves, do almost the same, and our scientific reasoning serves as proof. At first, the scientist approaches them like an extraordinary scoundrel, begins timidly, moderately, begins with the most humble request: is it from there? Is it not from that corner that such and such a country received its name? or: doesn’t this document belong to another, later time? or: shouldn’t this people mean this kind of people? He immediately quotes these and other ancient writers and as soon as he sees some hint or it just seemed like a hint to him, he gets a trot and is invigorated, talks to the ancient writers easily, asks them questions and even answers for them himself, completely forgetting that began with a timid assumption; it already seems to him that he sees it, that it is clear - and the reasoning is concluded with the words: “so this is how it was, so this is the kind of people we need to understand, and this is the point from which we need to look at the subject!” Then publicly from the pulpit - and the newly discovered truth went to walk around the world, gaining followers and admirers.

At the time when both ladies so successfully and wittily solved such a complicated circumstance, the prosecutor entered the living room with his eternally motionless face, thick eyebrows and a blinking eye. The ladies vied with each other to tell him all the events, told him about the purchase of dead souls, about the intention to take away the governor's daughter and confused him completely, so that no matter how much he continued to stand in the same place, bat his left eye and hit his beard with a handkerchief, sweeping away tobacco from there, but absolutely could not understand anything. So the two ladies left him there and each went in their own direction to riot the city. They managed to complete this undertaking in just over half an hour. The city was decidedly in revolt; everything was in a state of disarray, and at least no one could understand anything. The ladies knew how to put such a fog in the eyes of everyone that everyone, and especially the officials, remained stunned for some time. Their position at first was similar to that of a schoolboy whose sleepy comrades, who had risen earlier, thrust a piece of paper filled with tobacco into the nose of a hussar. Having pulled all the tobacco towards himself in his sleep with all the zeal of a sleeper, he awakens and jumps up. looks like a fool, with his eyes bulging, in all directions, and cannot understand where he is, what happened to him, and then he distinguishes the walls illuminated by an indirect ray of sun, the laughter of his comrades hiding in the corners, and the coming morning looking out the window, with an awakening forest, sounding with thousands of bird voices, and with an illuminated river, here and there disappearing in shining squiggles between thin reeds, all strewn with naked children inviting them to swim, and then finally he feels that a hussar is sitting in his nose. This was absolutely the position of the inhabitants and officials of the city at first. Everyone stopped, like a sheep, with their eyes bulging. Dead souls, the governor's daughter and Chichikov got confused and mixed in their heads in an unusually strange way; and then, after the first stupor, they seemed to begin to distinguish them separately and separate one from the other, began to demand an account and get angry, seeing that the matter did not want to be explained. What kind of parable, really, what kind of parable are these dead souls? There is no logic in dead souls; how to buy dead souls? where would such a fool come from? and with what blind money will he buy them? and to what end, to what cause can these dead souls be pinned? and why did the governor’s daughter interfere here? If he wanted to take her away, then why buy dead souls for this? If you buy dead souls, then why take away the governor’s daughter? Did he want to give her these dead souls? What kind of nonsense was really being spread around the city? What kind of direction is this that you won’t have time to turn around, and then they’ll release the story, and at least there would be some meaning... However, they tore it apart, so there must have been some reason? What is the reason for dead souls? There's not even a reason. This, it turns out, is simple: Androns are driving, nonsense, rubbish, soft-boiled boots! it's just damn it!.. In a word, there was talk and talk, and the whole city started talking about dead souls and the governor's daughter, about Chichikov and dead souls, about the governor's daughter and Chichikov, and everything that was there rose up. Like a whirlwind, the hitherto dormant city was thrown up! All the tyuryuks and boibaks, who had been lying in their dressing gowns for several years at home, crawled out of their holes, blaming