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Chapter 14 Ovsenikov (3)
Mijia obviously didn't want to confess and justify in front of me. "We'll talk about it later, Uncle," he said in a low voice. "No, don't say it later, just say it now," the old man continued, "you, I understand, you are afraid of losing face in front of this landlord gentleman, that's even better, you should change your past quickly. You say, Just tell us."

"I'm not ashamed," Mitya said cheerfully, shaking his head. "Uncle, judge for yourself. The Reshedylov landowners came to me and said, 'Brother, help me. Help.''What's the matter?''It's like this. Our granary is very well run, and it really can't be better. Suddenly an official came to us and said that he was sent to inspect the granary.' After the inspection, he said: "Your granary is very poorly run. There are serious negligences that need to be reported to the officer." "What's the negligence?" The official paid him a reward. But the old man Prohorlitch stopped him, saying: "This is just to make this group of people more greedy. Why is this? Is there nothing we can do?..." We obeyed The old man said, but the official got angry, filed a complaint, and made a report. Now let us go to court. 'So your granary is really perfect?' I asked. 'God testifies, it is perfect, and There's plenty of grain...' I said, 'then you needn't be afraid.' and wrote him a pleading... It's not clear who won the case... but they came to you to sue me for this— That's obvious: No matter who you are, your shirt is always close to your body."

"Everyone is like that, but you are obviously not like that," the old man whispered... "And what are you doing with the Shutolomov peasants over there?"

"How do you know?" "Of course I know."

"I'm not wrong about that either—you'll have to judge again. Their neighbor, Bespankin, cultivated four dessiatines of land. He says it's his. Shutolomov's farmer pays Their landowners went abroad—who, you think, would protect them? But the land, of course, had always been leased to them by the landowners. So they came to me and asked me to write to them A complaint.' I wrote it. When Besbungin found out, he threatened me that he was going to pull out the bones of Micah, and cut off my head...' Watch, see how he cuts, My brain is still intact."

"Hey, don't brag, you're going to have trouble with your head," said the old man, "you're totally crazy!"

"Well, Uncle, you didn't tell me yourself..." "I know, I know what you're going to say," Ovsenikov interrupted him, "Of course, you have to be upright and helpful to your relatives and friends." Sometimes you have to disregard yourself... But do you always do that? Have you been invited to a hotel? They invite you to a tavern, bow to you and say: 'Dmitry Mr. Lekseyitch, please help me, we will thank you.' Then I slipped you a silver ruble or a five-rouble note, didn't I? Ah? Is there such a thing? Tell me, is there? "

"Of course it's my fault," Mitya replied, bowing his head, "but I don't want money from the poor, and I don't violate my conscience."

"If you don't take it now, you'll take it if life becomes difficult for you. It's not against your conscience... Hey, you! You think you've been protecting the good!... But you remember Bolka Perekhodov Is it?...Who ran around for him? Who helped him? Ah?"

"Perekhodov did it to himself..." "Embezzlement... just kidding!" "But think about it, Uncle: his family is poor..."

"Poor, poor .

"He drank out of sorrow," said Mitya, lowering his voice. "Because of sorrow! Well, if you have that kind of zeal, you should help him instead of going to the hotel with this drunk. What's the good in his smooth talk!"

"He's a good guy..." "A good guy as far as you're concerned... I see," Ovsenikov continued, turning to his wife, "have you given it to him... Here, That's the place, you know..."

Tatiana Ilyinichna nodded. "Where have you been these few days?" The old man started talking again. "In the city." "Surely playing billiards, drinking tea, playing the banjo, going in and out of the back door, hiding in the back room writing petitions, hanging out with the merchant's sons, isn't it? . . . explain!"

"About that," said Mitya, smiling... "Oh! I almost forgot that Anton Balfenitch Fendikov asked you to dine at his house on Sunday."

"I won't go to this house with a big belly. I'll give you expensive fish, but rancid butter. Just ignore him!"

"I also met Fedosya Mikhailovna." "Which Fedosya?" Docia. She paid rent as a seamstress in Moscow, 182.5 rubles a year. She works very well, and many people order from her in Moscow. But Garbinchenko wrote to call her, Keep her, but don't send her to work. She wants to redeem herself, she told the master, but he didn't make any decision. Uncle, you know Garbinchenko, can you say a word for her?  … Fido West Asia can pay a high price to redeem himself."

"With your money? Is it? Well, well, well, I'll tell him, I'll tell him. But I'm not sure," the old man went on, with an air of displeasure. "This Garbinchenko God knows, a cheapskate who buys promissory notes, lends money for profit, bids for land... Who brought him to our side? Well, I don't like these strangers! It won't be decided anytime soon. Yes. But let's see."