either the shoemaker who sewed the narrow boots, or the tailor, or the drunken coachman. All those who had long ago stopped all acquaintances and knew only, as they say, the landowners Zavalishin and Polezhaev (famous terms derived from the verbs “to lie down” and “to fall over”, which are in great use in our Russia, just like the phrase: go to Sopikov and Khrapovitsky, meaning all sorts of dead dreams on the side, on the back and in all other positions, with snoring, nasal whistles and other accessories); all those who could not be lured out of the house even by an invitation for a five-hundred-ruble fish soup with two-arshine sterlets and all sorts of melt-in-your-mouth kulebyaks; in a word, it turned out that the city was crowded, and large, and properly populated. Some Sysoy Pafnutievich and McDonald Karlovich appeared, whom we had never heard of before; There was a tall guy hanging around in the living rooms, with a bullet through his arm. such a tall stature that has never even been seen before. Covered droshky, unknown rulers, rattlers, wheel whistles appeared on the streets - and a mess started brewing. At another time and under other circumstances, such rumors might not have attracted any attention; but the city of N. has not received any news for a long time. For three months nothing even happened that is called in the capitals komerazhi, which, as you know, for the city is the same as the timely delivery of food supplies. In the city talk there suddenly appeared two completely opposite opinions and suddenly two opposite parties were formed: male and female. The men's party, the most stupid, drew attention to the dead souls. The women's office was exclusively concerned with the kidnapping of the governor's daughter. In this game, it should be noted to the credit of the ladies, there was incomparably more order and discretion. This, apparently, is their very purpose of being good housewives and managers. Everything with them soon took on a living, definite form, took on clear and obvious forms, was explained, cleared up, in a word, a complete picture emerged. It turned out that Chichikov had been in love for a long time, and they saw each other in the garden in the moonlight, that the governor would even give his daughter for him, because Chichikov is rich like a Jew, if the reason was not for his wife, whom he abandoned (how did they know that Chichikov was married - no one knew), and that his wife, who was suffering from hopeless love, wrote a most touching letter to the governor, and that Chichikov, seeing that his father and mother would never agree, decided to kidnap him. In other houses this was told somewhat differently: that Chichikov did not have any wife at all, but that he, as a subtle and acting man, took steps in order to get his daughter’s hand, to start a business with his mother and had a heartfelt secret connection with her, and that then he made a declaration about his daughter’s hand in marriage; but the mother, afraid that a crime against religion would be committed, and feeling remorse in her soul, flatly refused, and that was why Chichikov decided to kidnap him. To all this were added many explanations and corrections as rumors finally penetrated into the most remote alleys. In Rus', lower societies are very fond of talking about the gossip that happens in higher societies, and therefore they began to talk about all this in houses where they had never even seen or known Chichikov, additions and even greater explanations began. The plot became more interesting every minute, took on more definitive forms every day, and finally, as it was, in all its finality, was delivered to the governor’s own ears. The governor's wife, as the mother of the family, as the first lady in the city, and finally, as a lady who did not suspect anything of the kind, was completely offended by such stories and became indignant, justified in all respects. The poor blonde endured the most unpleasant tete-a-tete that a sixteen-year-old girl has ever had. Whole streams of questions, interrogations, reprimands, threats, reproaches, admonitions poured in, so that the girl burst into tears, sobbed and could not understand a single word; The doorman was given the strictest order not to receive Chichikov at any time and under any circumstances.

Having done their job regarding the governor’s wife, the ladies attacked the male party, trying to win them over to their side and claiming that dead souls were an invention and were used only to divert any suspicion and more successfully carry out the abduction. Many even of the men were seduced and attached to their party, despite the fact that they were subjected to strong criticism from their own comrades, who cursed them with women and skirts - names that are known to be very offensive to the male sex.

But no matter how much the men armed themselves and resisted, their party did not have the same order as the women’s party. Everything about them was somehow callous, uncouth, wrong, worthless, discordant, not good, there was confusion in their heads, turmoil, confusion, untidiness in their thoughts - in a word, this is how the empty nature of a man stood out in everything, a rough, heavy, unattractive nature. capable of neither house-building nor of heartfelt convictions, of little faith, lazy, filled with incessant doubts and eternal fear. They said that it was all nonsense, that the kidnapping of the governor’s daughter was more a hussar’s matter than a civilian one, that Chichikov would not do it, that women were lying, that a woman was like a sack: whatever she put in, she carried, that the main thing to which you need to pay attention was there are dead souls, which, however, the devil knows what they mean, but they contain, however, very bad, bad things. Why it seemed to the men that there was something bad and bad in them, we will find out this minute: a new governor-general was appointed to the province - an event, as we know, that brings officials into an alarming state: there will be quarrels, scoldings, rioting and all sorts of official stews that the boss treats their subordinates. “Well,” the officials thought, “if he just finds out that there are some stupid rumors in the city, this alone could lead to him boiling to the death.” The inspector of the medical board suddenly turned pale; he imagined God knows what: didn’t the word “dead souls” mean sick people who died in significant numbers in hospitals and other places from epidemic fever, against which no proper measures were taken, and that Chichikov wasn’t an official sent from the general’s office - the governor to carry out a secret investigation. He reported this to the chairman. The chairman replied that this was nonsense, and then he suddenly turned pale, asking himself the question: what if the souls bought by Chichikov were actually dead? and he allowed a fortress to be made on them, and he himself played the role of Plyushkin’s attorney, and this comes to the attention of the Governor-General, what then? He said nothing more about it as soon as he told both of them, and suddenly both of them turned pale; fear is more sticky than the plague and is communicated instantly. Everyone suddenly found sins in themselves that never even existed. The word “dead souls” was heard so vaguely that they even began to suspect whether there was some hint of suddenly buried bodies, as a result of two events that happened not so long ago. The first event was with some Solvychegodsk merchants who came to the city for a fair and after the trades gave a feast to their Ust-Sysolsk merchant friends, a feast in the Russian style with German ideas: arshads, punches, balms and so on. The feast, as usual, ended in a fight. The Solvychegodsk soldiers went to the death of the Ust-Sysolsk soldiers, although they also suffered a strong abrasion on their sides, under their mikitkas and on Christmas Eve, which testified to the exorbitant size of the fists with which the deceased were equipped. One of those who triumphed even had his nose completely chipped off, as the fighters put it, that is, his entire nose was crushed, so that not even half a finger remained on his face. The merchants confessed to their business, explaining that they had been a little naughty; there were rumors that they had committed four government charges each; however, the matter is too dark; From the investigations and investigations carried out, it turned out that the Ust-Sysolsk guys died from intoxication, and therefore they were buried like the dead. Another incident that recently happened was the following: the state-owned peasants of the village of Vshivaya-arrogance, having united with the same peasants of the village of Borovka, Zadirailovo-also, wiped off the face of the earth the supposedly zemstvo police in the person of an assessor, some Drobyazhkin, which is supposedly the zemstvo police, that is, the assessor Drobyazhkin had gotten into the habit of traveling to their village too often, which in other cases is worth a general fever, and the reason is that the zemstvo police, having some weaknesses on the part of the heart, had an eye on women and village girls. Probably, however, it is not known, although in their testimony the peasants expressed it directly that the zemstvo police were as lascivious as a cat, and that they had already protected him once and once even kicked him out naked from some hut where he had gotten into. Of course, the zemstvo police were worthy of punishment for heart weaknesses, but the men of both Vshivoy-arrogance and Zadirailov-also could not be acquitted of arbitrariness, if only they actually participated in the murder. But the matter was dark, the zemstvo police were found on the road, the uniform or sertuk on the zemstvo police was worse than a rag, and the physiognomy could not be recognized. The case went through the courts and finally came to the chamber, where it was first discussed in private in this sense: since it is not known which of the peasants participated, and there are many of them, Drobyazhkin is a dead man, therefore, it would be of little use to him if even he won the case, and the men were still alive, therefore, the decision in their favor was very important