"Help me, uncle." "Okay, I will help. But you have to be careful, and you have to be careful in the future! Okay, okay, don't argue... Forget it, forget it!... Only later Watch out, or, really, Mitya, you'll be in trouble—really, you'll be. I can't always be responsible for you... I'm a powerless man myself. Well, go now. "

Micah is out.Tatiana Ilyinichna went out afterward. "Give him some tea, kind lady," Ovsenikov called after her... "The lad is not stupid," he went on, "and he has a good heart, but I'm worried about him... oh , I'm sorry we have kept you up so long with these little things." The door of the front room was opened.A low, grizzled man in a velvet coat entered. "Ah, Franz Ivanitch!" cried Ovsenikov, "how do you do! How are you doing?" Dear reader, allow me to introduce this gentleman to you as well.Franz Ivanich Lejeune, my neighbor, a landowner in Orel, received in a special way the honorary title of Russian nobility.Born in Orleans to French parents, he accompanied Napoleon to invade Russia as a drummer.All went well at first, and our Frenchman walked into Moscow with his head raised.But on the way back, poor Monsieur Leijon was half dead from the cold and lost his drum, and so the Smolensk peasants caught him.The Smolensk peasants locked him overnight in an empty milling mill, took him the next morning to the ice cave by the embankment, and ordered the "de la grrrrrande armée" drummer to pay him a visit. Light, that is, to swim to the bottom of the ice.Monsieur Rayon did not agree with their proposal, and asked the Smolensk peasants in French to let him go back to Orléans.He said, "My mother lives there, une tendre mère." But the peasants probably didn't know the location of the city of Orléans, and asked him to travel down the meandering Gniloterka River, and Already there to urge him by gently pushing his neck and spine, suddenly there was a ringing of a bell, much to the delight of Leijon, and on the embankment came a bobsleigh, the rear of which was particularly protruding. , covered with a multicolored blanket, in front of which are three tawny Vyatka horses.In the sleigh sat a fat landowner with a red face and a wolf's fur coat.

"What are you doing there?" he asked the farmers. "We're executing the French here, sir." "Oh!" the landowner agreed indifferently, and turned his face away. "Monsieur! Monsieur!" cried the poor man.

"Ah, ah!" said the wolfskin coat reproachfully, "brought twelve nations to Russia, set fire to Moscow, damned fellow, who stole the cross from Ivan the Great's bell tower, and now shouts 'Meshe, Meshe!' (Sir, sir!) It's going to be a shame! It's karma... Come on, Firka!"

The carriage moved on. "But wait!" said the landowner again. "Hey, you Michel, do you know music?"

"Sauvez moi, sauvez moi, mon bon monsieur!" Lei Rong kept saying.

"Look at these little people! No one speaks Russian! Mosyk, Mosyk, Savy Mosyk-f? Savy? (Music, music, do you know music? Do you?) Oh, you Answer! Comprenet? Savy Mossac? (Do you understand? Do you understand music?) Piano, Joy Savy? (Piano, can you play the piano?)”

Lei Rong finally understood what the landlord said and nodded affirmatively. "Oui, monsieur, oui, oui, je suis musicien; je joue tousles instruments possi-bles! Oui, monsieur... Sauvez moi, monsieur!"

"Hey, you're lucky," replied the landowner... "Let him go, lads, and you'll get 20 kopeks for schnapps."

"Thank you, sir, thank you. Please take him away." The place let Lei Rong sit in the sleigh.He was overjoyed, crying, trembling, and bowed his thanks to the landowners, coachmen, and peasants.All he had on was a green sanitary shirt with pink straps, and it was very cold.Seeing the livid and frozen limbs, the landowner wrapped his fur coat around the unfortunate man, and took him home.The servants came running and hurriedly warmed the Frenchman, fed him, and dressed him.The landlord took him to his daughters.

"Well, boys," he said to them, "I have found a teacher for you. You always ask me to find someone who will teach us music and French. Now I have sent you a Frenchman, He can play the piano...Hey, Mesher," he continued, pointing to a worn-out piano he bought from a Jew who sold toilet water five years ago, "show us your technical performance, help! ( Please play!)"

Lei Rong sat down on the chair in despair, because he had never touched the piano.

"Help the mourning, help the mourning." The landlord kept saying.The poor man played the keyboard desperately, like beating a drum, and played randomly for a while... "At that time I thought to myself," he said later to others, "my rescuer will definitely grab my clothes Lord, throw me out." But the forced improviser was taken aback, for the landowner paused and patted him on the shoulder approvingly. "Okay," he said, "I already know your talent, so please go to rest."

After a fortnight Leijon was transferred by the landowner to another rich and learned man, who liked his pleasant and gentle disposition, married his adopted daughter, got a job, and became He became a nobleman, and later married his daughter to the Orel landowner Lobesaniyev, a retired dragoon and poet, who himself moved to Orel.

It was this Leijon—or Franz Ivanitch as they are now called—who came to Ovsenikov's room while I was present, and he was Ovsenikov's friend.

However, I am afraid that the reader and I are tired of sitting in the house of the landowner Ovsenikov, so I will stop talking.

(End of this chapter)