for them; then, as a result, it was decided this way: that the assessor Drobyazhkin himself was the cause, exerting unjust oppression on the peasants Vshivoy-arrogance and Zadiraylov-also, and he died, returning in the sleigh, from an apoplexy. The matter, it would seem, was settled, but the officials, for some unknown reason, began to think that these dead souls were now being dealt with. It happened that, as if on purpose, at a time when the gentlemen officials were already in a difficult situation, two papers came to the governor at once. One of them contained that, according to testimonies and reports, there was a maker of counterfeit notes in their province, hiding under different names, and that the strictest search should be immediately carried out. Another paper contained the attitude of the governor of the neighboring province about a robber who had escaped from legal prosecution, and that if any suspicious person turned up in their province without presenting any certificates or passports, then detain him immediately. These two papers stunned everyone. Previous conclusions and guesses were completely confused. Of course, it was impossible to assume that anything here had to do with Chichikov; however, everyone, as everyone reflected on his part, as they remembered that they still did not know who Chichikov really was, that he himself spoke very vaguely about his own person, said, however, that he suffered in the service for the truth, yes after all, all this is somehow unclear, and when they remembered that he even said that he had many enemies who attempted to kill his life, they began to think even more: therefore, his life was in danger, therefore, he was being pursued, it became maybe he did something like that... but who is he really? Of course, one cannot think that he could make false papers, much less be a robber: his appearance is well-intentioned; but with all that, who, however, was he really like? And so the gentlemen officials now asked themselves the question that they should have asked themselves at the beginning, that is, in the first chapter of our poem. It was decided to make a few more inquiries to those from whom the souls were purchased, in order to at least find out what kind of purchases were made, and what exactly should be understood by these dead souls, and whether he explained to anyone, at least perhaps by chance, even in passing somehow his real intentions, and whether he told anyone about who he was. First of all, they reacted to Korobochka, but here they didn’t learn much: he bought it for fifteen rubles, and he also buys bird feathers, and he promised to buy a lot of things, he also puts lard into the treasury, and therefore, probably, he is a cheat, for there was already one such who bought bird feathers and supplied lard to the treasury, but deceived everyone and cheated the archpriest of more than a hundred rubles. Everything she said next was a repetition of almost the same thing, and the officials only saw that Korobochka was just a stupid old woman. Manilov replied that he was always ready to vouch for Pavel Ivanovich as for himself, that he would sacrifice all his property in order to have a hundredth share of Pavel Ivanovich’s qualities, and spoke about him in general in the most flattering terms, adding a few thoughts about friendship with with closed eyes. These thoughts, of course, satisfactorily explained the tender movement of his heart, but did not explain the real matter to the officials. Sobakevich replied that Chichikov, in his opinion, was a good person, and that he sold him the peasants to choose from and the people were alive in all respects; but that he does not vouch for what will happen in the future, that if they die during the difficulties of relocation on the road, then it is not his fault, but God has power in that, and there are many fevers and various deadly diseases in the world, and there are examples that Entire villages are dying out. The gentlemen officials resorted to another means, not very noble, but which, however, is sometimes used, that is, on the side, through various lackey acquaintances, to ask Chichikov’s people if they know any details about the master’s previous life and circumstances, but they also heard A little. From Petrushka they heard only the smell of residential peace, and from Selifan, who performed government service and previously served in customs, and nothing more. This class of people has a very strange custom. If you ask him directly about something, he will never remember, will not get it all into his head, and will even simply answer that he doesn’t know, but if you ask him about something else, then he will drag it in and tell him with such details that and you don't want to know. All the searches carried out by the officials revealed to them only that they probably do not know what Chichikov is, but that, however, there must certainly be something like Chichikov. They finally decided to have a final talk about this subject and decide at least what and how they should do, and what measures to take, and what exactly he is: is he the kind of person who needs to be detained and captured as ill-intentioned, or is he the kind of person who who can himself seize and detain them all as ill-intentioned. For all this, it was proposed to gather deliberately with the police chief, already known to readers as the father and benefactor of the city.